Vicho, so curious, stood in front of his "victim". In his mind, what was about to be performed would be his greatest achievement. To truely know what it felt like.
Something nestled deep within him shuddered momentarily...
The statue of a man was suspended by it's ankles upside down by a tight rope, attached to a pully on the ceiling, and tied off on the far wall. Used expertly, for the artist, Vicho was not a strong man at all. Servants had their many uses. Seperate ropes were bound around the knees, and the chest of the work of art, the sculpture's hands secured behind it's back. Three rope lengths encircled the chest in perfect spacing to provide complete restriction of movement. Yet the sculpture didn't move.
That is, until the wizard spoke the words, gesturing with his left hand casually, without a care as the right hand constantly toyed with his precious knife. The sculpture came to life with a brief flash of light. The man immediately opened his eyes, gasping for breathe as his situation became all too real, all too quickly. The struggle ensued as he swayed from the rope, fighting within his bonds as he screamed. At least the rotten half-tunic clung to his hips, giving the man one small dignity.
"You bastard. What the hell is this? Some sick joke!?"
Vicho stood in a dark robe that would have concealed him completely in the twilight room, yet his ghastly white pale skin could be seen. He did not smile, nor grin, nor show pity as he gazed upon his current masterpiece. His eyes were emotionless, lifeless, even a bit cloudy. The skin around them was shrunk slightly to the bones it encased, clinging desperately to them showing the lack of sleep. His nose was upturned slightly, and his lips dry and cracked. It was apparent this man didn't much care for healthy upkeep. His body, without the relics he was so found of, allowing him to perform more physically, was just as he, a shriveled shell. The teeth that lined a vicious scar along the left side of his neck stood out, and reflected brightly in the moonlight...perfectly white. Perfect.
As the man struggled upside down, gritting his teeth and seething out his insults, Vicho merely canted his head to the side. His gaze lifeless...
"We will both go on a journey, you and I...but only one of us is fit to defy. The other wasted his life away, on fitting in and wasting away. Just one of the sheep, a part of the flock...No, more like attempting to work his way up among the livestock..."
Vicho's voice was dark, playful, charismatic in its little play on words. He walked towards the man, the shroud he wore clinging to his form.
"When I get out of this, I swear to go-...!"
Boney fingers his right hand, perhaps the only shred of athleticism the Necromancer had now gripped the man's jaw, shutting his mouth and digging into the flesh of his face with long, yellowed finernails.
"You will what, you little fuck? It seems you're the one who's life is suspended and stuck. Your life was a paradox, and soon you will see...that together we won't be just one, but three..."
"Inshaane...yur insha-ane" The man sobbed as Vicho released his grip, sliding his index finger against the man's skin leaving a red welt. "YOU'RE INSANE!!"
"Mh hm hm...silly sow, you're just a cow. There's little you can do here and now. You were a lawyer, were you not? Sending the convicted, perhaps innocent, to rot. Complete in confidence, it was your test...to do your job, and do it best. As little ducks, all in a row, you prosecuted them, and watched them go. But what is that saying they so aptly place? You reap what you soe...Oh, how is your face...?"
The red welt that was created on the man's face suddenly quivered, expanding slightly before disappearing beneath the skin. The man screamed in agony as he began to sweat, hyperventilate, his body once again shaking within it's bonds.
Vicho gestured, muttering dark and forbodding semantics as his throat issued the necessary words. The man's body froze in complete fear as his very life passed before his eyes.
"HoW PoEtiC...NoThiNg MoRe NeeDs To Be SaiD..."
His usual rhyming gone, as the man heard the sickening sound of a high-pitched shreek that mingled with Vicho's usual darkly playful voice...now sounding of death. Rot purged the man's nostrils as joyful memories filled his mind, and along the corners of his mind's eye...all he could see were worms. As images of his childhood flashed past him, friends, loved ones and himself slowly growing older as he witnessed his accomplishments...the worms slowly crept further in, covering ground. The man began going into shock, his eyes wide, and his mouth just as much as if in silent scream. The pain he felt during the event was extraordinary.
At this point, Vicho had taken a step back, his gaze as lifeless as before, tilting his head as he watched his masterpiece unfold.
"I'm ReMiNdeD of a RhyMe, AnD I UsuALLy DoN't SiNg WheN I'M ThiS...ExCiTeD..."
The words showed no sense of excitement whatsoever, perhaps even a hint of sarcasm. Meanwhile the man suspended as a piece of meat began sucking in desperate breaths. His hands clenched behind his back, white knuckled so much that his fingernails dug into the skin. His toes were curled so tightly they might snap at any moment. And in his mind now, there were only worms, covering what -might- have been...
DoN'T EvEr LauGh aS ThE HeaRSe GoeS By FoR YoU MaY Be The NeXt To DiE. TheY WraP YoU Up iN a BiG WhiTe SheeT ANd BuRy YoU AbOuT SiX FeeT DeeP.
Or TheY Put YoU iN a BiG BLaCK BoX TheN CoVer YoU Up WITh DIRt aNd RoCkS.
ALL GoeS WeLl FoR AbOuT a WeeK AnD TheN YouR CoFFiN BegiNs to LeaK. ThE WoRmS CrAwL iN, ThE WoRmS CraWL OuT ThE WORmS PLaY PInoChLe oN YouR SnOuT.
TheY EaT YoUr EyeS, TheY EaT YouR NoSe ThEY EaT ThE JeLLy BeTweeN YoUR ToeS. A BiG GreeN WoRm WiTh RoLLiNG EyeS CraWLs iN YouR StoMaCh aNd OuT YouR EyeS.
YouR StOmaCH TuRNs a SLiMy GreeN AnD PuSS PouRs OuT LiKe WhiPPiNg CreaM! SPreaD iT on a SLiCe of BreaD ThaT's What YoU EaT WheN YoU aRe DeaD...
The man, cattatonic now was awoken briefly to the feeling of Vicho's knife sliding from his right ear, under his chin to his left. His body jerked in deathrows as the blood poured rather quickly from the man's body as gravity and the frantically pumping heart worked in unison to drain him like a slaughtered animal. The man choked on his own blood as Vicho had stepped back once more, revelling in the feeling of the spell he had previously cast, the gift that the mother inside gave him. He closed his eyes as he felt himself falling, into the deepest blackest pit imaginable, not able to speak, to breathe, the only feeling that of a constantly ebatting *thump*. The feeling would have been endless if he were the one dying, but as the cow's body went slack, and the light within his eyes dimmed Vicho snapped out of the trance, breathing heavily as if waking from a nightmare. But he laughed, and the feeling was amazing.
It was enough to make one feel alive...
Without the dominant nature of the dark necrotic spell, and the man dead, Vicho's voice was percieved as normal. Dark and playful.
"Thank you so much, my sweet little cow...I will proceed to bury you now."
Vicho eventually stepped from the door within the keep he sometimes came to for contemplation. Rigormortis was in toe behind him as he carried a large package over his shoulder, bloodied and soaked with the rain, wrapped in a big white sheet.
~Fin...?
_________________ Derp.
|