Theurgy: The Journey's Dawn (Book One)

Chapter 41 Fake Souls

It was scary, for Amond, to continue the research he does under the eyes of that witch. His first encounter with her had not been a good one. In fact, he rather not think at all of the trauma she unleashed upon him. Looking back on it, he admits that his actions were foolish, emotional, and not at all rational. Unbecoming of someone who served under the ruthless and bloodthirsty regime known as Talin for so long. It seemed a waste to him, to do such a thing to his creation, his friend. Maybe that is why Makhai was ressureted. They never felt emotions, so they make the perfect killing machines. No need of fruitless humanity to slow down whatever goals this witch requires of them all. Whatever that was, he still does not know. It has been a month since he began his assignment, and now he feels as if disturbed by what he was doing. He was creating monsters, no way around it.

      He was a necromancer. The practice itself was something looked down upon in his teachings. Not forbidden, but taboo. There was a good reason. The balance of life and death was a fragile thing, and any tip to unbalance it will have many unintended consequences. Despite being a rather intrinsic part of the dark arts, it has many regulations for men to follow while they pursue them. Torlak fears another Dark Isles incident, unleashing horrors not meant of this world. His specific specialty were spirits. They were everywhere, and nowhere. He has studied the concept, of aura taking up a sense of sentience and performing feats only living things are capable of. Spirits came in many forms. The most common are the undead. Banshees, ghosts, and specters. The result of the souls of a man or woman bound to this world by some outside force, usually mystical it seemed. They weren't truly the souls of victims of cruel deaths, more like fragments and memories, especially powerful ones, that are left behind when they are taken to the afterlife. Another variety was the free spirits. Beings that never had a physical body but instead forming out of either whim or through the random formation of a concept being given birth in the universe. Like wind spirits, mountain spirits and the plethora of nymphs. Either theory is probable, yet unproven. What he focused on these days was something in between. 

      Crafting familiars was seen as a rather dirty thing, even in necromancy.  The process starts by finding a suitable soul. This soul can come from a variety of things, anything really. Anything that has life can be used in the process. For example, a wolf. The wolf is then brought to near death, but not quite. If the wolf is to die, his soul will simply transfer to the afterlife, leaving only a fragment behind. No, you want the entire thing for process to be worthwhile. Too weak and the familiar will not be able to hold firm in this reality, constantly in existence between this reality and the realm of mere concepts. Once you do have a sample of their aura, place it within a suitable container. Gems and precious metals seem the most suitable for this task. This aura is the key,  the major ingredient. If kept preserved, the soul can not pass on completely to the afterlife even if the host dies. Zoi must be harvested slowly into this container. As a creature dies, a lot of the aura is dispersed into its surroundings naturally. But once you collect enough, and the host finally dies, the next step can begin. The zoi you have collected is essentially the soul of whatever you have taken it from and can be used in conjunction with magic to give it sentience once more. Any element will do, but since he was a necromancer the dark art was suitable.
  
      And there it is; a smoky, nearly translucent imitation of what the soul had once been. With each new creation he felt his senses grow. He could see through these creatures on will, know their exact location just by thought. They made for excellent shoes and scouts. Hard to destroy and harder to see if they dispersed their forms.

      This is what he had been grueling over, throwing his efforts into. He sat in a large chamber, collecting zoi from a deer that they had brought in that evening. It was fresh, but he set it onto the metal table and brought a small crystal to set beside it. The crystal reacted to the dying mammal, its slow breathing growing slower from cuts along its body, its legs were broken and its spine most likely damaged as well. This will be the twentieth animal, and the last, he worked on today. The room stunk of decay from animals dying throughout the chamber. He had to apply a balm beneath his nose to keep the smells away. For what purpose? What reason? He does not know and he doubts he will till it is important. All he knows is that he has a deadline. And Familiars weren't the only thing he must worry about.