Sometimes the mind wanders in a more literal sense than usually implied.

Through the Eyes

The deep trance continued. How long had it been – days, weeks, months? Time had no meaning.

It was a city, once. Deep in the earth, colossal caverns had housed the structures of these hard-working folk; dwarves perhaps, or gnomes, or another race of similar stature. They had known the finer things of life, the fruits of civilization, and the wonders of magic.

And then they had known death.

In the darkness, a dry scraping sound makes eerie echoes as a single skeletal figure drags its bony feet across smooth stone. Larn steps with caution through the abandoned streets of the underground city, empty eye-sockets turning to one side and then another.

Something draws near and the trance lightens for a moment. But only for a moment.

Larn steps into a building, larger than most of the others around, with finer stonework and what look to be pedestals of some kind. Temple? Mansion? Crypt? No clues remain, only the raw stone.

The caverns of the city never connected with the upper world, never found their way to the surface. The waters of these rivers never met with any sunlit sea. They were secluded from the troubles of the world.

A voice that is not a voice, requesting. "Come back." Noticed, certainly. How long ago was that?

Another building, and another. Larn steps close the walls, runs a finger over an inscription of some kind. Words? Art? Magic? Nothing mars the symbols, just as everything else remains intact which time itself did not devour. No signs of violence. None of the tell-tale markings of war or invasion. Nothing to flee from, and nowhere to go. And yet... one day, the city ceased to be a city and became its own tomb.

The buildings all tell the same tale. Life, and then death. Empty, cold, and silent for all time.

Larn sits on the floor of what was certainly a home once. Is this truly the pinnacle of necromancy – life, extinguished? Bertoxxulous, corrupting the body until it expires? Cazic-Thule, corrupting the mind until it goes mad? Innoruuk, corrupting the soul until it is consumed? Is this the face of victory?

A sound, far away but very near. A knock? Yes... was that before or after the voice? How long...

Surely there is reason, there is balance in all this. Isn't there? Disease and decay claim the weak, the old, the fallen... and so provide the place for the new and the strong to grow. The mind that knows no fear is quickly destroyed, for what is fear but the warning of danger? Hatred, even, provides strength to the soul – the strength of acceptance which turns to dark passion, or the strength of denial which turns to resolve.

Larn exits the house and continues walking through the city, the only movement in the stillness. Walking through the scene of death victorious. Without life, death is meaningless. There is no decay without the body, the mindless know no fear, and the soulless hate nothing.

If the forces of death are to have meaning, then, they must be in service to life. They must be the forces that makes life stronger – diseases to be overcome, terrors to be faced with courage, hatred to be transformed. Enemies to be conquered, like fighters in a ring knowing that the only way to learn and grow is to engage in endless...

Hey... did someone just leave me something? I really should see what's going on.

Morty opens his eyes, stretches, and notices a piece of rolled parchment on the floor. Getting up from his small wooden cot, he picks it up and opens it. After reading the words, he sighs and starts gathering his equipment.

Time to kill.

In a forgotten city deep in the earth, a single skeleton stands alone.

[Translator's Note: Here can be seen the First hints of the heretical path that Mr. Undercrypt would eventually embrace. Although his experiments have (temporarily?) ceased, it is noteworthy in the Extreme that he had met with some success before finding himself in his Current condition. – B]