((Yey! First post in like. :X Years.))
Known for the dangers that awaited any who traveled its barren landscape, the Moraki Desert was no place to be meddling in. The abrasive sun torched the sand, bounced back off the light terrain with a ferocity that skewed the world just above the ground for any who looked in the distance. Like a crumbled soldier, the ruins of an outpost struggled to stand in its final moments of glory– it was, perhaps, the only structure for miles along this caravan trail. It wasn't much, and it certainly wouldn't prove to protect anyone from any of the legendary, ancient creatures fabled to live in these parts, but it did have a roof. A fractured, worn mudstone roof and something like two and a half walls to its name.
Inside, the packed desert sand was marred with intricate designs composed of geometric shapes that hashed into something new altogether. One footstep could destroy the whole work, but that didn't seem to be on the mind of the boy busily hacking hexes into the sand with a brittle piece of cactus needle. His long, nightmarishly black hair was plastered to his skin with sweat. Besides being a boy bred to deal with snow out in the desert, creating platforms to complete a necromancy spell was grueling work. After all, one slip up and the backfire could be irreversible and horrifying. As if the whole process wasn't horrifying enough.
The boy stood, apparently pleased with his work as he flung the cactus needle to the far side of the ruins and aimed his focus directly at the carcass braced against the wall before him. It was just a small, six-legged creature – possibly something he found dead along the outskirts of the oasis he'd ventured here from. He clapped his hands together to officially commence the spell, the loud noise echoing in the flatlands of the surrounding desert since the sound waves were escaping his sorry excuse for a sanctuary. Pitched low were soft whispers bleeding from the boy's mouth, hesitant at first, but growing more confident with each passing moment. The louder the incantation became, the more obvious it was that it was spoken in no tongue of this world, and the more it became a plea to whatever hell-bent god was listening.
The nightmarish boy closed his eyes against the spell, and ceased his chanting once the atmosphere directly within the ruins began to grow unnaturally chilled. This was a common side effect of raising the dead, though it was far less noticeable in the Arctic region Rath reigned from. His hands fell away to his sides shakily from where they were pressed together.
'Let it happen. Let it happen. Let it happen.' He thought steadily, trying to encourage his body to accept the changes taking place, trying to will away the numbness the cold was inducing on his fingertips. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? Dark magic materialized from seemingly nothing at the bottoms of his boots, and licked against the soles of his feet like only shadows could. The magic looked like bulbs of water trapped in smoke, and ran in rivulets through the labyrinth he'd carved in the sand. He tipped his neck back and angled his face towards the sky; let his mouth fall slightly agape. He knew it was coming, after all.
Pain lanced through his body with a vengeance, and tore up through his lanky frame to ebb life away slowly past his lips. He couldn't help the bitten off cry from trying to endure it, but the ordeal was quickly over soon after. The chill dissipated, the shadow magic flickered away like blowing out a candle, and the boy looked back down to regard the carcass with pale, wide eyes. "Did it work?" He asked aloud to no one in particular, and partly to confirm that he was still alive.
After all that, the little creature did a strange belly roll for about 5 seconds, then flopped back into the recesses of death. Rath blinked hard.
"....Seriously?"
