Morbid Indulgence
Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2022 6:24 pm
The maggot wriggled its tubular body along the pristine pale skin of the dead Tuigan man. Its goal, the man's nostrils, but a centimetre away, was swiftly denied it by a putrescent hand oozing black ichor from cracked pustules. With a simple thought bordering on the primitive, the dutiful zombie attendant swallowed the intruder, ending its attack. It had not been the first that day, and it likely would not be the last, but this servant did not tire or lose track of its task, neither did it shirk its duties in bouts of lazy rebellion against its mistress, who had availed herself of the perfect workforce which did not complain, disobey or bungle the job. Recently, she had given this particular zombie the mission to maintain the corpse of Qadan Tómorbaatar, recently slain in brutal combat on Roaringshore's strand by the Quartermaster of the Seawolf, Garon Malgar. Before the blood of the deceased had finished pouring out of his scythe-mangled body, Catherina had requested possession of it and been granted her wish by the quartermaster.
Now Qadan lay in a safe place, hidden from prying eyes, his armour and gear safely and respectfully secured away and guarded night and day by an elite vampire warrior in the sorceress' retinue, whom all of the place's dwellers, both living and dead, avoided, with the exception of Catherina herself, who frequently came to oversee the embalming process and lend her own magical aid to it. Sometimes, she would linger beyond the time necessary, beholding the stark still figure gently reposing on a white sheet over a wooden slab with transfixed morbid fascination. Once or twice, she would run a finger along its cold physique, daydreaming about the possibility of making the erstwhile flawed warrior ascend to perfection.
Suddenly the thought of another woman split the firmament of her consciousness like a bolt of lightning in the night. Just as suddenly, her lurid visions were dismissed and she reached for a scroll she had prepared earlier. Unfurling it slowly, the scroll began to be consumed as she read the arcane words on it. A Sending spell.
"Twenty-four hours," the gelid voice of the sorceress was heard only by the zombie working in the room and in the mind of another woman in the Broken Goblet.
Now Qadan lay in a safe place, hidden from prying eyes, his armour and gear safely and respectfully secured away and guarded night and day by an elite vampire warrior in the sorceress' retinue, whom all of the place's dwellers, both living and dead, avoided, with the exception of Catherina herself, who frequently came to oversee the embalming process and lend her own magical aid to it. Sometimes, she would linger beyond the time necessary, beholding the stark still figure gently reposing on a white sheet over a wooden slab with transfixed morbid fascination. Once or twice, she would run a finger along its cold physique, daydreaming about the possibility of making the erstwhile flawed warrior ascend to perfection.
Suddenly the thought of another woman split the firmament of her consciousness like a bolt of lightning in the night. Just as suddenly, her lurid visions were dismissed and she reached for a scroll she had prepared earlier. Unfurling it slowly, the scroll began to be consumed as she read the arcane words on it. A Sending spell.
"Twenty-four hours," the gelid voice of the sorceress was heard only by the zombie working in the room and in the mind of another woman in the Broken Goblet.