He made his way over to the edge of the clearing where a dark altar lay hidden. He had built the altar several days ago and hidden it with a combination of broken twigs, leaves, and the added help of a minor invisibility trinket. He quickly removed the trinket and brushed the dirt and grime off the altar. He scanned everything to make sure nothing had been disturbed and everything was still exactly the way he’d left it. The altar had not been touched.
He lit the black candles, one at a time. Normally he’d use his magic powers to do it for him, but the earlier attempts to re-light his fireplace had already worn him down a little and there was a lot left to do this evening, so he didn’t have the energy to spare. The candles gave off a sickly green light which the man used to inspect the remaining items on the altar – a series of small, engraved stones, a curved black dagger, a round, hard-backed bowl fashioned from the hide of a Trebor, and a medium-sized, blood-colored gemstone.
All of it met his satisfaction, so he went through the next few steps in his mind before continuing. He touched the stones in order, whispering the right incantation for each, and then placed the gem in the bowl and cut it with the dagger. The gemstone hissed and steamed violently and a trickle of blood-red liquid flowed from the opening. The familiar sight made him smile once again.
He thought briefly of the times he’d drunk from that bloody fluid to unnaturally prolong his life, and was almost tempted to do so again. Tonight, though, the man had a different purpose in mind for this offering. A far more sinister one. He put the bowl down, satisfied that his preparations were complete.
Now all I need is a human sacrifice.
A daunting task, to be sure, but it’s not like it was his first. Normally he’d trap a human several days prior and starve them to sap their strength, but timing that properly for tonight would have proved elusive. Plus, for a ritual this evil, he wanted it to be special.
He closed his eyes and scanned his surroundings with his mind, searching for signs of life. Off in the distance, the man sensed a young boy playing with a rubber ball. He shrugged; the boy would have to do. He had spent some of his lonely nights watching that very same boy play outside his window. Never approaching him, of course, but admiring the boy’s attitude.
The necromancer strained to remember some vital details about the boy. The boy was ten, he thought. Or maybe twelve. It was hard to keep track of such short lifespans. More importantly, the boy was gullible. A trait that would serve him well tonight.
He’d always tried to remain completely unattached to others – his line of work didn’t lend itself to connections. Yet in spite of himself, he’d grown a liking for the boy and his cavalier attitude towards life. It would almost be a shame to kill him. But, necessity was the mother of invention and all that.
Now all I need to do is convince him to come over here so I don't spill any of his much-needed blood. Well, time’s a wasting.
The man turned away from the altar and headed toward the little boy, checking to make sure he looked presentable along the way. Soon enough, he found the little boy playing with his ball in front of one of the nearby houses. The child didn’t notice him at first, so the man got a little closer, at which point the child stopped his playing abruptly to look up at him. The boy gasped at the sight of him in his black clothing, but quickly calmed down.
“Hey there, little boy. It’s awful cold out tonight. Shouldn’t you be indoors?” he said, eschewing any kind of introduction.
“My mommy told me I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, mister,” the little boy told him. He turned away and started to play with his ball again, trying not to look at the man.
"Well now, that's okay, little boy, because we're not strangers," the man lied.
"We're not?" the boy asked as he turned around again, confused.
“No, of course not. We've known each other for quite some time little boy.” Straining more than he cared to admit, the man called upon his dark powers again for knowledge to help him. This time, he cast a knowme spell on the boy to scan the child’s memories for his name and anything else he could use to put the child at ease. The information he sought came quick enough as more blisters formed under his arm.
"My name is Edgar Candia, and your name is George Washerbanker. See, I told you we know each other."
The boy’s weight shifted from foot to foot, his eyes darting all about. “How did you know my name?” He frowned. “You’re scaring me.” The fear was obvious on his face.
"No reason to be scared, little guy. You told me a long time ago, don't you remember? You were much littler back then, but still a big boy."
George started to back away a little and his eyes darted behind him. "No, I don't remember you at all, mister. Can you go away now?"
This will be harder than I thought. But he wasn’t going to give up that easily.
He pushed the limits of his knowme spell further to dig out more memories. A welt formed near his groin and the pain almost made him stumble.
“Of course you do, Georgey, you just haven't seen me in a long time,” he insisted. “It was
