Fang & Bone: “1. Necromancer”

Welcome to the first installment of the ongoing Fang of Triseria serial, Fang & Bone. Please share your thoughts on the story in the comments, or visit the project hub for more information.

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It had been a long time since the Necromancer had smelled anything. At this point, they shared more in common with the corpses they stitched together and reanimated than the living person they once were. 

Not that there was much to smell beyond must, rot, and old, damp earth, in the old tombs beneath the town.

There was little to see, either. In the darkness, there was only the work. The necessary work that occupied the surface of the slab of marble that was once the lid of a heavy coffin, centuries old. Now it was an operating table, covered in strewn shards of bone, patches of leathery skin, and the chittering presence of scavenging rats – at least the rats bold enough to scout through the workspace. 

The Necromancer continued to ply their trade; every few days ghouls would return with remains, and the Necromancer would sew, carve, and imbue their constructs with unlife. Time was meaningless now, all that mattered was the task. Yet, the Necromancer’s practiced hands were quick – twenty years had seen to that.

A curious rat braved the table and, without thought or aim, the Necromancer rammed a knife through its small, furry torso. A spurt of hot blood splattered across their leathery hand and dappled the sleeve of their musty blue robe. That was the one thing that could cut through their dulled senses; blood. The scent of blood, even that of a filthy rat, came through the haze, sharp as the blade that killed it.

The Necromancer ripped loose the knife and brought the rat to their mouth. The scent of blood made them ravenous. With a single bite, the Necromancer tore off a chunk of flesh between broken teeth and swallowed it whole, fur, bones, and all.

The hunger for flesh was less a desire and more a formality. Despite their living somewhere on the boundary of life and death, their body needed fuel, and the rats would do. Sometimes a fresh kill by the ghouls would wind up in the chamber – usually those seeking out the missing. Eating the flesh of man made the Necromancer wary, but it did taste better. 

Yet, the best flesh was from those who braved the chambers, hoping to rob the dead of the town. They never suspected the Necromancer waiting for them in the depths.

After a few moments, they carved the last of the runes into the femur of the latest construct. The tip of the knife scratched out simple, blocky symbols, those of the Voidlings, and the resistance of the bone to the blade was almost that of protest – as though the inert femur fought back against the unholy runes. In time, the Necromancer would win out, and the deed would be done.

When the bone was in place, shoved back into the corpse from where it originated, the Necromancer uttered a spell in a hoarse whisper. By the time the chant was finished, the runes had begun to glow with a pale green light. The new ghoul shuddered, rolling off the marble slab.

It collapsed in a heap, and was silent for a moment, before rising to two, unsteady feet. It stood, pale eyes unblinking. The flesh was still relatively new – one of those foolish enough to investigate the town for treasures. It would be a fine worker while the flesh held out.

The Necromancer extended their arm forward and pointed their bony finger towards a makeshift hall dug out of the tomb’s wall.

“Dig.”

A moment later with a jerky flourish, as though their purpose was being written into their rotting flesh, the ghoul began a limping march down the tunnel. The shambling corpse vanished into the dark.

The Necromancer turned to the pile of remains behind them. They shuffled over and began to pick through the pieces, starting on the next ghoul.

As it had been for two decades. As it shall continue to be.

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Click here to visit the project hub for Fang of Triseria; click here to read the next installment of Fang & Bone.