Somewhere far above, the clocktower rang the eleventh hour. That was the Hour of Rest, when all members of the clan closed their minds and let the dead enjoy their rest. Dœrth smiled a wicked grin. This was his time to act.
He knew every nook and cranny of the Valeska ancestral tomb like the palm of his hand. He had spent countless hours of his childhood here, after all, sweeping the floor and cleaning the graves, listening to the bones of his forefathers whisper in his head. His aunts and uncles always sent him to the tomb for punishment and detention. Coming back here after years of exile had was poetically bittersweet.
Oh, how would the Elders despair!
He started with the oldest bones first, the remnants of his great-great-grandparents. Those were the ones that whispered the loudest. Femurs, clavicles, vertebrae, skulls - into cloth sacks they went, stirring small clouds of dust and finely ground bonemeal.
Sensing his ill will, the bones hissed and murmured in protest. Dœrth paid them no heed. It was all in vain - nobody could hear them now. He would deal with them later, bend them to his will and whim and bind their power to his.
Next were the bones of his great-aunts and uncles, still fresh and durable and strong. For those, he had prepared something special.
For clan Valeska, necromancy was punishable by death, and reanimation only the stuff of dark tales, spoken only in hushed tones. In a land where the dead never truly left, who would be daring enough to desecrate them?
Dœrth opened the scroll cases he had brought with him, and his grin got even wider.
He was almost done with great-uncle Validor when he heard the rustle of boot-clad feet behind him.
"Dœrth", the man spat. "I knew the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree, but this? Does your vileness have no limit, exile?"
Dœrth turned around slowly, measuring the man up.
"Uncle Ronovir. Vigilant as ever, I see."
"I should have killed you years ago, bonethief cur." growled Ronovir and drew his heavy justicar's blade - the same blade, incidentally, that had taken the lives of Dœrth's parents all those years ago. "There will be no mercy this time. Arm yourself!"
Too focused on his nephew, he failed to notice the scraping sound of bone on the cobblestones.
Dœrth gave him his most infuriating smile.
"Remember great-aunt Vicaria, uncle? I always wondered if the old hag's bite was a bad as her bark. Well, we're about to finally find out!"
There was no time to even ponder the meaning of Dœrth's taunt. Bony hands grabbed Ronovir from behind, and the reanimated remains of what once was Vicaria bit deep into his jugular, spattering blood all over his hard chitin breastplate.
He tried to scream, but all that came out of his torn throat was a gurgling rasp.
The dearly departed great-uncles Voron and Berathius joined the deadly embrace, and Ronovir knew no more. Moments later the bones' song was joined by his own voice, an angry and confused moan.
"I would say goodbye, uncle", said Dœrth and pulled another scroll from his belt, "but truth is we'll have plenty of time to get reacquainted, the two of us."
The eleventh hour was nearing its end when Dœrth sauntered out of the ancestral tomb of Clan Valeska, a heavy justicar's blade hanging from his belt. Behind him came a dozer-or-so of reanimated undead, bound to his will. And among that ghastly troupe shambled the fresh corpse of Ronovir, charged with the menial task of carrying bags full of whispering bones.
Soon enough, the entirety of Clan Valeska would learn of his heinous act. The bones' song - or lack thereof - would betray everything. They would come after Dœrth in force, bent to hunt him down like a dog.
Let them come, he thought.
Let them find their fate sooner rather than later, and know who the author of that fate is.
Clan Valeska would all but die that night, torn asunder by the hands of a lowly exile, a bonethief. It was clan Dœrth now, and he its patriarch.
Somewhere behind, the clocktower rang midnight; the Hour of Rest was over. Dœrth smiled a wicked grin. There was a lot to be done now, he knew. This was only the beginning.
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