The Temple of Skulls

A Story of Segrus the Necromancer

The shape on the door’s engraving warped as he passed, a distortion unclaimed by the sculptor’s hand, and with unsettling lucidity a twisted leer emerged if he bent too far. Molded on the massive barricade, it kept all the common aspects of a person—eyes distended and a mouth in frozen, manic grin—but without any of the humanity that befitted a face.

As his look lingered, with a gaze unable to focus elsewhere, Segrus became more aware of problems with the craftsmanship. An animal with the body of a dog yet carried the head of a misshapen bear. Weapons of war were bent at odd angles and were completely unusable in combat. Limbs and torsos of people had a stretched quality with how the artist made them appear to spiral into themselves. His vision swam from how unsettled it made him.

Segrus forced himself to look away. He was exceedingly determined to break through this door of the sanctum, and there was no time to waste. He pulled on the handle of the cold steel door until it began to give way. The small crack alerted him to danger in the form of the slightest smell—the sickliness of splayed copper.

His heart fluttered in his chest and threatened to race wildly. He had come knowing the scene inside would be above the heights of his tolerance, as practiced as he had become around the dead. As he finished gaining access into the large, stone-brick building, Segrus recalled his purpose in being here.

Ishmin was to be persuaded from his ritual, forthwith. They had consulted thoroughly in private of the peril involved, and Ishmin resisted. They furthered the debate before the preceptor Terran, who advised against taking action before appearing to those at the Middle College in Noble. Expediency, though, had not been enough for Segrus.

He entered the sanctum’s main chamber once he slipped through the heavy metal door. A tall, arched ceiling was supported by two rows of stone pillars which also served to divide the room in three sections. The middle section covered twice the width of the sides, and was utilized for the purpose of study and instruction. Wide tables supported stacks of books and papers which Segrus rarely understood in full. From his position near the door, he saw the alchemic symbols clearly inscribed on the nearest open book.

Abject stillness remained where conversation and the sounds of movement normally aired upwards into the exposed rafters. His eyes followed across the tables to search for the people he expected to find. While the middle section held tables, each side of the large room had many shelves and wooden crates staged for quick retrieval of their contents. Busy activity was not a unique sight in any area. Thus was the quiet a cause for increased concern.

Segrus swiftly moved through the room and investigated all he could find. An instructor’s podium contained a schedule of the events he missed while traveling. It included a note for a prolonged lesson on energy currents and their conduits was to be orated yesterday to all the students. He had left for the city of Noble four days ago. The tables appeared to have never been arranged for the speech.

One day had not been long enough for the neighboring market to notice the silence. One day missed of jovial laughter at the Brown Swallow Tavern down the road. One fewer day and he was direct witness to Ishmin.

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Segrus proceeded to the end of the hall opposite the large, ornate apse that marked one end of the sanctum. The building held a number of back rooms, additional storage, and limited residence for those who required scholarship. His search continued there.

A level of dread perpetrated his core to a degree that caused him unquenchable tremors. Segrus’ hands shook violently against his will. He became frantic as he raced from room to room, and several times almost fell upon the fire he used for light.

He left one room and found himself returning immediately to find it still empty. Segrus stopped dissuading himself from circling back to cross-check where he had already been, for his fears drowned him. There was no rush in the disappearances. No panic of a foe arose from the clues of an otherwise quiet life.

Preceptor Terran’s office was, in perfect mystery, untouched. His materials were laid where Segrus vividly remembered. A ledger outlined Segrus’ departure and expected arrival, as well as confirmed the other information in the main hall. Segrus left Terran’s other belongings alone out of uncertainty for what was to happen.

When there was nothing left to see, Segrus redoubled his earlier efforts in the main hall. Floors and walls remained still with the stone or tile it was made from. Finally, with all his wits expended he reached out his hand with the power of necromancy to explore any sense of the dead. The dead spoke when the living had no words.

At first, Segrus heard whispers. He strained his ears to listen, but the voices were not loud enough to hear. They formed no words with syllables unlike language.

Segrus reached out again, pushing harder for a response that never integrated into his vision. Relief began to wash away the tidal force of fear. Without a reflection of their death haunting here, Segrus hoped they fled. With the thought in mind, Segrus touched the ground and poured his necromancy into the floor to feel any nearby stirrings from the area.

The floor groaned in agony. A human eye greater in size than his hand opened below him. Human arms and fingers reacted to Segrus’ power by way of coming alive out of the floor. Lips smacked together where he could not see. All the surfaces of room discolored into the tones of grey and flesh. Each new eye blinked in dull consciousness.

Segrus felt himself groped by the horrific fingers and their touch awakened the realization he knew what transpired, just as his colleagues and acquaintances were transpiring through the solid building. Ishmin had succeeded in the creation of something between the undead and the living.

His mind fled its rational sense, and then he fled in a struggle. The building grabbed him down to itself. A tongue lolled in anticipation. He lurched, but an arm sprouted from another arm to stop him. He crashed into a wooden crate, and Segrus strived until he was berserk for an object he heard fall out.

The blade of a dagger pierced into his supernatural opponent when Segrus struck out. Energy for survival surged out of his stomach to keep acting out. Everything let go and Segrus took the moment to launch himself through the nearby window of the storage area.

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It was the most intense intrusive memory Segrus had experienced. His arm was squeezed again by the tavern owner to shake him. Segrus thanked the man, and returned his attention to the skull hung as a trophy high on the wall, some notorious criminal of the town. The eyes saw Segrus and looked the same as the morphed skulls of the sanctum.

The dagger—his dagger—cut apart the magic of necromancy from the alchemy used to meld man and stone. Hands broke each pillar in the main hall as portions of the building tried to tear itself apart from the portions Segrus killed. The whole of it fell down for all of the town to see.

Underneath the rubble he still saw the skulls Ishmin created.