Love and Necromance

• Posted by Andrew Shepherd July 21, 2015 - 826 views

  Love and Necromance 

   

  The corpse lay limp and bloated on the cold stone slab, the apex of its concave surface ending in a small drainage hole that had been bored through it. A quiet trickle of fluid could be heard running down inside of it in the dim and dank chamber. A middle-aged woman stooped over the body, hands constantly moving. 

  The woman wore a simple peasant dress with an apron over the top of it. Her silvery hair caught the dim candle light. The room was frigid but that was a necessity, after three weeks of work and despite the preserving fluids, the cadaver was beginning to give off the faint but unmistakable odor of decomposition. She had acquired the body immediately after death, but she had been planning this well before that. Fortunately, the death had been of natural causes, and therefore the corpse had no discernable damage. 

  The woman looked up from her work, wiped her hands on a rag and then rubbed her weary eyes. She had been at this since receiving the corpse, working late into the night but retaining her day job. She was on the verge of collapse and would have succumbed to exhaustion had it not been for the ingestion of numerous stimulants. She had even tried skooma, but found it clouded her mind and her focus. She needed all of it for this task. 

  When she had first set upon this project she had placed the body in the cellar to keep it as cool as possible whilst she accumulated the necessary knowledge to carry it out. She had purchased several tomes on necromancy from the local mage plus rings, robes and amulets to enhance magicka and conjuration skills. Potions from the local alchemist to preserve the body, plus potions to further enhance her skills and replenish her energy. Most disturbingly, she had found a few very detailed books on anatomy in the local small goods store.  On more than one occasion, she thought that she had glimpsed a raised eyebrow here and there from the local towns people. But they also knew her to be grieving, so kept any comment to themselves. 

  Grieving. Was that the word for it? After losing her husband recently, she wasn't sure what to feel. She had suffered years of neglect and derision from him. In the early years the relationship had been passionate, exciting. But eventually that passion, the love and warmth had drained away, leaving bitter resentment. He had lost interest in her and she had turned cold. And had also become a thrall. For many years now, she had worked day in and out for her husband, long suffering verbal abuse and ridicule. It had been torture. So she supposed what she felt was relief, but with an aftertaste of anger at all the years she had given him with no appreciation in return. 

  She could have let this whittle her spirit away, but instead she channeled this negative energy into the task now before her. She owed it to herself.  

  She had spent the early part of this evening with the final preparation of the body with preservative. She had already soaked the body in various salt solutions to dry the tissues of easily corrupted fluids, but now she wished to flood them with the strong embalming fluid she had prepared. She had opened one femoral artery and placed a long tube made of hardened cat-gut into it, then repeated the process on the other leg. Finally, using a forge bellows she had forced the fluid into one tube under pressure and then watched as the black ichor that once passed for blood oozed from the other. The last of it was now finally trickling away into the urn beneath the slab. 

  The woman now stripped naked, a whiff of her own body odors mingling in the air with those of the corpse. She hoped that the smell, to which she was now immune, was not reaching those on the floor above. She donned the robes of a necromancer, the hood of a mage and the rings and amulet of power meant to enhance her very meagre skills. She felt energy infuse her body. The last attempt had nearly killed her. Even though in life the corpse's spirit had been weak, pushing her mind through the barriers to reach and take hold of it was a monumental task. This time she had steeled herself. She imbibed several potions to further enhance the dark energies now coursing through her being. It was now or never. 

  Holding out her hands she focused her mind on the slight imprint the body's soul had left on it, as it was with all deceased. She saw the violet threads weaving off into the invisible barrier between life and death. She caught hold of them with body, mind and spirit and followed them in... 

  The barrier was like the skin of a hard, moldy cheese. She pushed against it, felt it resist, and then it gave. Suddenly the room disappeared and her mind was in the void. She kept desperate hold of the soul thread, hauling herself along it. She felt alien energies pushing against her mind, probing. Voices in the dark, snarling, moaning, pleading. Her mind suddenly recoiled as if burned as it brushed against a malevolent presence, a daedra clawing at the bonds of Oblivion. 

  Onwards she pushed, the thread becoming stronger. Now came the test. The final barrier into Aetherius where this soul resided. It was like pushing through thick molasses, ever hardening, resisting. With a supreme effort she dragged herself through and felt the mewling of the soul on the other side, pulled up against the wall. 

  "No no, leave me be!" it wailed. "Leave me in peace!" 

  "You're coming with me!" her clenched mind growled. She seized it with the teeth of her spirit and dragged it back through the barrier as it weakly struggled. The return was easier. There was light and life there, guiding her like a beacon. 

  She suddenly snapped back to reality, assailed by dizziness. The cadaver on the table shuddered. Then its limbs began to thrash. It slammed its head on the slab. Then it sat up. It turned with dull, glazed eyes and its stiff limbs flexed as it swung its legs off the slab and hauled itself shakily to its feet. It stood swaying, the sunken eyes regarding her dully. 

  Frabbi threw back her head and laughed, a deep throaty sound. She looked at the reanimated corpse and yelled: 

  "Now Kleppr, you pig-headed oaf! For once in your miserable existence grab a broom and clean this place up!"  

  The undead Kleppr's mouth fell open and he uttered a low, pitiful moan as he picked up a nearby broom and began to sweep in a slow, rythmic motion. Frabbi laughed again, a madness-laced cackle. This time, she thought, things are going to be different!