The Saga of Jake Mandrake: The Black Night of Necromancy

After losing his precious katanas, Jake Mandrake took up residence in Soulhaven to train under the Masters. His days were spent in relentless drills beneath the watchful eye of Drum of the Hinfist, honing his skills.

A plume of dust burst from the practice dummy as Jake Mandrake landed a firm chopping strike. His stance was confident, his form impeccable, the sort of blow meant to strike fear into the enemy. An enemy, notably, famous for feeling none.

"Well done, Jake Mandrake," Drum said as he stepped into the light. He was a halfling, taller than most of his kind, with a chiseled physique.

"You have been a good teacher, Master Drum," Jake Mandrake said, bowing deeply.

"But now," Drum replied, "to graduate, you must fight me with all that you have."

"But Master Drum--" No protest was heard.

Drum attacked in a blur. The two clashed at once. Strike, block, dodge. A flurry of blows filled the training hall.

Too swift by far, Drum caught Jake Mandrake in a tight armlock. "Ha ha! Perhaps you should go back to the dummy!"

The words churned a sudden fury in the druid. With a burst of primal strength, he hurled the halfling into the far wall. Stone shattered. Drum crashed through into the mess hall beyond.

Jake Mandrake stepped through the hole in the wall, victorious.

Drum rose from the rubble, laughing as he dusted himself off. "You are ready."

Jake Mandrake gave him a big thumbs up.

At that moment, a Speedy Messenger popped into existence beside them.

"A message for you, sir! Your friend the King is very bad sick and is currently in hospital under intensive care!" The messenger vanished the instant the words were spoken.

"I must go to Cordor!" Jake Mandrake declared, already sprinting away.

--

Jake Mandrake arrived in Cordor at midnight. The city lay utterly still. Near the palace, he vaulted from his horse, cleared the stonework in a single bound, and sailed through an open high window into Vetinari's bedchamber.

Vetinari lay in a luxurious bed of silk and pillows. One arm was bare bone. A Palemaster.

"King, you have bone hand!" Jake Mandrake cried, rushing to the bedside.

Vetinari jolted awake. Upon seeing Jake, he sighed deeply. "Oh, for Hell's sake. You again."

"You /are/ very bad sick," Jake Mandrake said, dropping to one knee, stricken.

"Yes. Quite," Vetinari replied, dryly. "I have been fighting the undead in your absence. They finally got to me. I can fight no more. Now you must avenge me. Kill all the undead." He sank back into the pillows, arranging the silk to look convincingly frail.

Jake Mandrake rose slowly, grief washing over his face. "I will revenge you."

"Avenge," Vetinari corrected. "You must use the Holy Avenger. A sacred weapon. Holy. Mighty. Find its light. Go."

Without hesitation, Jake Mandrake seized a nearby pillow and pressed it firmly over Vetinari's face.

"I --what?" Vetinari protested, his voice muffled.

After a brief pause, Jake Mandrake turned away with a sharp heel spin. "You stupid monsters eated--" He hemmed, "...ate my family and made me kill my friend, the King. I will destroy you!"

Behind him, Vetinari calmly peeled the pillow from his face, scowling.

Before he could speak, Jake Mandrake sprinted back to the window and front-flipped out into the night.

"Tsk," Vetinari muttered, rolling over and returning to sleep.

--

Jake Mandrake landed perfectly back in the saddle and scanned the dark, silent city. Cordor slept, its streets empty and its windows shuttered. The air felt wrong. Too still.

At the base of the palace, one building alone burned with steady light. The Temple.

"There," Jake Mandrake said, pointing with conviction. "The Holy Revenger."

He spurred his horse forward and leapt free before it had fully stopped, kicking the temple doors open as he crashed inside. The glow washed over him, brilliant and solemn, pooling around a great ceremonial seat, lit by dying candles, before the pews.

There was no sword. Footsteps rushed behind him.

Jake Mandrake spun as guards poured into the temple with weapons drawn. Their movements were stiff. Their faces slack. Their eyes dead. Undead.

"The black curse of Necromancy is here!" Jake Mandrake declared.

He launched himself forward, booting the first guard clear out of the temple doors, then spinning into a circle kick that dropped the others. He vaulted after the first and came down hard, driving the corpse flat against the stone.

"On the menu today," Jake Mandrake announced, "Zombie pancake!"

A flare of light caught his eye from a nearby tower, a guard tower.

Jake Mandrake grinned. "The Holy Revenger!"

He broke into a sprint, charging across the courtyard and up the tower stairs. Hands clawed at him from the shadows. Jaws snapped inches from his legs. He struck, shoved, and barreled through without slowing. With every step, the light above grew brighter. With every step, his certainty grew stronger.

At the topmost landing, light spilled from beneath a closed door.

Skeleton guards rose behind him, blades screeching as they cut into his back.

Jake Mandrake raised one hand. The room filled with blazing sunlight, hot and absolute, reducing bone and rust to ash in an instant.

He kicked the door open.

Inside was a simple guard post. A single lantern still burned on the table. On the floor lay a standard-issue greatsword, abandoned in haste. Jake Mandrake lifted it high, satisfied.

Below, the streets of Cordor stirred and writhed with undead, dragging citizens from their homes as screams echoed through the night.

Jake Mandrake tightened his Holy Revenger. "Time to get serious!"

[Based on a true story! Written by Marlo Fenwick Starmere of the Ruckus Troupe]