Narrative #2: Reprisal of the Necroid Artsman

Old King Cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe in the middle of the night
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler had a fine fiddle, and a very fine fiddle had he;
Oh there's none so rare as can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three.

“Please, sire! Please allow me to do it!” The man begged. He was dressed in a bland, white robe with tears and rips in it. He had a shock of grayish red hair, not natural for a 32 year old man. He wore a necklace made of silver, emblazoned with some sort of insignia the King never bothered the question. The thing is, Timone was a necromancer, or as the King called him, a “Necroid Artsman”. King Cole Sanders was always a blithe, yet somewhat belligerent ruler of Britain. He allowed his desires to get the best of him and he often made the mistake of judging people before he knew them. Timone, who was once a commoner, knew the King’s faults better than he knew his own, and lived every day in fear of what he would do to him if he fell out of line.
“Rise, Timone. You forget, you are no longer a common beggar in my kingdom.”
“Then sire, please! I beseech your lordship! Please allow me to conduct the sacred ritual that will bring—“
“Enough, Timone!” The King roared in retort. Timone fell silent, boiling with anger and the last bit of words teetering on his tongue.
“It is a pity that you wife took ill and died, but I will not have your personal emotions cloud your judgment. Have you done what I’ve asked of you?” King Cole asked, stroking his furry graying beard. In his days of youth, King Cole had been an ambitious young suitor who loved horseback riding and lounging in the courtyard. But when the late King Isnaac and Queen Bardella died, he became bitter and arrogant, and for these traits, Timone hated him.
Recently, Timone’s dearest wife, Dollaiya, died from a strange and incurable disease. Timone’s distraught had no effect on the tactless ruler, and thus, drove Timone to hate him more. A feminine voice spoke.
“Necroid Artsman Timone Galliao, are you not satisfied with what his majesty has provided you?” Timone looked up in surprise at a pale, mocking face that taunted him with the slightest flick of the eyebrow. Queen Shujo, Cole’s wife. She was pale as the moon and just as shallow. She shared all of Cole’s traits, if not more in depth. She was known for her haughty attitude, though she as only of partial royal blood, for her father had married a commoner. Timone stared helplessly at the pale face that he knew could not stand the sight of him. Timone knew Her Heinous despised what he did for a living, and sought to torment him verbally every time they shared the same space.
“N-no, your Grace. I am quite satisfied with—“
“Then why do you continue to chirp so?" She sighed, pushign her hair nonchalantly behind her ear. "Let your new life remind you of how much my husband has done for you. I suppose you’ll be expecting to wear the crown next.” She laughed a hoarse, cackling jaunt that made Timone’s hackles stand on end. He could feel his ears swell with boiling blood. He fought to keep himself from shouting at her in retort.
“Absolutely not, your Grace. I never intended to take the crown. That is an honor best reserved for his majesty, King Cole.” Queen Shujo clapped her hands twice, and two maids clad in white rags ran out to her. One had a large, white feather-crafted fan, and the other got down on her hands and knees before the Queen. She brought her feet up and rested them on the maid’s back. Both girls had dirty faces and short, raven dark hair. They both couldn’t have been older than 12 or 13 years of age. Timone’s heart was on fire with rage now. A ball of something ahrd and choking caught in his throat.
“Well, good. You’ve seen the error of your chirping. Now, away with you, Galliao. Return to your corpse herding. We have a land to rule and you’re interfering with my stream of thinking.” The Queen flicked her wrist at the shaking man 2 yards from the throne, a rude gesture he knew well that meant ‘get out of my sight’.
“Y-yes your Graces. I will take my leave, now.” With a bow, Timone stood and left. As he reached the door, his exulted one’s voice grated on his ears jubilantly.
“Oh, Timone! I have good news! I took your sorrow for your wife’s death into consideration! And after much thought, I’ve decided to have my sages take a look at your wife’s body. Then they will decide whether she is worth bringing back or not. How does that sound?”
Timone spun around so quickly he nearly tripped.
“Oh, thank you, your Majesty! Thank you so much! The Gods themselves will sing of your generosity for all eternity!” He returned to his knees and bowed repeatedly. When he looked up, he saw King Cole nodding his head in approval, reveling in hearing how great he was from what he saw to be a lesser man.
“Very good. You may go.” With that, Timone opened the huge wooden mahogany edifice and returned to his village.
It wasn’t that he was dissatisfied with the King’s words. A small ray of hope shone in his heart. Then he remembered what he had actually said, and the light turned to bitter darkness once again. Then they will decide whether she is worth bringing back or not.
“Worth bringing back!? That scoundrel! That dung devourer! That slimy, no good, arrogant child of a sorry excuse for a ruler! He’s the one that deserves to be judged! He should be the one to give his life for my wife’s, whose done nothing but help make the kingdom a better place to live, even for that odious bastard!”
Timone’s wife, Dollaiya Galliao, was the architect for the King’s palace and many of the villages geographical additions, such as the Dollaiyan Wall, and the Galliaoan Bridge, and the personal advisor of the King himself. Though a peasant, she was revered for her tender yet firm courage when dealing with the King’s ludicrous tirades about how this beam was too slanted or that stool leg was too short. Everything Dollaiya did she did for the good of her country and her King. It stands to reason that she should be brought back. Timone could do it. He had successfully revived a chipmunk, a rabbit, a crow, and even a baby. Being the village’s shaman was no simple task, but he was not feared for his work. Timone recalled a time when a little girl in the village with whom his daughter played, Gwena, had come to him with her dead kitten. After only two hours of his toilsome work with the dead, he successfully managed to bring back the purring ball of fuzz. The King’s so-called “sages” however, used blood sacrifices and live specimens to conduct forbidden alchemy, a science Timone knew much of but practiced very little. Of course, they were also powerful, so they were feared more than respected. Timone kicked in the door of a small, straw hut on the edge of the castle’s boundaries. Here, he could easily access the village’s stores and villas without having to travel too far. A small child of nearly 9 was sitting at the table, sketching on what looked like a wanted poster of a mustachioed brute. Timone kissed her one the head, and she turned and yelled, “Papa! How did it go?” She hugged him before he could climb the ladder to his makeshift second floor.
“His royal Ass said he would have his sages examine mommy.”
“Ohh. Can they really bring Mommy back to life, Papa?” She asked, wide-eyed.
“No, sweet Tamil. But your Papa can. And she won’t become a mindless husk like those awful sage bastards make. No, when I get the right ingredients, Mommy will be right back in bed with us like the days of past.”
“Yaaayy! Mommy’s coming back! Mommy’s coming back!” she chanted, dancing around the house. Timone smiled, and climbed the ladder to his attic to think.
Timone Galliao awoke in the middle of the night with a start. He had had a strange and gut-wrenching vision of his future. He was to become immortal, but in return, he must die a horrible death at the hands of a demon in the guise of a human. He was to be killed because he murdered the demon’s mate as an act of revenge, and he suffered for it. He sat up in bed, sweating profusely. He rubbed his eyes, got out of bed, and ran outside. He stared out at the starry night sky, which was now devoid of clouds, and saw to him what must have been a frightening image in the star’s patterns. He saw a man and two women. Both women were dead and the man was killing himself. Timone struggled to keep himself from collapsing. He clutched his chest as a dark, smoky mist consumed his entire being. He cried out for a moment, and then slumped to the ground in a heap. When he picked up his head, his eyes had black markings lining them, like inky black thorns tattooed under his eyes for a festival. But these were no ordinary markings. They were alive! They pulsed and beat, and with every beat, Timone could feel his body swell with energy from another dimension. He now had the resolve he’d been waiting for. He knew that what he was about to do would make his life better, and the King and Queen’s not so much. Timone Kixtav Galliao had the motivation he needed…to kill the King and Queen of Britain, and sacrifice their souls on his Altar in order to bring his beloved Dollaiya back from the grave.
It was early morning, and the sun had barely risen. Timone kissed Tamil on the head as she cuddled her doll tightly in her sleeping arms, and set off towards the King’s palace for the last time.
His majesty was seated on the throne as usual, sipping at a huge golden goblet while one of the raggedy maid girls he saw the day before sat to his left, waiting patiently for his next order. There was a look of fearfulness in her eyes that Timone loathed. He kicked the doors open and stalked down the red and golden trim silk carpet. Today, King Cole had his Royal Guard lined up on either side of the carpet. But Timone was somehow unafraid. Each man was clad in a clunky metal armor ensemble, complete with either a sword or a crossbow. Timone’s usual timid nature had bubbled to the surface as a headstrong, raving mad savior. He felt that he was losing control of himself, but at the same time, the new energy that coursed through him propelled him forward. As he neared the King’s throne, on of the more elite guards stepped out from the ranks and blocked his path. With one swift motion, Timone thrust his hand sideways, and the guard was sent skittering noisily across the marble floors until he collided with the stone wall, leaving chunks of stone as he fell still. As he continued to walk forward, he could hear the clunking of angry armor behind him. He saw the King had his hand held up.
“It’s alright! Timone Galliao, what is the meaning of this outburst of rudeness?” He asked it in a calm and calculating voice. He had the tiniest of smiles on his lips, as if he had already won. When Timone was almost a yard away from the King, Cole reached for the maid girl to his right and motioned for her to come around to the front of the throne. He grabbed her head and shoved in between his legs. Of course, she resisted.
“You dare defy my orders, you wretched piece of—“ the King’s words were cut short by a pair of doors on the far end of the room swinging open. Into the room stepped the Queen. She glided smoothly over to her throne, almost with a sense of anticipation. The fact that Timone was being scolded by her husband was like watching a move in a theatre for her. She sat neatly in her seat, and glanced at Cole and the girl. She sighed.
“Oh, Cole dearest. You know how I feel about that.”
“Timone said it would relieve me of an itch I had.” Cole replied smoothly, every muscle in his body relaxed as can be.
“Oh, did he now? Timone Galliao, I had no idea you could be such a lecherous man! And your wife’s passing was such a short time ago. What has it been, three, four days now? If you wish to bed with one of our serving girls, all you need do is ask.”
Timone broke into a run and grabbed the girl by her shoulders, and threw her to the ground. When she got up, Timone eyed the second girl, who was already at work fanning the Queen. He pointed at her.
“Get out of here, girl! Get out and never return! Go someplace far away from here and never think of it again! Go now!” The girls did not hesitate. The girl he threw to the ground tossed him a small object and, as the other girl ran past her, clasped hands and began running down the aisle of armored demons. Instantly, before they could start at the runway to freedom, the first 6 knights pointed blade and bow at them. Timone glanced at the thing in his hand. A gold encrusted ring with fine jewels set into it. She must have foisted it from them at some point. He then turned to look at an angry yet cocky King and Queen.
“What do you think you’re doing, Timone the Necroid Artsman!? What is the meaning of this betrayal!?” He stood up, and motioned with his two fingers at the girls. He saw the armored guards stand aside as two men garbed in emerald cloaks trimmed with gold silk block the path. Timone ran to the girls and wrapped his arms around them. He looked at the King, their eyes meeting for the first time. At that moment, Timone saw everything: Wrath, egoism, love, envy, lust, gluttony, and indolence. Timone saw that the King’s seven sins burned brightly like a candle in pitch darkness, illuminating his entire being. The King was nothing but a mass of pure evil. Something inside Timone seemed to snap. Timone returned the King’s victorious glare with a frightening stare of his own: a look of haunting malice and ominous sense of victory. Timone was smiling a full-toothed sneer of the utmost hideousness. He had the girls’ eyes covered with one arm, and with the other, he reached into his robe and pulled out a small vial that contained a putrid looking dark green liquid. He raised it above his head for all to see. He flashed it at the knights and yelled, “You sinful cretins even think about such a thing, and your skin will melt from your bones! Your organs will shrivel and be eaten alive by creatures of the Nothingworld! Your souls will be raped and killed for all eternity in a fiery pit of the Devil’s piss! Now flee you mortal fools! I have achieved an immortality that not even your beloved “King” could ever hope to achieve! With this elixir I have created, I will gain the powers of God himself! No kingdom sage nor man alive can stop me! AHAHAHAHAHA!” Timone ended his diatribe with a bone-chilling cackle that literally shook the castle walls. The armored knights and sages alike threw down their weapons and ran for the door, screaming, as a rain of shattering glass from the windows above pelted them. Some of them did not make it, and were impaled by the bigger shards. Once they had all gone, Timone released the two girls, whom now he presumed were sisters, and looked them in the eye. They were both terrified, he could tell. He wiped their tears with a scarred hand and rubbed their heads.
“I am no longer human. But, that doesn’t mean you’re not human, either. Live a long and happy life with each other, grow old with dozens of children, and perish in your warm beds with a smile on your faces.” He kissed their foreheads, and gave them a gentle pat on the back as they sprinted for the door, looking back at him as they did. Once they were out of sight, Timone turned his gaze back to the now cowering King and Queen, who were both laying on the floor near their thrones, shivering and spouting nonsensical prayers. Timone felt like a God as he picked up the King by his gold-encrusted lapel. He brought the King’s face to his.
“Your pitiful sages have no power, Cole!” he shrieked. The King was bawling, as tears and snot dripped from his eyes and nose.
“Look at yourself, Cole. You are not at all the man you thought you were. Your men have abandoned you. You wife does not support you. You have no respect for hard working citizens!” He let go of the King, only to shove his fist into his royal gut. The King coughed and sputtered awkwardly, and then vomited all over his throne. The Queen was busy screaming in prayers. Timone turned on her and the King fell over, shaking. He grabbed the Queen by her shoulders and sat her upright. He held her gaze.
“Unlike your pig of a husband, I would never strike a woman, Shujo. And I do not chirp, either. Every time you open your mouth, you chirp. You seemed to always enjoy my misery and suffering. Well, how do you like being the miserable, suffering one!? EH!?” When she couldn’t bare it anymore, she fainted. He let her go roughly, turned around, and walked towards the exit. As he did, he raised his arms over his head and started chanting. Suddenly, stones from the castle walls were ripped from their places and thrown about the room, striking expensive portraits, vases, and anything else that was valuable. He eyed the door before him, and thrust both hands forward in a pushing motion, and instantly, the huge doors were blasted away from him. He walked out of the ruins of the throne room, with the castle’s stones flying about him like birds of prey awaiting to feed on a carcass. He laughed a deep, roaring scream of pure ecstasy as the entire ground beneath him shook. He looked back at the castle, and smiled.
“Fear not, my lord and lady. I shall return tonight for my final…gift to you.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A woman who had once been crowned “Queen” Shujo was struggling futilely on a wooden table in a dark, airless room. Not a few hours after she and her husband were attacked by the King’s Necromancer, she found herself kidnapped and taken to the dungeons. Next to her on another table, lay what was once a woman. But this woman was different from the screaming, struggling one next to it. No, this woman was a corpse. She wore old, greenish rags that covered her whole body. Her skin was gray with age, and a few worms crawled in and out of freshly made tunnels in her skull. She had pale straw colored hair that draped over the side of the table. And worst of all, she stunk horribly of putrid flesh and rotting skin. Suddenly, the struggling woman chained to the wooden torture table realized who she was looking at: the corpse of the Necromancer’s wife, Dollaiya Galliao. A shadow entered the room from seemingly nowhere. It was clad in a large, robed garment. Timone Kixtav Galliao stepped into the dim lamp light. He was wearing the King’s robe. When Shujo stopped squirming to stare at it, Timone replied, “Oh, he won’t need it anymore, my dearest Queen Shujo. And by the way, what do you think of my new headpiece?” He chuckled as he put a gold object on his head. The King’s crown. Shujo screamed as the dim light caught the gleam of a shiny red liquid on its rim. Timone took a small dagger from the folds of his robes, and held it over the Queen’s head.
“I now sacrifice the body, blood and flesh of Queen Shujo Lomaria III in order to restore the soul of Dollaiya Sewah Galliao! Great God Talawondak, hear me and GIVE ME WHAT I ASK OF YOU!” Timone shouted as he plunged the dagger into the skull of the struggling woman beneath him. She went still instantly. Timone put his fingers to her bloody head and traced them on the face of Dolliaya’s corpse. He started chanting again.
“Almus kegrin segmus opart. Kergum maknar pryfert raog. Helfez tamor kilamju selk. I call forth the soul of Dollaiya Galliao from the realm of souls departed! In exchange, I offer you, the Gods of Nothingworld, the body of a living sacrifice!” Suddenly, the lamps that lit the room exploded with an angry red fire that encircled the tables and the chanting man in the middle of them. An ominous, disembodied voice rippled through the walls as if it came from underwater.
“Necroid Artsman Timone Kixtav Galliao. You truly wish to sacrifice one life so that you may revive another?” It asked.
“Yes, lord Talawondak! Please, restore life to my beloved Dollaiya in exchange for soul that is her very opposite!”
“Very well, Timone Galliao. Your wish shall be granted. But know this. Such a request comes at a price only you can now pay. So let it be willed, so let it be done by order of the Seven Black Gods of Chaos!” The voice shouted in an imperious tone, and suddenly, just like that, the flames died down to pale orange again, and everything went quiet as it was before.
When he stopped chanting, he stared at the women on the tables. They remained still and lifeless. Timone shook.
“N-no. Dollaiya, I couldn’t…no.” He threw the dagger into the shadows of the room, and dropped to his knees in defeat.
“NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” He screamed, pounding the concrete floor until his hands bled. Then he heard rustling. At first, he thought it was a rat. But it sounded too big to be a rat. Timone looked up at the tables, and he gasped as his eyes were filled with the image of motion. He shot to his feet to see two figures on the tables, wriggling around. The first was Shujo. She still had the bloody hole in her head. She said nothing but continued to wiggle around, like she was struggling under water. The other was a sight he wanted to hold in his eyes forever. A vibrant, creamy face looked around frantically with fearful blue eyes. Dollaiya had come back to life. Timone began to cry as he touched her warm, rosy cheeks. She looked at him, confused.
“Timone? Sweetheart, where am I?” her voice was like smooth butter and singing cherubs. Timone still couldn’t speak he was filled with such joy. Dollaiya spoke again.
“Timone, dearest, where am I…and why am I strapped down to a—“ she trailed off and started to really squirm.
“Timone! Help me! Am I in the royal dungeons!? What did I do!? I thought I was…” she stopped talking and moving altogether, and just stared at the man untying the straps that bound her to the table. She stood up, and found herself being caressed by a pair of strong arms wrapped in fur. She touched it.
“Timone, darling, are you…are you wearing the King’s royal cloak?” she asked.
“No! It’s my cloak! He’s dead! I killed the King! And his dog of a wife!” Timone yelled triumphantly. Dollaiya turned to see the struggling figure strapped to the table beside them.
“Oh my God! Timone, is that Queen Shujo?” She sounded mortified, but Timone just smiled at her.
“Yes it is, my love! I used my powers of the Necroid Arts to bring you back to life! You did die of that infernal disease, but I released you! You’re free and alive once again! Oh, won’t our little Tamil be so happy to know her mother is alive!”
“I was…dead? And you…brought me back…to life?” She said it slowly, processing each word as she said them.
“Yes! But you are not undead! I sacrificed Queen Shujo’s being so that you could be reanimated as it once was! You are alive and well again!” He sounded so happy Dollaiya couldn’t help but smile faintly.
“Timone, I feel so sleepy. If I’m dreaming, please help me wake up.” She fell neatly into his arms.
“Oh yes! At once! Don’t worry my love! This dream is just about over—“ just then, the doors of the dungeon swung open, and into the room stepped a staggering King Cole, supporting himself with a golden cane inlaid with colored gems as he limped forward.
“You heretic! You fiend! You monster!” he was shouting. Timone frowned.
“Still alive, eh, your majesty? Well, no matter. I’ll fix you right, you son of a—“Timone’s eyes went wide as a terrible sinking feeling gripped his stomach. The King had thrust a sword into his gut. The handle was actually the top half of his cane. Timone felt the cold chill of death’s hands around his throat. He staggered backward against the dungeon wall. The King turned to see a scared Dollaiya and a squirming Shujo. Cole was dumbstruck. He stared at Dollaiya, who returned his gaze with an angry glare.
“Y-you! You died aforeday! Why now do you stand here in my presence, breathing!?” Dollaiya ignored him and rushed to Timone’s body.
“Do not worry, my love. It is but a small wound. I will return for you and Tamil. I promise. Now go!” He pointed to the door.
“But my love, I can’t just-“
“You must flee if you are to survive this day!” He grasped Dollaiya’s warm hands with his clammy, cold ones.
“If you will wait 3 days for me, I will return when the moon is painted red. Then we the three of us can flee together.” With that, Dollaiya kissed her dying husband goodbye, and ran from the dungeon. But as she did, she heard the king scream.
“Vile creature of sinful creation! You will not escape here alive!” The king grabbed the ceremonial dagger Timone had thrown and hurled it at the fleeing woman. It hit her square in the back. At first, Dollaiya was sure she was just killed again. But she didn’t drop to the ground, nor cry out in pain. She just kept on running, leaving the dying King flabbergasted and confused, watching a trail of dark blood follow closely behind her. When everything was over, the King glanced at his wife, whom he had slain with his sword, her throat cut. He looked at Timone, who was breathing in shallow, croaking whispers,
“You may have killed us, Timone the Necroid Artsman, but I will not die until I see your wretched corpse buried alive!”
The following day, King Cole had his last followers who hadn’t fled the castle bury Timone Galliao in their garden. Instantly, as the last of the dirt was applied to his grave, the surrounding plant life, down to the last weed and insect on it, withered and turned to dead, brown husks. The King of Britain died that day after a triumphant last meal. He had ordered his men to seek out Timone’s family and have them defiled and killed, but unbeknownst to the now deceased ruler, his “scoutingmen” never returned.
Later, on the third night of Timone’s silent gravesight, where not but a single stick shoved into the ground marked his lonely resting place, his mound began to quake and quiver. The moon was high and bulbous in a dark night sky, and had the deepest blood red hue to it. The earth that made up Timone’s grave shook violently, and from its depths, as the grave soil was parted, a decaying hand with a gold encrusted ring on its left ring finger, popped through the dirt, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream.

Old King Cole was a bitter old soul, and a bitter old soul was he;
He thought he was great but yet he couldn’t wait
To have his hooks set in his prey
Then a man came forth with a vengeance, and a terrible vengeance it was indeed;
Through sinful magic and betrayal of the soul
King Cole died of misery