The thick, viscous ooze slowly seeped into the intricate network of roots encasing the ancient oak tree at the heart of the grove. In the mystical realm of the forest, a grove is not merely a cluster of trees but an enigmatic place where the very essence of nature resonates with powerful, untamed magic. It is revered as a sanctuary where druids seek enlightenment and mastery of their magical craft.
However, This particular grove harbored more than enchanting foliage and ancient trees. It was also home to a colony of unique lizards resembling the elusive red-eyed crocodile skinks. These small reptilian creatures bore thick scales with distinctive orange rings encircling their little black eyes. As the relentless ooze found its way into the labyrinthine burrow of the lizard colony, transformation was set in motion.
The gradual impact of the ooze became evident as the lizards began to undergo an astounding metamorphosis. They grew in size, starting with a few inches, then a foot, until they became too colossal to dwell within the confinements of the roots. Forced to leave the safety of their ancestral home, the lizards ventured out into the wider world. One lizard stood out, over five feet long, not considering its tail. Its body underwent further changes, and it started to walk on its hind legs, displaying an unnervingly humanoid form.
Meanwhile, within the depths of the grove, time seemed to meld and waver like a lingering enchantment. It is difficult to ascertain how long had passed since the arrival of an old elf, his presence shrouded in mystery, perhaps spanning five seasons. One fateful day, he encountered a fairy wandering through the mystical forest. Fairies manifest as ethereal beings in this realm, standing three to four feet tall and adorned with radiant, iridescent wings. They bear a semblance of humans, except for their otherworldly features, such as their hair, eyes, and mystifying wings, which evoke the essence of the season in which they were born.
The fairy possessed the radiant aura of spring, and her verdant locks and glistening brown eyes unmistakably identified her as a spring fairy.
The fairy moved gracefully through the forest, her delicate wings shimmering in the dappled sunlight. As she plucked ripe berries and placed them carefully in her woven basket, she seemed unaware of the lizard's watchful eyes. The little lizardman's scales, blending seamlessly with the tree bark he perched upon, observed the fairy keenly. Unfamiliar with the concept of fairies, he mistook her for some unusually colorful bug.
These past few days had been challenging for the lizard to find food, and he spent more time foraging than exploring his surroundings. As he watched the fairy, a tantalizing thought crossed his mind – what if he could spend less time hungry and more time exploring? He didn't have the words for these thoughts, only a vivid image of himself devouring the fairy and the relief of no longer having to spend most of his day searching for sustenance.
Lost in his daydream, the lizard hardly noticed as the fairy began to make her departure. He blinked and shook himself from his reverie, watching as she gracefully made her way through a winding forest trail. Compelled by hunger and the prospect of an easy meal, the lizard decided to follow her, keeping a cautious distance of about a hundred feet at all times.
The lizard grew anxious as the hours passed and the sun descended towards the horizon. The path seemed to lead further away from his familiar surroundings, and a creeping sense of unease settled over him. Unsure of how to return home, the lizard decided to turn back. Still, to his surprise and growing dismay, the path behind him had disappeared entirely. He wondered to himself, feeling a surge of panic rising within him.
He turned around, only to realize that the path ahead had disappeared. Panic set in as he frantically searched for any sign of her. He dashed forward, but there was nothing to be found. He searched high and low but came up empty-handed. Night had fallen, leaving him starved and utterly alone. Exasperated, he lay down, hoping that waiting for daylight would make things clearer so he could find his way home. Despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. The hooting of owls and the rustling of the wind created an eerie atmosphere, making it impossible to drift off.
After what felt like an eternity, a faint glow appeared in the distance. Intrigued by this mysterious light, he stealthily made his way towards it. With each step, the light grew brighter, revealing a fire. He approached cautiously, intrigued yet apprehensive. As he drew closer, he spotted a burly
figure feasting on wings by the fire. Unfamiliar with such a creature, yet overcome by hunger and weariness, he sensed an inexplicable comfort emanating from the man. The man gestured for him to sit, and despite his reservations, a strange set of words accompanied by a small purple ball of light rendered him compliant. He obediently settled beside the man, who then offered him a portion of the fairy's meat. "Here, boy," the man grunted. The little lizard man devoured the morsel hungrily while the man watched, taking in the sight and scent of this peculiar being. He exuded the stench of decay, his voice hoarse and gruff, yet there was a kindness in his eyes. "What's your name, boy?" the man inquired, but the little lizard man continued to eat, unable to comprehend the foreign words. "My name is Talich," the man stated between bites. After the little lizard man finished eating, Talich attempted to engage him again. "You can't understand me, can you?" he murmured, knowing full well that a creature of this nature could only have been recently brought into existence by his master, Mah'nethotep, who had crash-landed nearby. But why? What purpose had led to the creation of such a creature
Talich dug in his pouch and pulled out a thick tome of scrolls. These scrolls are rituals that allow one to do many things with magic, such as sending a mental message to another person, with their full name known by the caster and permission given by the said person to send them a message. He pulled out the scroll and began the ritual to message Mah'nethotep. “My master,” he said aloud, “I have found a black lizard man that I sense your power on. The power is potent as a lord of necromancy. What are your commands?” The voice of the old elf spoke back. “Teach him our ways. He will be an asset in the months to come.”
Talich nodded as he put the Tome back in his pouch. Talich stared at the lizard man, looked at the fairy's remains, then smiled. Talich put a hand on the remains and said, “By the power of necromancy, I command you, spirit, serve my will.” A ghost screamed into existence. “Noooo!” the ghost of the fairy screamed. Talich set his gaze upon it. “You will do as I command, or you shall not find peace.” The ghost stared defiantly. “I know your kind can speak to animals. You will teach this creature the common language,” Talich commanded the ghost.
The little lizard man peered cautiously back and forth from the human to the translucent apparition of the fairy he was tailing. He felt a surge of bewilderment. What was that spectral being? The ghostly figure of the fairy turned its gaze toward the little lizard man, its eyes empty and haunting. "Hello," it murmured to him, and at that moment, he comprehended the intent behind the communication. To a lizard, a salutation could be conveyed by lowering their eyelids while maintaining focused eye contact with another being. This gesture signified, 'I mean no harm. I am friendly.'
The little lizard man tilted his head while staring at the ghost. "Yes, yes, I know. We do look strange, and you are frightened," the ghost said to him. "I need to teach you how to talk to this dumb human." The lizard man looked at Talich questioningly. "Yes. That man," the ghost said and turned to Talich. "He is listening. Introduce yourself." Talich straightened himself up. "My name is Talich Nun. I am here to teach you about our world." That was the beginning of Zavet’s life as he knew it.
The ethereal spirit patiently instructed the humanoid lizard in the intricacies of the common language. Remarkably, the lizard was a quick and adept learner, understanding the basics of the language in just a week. Adopting the name Zavet, he explained he heard it as he transformed into what he is now. “I heard a whisper say it. It said my name is Zavet.” The lizard man told Talich.
Talich reached down and handed Zavet a neatly folded tunic, a sturdy leather belt, and a rugged battle skirt. "Here, boy. Wear this," he said firmly, his voice a blend of authority and encouragement. Zavet took the garments hesitantly, his scaled fingers fumbling with the fabric. The tunic was slightly snug around his broad chest, and the belt felt stiff against his wiry waist. With Talich’s patient guidance, Zavet managed to secure the belt, the battle skirt swishing awkwardly around his legs. He tugged at the tunic, finally pulling it over his head and adjusting it until it sat properly on his shoulders.
"Alright," Talich began, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he observed Zavet’s movements. "You need to learn how to defend yourself before we go anywhere. It's dangerous for your kind to not know how to fight." He extended the hilt of his sword towards Zavet, the blade gleaming in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above.
Zavet hesitated for a moment before gripping the sword. The weight was immediately apparent, causing his arms to tremble slightly. Talich demonstrated a smooth, fluid motion, executing a precise diagonal cut through the air. "Watch me," he instructed, his movements sharp and controlled.
Zavet mirrored the action, attempting to replicate the diagonal strike. His first attempt was clumsy, the sword wobbling dangerously. Undeterred, Talich guided his hand, correcting his stance and grip. "Now, ten strikes. Focus on your form."
They practiced together, the rhythm of sword strikes filling the clearing. Zavet managed three strikes with growing confidence, but his movements became sluggish by the fourth. His arms gave out entirely on the fifth attempt, and the sword clattered to the ground. Breathing heavily, he looked up at Talich; frustration etched across his scaled face.
"The sword is too heavy for you," Talich observed, his tone still kind but firm. "Okay, so you need some strength training." Zavet let the sword fall, sinking onto the soft earth. He glanced up at Talich, a mixture of embarrassment and determination in his eyes.
Talich smiled reassuringly, placing a hand on Zavet’s shoulder. "You’re in luck. I can teach strength training to even the scrawniest kid." He gestured towards a nearby cluster of large, rugged rocks. "See those rocks over there? Go pick them up and curl them like this." Demonstrating a perfect bicep curl, Talich lifted a hefty stone with ease, his muscles rippling under his tunic.
Zavet watched intently, then bent down to grab a rock. It was rough and cold against his palms, much heavier than he expected. He struggled to lift it, his arms shaking with the effort. Undeterred, Talich took a few of the rocks, tying sturdy ropes around them before throwing the other ends over a sturdy tree branch. "We’ll use these for more varied workouts," he explained, setting up an improvised training station.
"Do these workouts every morning and every night before bed," Talich instructed, his voice steady and motivating. "Do them until you can't do it anymore, then try to add five more reps." He watched as Zavet picked up the rocks again, determination setting in despite the initial difficulty.
Before Zavet could begin, Talich paused and touched his back. "Oh, let me heal you before you start." He began chanting softly, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. Dark, swirling energy enveloped Zavet, a necromantic healing spell that mended his muscles and alleviated the immediate pain. However, the spell did not touch his lingering exhaustion.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Feeling a renewed sense of strength, Zavet grasped the rocks once more. This time, his movements were more confident, and he performed a series of bicep curls with increasing ease. To Talich's surprise, Zavet pushed himself further than expected, completing twenty-five curls without faltering. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his muscles burned with the effort, but his spirit remained unbroken.
He paused, panting slightly, and looked up at Talich with a mixture of awe and gratitude. "Can heal again?" Zavet asked, his voice tinged with exhaustion but also hope. Talich raised an eyebrow, a questioning look in his eyes. "You have more in you?" he mused, clearly impressed by Zavet's unexpected resilience.
Zavet nodded eagerly, a broad, toothy smile spreading across his face. "Yes," he affirmed, determination shining in his eyes. "I keep going."
Talich chuckled softly, a rare warmth in his stern demeanor. "Very well," he said, ready to continue Zavet’s training. "Let’s see just how much more you can handle." He gives zavet the sword and gestures for him to try again.
Zavet took a deep breath, steadying his stance as he prepared to attempt the strike again. Sweat dripped down his brow, but his determination was unwavering. He raised the sword with both hands, the blade catching the fading sunlight, and brought it down in a clean diagonal arc.
This time, the motion felt smoother and more controlled. Zavet repeated the strike, again and again, his movements gradually becoming less forced and more fluid. By the time he completed ten strikes, his arms ached, but he wasn’t as tired as before. He paused, breathing heavily, but stood firm, waiting for Talich’s next instruction.
“Keep going,” Talich commanded, his sharp gaze never leaving Zavet.
Zavet nodded and resumed the strikes, pushing through the growing strain in his arms and shoulders. The rhythm became hypnotic: raise the sword, swing, recover. He lost track of how many times he repeated the motion, but eventually, his grip faltered. The sword slipped from his claws, falling to the ground with a dull thud. Zavet bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air.
“Catch your breath,” Talich said, his voice steady and encouraging. He allowed Zavet to recover before gesturing to the rocks again. “Alright, back to the workouts. This time, I’ll show you how to target specific muscle groups.”
Talich moved over to the cluster of rocks and began demonstrating. He picked up a rock, curling it deliberately to emphasize the biceps, then shifted to a side lift to engage the shoulders. He even showed Zavet how to use the ropes for exercises that would strengthen his core and legs. Zavet watched carefully, his tired muscles screaming in protest but his resolve unwavering. He mimicked Talich’s movements, slowly adapting to the newfound exertion.
“Keep working out until I get back,” Talich instructed, dusting off his hands. “I’m going hunting for food. Don’t slack off while I’m gone.”
With that, Talich slung his sword over his shoulder and strode into the forest, leaving Zavet alone. The clearing was silent except for the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the faint hum of the ghostly fairy who hovered nearby. Zavet straightened up, glancing around at their training area. It felt cramped, the scattered trees limiting his range of movement. He frowned, an idea forming in his mind.
We need more room, he thought.
Zavet picked up the sword again, gripping it tightly despite the lingering ache in his arms. He turned to a thin tree nearby, its trunk no thicker than his wrist. Taking a deep breath, he swung the blade with all his might. The sword bit cleanly into the wood, slicing through the first tree and continuing into the next. The impact sent a jarring vibration through the blade and into his hand, making him wince. He released the sword, shaking his hand to dispel the sting.
The ghostly fairy flitted closer, its ethereal glow casting a soft light over Talich’s pack. It pointed silently to the axe leaning against the pile of supplies. Zavet followed its gesture, his gaze settling on the tool. He hesitated, then reached for the axe, its weight lighter than the sword but still substantial. The ghost hovered by his side, its movements fluid and deliberate as if guiding him.
Zavet raised the axe and brought it down on another small tree. The axe sank into the trunk with a satisfying thunk. With the ghost’s silent guidance, he adjusted his grip and stance, learning to swing efficiently without wasting energy. The work was slower but more controlled than with the sword, and soon, Zavet found a rhythm.
One by one, the trees around the clearing fell, their trunks piling neatly to the side. Zavet paused to catch his breath, his muscles burning from the repeated effort. Despite the strain, he felt a sense of accomplishment growing within him. With each swing, the training area expanded, and the open space gave him room to move freely.
The campsite was in a natural clearing within the forest, surrounded by towering trees whose thick canopies filtered the sunlight into golden streams that dappled the ground. The center of the site featured a modest fire pit, ringed by smooth, hand-placed stones that bore the scorch marks of many previous fires. A pile of kindling and split logs sat neatly stacked nearby, ready to be used. The air smelled faintly of earth, woodsmoke, and the crisp tang of pine.
Talich’s pack rested against a fallen log as a makeshift bench. Beside it, his axe leans against it, its blade glinting dully in the waning light. A few simple tools and supplies were scattered around, a weathered waterskin, a coil of rope, and a small, tarnished cooking pot. The area was tidy, a testament to Talich’s practical and disciplined nature.
Zavet’s sleeping spot had been fashioned from soft moss and ferns to the side of the clearing, padded with a few folded clothes to offer some comfort against the hard ground. A faint shimmer in the air marked the presence of the ghostly fairy, its delicate form flitting near the edges of the campsite, watching silently.
By the time Talich returned, his pack filled with the spoils of his hunt, the once-cramped clearing had transformed. Zavet stood in the center, the axe resting against his shoulder, and a pile of felled trees at the edge of the clearing. He looked up at Talich, his toothy smile wide and proud. The ghost hovered silently nearby, its faint glow illuminating Zavet’s work.
Talich paused, surveying the scene. He let out a low whistle, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, a rare grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
Zavet nodded, standing a little taller despite the exhaustion in his body. “Big training now,” he said, his voice tinged with pride.
Talich clapped him on the shoulder. “Good thinking, boy. Let’s see if you can keep that energy up for what’s next.”
Every morning began with Zavet rising at the first light of dawn, his body sore but gradually growing more muscle from the rigorous training. After his morning workout, Zavet would sit cross-legged near the campfire, the ghostly fairy hovering before him like a patient teacher. Though silent, the ghost conveyed its lessons through gestures and subtle displays of its ethereal magic.
At first, Zavet struggled to understand, but he quickly caught on. The ghost would hover over an object, like Talich’s axe or the cooking pot, and perform a shimmering illusion to name it. Zavet learned the names of simple tools and items he had never encountered, such as a whetstone for sharpening blades or a flint for starting fires. It even showed him basic uses for these items, such as securing a rope with a proper knot or carving small stakes from wood. The lessons were practical and straightforward, yet they gave Zavet a growing sense of confidence and self-reliance.
By noon, Talich signaled it was time to hunt. The two of them left the campsite, venturing deeper into the forest. Zavet was not yet skilled enough to handle a hunt alone, but Talich showed him the basics: track game, recognize animal trails, and move quietly to avoid startling their prey. Talich took the lead, but occasionally, he let Zavet attempt a shot with a bow or lay a simple snare. Zavet did not catch anything, but Talich assured him that learning the art of hunting took time and patience.
The pair set off toward the creek, the sun casting dappled light through the trees above. The air was cool and crisp, with the gentle rustling of leaves filling the quiet space between their words. Talich walked ahead, his steps sure and deliberate, while Zavet followed closely behind, his eyes flicking curiously over the surrounding woods.
When they reached the creek, the water sparkled in the sunlight, flowing gently over smooth stones and weaving through clusters of reeds. Talich paused, nodding to the stream’s edge. "Alright, Zavet. Let's try fishing. There’s a good spot up ahead."
Talich rummaged through his pack and pulled out a simple fishing rod, its length crafted from a sturdy branch. The string was thin but strong, made from plant fibers woven tightly together. Zavet watched attentively as Talich set the rod in the dirt and demonstrated how to tie the bait properly.
"Fishing’s not just about waiting for a fish to bite," Talich said with a grin. "Sometimes, you have to give the world a little push in the right direction." He glanced at Zavet. "I’ll show you a little necromancer’s secret trick to fishing. It’s a spell, but a simple one."
Zavet raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Magic spell for fishing?"
Talich nodded. "It’s one of the first spells any necromancer learns. It’s called Decay. It accelerates the natural processes of decomposition, causing things to rot away faster. But, more importantly for fishing, it attracts insects, especially those that feed on decaying organic matter."
Zavet looked a little puzzled. “We use tree to catch fish?"
"Exactly." Talich gave him an encouraging smile. "Decay helps us draw out the worms and bugs from the soil, which are perfect for bait. The fish love them. You see, when a tree falls, the bugs come to feast on it, and they draw in the fish too. It’s all part of nature’s cycle."
Zavet nodded slowly, absorbing the lesson. "Okay"
Talich grinned, eyes glinting mischievously. "Great. Now, repeat after me: 'I call upon death and rot to decay the living.'"
Zavet hesitated for a moment, unsure of the words, but then he spoke the chant with a focused intent. "I call upon death and rot to decay the living."
There was a subtle shift in the air, as if the world was holding its breath. Talich motioned toward a large, freshly fallen tree nearby. "Now, aim your spell at the tree."
Zavet extended his hand and focused on the trunk of the fallen tree, letting his magic flow through him. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. But then, tiny specks began to rise from the ground ants, beetles, and worms emerging from the soil as if drawn by an invisible pull. They scrambled toward the decaying wood, eager to feast.
Talich's eyes twinkled. "See? That's the result of the spell. Now you’ve got your bait. You can use those worms to catch the fish." He gave Zavet an approving nod.
Zavet knelt down and, with a mixture of excitement and concentration, began to carefully pull the worms from the ground, threading them onto the fishing hook. With a flick of his wrist, he cast the line into the water. For a few moments, the world was still — just the gentle burble of the creek and the occasional rustle of leaves.
A tug on the line interrupted the silence, and Zavet’s eyes widened. With a practiced motion, he reeled it in. There, flopping on the end of the string, was a small fish. Zavet's face broke into a grin, and he quickly removed the fish, admiring his catch.
Talich chuckled, giving Zavet a thumbs-up. "Well done. I knew you’d get the hang of it."
But Zavet wasn’t content with just one fish. He looked down at the creek, eyes narrowing with a sudden idea. Without another word, he grinned at Talich and sprang forward, plunging into the cool water with a splash. Talich blinked in surprise, then watched in amusement as Zavet swam through the creek with surprising speed and precision.
Zavet emerged from the water moments later, clutching a wriggling fish in his hands, which he tossed unceremoniously onto the bank. Then, without missing a beat, he dove back into the creek, repeating the process with another fish. Talich watched, shaking his head in mock disapproval, but the smirk on his face betrayed his amusement.
“Alright, alright,” Talich muttered, picking up the first fish that Zavet had thrown onto the bank. He examined it briefly, before placing it gently into his pack. "You’ve certainly got your own way of doing things."
Zavet came ashore again, this time holding three more fish, each one glistening with fresh water. He beamed proudly. "I think I better at catching fish," he said with a laugh.
Talich stood up, brushing off his hands and glancing at the bounty Zavet had gathered. "Alright, I’ll admit, that’s a faster method," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "But at least we’ve got enough fish now. Let’s head back to camp. We’ve got plenty for a good meal today."
Together, they gathered the fish, Zavet eager to show off his catch and Talich content with the day's lessons. As they made their way back through the woods, the scent of the creek lingered in the air, a reminder of the natural magic that connected everything from the decaying trees to the fish in the water.
