An Abomination

[Tom_Whiteman 949]

 

 

 

"We are born by the Dark;

Made Men by the Dark;

Undone by the Dark;

We fear the Old Dark."

 

- The Adage of the Old Lords

 

 

Alrian would look the scribed text over, the fatigued weaver scratching his brow heinously. He gives out a sigh, turning away from his desk to face the half eaten, mangled corpse of a skinned Kha. Kneeling beside it, he brushes its emotionless face with the backside of his hand, eyes beating down on the corpse with a passionate look. “Kknarl,” he’d say, standing and continuing to peer down at the corpse with the same look of passion. “You will pose as a great asset, Kknarl… I chose wisely.”

 

The room would be dim, the shine of a golden obelisk being seen in the background, before it is a fresh pile of frozen limbs, organs, and flesh. Hanging from the ceiling would be hung skeletons, legs, arms, and digits all missing in a variety of patterns. Alrian would continue to observe the necrotic scribing placed upon his desk, trying to decode the tongue it was written in, a second document being by it which translates Al’tahrn-Durngo into the common tongue.

“Made men by the dark,” Alrian would mutter to himself, his nails digging deep into the rotting wood of the desk. His gaze turns to focus on the pile of fresh remains. He turns, going to pull various muscles and ligaments. “Eats too much,” he’d exclaim, his now bloodied hands carrying the remains over to the corpse “Save me the trouble.” The weaver kneels down, placing the remains next to the Kharajyr’s corpse before returning to his desk to recover the surgical equiptment needed. Returning to the corpse, he’d uncover a saw, beginning to cut keen incisions into the Kha’s flesh. “Born in the dark… Yet you are undone.” Alrian’s hands would rise, the weaver’s eyes stared at his hands for a few moments before a fine black mist would slowly be produced to coat them. Returning to his work, he’d begin to piece together the cooled, fresh limbs to repair the eaten parts of the Kha’s body. “Hungry you were,” he’d chuckle, eyes looking up to the entrance of the lab “Should have said stop sooner…”

Smiling, Alrian looks back down to observe his work… Although, his eyes would slim, the weaver not being too satisfied. His hands would run along the Kha’s shaved skin, stopping at a point before the dark wisp of cloud would seep beneath the corpse’s cold skin. A brow would be furrowed, forehead growing sweaty before he’d pause, breathing a little. “**** you,” he’d mutter, teeth gritting as he’d reach for a hammer out of the medical supplies, bringing it down in multiple places along the corpse’s arms, bone snapping. He tosses the hammer back into the pile of tools, lowering his hand, still covered with mist to the Kha’s arm. It would seep under the corpse’s skin once again, the wever’s brows raising in a slight excitement as the sound of bone on bone would be heard, the bone beginning to meld back together in jagged formations, excess parts of the bone sprouting through the corpse’s skin appearing as sharp horns.

 

Retreating back to his desk, the weaver again checks the document, reading over instructions once more to refresh his memory. Turning back to the corpse, he’d say, “The spine…” Swiftly moving to the body, Alrian rolls it over and checks the spine for damage from the attack, seeing none, he’d fully roll the Kha over. He consults the medical tools, a thin, sharp knife being grasped and touched to the flesh of the corpse. Not a noise would be heard as the Elf would calmly cut into the corpse's flesh, carefully peeling it back to reveal minimal sight of the spine. “Skeleton,” Alrian would murmur, going to the hung skeletons, picking the one with a strong backbone, no signs of brittle.

Alrian yanks a skeleton off of its hook, the withered corpse falling apart, however parts staying in tact. He’d grasp the spine, measuring and comparing it to the length and width of the Kha’s spine. “A fit.” He jams the backbones next to each other, his hands coming back close to him as he’d sit in silence for a few moments, a blackened mist again being conjured. The mist would coil outwards, beginning to fully envelope the body in a black shroud for minutes, digits clicking together, the charred sound of bones scraping together before being melded together is heard. Finally, the mist begins to clear, the necromancer’s eyes averting back to his desk as he glances at the pinned document “Let’s hope.” Returning his eyes to the corpse, he finds flesh coating the spine, and jagged spiked extending from where the spine is. However, the spine looks stable from the outside. “Let’s hope, don’t want it falling apart on me,” he’d mutter whilst standing to observe the changes on the corpse “It looks perfect…” His gaze narrows to the maw of the corpse, he wields his cutting knife before lifting the lips of the Kha, beginning to depart them from their base “The teeth…”

A shocked expresion comes across the necromancer’s face, the Kha’s teeth being rather dulled and ridded with plaque. Reaching his hand into the mouth, he’d conjure the identical mist, coating the teeth with it. His eyes squint in a focus which is uninterrupted, the mist vanishing and the teeth being sharpened and a tad longer than usual, the plaque remaining. After which, Alrian would wield the knife again, holding it to the Kha’s barbed tongue and severing it from its base “I don’t like talking back,” he’d say with a heavy smirk.

 

Satisfied, the weaver would stand back up to look over the corpse one more time. “Born in the dark, made men in the dark,” he’d preach, returning to his desk to look over the document one last time with slightly worried eyes. “It’ll work.” “I’ll get it.” “It’ll work.” He looks up from the document at the lavender flower, eyes fixating on it “He made me get into this, you know that Alrian.” He puts a hand over his face, wiping his forehead free of sweat as he continues, “You’re undone by the dark, you’re undone by the dark--... Undone by the dark.”

He rotates back to the corpse, his breathing getting heavier as he stares at the corpse with now uneasy eyes “Talk to him first.” Alrian’s hands part, a wisp of black cloud cascading from his robes as it makes way to the abomination, burying into its flesh as it pumps life force into it before reverting the process and draining “We fear the old dark.”

 

Hours pass, the frustrated necromancer continuing his process of draining and passing life force… Soon a groan is heard, then another following it. A dull movement is seen from the creation, its claws scraping on the stone floor beneath and its maw hanging low before clenching. Its pale eyes look around, then to Alrian in curiosity, staying still. A sharp pain is felt, the smog which alrian wields draining the creature into a starvation, the point of death. The weaver approaches, holding the creation on the verge of death, kneeling down beside it as Alrian whispers, “Kknarl-- destroyer and undoing of brothers, obey command or face deprivation of life.”

A sharp squeal is heard as the creation topples in pain, not being able to give off any responses whilst under such torture.   

Alrian stares at the creature’s pain, his teeth grinding together as he gifts life back to the creature, curing its pain and starvation “We fear the old dark. Follow my word, Kknarl. We'll achieve my birth and making."

 

Kknarl -- The Destroyer of Brothers

[KBR 2046]

Faenor would gaze upon the creation that he helped get the body for with a smile

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.