A Scripta

“Hey, Mikey.”

Grimaulkin turned, his hands on fire. He felt more than saw the Death Mage at his back, and he turned to glare at him.

“Mikey, it’s me, Alex. Can’t tell anymore with the eyes. But I know you, man.”

Grimaulkin studied the older-looking man. Death Mages usually gave up bits of their essences in order to summon those zombies that did their bidding, and therefore aged faster than their counterparts. Alex could be about Mikey’s age, if not even younger.

“Don’t quite remember you, man.” He immediately buckled down for a fight.

“I’m not here to fight you.”

“Then what?”

“I’m here to congratulate you, and wonder if you’d be interested in working together.”

Grimaulkin stared at him. “Word travels fast.”

Alex folded his arms across his chest. “How you got where you are is no secret, Mikey. What you’re doing over here in Paragon is tempting fate, though.”

“I have the power, how I use it is my own choice. It’s in the contract.”

“You cheated.”

Grimaulkin shrugged. “Didn’t we all?”

“Yeah, we did.” Alex grinned. “But I need your help.”

“Oh? What do I get out of it?”

Alex held out a brown pouch and hefted it. “This.” He tossed it to Grimaulkin, who caught it on the fly. He noticed there were two pouches, one brown and fat, and the other black, flat and folded against the brown one. Alex then pulled out a pair of ornate gloves from his robes and handed them to Grimaulkin.

Grimaulkin eyed Alex. “Okay, explain first.”

“You don’t want to be handling dead bodies bare handed, do you?”

“Screw you, pal!” Grim backed away quickly, dropping the pouch.

“Wait, wait, let me explain! Here…” Alex picked up the pouch, put on one of the gloves. He took out something from the pouch that looked like a dried out chicken bone, tossed it on the ground. It hissed in the grass, grew, and a creature that looked like a skeleton with leather instead of skin rose up. Grim backed away as it turned to face him, swaying side-to-side, barely able to keep itself up.

Alex summoned darkness, which even he could feel in the air, and the creature took a shuddering, angry breath, its eyes filled with darkness and focused slightly tighter on Grim. Grim gulped and backed away further, the smell of it now stronger of death and the grave.

“Now…tell me why… I would want…that!” Grim tried to hold down his lunch, breakfast, dinner, and all the way back to last week’s Sunday dinner.

“First of all,” Alex said, “it’s your servant, would do everything you tell it. It’s quiet, discreet, and disposable.”

“So’s Louie.”

“But you can’t bring Louie to the Isles, can you? He’s a little too obvious there. The Legacy Chain would eat you for dinner if they felt you pull a soul out of the Netherworld.”

“Tell me why I’d go to the Isles.”

“To fetch some bones for me.”

Grimaulkin laughed.

“Plus, there’s lots of different magical items there that can’t be found here. The Legacy Chain has tons of things there. All I want is bones,” he held up the black pouch. “The zombies will drop an extra bone for you for every enemy it kills, it’ll look like the one you used, except it won’t have the enchantment on it.” He held up one of the bones from the brown pouch – it had a red, glittery symbol on it.

“So I use the bones and get old like you?”

“No, here’s where it’s great for you, Mikey.” Alex grinned. “You have your powers from an outside source, not from within you. That’s where you’ll get the power for your summoning. You won’t get old like me. I get more bones, better bones, and you get better magical items, things that can help you with your…quest.”

Piss off Grimmy by using her power to summon zombies. Heh, heh, heh, she’ll love that. “Those gloves aren’t enchanted, they won’t stick to me or anything?”

“No, they only make the zombies more focused on your will.”

Grimaulkin held out his hand. “Okay, let me try it. As long as I’m not downwind.”