posted on Nov, 3 2016 @ 04:09 PM
Abraham Stockwell was not your average man. That is to say, your average man is not a practitioner of necromancy. The land of Tenebris was a place
teeming with all manner of magical phenomena; vampires, ghosts, trolls, goblins, witches, wizards and suchlike. Although the denizens of Tenebris had
a liberal attitude when it came to the supernatural there was, understandably, a point at which they drew the line - unfortunately for Abraham, his
occupation was considered to be about fifty miles away on the other side of said line. People didn't appreciate it when they went to put fresh
flowers on Granny's grave only to find her shambling about and attempting to devour her grandchildren...
Which is precisely why Abraham now had a disturbingly large crowd outside his door in the early hours of the morning. The rising sun bathed his room
in a warm orange glow. A little too warm, he noted, opening his eyes fully and looking around. No, the sun hadn't come up yet: they had set fire to
Abraham got up, casually sauntered over to the calendar and flicked through the previous dates. Apparently, this was now the sixty-third time he had
been run out of town. He then opened up his map, which was dotted with little black crosses. He took a pencil from his bedside drawer and, with the
care and precision of an artist, dutifully marked another area with a neat cross. Abraham frowned. From now on, he was going to have to be a bit more
cautious; he was running out of towns. Outside his window, the mob was howling with bloodlust. His ears picked out the cries of a few particularly
‘Go get some more oil!’
‘Burn in hell, you monster!’
‘This is for Grandma Mildred!’
Abraham couldn't help but chuckle at that last one. People could be so sentimental over dead relatives. Well, partially dead, anyway; the Ritual of
Reanimation had worked a treat!
He opened his wardrobe, dragged out a charred, blackened corpse and dumped it in the middle of the floor. After dozens of similar incidents with angry
mobs, one quickly learned the importance of faking one's death.
Abraham gathered the rest of his belongings and turned to face his floor-to-ceiling mirror, which conveniently happened to be a one-way portal to a
nearby lake. He stepped through it, and the burning room blurred and gave way to fresh, open air.
He climbed into his boat, having prepared it several weeks earlier, and set out across the lake. As the sun came up over the horizon, the lake
sparkled in a symphony of yellow. A gentle breeze blew across the water, carrying with it the distant shouting of enraged townspeople. Abraham
Back to square one...