Chapter One: The Deal

The two robed figures hurried through the darkened cobbled road. The trees became less and less as the gravestones became more and more at this abandoned battle site.

Many decades ago a war was fought in this country concerning a dark wizard and his wish to become the ruler of the whole continent. It was finished here at this old abbey. He had summoned up a devil itself, sacrificing innocent blood. The blood spilt was no less than that of a young girl, the king's only child. The king himself strode out, brandishing the head of his accomplice. Still the wizard was undaunted and laid inside his defiled fane. The king brought an army against him. Hailstorms of fire and sulfur rained down upon that army. Brimstone and smoke choked the life form them. Yet that young and valiant man broke through the very doors that these men stood at now.
The two figures came upon that very door.
“Armand. The door.”
His voice was no more than a passing breeze, yet it contained all the latent power of a hurricane.
Armand, who up to this point had been hanging back, stepped forward pulling a key from his satchel.
He began his protests before inserting the key into its rightful spot, but a single raised eyebrow reminded him of his servitude.
The door came open. The bolts moaned as if to warn the trespassers of a deadly danger.
Skeletons still garbed in mail and tabards were strewn about the floor. The two robed men looked about, examining the walls and the floor.
By sheer luck did Armand glance up, a nervous twitch, only to discover the very thing they sought.
He dared a whisper in this unhallowed hollow.
“Master,” Even a small voice resounded into thunder in the emptiness. “I have found the circle.”
Their eyes both followed his extended finger to the ceiling. There above the main altar was a circle, or what remained of the circle.
The master looked disappointed. How had that ‘ghost’ of so many years ago managed to inscribe a magical circle upon the ceiling?
“Armand, consult the Relic.” His voice betrayed his growing anxiety. It remained calm and placid just as the rest of him.
Armand hurried through his satchel. He retrieved a rather antiquated book, leather bound and falling apart. He was flipping through pages rapidly. His master’s eyes remain fixed upon that ancient magical art.
After several minutes, Armand dared to speak. “Master, the relic says nothing about the placement of the circle.”
Again, the master frowned. It was only at this time that he and Armand heard the shuffling of feet against the dusty floor.
“Master, the dead are walking. We should leave. We’re not wanted.”
His pleas were in earnest and true, yet the master was unable to be persuaded.
Armand drew his sword and stood by his master.
His master looked to the rising bodies. They had stayed too long and had disturbed the rest of those warriors from so long ago. Indeed these bodies were empowered to rise and fight any who dared raise the ancient evil once again. He had come to far to fail.