Challenge #00948-B217: Death Be Not Proud

The Tale of the Good Necromancer

[AN: Have to do a rewrite since my internet is a sack of suck and I forgot to save the text when I refreshed the edit screen. Fuck my life.]

The necromancer who called herself Corviddia wore black, of course. Because some things about necromancy can not be avoided. But she made sure it was a neat and respectable black. Austere without being severe. Dark without being menacing. She wore ribbon flowers on her hat and wound a rainbow of ribbons around her mage’s staff.

Death follows necromancers. Everyone knows this. It’s why you never see one riding a living animal. Sure, some can and do choose to ride skeletal steeds, but its never comfortable and it always smells. Therefore, when she can not obtain a cart or a carriage, she walks.

And yet, Corviddia insists she can heal. People are glad to see her and the peculiar, grey porcelain doll she carries with her. It only has eyes and a mouth. And is dressed in a simple shift. Few have been brave enough to ask her what it is for. Most of the time, it sits or lies around when she is working on the very ill.

When it comes to ‘kill or cure’, Corviddia knows her stuff.

Goodie Wainwright was rather glad it had come out as ‘cure’ this time, and fussed over tea. She could have easily used a necromancer months ago, when Millie’s twin brother had been found in the duck pond.

Far too late, now.

“I don’t understand,“ she said, pouring hot water very carefully into her Best Teapot. “Necromancy’s death magic. You kill things.”

Corviddia was wan and weak from her work, so she whispered. As always, the doll sat next to her. “I enhance the death present in all life. Mostly, when I choose to.” Her fingers trembled a little as they wrapped around the cup.

“Aye. I know. So how is it that Millie is alive and well and sleeping off consumption?”

Corviddia sipped her tea. Added some honey and stirred it in. The bell-like ring of teaspoon against china was the only sound. “Consumption is caused by unimaginably tiny life,” she said. “Hosts of them could exist on a pin-prick.”

Goodie Wainwright turned to stare in horror at her sewing basket.

“No. They don’t really live there,” a soft chuckle. “I’m trying to give you a sense of scale.” Sip. Sigh. “And if hosts can live on a pinprick, then there is no word for the number that was living in your Millie. More than millions.”

“I’m havin’ a hard time thinking beyond hundreds, beggin’ your pardon.”

Corviddia nodded. “I brought death to all of them. All of their hundreds of hosts. And I directed their corpses into her bowels. She will have a rough night on the privy, but that will be the end of it.”

“Don’t your kind feed off death?”

“Some choose to. That way lies corruption… at least… the way you mean it. All life feeds off death. Some are just more… direct.” Corviddia spared a smile, “And besides, bacteria deaths taste awful.”

This was supposed to be a joke. Goodie Wainwright plucked up a smile and the ghost of a laugh.

Corviddia sipped her tea again and talked to apparently thin air. “Yes, I know you want to talk. Use the doll. That’s what it’s there for.”

The doll, apparently slumbering in the neighbouring chair, raised its head and opened its eyes. Its previously featureless face now looked like Ardie.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen, Ama. I only wanted to get a skater beetle ‘cause it was so pretty. I didn’t know the stones were all over yuck. I should’a stayed out of it. I didn’t wanna make you cry.”

Tears stung her eyes. Flooded her face. Goodie Wainwright covered her mouth to keep herself from bawling anew. “…oh my baby…” she whimpered through her fingers. “…i know, sweetie. I know…”

“Millie can hear me, so I’m helping her stay out of trouble,” said the doll with Ardie’s voice. “I love you, Ama.” The doll sagged and closed its eyes. It was just a grey, porcelain doll again.

“…come back?” pleaded Goodie Wainwright.

“Only the strongest of souls can wear a deathclay golem full time,” said Corviddia. “Even then, it is difficult to move and perform simple tasks. You’ve doubtless heard of the Everlasting King?”

Otherwise known as the King of Nothing. So selfish and spiteful that he refused to give his kingdom to anyone and ruled it from a clay body that had been filled with his bones. His kingdom had since been abandoned and all he had left was a crumbling ruin of a castle and his granite throne.

“You could make Ardie a body of corn husks and a drop of your blood. Or Millie’s. It would need constant maintenance, but you would see and hear him again. And he would never be as strong as he once was.”

“We don’t grow corn. Soil’s bad for it.”

Corviddia put her tea down so she could rummage in her pack. She brought out a porcelain spoon, of the same grey matter as the doll. She put it down on the table. “This will be easier for him He can point it, or make it tap.”

The spoon obeyed, spinning in place. Then it tapped out Ardie’s knock.

“One tap for yes, twice for no. And you can point the handle in any way you want your Ama to look,” said Corviddia.

Ardie spun the handle to point to Millie and tapped once.

Millie had woken up. “Ama? You know about Ardie, now? Why I didn’t cry?”

“Aye,” said Goodie Wainwright. “I dare say we’ll all know about Ardie before long.”

Ardie made the spoon rock and dance on the table.

“He’s glad,” translated Millie.

[Muse food remaining: 9. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Let Sleeping Beauties Lie…

The cursed princess in the castle tower was asleep for a very good reason.  The people of her kingdom were only safe during the day… and even then just barely.

(#00947-B216)

Prince Philip wasn’t exactly inclined to listen to good advice. As a child he ate sweets before dinnertime, and crept off to play with the faeries in the wood.

The fae didn’t want him, which possibly tells you all you never needed to know about Prince Philip.

Now that he is grown, though, he pays specific attention to the don’ts that people tell him. Just so he can do them and seem brave for surviving. Things like, Don’t go into the swamp, or, Don’t seek out the menacing beast, had increased his reputation as a mighty warrior.

Don’t go to the Empty Kingdom…

He had to find it, first. One hundred years of neglect had practically erased it from the map. Yet there were still neglected roads to a place nobody went.

Don’t seek out the castle…

The houses were remarkably preserved, despite the fact that thorny briars choked out every other form of life. Philip had long since swapped his sword for a sturdy, robust axe. Long since turned his horse loose. A mighty war steed did him no good in a kingdom of weeds.

He had plenty of fuel for his fires, and meals of mushrooms and rabbit after he devoured the contents of his saddle bags. And lots of exercise. And mocking-birds for company.

The old stories told of a magnificent treasure inside the castle. Of a miraculously-preserved maiden. And Philip had to see if it was true.

Don’t step inside…

The weeds were not inside. Everything was perfectly preserved. Well. Almost everything. Banquets on the tables had long since rotted. Rats made their nests in the skeletons of dogs. Everything that the vermin could reach… they had. There was a definite tide-line of decay around the ground floor.

Don’t climb the towers…

The castle was magnificent, in its heyday. Stained glass decorated the windows. The walls were faced in marble, inlaid with gold and ivory. Were he more avaricious, he would have spent many happy hours levering wealth out of the very walls.

But Philip had his mind on another prize.

Don’t seek the Princess…

Philip stepped over human bones as he approached her bed. Her room, apart from the skeletal carpet, was fabulous. Lined with jewels. Hung with tapestries. Every window full of stained glass pictures. And old, old story.

A maiden with hair of gold and red, rosy lips. A witch. A curse. And waiting… waiting for a kiss.

All these other bones had to be others who had failed before.

Do not kiss her…

Her hair was, indeed, gold. Her lips, rosy red. Her skin like alabaster. Her eyes were closed and her chest gently rose and fell in the rhythm of solid slumber.

Philip did not notice that his axe fell into a rusting pile of axes and swords by her bed. He had eyes only on her face.

So lovely. So beautiful.

She had to be his.

Philip sat by her and leaned into her lips. Felt her cold flesh quicken and move beneath him. Felt her hands against his arms. Welcoming.

Her eyes were not sea-blue. They were red. Their slit pupils widened as she opened them.

And sharp fangs bit into his lips and tongue.

Sharp fingers sank into his arms.

Too late, he tried to wriggle free. Tried to get loose to reach his axe. Tried to grope for the blades he had foolishly left outside her door.

She would never be his. He was hers.

Her serpentine tongue choked off his air as she drank up his blood. He was dimly aware of her chewing his flesh from his bones as his mind fled from pain and his life fled his body.

Sharp talons tore away his armor and raiment. Scattered it to the corners with the armor and sad scraps of others who had not listened to the story. And in hours… less than hours… his bones would join the carpet of men who felt that they could possess her.

There was a reason why the Empty Kingdom was so empty. Why the briars and thorns grew so thickly. Why nothing alive went upstairs and why, if it did, it never came down again.

She is roaming, now. Wandering her empty kingdom and looking for more flesh. Do not look for her. Do not sleep with your windows open. Do not leave your door unbarred.

She is hungry.

[Muse food remaining: 10. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00946-B215: The Houyhnhnms’ Arrival

A new species  arrives on the station, and the humans Will Not Stop Staring.

New species is worried. Did it offend them somehow? Is it edible?

Meanwhile all the humans are thinking is “Holy ***,. a unicorn.”

G’pux soothed her new companion by petting her neck. “There, now. It’s all right. It’s natural to be a little tense when meeting the Galactic Alliance.”

Thrass tossed her head and stamped uncertainly, Though she fit the pattern for Horse, she was undoubtedly a cogniscent species. She was certainly more flexible and robust than a Terran horse. And the species’ gift for telekinesis did no harm, either. “This not being little tense,” she managed. “This being close to snapping.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” whispered G’pux. The lizard leaned closer to Thrass’ twitching ear. “You won’t be meeting planetary ambassadors. You missed the Meet by a year and a half. What they’ll have is -ah- unattached ambassadors. People with the title but little to no influence. And possibly some station-resident staff who handle matters for the planetary ambassadors. If they have nothing better to do.”

“So… I will being most important in room?”

“Oh yes. They’ll all be there to impress you.” G’pux thought about this. “Except perhaps Ambassador Shayde. She’s… kind of… a law unto herself.”

“Need I worrying about her?”

“No. You’ll be fine. There’s very few things that annoy her and you’re not prone to do any of them.”

The ship docked, and far too soon, it was time to make Thrass’ introduction formal. G’pux exited first, just to make sure there were no accidental ambassadors lurking in the corners. Shayde was present and actually standing to attention for a change. And Rael stood at her elbow so he was ready to preempt anything Shayde was going to try.

Five other humans were in the group of twenty and at least one had brought a gift basket. G’pux secretly hoped that it was actually full of gifts and not mostly cellophane. “Gathered cogniscents, Ambassadors and staff, it is my singular honour to introduce you to Ambassador Thrass of the Houyhnhnm. Planet H’ruh’hra.”

Thrass stepped out, resplendant in the golden copy of her former work suit. She had been a farmer before G’pux had crash-landed into her life. Her speech was heavily rehearsed. “Honoured cogniscents, I thank you for your welcome.” The rest, I bring peaceful greetings from H’ruh’hra, appeared to die in her throat.

The humans were all staring.

Bug-eyed, barely-breathing, slack-jawed staring.

“Is they think I edible?” Thrass whispered. “I doing some thing wrong?”

Then Shayde, most likely to blurt anything uncivil, blurted, “Holy fookain shit, that’s a unicorn.”

[Muse food remaining: 11. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00945-B214: After the Revolution

You might like this.

The Pyro Plague had finally run its course. The only plants left to make the air marginally breathable were the ones that were too toxic for the Plague to attack. Which was nice for those plants, but not so great for the humans who needed them to live.

Of course, the people revolted against the companies who had made the plague possible. And who insisted on monocultures of food crops, genetically engineered to be delicious. When the plague came and the crops had to be burned in an attempt to stop the Plague’s spread, those same companies attempted to sell manufactured air to their beleaguered customers. Everyone agreed that that was the last straw.

There were no companies, any more. Very little left of society at all.

But they still had power. And they still had google.

It was how Cassandra found out about Svalbard, and the treasure trove inside it.

Heritage seeds. Food seeds. Seeds that had never been messed with by the corporate scumbags that the rest of humanity had literally feasted on during the Burning Days.

She told the people she could trust. Bartered with the people who had resources. Tried to explain to so many without hope that hope was possible. In the end, only a handful of her friends listened.

It was a long and arduous trek. They had to hunt and preserve enough insects to last them the weeks it would take to walk across the tundra and arctic circle. At least it had frozen again. Otherwise they’d have to steal a boat and risk getting attacked by angry orcas.

Without the crops, the chemical fertilisers had spilled into the oceans. The fertilisers caused gigantic algal blooms. Half of those blooms poisoned the fish. And the orcas were smart enough to know who to blame.

They started out a group of ten. There were four left by the time they got to Svalbard. A tiny little island in the arctic circle. And a nearly-invisible road to get to the treasure vault.

The few people who still lived in Longyearbyen had already begun growing crops. Some under glass roofs. They welcomed Cassandra and her friends and offered manuals to share across the internet about how to grow food from the seeds they had to share.

Manuals in Norwegian.

The more global manuals, alas, had been locked inside the safe inside the vault. With the keys to said safe.

[Muse food remaining: 12. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00944-B213: One Bad Day at Station Customs

http://brutusfeels.tumblr.com/post/125690756909/haberdashing-ofshxeld-my-favourite-trope-is

Have fun!

The haughty Meyahndan in gold-coloured hunting leathers sneered down her nose at Pol. “We are Felids,” she said, showing her claws by tapping her fist against the opposite shoulder. “We are never unarmed.”

Why did her first day have to happen during an Ambassadorial Meet? “One moment,” she said, consulting the manual. Ah. Meyahndese. Yes. “Uhm. It says you have to have a permit? Otherwise you have to clip them short.”

She hissed at him and very pointedly waved the permit under her nose.

“Right. My apologies. It’s my first day.”

“That… I can believe.”

“But your -uh- other weapons? The ones you can take off? Please? They have to be turned in during the Meet.”

Four bows. Four long-swords. Four daggers, three skinning knives, three slingshots, matching bags of ammunition, and eight scent-masking roll-ons clattered across her desk.

Pol dutifully boxed and labled it. “These will all be returned on your departure.”

The Meyahndan party growled at him as they entered the Decon Gauntlet.

Oh great. The Vardians were next. Their glittering formal costume barely let the Ambassadorial Gold show, and the young Empress had clearly just turned the appropriate age for the Honour Knife in her bejewelled bodice.

She glared at Pol as she explained that the clear no-weapons policy also included ceremonial blades. One hand went to her bodice and the almost-concealed hilt by her new cleavage.

Pol had to call Sherlock in, much to her embarrassment, for an extended deliberation.

Eventually, the Empress’ ceremonial dagger was replaced with a custom device that would emit a disabling shriek should she need to draw it. After that, it was a simple matter to divest her of hair stilettos, hip knife, poison rings, and the cunning little blades in her shoes.

A rushed group including some UFTP arrived with a Faiize and a small human girl in what appeared to be a sack.

“Ambassador,” puffed the UFTP Lieutenant, “Sahra Johnston. And associate/assistant Simy.” The official documents had a lot of blanks. A new one, by the look of things. “Representing the human colony/planet Hevun.”

Wow. This might be an easy one for a change. Pol processed her documents and said, “Did you bring any weapons?”

“D’pends,” said the kid. “What ‘xackly you callin’ a weapon?”

Oh dear… one of those.

[Muse food remaining: 13. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00943-B212: ‘Straya Mate

Someone runs across this book. And then are told about the fact in the last comment.

“This,” said T’reka a’Nyerrik, “is a book for N’Ozzie children?”

“Yes,” said the helpful Archivaas with a bundle of similar tomes. “N’Oz colonists insisted on bringing their -ah- scientifically interesting native flora and fauna with them from Australia.”

Ah yes. Australia. The only land mass on Earth that almost rated a Level Six on the Deathworlder scale. In fact, N’Oz itself was a Five Point Eight.

“The book itself originates from pre-shattering Australia,” added the Archivaas. “It’s highly useful for newcomers because it shows them what the dangerous things look like. Alas, this book only contains the creatures that a child is most likely to encounter. This volume,” she patted a much, much thicker tome, “contains similar information on all the toxic and dangerous flora and fauna in both Australia and N’Oz.”

T’reka was surprised that it was one volume and not an encyclopedia set. “Are the children expected to defend themselves with the book?”

“Only against the spiders,” chirped the Archivaas. “Are you fond of Dijano’s, Ms a’Nyerrik?”

“This is more startling information on Australia, isn’t it?”

“Many visitors find it fascinating.”

T’reka thought about this and eventually concluded the Train Wreck factor. And then immediately succumbed. “Very well. What startling information have you stowed up your sleeves?”

“In pre-shattering Earth, a British cartoon for children featured an episode that told children that spiders were not to be feared,” said the Archivaas. “The Australian public objected, and the episode was banned.” She leaned forward, obviously expecting T’reka to object.

“I’m guessing the section on spiders in that big book of yours is significant?”

“Spoilsport,” pouted the Archivaas. “And, yes, it is.”

[Muse food remaining: 14. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00942-B211: Skewed Threat Assessment

Someone aware of how beneficial, on the whole, spiders are to humanity asks why there is such a disconnect between the threat posed by and reaction to spiders as opposed to the threat posed by and reaction to mosquitoes.

(Let’s ignore the Sydney Funnel Web, for the purposes of this discussion)

“Statistically speaking,” allowed Nik, “your species has more to fear from the Mosquito than it does any arachnid. Or pseudo-arachnid, for that matter.”

“Logically,” countered Shayde, “ye got a point.” She was perched tensely on her stool, on the very verge of bolting for cover. Her gaze was trapped by the presence of several very fat Oshits in a holding cage. “But if ye put that lot anywhere closer to me, I’m off.”

“Oshits are proven harmless! They can not pierce human skin.”

“Still no’ takin’ the chance. Keep those fookers awa’ from me.”

Nik kindly scooted the cage further away from her. The Oshits inside, stimulated by the shift in air patterns, attacked everything they could reach.

Shayde murmured an note of pure disgust and leaned a little further away from the cage of dispute. “Look, I’m only here because ye said ye had a way tae eat them. Ye never said they’d be alive beforehand.“

“I’m rather concerned about you,” said Nik. “The universe’s bounty is meant to be shared. Insects are easier to farm on an industrial scale than mammals and avians, yet your diet is intensely arthropodophobic.”

“Aye. I’ve been taught tae see insects as filthy, ye ken. In my time, we spend all of our effort on gettin’ rid of ‘em.” Shayde managed to pluck up her courage enough to sit herself more comfortably on the stool. “But after the fifth time one o’ those little shits jumped on me face, I’m willin’ tae take me revenge any way I can get it.”

“Revenge feasting…” said Nik. He waved the steam from his wok towards his nose. “An interesting concept. But you still have not answered the quandary. Why are you less afraid of mosquitoes than you are of spiders?”

“Ye seen a mosquito move, aye?” she said, tracing a slow path with a dark fingertip. “When ye can see ‘em coming, they sneak up on ye. Spiders come at ye like ye just insulted their firstborn. And their bites are more… ah… immediate.”

“So there is room for a disconnection. I see. My apologies. It is time to fry them.”

The cage, boiling with excited Oshits, opened directly over the pan. They exploded outwards, attacking the steam and falling into the hot oil below.

Shayde had to pay a fine for Public Disturbance. It is not appropriate to shout, “DIE, YE LITTLE BASTARDS!“ in a restaurant. Especially not that gleefully.

[Muse food remaining: 15. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00941-B210: Idiosyncrasies

The person who asked about the human Oshit reaction witnesses a human watching the YMCA spider video for the first time (and the human is not like one of my best friends, whose reaction is _still_ “Kill it with fire!”)

K’leb’th happened to find a space to sit near an unfamiliar human. Ze was messing around with a palm-sized device and occasionally playing things for hirself.

Ah. This human, much like Cambry, had subscribed to The Daily Meme, a co-operative effort between the Mudoks and the Archivaas to preserve culture.

What fascinated K’leb’th was the fact that this human was giggling over the actions of an arachnid. She tapped for the human’s attention. “My pardon, cogniscent… your species has an aversion to arachnids, yes?”

“Not the cute ones,” said the human. “Listen, it’s dancing to the music,” She put her device’s speakers on.

Indeed, the arachnids featured seemed to dance to the 4/4 beat of the music. Though it didn’t seem to be spelling out Ymca… whatever that was.

K’leb’th would have to find out if this was relevant to her research. Was ‘cuteness’ a factor in common aversions? Was ‘cuteness’ relative? She gave the helpful human a Minute coin and began busily taking notes.

[Muse food remaining: 16. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00940-B209: Arachnophilia

An alien aware of the general human reaction to spiders runs across someone whose first response to an Oshit is “how cute!”

“Being cautious, please, Engineer Murray,” K’teth warned as she unlocked her vessel. “Security measures on vessel mine being non-standard.“

The brown-skinned human grinned. “No worries. You can call me Baz. Everyone does. Now… I know you were knocking around Pirate Turf for a year or so?”

“Yes. Learning fast, am I, there are few tech solutions to hackers.”

“Right, so you have natural deterrents. Dogs?” She opened the inner door for herself and got a face full of pseudospider.

K’teth cringed. “Please not be hurting pet mine?”

To K’teth’s eternal surprise, the human giggled and gently encouraged Fluffy the Oshit onto her hands.

“Aaaawww… she’s burly girlie… hul-lo… ha-lo-oo?”

This was Human Pet Voice. Trying to be nice to an animal that didn’t understand words, but tone of voice.

“You… like… Oshits?”

“I love all arachnids and pseudo-arachnids. Oozadidduwfuzzyden? Oozadidduwfuzzy? Aaawww…”

K’teth was about ready to chalk this up as another example of Human Insanity. “You are not fearing poison biting?”

“No worries,” scoffed Baz. She guided the Oshit back into her holding tank. “These little buggers can’t pierce human skin. I’m aces.”

“Other humans not wanting take chance,” said K’teth.

“Their loss.”

[Muse food remaining: 12. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

Challenge #00939-B208: Universal Reactions

Someone finally asks a human why there is such a nigh-universal-among-the-species visceral reaction to an Oshit when seeing one up close for the first time.

Many scientific establishments hired Humans to conduct the more risky aspects of their experiments. Firstly, because the humans were tough enough to withstand the results. Secondly, because they were insane enough to want to repeat the experience.

They also used vermin as experimental animals.

“What ho, loony lizards,” said Cambry. She aimed a lazy salute at the figures behind the space-rated polyglass. “What horrible things are we doing to little critters, today?”

“We are investigating the effects of pressure and air concentrations on invertebrates.”

“Cool. Torturing bugs for science.” She lifted the cover on the critter tank to discover…

…two dozen, minimum, excited and hungry Oshits.

Cambry back-pedalled rapidly, pinwheeling her arms and screaming the traditional curse.

“Why is this the typical human reaction?” asked K’leb’th. “Some of you eat spiders.”

“These ones look like they’d try’n eat us back, mate.” Cambry steadied her breathing. These were only very daft pseudo-spiders. “Besides, I’m a N’Ozzie. Everything is venomous until proven otherwise. And these big buggers? Nobody wants to take the chance.”

It was the closest answer that science ever got.

[Muse food remaining: 13. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]