Reximus Boneclaw's Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Reximus Boneclaw dragged the last sack of skulls through the wet grass and dropped it beside the others. The pile had grown all week, a small hill of cracked bone heaped on broken stone. He needed an army to take Blightburn back. He needed it hidden. Any farmer who wandered past would ride for the witch-hunters before sunrise. He lifted his eyes to the dark facade ahead. Heavy ivy choked the old funeral home, and its red curtains hung still behind dusty glass. No one had buried their dead here in years. No one would look twice. He pushed the warped doors open and dragged the bones inside. In the back room, he uncovered the crystal he had stolen from a wandering trader — a black holocron, forged by the night sisters of a faraway world. It pulsed in his palm. He set it at the center of his concrete and metal ring, among the carved symbols and bound bones, and pressed his thumb to its face. Whispers crawled up his arms. The dark side spoke back. It taught him how to seal a room from prying eyes. Reximus stood and traced the new shape in the air. The windows blackened. The walls drank sound. Outside, the bone pile faded from sight, hidden behind a veil only he could cross. He had his hidden place. Now he could begin raising the dead in earnest — and no neighbor would ever see the work.