Mrto felt the explosion deep in his core. The screams of the dying and the sudden silence fueled his dark powers. He absorbed as much of the suffering as he could from where he was and used some of it to finish breaking the bars in his cell. The tremor following the explosion had bent them, but not enough for him to escape. He ran to where the guards had taken his belongings and took them. He also took some of the other items. The other prisoners were dead and would no longer be needing them, anyway.
– – –
The Desecrator stood at the top of a mountain looking down upon a small mountain town. This would be where he would found his temple in. This would seem like a boon to the people there, but they would be twisted by his influence into a cult of necromancers and death worshipers. They just didn’t know it yet.
– – –
The Desecrator reached out his hand and cast a spell on the temple. He had been doing this for almost a year and soon the temple would be permanently “desecrated”. To other gods perhaps it would be desecration, but if the powers of death were stronger in his temple that was better for him than a blessing of prosperity.
He turned to his high priest. “So, are the bodies ready?”
“Yes, The Desecrator, they are. May I ask why you want so many?”
Mrto chuckled lightly. “Oh, you may, but you already know the answer.”
The priest thought for a moment. “The underground. You’re going to seed the underground with the undead?”
“It’s being called the Dark Under in the city. Supposedly some dark magics are starting to seep through the seal keeping my skravyn away. I need to keep the dwarves from attempting to strengthen the wards.”
“Do you still have use for them? They failed you so much the first time.”
“I did create them, after all.” He shook his head. “Well, taught them how to change themselves into the race they became. I feel somewhat responsible for them. If the dwarves strengthen the wards they will never break free.”
“So, there is some small part of you that still cares for others?”
“Maybe, but I choose to believe it’s a sense of duty to my followers.”
“Shall I perform the raising, m’lord?”
The Desecrator turned to the high priest. “Can you do that on such a large scale?”
A look of thoughtfulness covered the priest’s face. “I can with the whole of the priests here helping. Alone? No, I can’t.”
“Well, start gathering everyone. I’m going to see if I can get The Pathfinder to help with the transportation. I doubt he will, but getting his attention is always fun.”
– – –
The Desecrator walked into a small city cloaked in shadows. As he was about to draw his ritual scythe Stigr appeared in front of him.
“Well, Mrto. What do you want?”
“Ah, The Pathfinder shows his face. I didn’t even get to go through my fun!” Mrto’s face was covered with an evil smile.
Stigr shook his head. “You didn’t have your ‘fun’ this time.”
Mrto’s smile grew even more wicked. “Did I relish in it?”
“You know the answer to that better than I would. What do you want?”
“Can you help me transfer a couple undead to the Dark Under?”
Stigr sighed. “I know why you want to do that, and I know its more than a couple.” He sat down on a chair that Mrto wasn’t sure was there before. “I will help, but only because I need to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, god of time?”
“It means what it means.” Stigr leaned back in the chair. “I’ll find you when it’s time.”
Mrto shook his head. “The time is now. Go to my temple and talk to my high priest. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The Pathfinder leaned forward and massaged his forehead. “I know you have some legitimate reaping to do here, just don’t raze the entire village this time, okay?”
“Fine. You ruin my fun. This is why we don’t hang out more.” The Desecrator hefted his scythe and lessened the reach of his shadow cloak.
“Keep telling yourself that.” The Pathfinder disappeared.