Bloody Ashes

Drip, drip, drip.
This humid tomb was no place for the feeble minded. Long abandoned and left to rot and decay, the weary walls seemed as if they could collapse any moment. Looted corpses littered corners, shelves and floor alike. An impenetrable stench of sewer and decomposition fogged every room, from the dark descent of the entrance staircase, right down to the heart of the catacombs.
The undead had long since been purged from this place, due to it's close proximity the Alliance positions, but that made it no less claustrophobic and fear inducing.

Of course, this is exactly why Nathan had chosen to do his forbidden deed here.
In a rotten heart.
At the centre of darkness.

“Why am I doing this?” he asked himself as he confidently made his way through the cavernous, uniform rooms. He carried a single, enchanted torch, so he could see his way, but seemed otherwise frail in this inhospitable environment.
Alone and confident, however.
Fearing nothing, he pressed on, and asked himself the same question again.
“Why not, I suppose is the right question. It has been thirteen years after all.”

Just as he turned around a corner, something aerial darted over his head. It could be a beetle, a wasp, a bat for all he cared. He had a task, he intended to see it through, so why let yourself become scared? After all, he's used to work in terrible situations. It's his job, his lifestyle, the very essence that drives his rotten corpse through toil and hardship. He is an apothecary.

Another sharp turn through the monotonous burial sites.
Still the same, dull walls, each filled with corpses.
Each reeking of evil and neglect.

Until he found his desired destination – the lower-most room.

This place was no different from the rest in shape, but the coffins were tidier, better taken care of. The smell was no better though, and the gloom was ever-encroaching and loomed in every corner and crevice.
“At last” he muttered, and placed the torch in one of the slots on the wall, illuminating the room dimly.
Whilst darkness mattered little to the dead eye, light did give a minimal sense of trust and reassurance; yes, he is dead, yes, he is Forsaken, but his mind (however corrupted and twisted ) is still human.
After a quick search, he found the right coffin, and pulled it harshly from the shelf with a crash that was too loud for comfort. For all he knew, it could've awakened the entire catacombs. But who would it awaken? Untainted corpses? Ashes?
Nonsense.
The front read A. Mondre.
Yes, this was his man.
He quickly retrieved a crowbar from the bag he had brought, and forced open the moldy coffin with a loud creak.
The inside was of no surprising content: bones, covered in a barely visible layer of a former burial robe.

Nathan retrieved more items from the linen sack.
A vial, a tome and a shiny whistle.
He carefully applied the faintly glowing balm from the vial to the scalp of the yellow skull, flicked through the dusty pages of the dark tome, and fiddled with the whistle, placing his delicate, yet bulky claws on the right holes.
And then he played.
The small tune consisted of four tones that sounded ethereal in nature, but carried a hidden gloom. High, low, high, high.
And again.
He repeated it several times, and stepped back.

Nothing happened.

With a furrowed brow, Nathan flicked through the pages again, but before he got to the right page, smoke suddenly began to rise from the coffin. It wasn't black, it wasn't unpleasant; but it was a silky white, soothing incense-like wisp of smoke.
The insides of the coffin slowly began to illuminate, the same calming, milky white shade.
Smiling broadly, Nathan placed the flute and the tome elsewhere, and sneaked closer to the coffin, which had begun to rattle.

The sight that met him was peculiar: the skeleton was reassembling before his eyes, bones clicking into place with invisible tendons, slowly forming a body, though the skull was misplaced and dented, it was in the right place.
The black sockets were no longer black, but had a gentle, misty blue glow.
A. Mondre had been reawakened.

“Morning, honey. Slept well?”
Nathan snickered mockingly, distancing himself slightly precautionarily.
Soundlessly, the skeleton sat up with a fluid, alive movement.
The skull darted from side to side, examining the surroundings. Then the jawbone separated from the rest, and the creature spoke in a curiously soft voice, which couldn't possibly have come from the dry, non-existent throat, which was still emitting that odd, tendril-like smoke.

“Where...”
“No need to tell you. You'll live temporarily. I need your help, however.”
“I am bound by soul” the skeleton said, looking at Nathan with those damp, vivid eyes.
“Indeed. Now, old friend. I will be simple and quick, since this... Spell, will only last fifteen minutes. Maybe less”
A short pause, Nathan fighting his pointed tongue to find the right words.
“I wish to summon a spirit from a severed limb”
“As you wish.”
“Nonono, not yet old fool. Listen to me instead.”
Nathan sighed.
Some say the dead are patient. He had every right to disagree.
“I want this spirit bound to me” he said, flashing a devilish smile.
“Do you have a charm?” the strange voice sounded, with little change in tone to indicate it was a question.
“Yes. I have a charm”
“Do you have the essence?”
“Yes.”
“Bring me the limb” the skeleton said, and extended it's fleshless arm.
Nathan rummaged through the bag again. He pulled forth a hand.
A hand clad in a ash-grey coloured, red-gemmed glove, sharp nails protruding neatly from long, slender fingers. Separated crudely just before the elbow by a jagged instrument.
The limb was placed in the cold hands of the corpse, who grasped it firmly, and pulled it closer, giving it a quick look.
“Can it be done?”
“Yes. The charm” it demanded, and Nathan dug into the bag once more.
Up came a small, silver memento of expensive origin. Inside the charm, there was a photograph that was too faded to make out any details of who or what it presented.
This too was placed in the hand of the animate perversion of death.
Creaking fingers wrapped around the amulet, fiddling with it before pulling it close to himself. The skull shifted down to the objects, eyeing them closely with the wise, obedient spheres.
“Touch the gem, whisper her name. She will appear. She is yours to command.”
“Very well. Do it.”

Nothing more was said.
The spirit murmured something incomprehensible, and a sudden, white light filled the room for a split second. Then it was gone.
A silent lightning that disappeared with the skeleton.

While Nathan's eyes adjusted to the suddenly dominant darkness, a strange, humming sound came from the coffin where the bones once were. Now they were gone, as if some peculiar spell had vaporised them. But the skeleton didn't matter any more.

The humming came from the amulet, which in itself was glowing dimly.
Nathan laughed nervously, anticipation urging him on. He ran a thumb of dead flesh across the cover of the warm amulet.
Darkness and silence reigned the tombs once again, Nathan staring at the amulet as if he could make it obey his will simply by looking at it. When nothing happened, the professor decided that maybe he should follow the advice of the spirit.

“Felucia. Come forth, rotten old hag.”