Chapter 5: An unexpected British visitor

  As Kathrin arrived back at her office, she began contemplating what she learned today, the arrival of this so-called harbinger of the Void, whatever that meant, a disappeared magical researcher that was too clever to leave alive. The Idea of somebody being too clever to wipe of the face of the planet was disgusting her, the amount of corruption needed to try to use an illegal asset, that should have been killed off was dishonorable, how was there nothing leaked from this information in over 200 years, what scared her even more was the thought that this failed experiment of turning a necromancer back to the honorable side of magic could have been approved way up in the adventure society.

  As she was thinking about that, as shadow started to manifest Infront of the door, it took the form of a skeleton with a beating purple heart, but the ribcage was entirely black. It seemed as if it would drain the light from the room.

  As the skeletal figure fully took shape, it straightened its spine, placing one bony hand over its ribcage in a show of exaggerated decorum. The unnatural glow of its heart pulsed like a slow drumbeat, but its mannerisms suggested it fancied itself a nobleman rather than a nightmarish apparition.

  Then, with a crisp clearing of its nonexistent throat, it spoke.

  "Madam Kathrin, a pleasure, I assure you, though I must apologize for the... abruptness of my arrival. One does hate to barge in unannounced, but alas, when one's master is a harbinger of existential calamity, social grace often finds itself in short supply."

  Kathrin blinked. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this.

  The skeletal figure dramatically lifted a single finger, as if delivering the most profound revelation.

  "Allow me to introduce myself! I am—" it paused for effect, then whispered reverently, "—Lord Grimwald Von Nightshade the Third, humble envoy of the Harbinger of the Void, emissary of entropy, and reluctant connoisseur of bureaucratic entanglements."

  It bowed deeply, rattling slightly as it did.

  Kathrin rubbed her temples. Of course, the terrifying specter sent by a walking apocalypse was insufferably dramatic.

  "And... what exactly do you want?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

  The skeleton let out a long-suffering sigh, as if the burden of existence itself weighed upon his lack of flesh.

  "Ah, madam, straight to business. A woman of efficiency! How refreshing. Very well! I come bearing tidings most urgent and perilous, for my master has deigned to bestow upon you a gift—nay, a warning! A cryptic riddle, drenched in meaning so profound, one might weep at its poetic depth."

  He paused again, placing a hand over where his liver should have been, as if overwhelmed by his own words.

  Kathrin stared, unimpressed.

  "Then say it."

  The skeleton straightened.

  "The storm does not warn the tree before it uproots it, nor does the tide seek permission before it swallows the shore. Beware, for the end does not knock—it simply arrives."

  Silence.

  Kathrin exhaled. "So, in short, something bad is coming."

  Grimwald gasped, clutching his ribs. "Madam, you wound me! Such artful phrasing, reduced to mere mundanity! I should think my master would be most displeased with this lack of poetic appreciation."

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  "If your master wanted poetry, he should have sent a bard, not a talking bone pile."

  The skeleton scoffed. "How very rude. And here I thought we might get along famously."

  Kathrin rubbed her temples again. It was going to be a long day.

  Kathrin sighed as the skeletal figure before her shifted its weight—or at least mimicked the gesture, despite having no muscles to move. Lord Grimwald Von Nightshade the Third placed a bony hand over his chest, where a pulsing purple heart beat in eerie contrast to his blackened ribcage. His presence seemed to dim the light in the room, a walking omen of dread.

  “Ah, Lady Kathrin, thou dost appear troubled!” His voice, an extravagant blend of aristocratic flair and sheer theatrical melodrama, rang through the room. “And rightly so! For thou now standeth on the precipice of ruin most profound! A herald I am, yes! But not of doom—nay, of knowledge most terrible!”

  Kathrin pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just say it.”

  Grimwald let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and an exaggerated sigh of deep, wounded dignity. “Very well! Let us speak of the Harbinger’s… capabilities. But pray, brace thyself, for thy feeble mortal mind may yet reject these truths as mere fancy!”

  Kathrin crossed her arms and stared.

  “Firstly, behold the abominable horror of Doomclock!” Grimwald raised both arms as though declaring the end of the world. “When invoked, the cursed wretch upon whom it is cast shall find their very time devoured—each passing second slipping from their grasp, each breath another step toward the inevitable abyss! And when the final whisper of their existence fades—” he paused for dramatic effect, then snapped his fingers “—they are no more.”

  Kathrin’s eyes twitched. “Define ‘no more.’”

  “Oh, my dear lady, if we knew, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, now would we?”

  Kathrin groaned.

  “But let us move on! Ah, yes—Void Gate!” Grimwald’s fingers curled, as if pulling at unseen threads. “An incantation of the most insidious variety! The poor unfortunate soul caught in its grasp finds themselves banished—dragged into a realm of shadow, a place between places, where neither light nor sanity may reach! And when they return? Who can say what they shall see? What shall they become?”

  Kathrin muttered something under her breath.

  “Oh! And I mustn’t forget Mind Shatter!” Grimwald clapped his hands together—though the sound was eerily hollow, like dry twigs snapping. “Ah, such a delightful affliction! With but a whisper of this dreadful power, one’s very mind is torn asunder! Thoughts scattered, memories rewritten into the language of the abyss itself! Why, I once saw a man inflicted with this horror who began reciting every word he had ever spoken at once! All at once!” He tilted his skull slightly. “The acoustics were… extraordinary!”

  Kathrin blinked. “That’s the part that stood out to you?”

  “Oh, but there is more! More, I say!” Grimwald’s skeletal hands gestured wildly. “What of Hunters Mark? A most vexing enchantment! A curse that binds itself to a foe, marking them for inevitable devastation! Why, I do recall a most amusing occurrence whereupon a poor man thusly marked took one step forward and was immediately struck by a falling chandelier! Such misfortune! Such tragedy! A complete coincidence, of course.”

  Kathrin stared at him.

  “And let us not forget,” Grimwald continued, his tone now dipping into a low, ominous register, “the most dreadful of all… Deaths Action!” He extended a skeletal finger, his posture straightening as he recited in a voice like cracking stone, “Let the Reaper bind thee in chains unseen, thy will no longer thine own.”

  Kathrin’s breath caught. “Wait—what does that—”

  Grimwald chuckled darkly. “It is… exquisite, is it not? With but a whisper of its curse, the Harbinger may snatch control of a wretch’s very limbs! Their arms, their legs, their fingers, all but puppets on the strings of the abyss!” His tone suddenly brightened. “Most useful, I must say! I once saw a most unpleasant fellow punch himself in the face repeatedly—a sight most entertaining!”

  Kathrin inhaled sharply through her nose.

  “Well, now,” Grimwald said, tilting his skull, “thou dost appear rather… unsettled.”

  Kathrin turned, walked past him, and strode toward the door.

  “Ah, where dost thou go, my lady?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Truly, I am beginning to suspect thou dost not appreciate my warnings!”

  The door slammed shut behind her.

  Grimwald watched it for a moment, then sighed. “Ah, how cruel, to turn a deaf ear to the truth most grim!” He glanced around the room. “Now, where might I find a more… receptive audience?”

  He chuckled to himself, then vanished in a swirl of shadow.