My very late story for Steem Monsters Common Card Fantasy Story Contest! // Week 10. I could leave some excuses as to why this wasn't turned in on time, but I'm not. Regardless of that fact, I still wanted to share this story along with giving some more exposure to @steemmonsters.
Enjoy
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![Pk25cfR[1].png](https://images.hive.blog/768x0/https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmZgHnfojGTFKBQNQ8tqfU8LDHqhrVNK7HnJGEYMXVAT3D/Pk25cfR[1].png)
The Priest of Vulgate keeps his nocturnal practices hidden in a cave just outside of the city because the city's people crucify any necromancers they come across. He looks back from his exit point with a watchful eye for anyone that might be following. "These vermin," he says underneath his breath, looking at the city dwellers passing each other by on the cobbled stone sidewalks, "I'll give you a taste of your own medicine soon enough." He sneaks through the gates that lead out of the city, unseen by the guards who patrol it.
Tonight is a special night. The Priest's master is going to show him how to create his first skeleton assassin. This has been in the making for weeks. Tonight's challenge will prove to the master if the Priest is ready to take on more responsibilities for their guild.
He enters the cave and walks the long windy way down into the heart of the cave, carefully avoiding the traps set for intruders.
He opens the large door leading into a circular room lit by torches. In the center of the room, a fire three foot by three-foot crackles and pops from the sap soaked stumps. Around the fire laid down in a circle are strips of cat skin. On a table in a glass cup is unfermented grape juice.
"Drink the offering," says one of the leaders from a balcony overlooking the room.
Doing so, he hears the sounds of chains moving. Looking above him, he sees a wooden platform being lowered toward the fire and hears a small boy's cry. He finishes his drink and sets the glass back down on the table.
"Walk to your placemat and recite with us the ritual chant," says another leader.
The Priest moves into position, putting both hands in the air like he is holding batons and getting ready to lead an orchestra. He and the leaders begin the ritual chant. The small boy is lowered into the fire. The shrill scream brings a smile to the Priest's face. The chanting intensify the heat, making the small boy's body burn faster. The only thing left after a minute is the skeleton body and the ashes.
The room goes dark. The chanting stops. The Priest lowers his arms to his sides. "Use your Mind's intent and concentrated focus to make a skeleton assassin." The voice comes from the Priest's master.
This is how my kind, the skeleton assassin, came into the service of the necromancer. Their first was always a fresh kill.
I am given the clothes I had on before being lowered into the fire.
I watch from a secret entrance into the cave down at the group of twenty men my master had brought. I have been instructed to kill the entire group without letting them know I was ever around, except for the behemoth. I had been instructed that he must see me as I am taking his life. None were to escape from the cave. My master hated to clean up messes in the forest next to the city.
"In this cave is where you will find your boy and the necromancer who took him. I'm sorry that I cannot be of help to you any further. I am not a fighter, nor have I been training in the ways of combat. I must return to my priestly duties. I will pray for you."
The behemoth man steps toward my master. "From behalf of the Grotch family, we thank you, Priest. We will take it from here."
I watch as my master strolls down the path away from the cave as the group of men with torches enter the cave. When the group can no longer be seen, my master comes back up to the mouth of the cave. He takes one last look at me, letting me know it is time to fulfill his desire.
"It is cold, and foggy in here, Conner," one of them says as if it wasn't obvious to the group.
"Watch your step. We don't yet know what dangers lurk in here," says the behemoth.
My vision allows me to see in the darkness. I watch from above, waiting for the right moment to scale down the wall without being seen. I watch the group search the shelves, desks, tables, barrels and wooden crates, searching for elixirs and treasure. While their attention is preoccupied, I make my way down the side of the wall, hidden by the darkness. From the wall six feet above the ground, I jump down and land as soft as a cat.
The group is about 30 feet away. Their light has a radius of 10 feet. I step over to the bookshelf and grab the dart blower and the dart with a hallucinogenic dipped point. I point the dart blower at the lone man walking next to a column and use my electrical force to discharge the dart, hitting the target in the neck.
The victim instinctively slaps at his neck, swatting away the dart. He falls to his knees. He grabs at his head to stop the spinning, to stop the darkness stealing away his inner light. His eyes gloss over. The men around him fail to notice until they hear, "You are all going to die! I know who you are, you foul creatures. I'll have you eat my sword for breakfast." He stands to his feet with new resolve.
The men all turn to look at him. "Can you keep it down," one says in a whisper.
"That is enough. Move to the next room," says the behemoth.
The group begins making there toward where the door is, toward where I am. The man hit by the dart walks up behind one of the men who hangs in the back and runs his swords through his the back, severing vertebrae from the spine as he twists his blade and pulls it out. The men who saw this out of the corners of their eyes stand in shook. Before they react, he chops off the head of the man to his right and the other got a dagger to the throat.
While the group is distracted by the darted victim, I open the door, go in, and close it behind me. I set the next trap as I hear the sounds of fighting taking place in the room I left the group in.
I know the darted victim is dead when I hear them ask what got into him. After the terror-filled shouting has died down, a minute later the door opens.
Four of the men are sprayed in the face with a poisonous gas. First, their insides start to burn. Their air is sucked out making it so they can't inhale. Their skin bubbles on the surface; when the bubbles pop, a slimy goo drips down their bodies. They collapse to the ground. The touches they carry ignite their clothes on fire. The rest of the men alive can do nothing for them. They don't have a healer on hand, nor a healing elixir.
I see a group of ten cautiously enter. Half to go. My master chose this weak group wisely.
I am pleased when the ground trap door takes five more that were huddled together behind the behemoth and the other four. Their cries for help were quickly extinguished by the acid eating bath they fell into.
The behemoth looks at the other men who look like they are going to run. "I have to find my boy," says the behemoth. "Stick with me, friends. We'll get out of here." His voice shakes, showing a lack of confidence in his ability to get his men to safety or even find his boy.
To afraid to make their way to the exit alone, they stay with him. Good for me. I don't want my master to get his hands dirty.
I let them come further into the cave's depths like a python constricting its prey. I'm always ten paces in front of them. I hear their uneasy steps shake the ground beneath them.
Three of the men are caught in bones spikes that come out of the wall after the trip wire is tripped. The leader and the one other stare at each other. Without it having to be said, they know death is not far behind them.
The man beside the behemoth takes off in a sprint toward the way they had come in. Anticipating this move, I slip out from behind a column. My skeleton hand squeezes and tightens around his throat so tightly that the insects stirring in the cave can be heard over his faint whimpers.
I walk over to where the behemoth had resigned to his fate. I step into his circle of light. His eyes grow wide when he sees his boy's clothing on a skeleton, who is, also, the same height as his lost boy. Tears begin streaming down his face. I feel nothing as my sword enters his gut. He grabs my tattered shirt and looks at me before succumbing to his fate.
My master has been given other jobs since then. Fresh boys who don't have large families always need to be found for the next initiate necromancer. The city people always need a villain to chase. Necromancers are glad to fill this role.
My kind is kept waiting in the darkness until the time we are needed arrives.
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| Entries for this Contest | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Svoke "The Divine Healer (upvoted by @curie) |
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@mctiller twenty-four hour short story - You gotta be quick to get this one posted in time. He posts the contest on Sunday (usually) and ends it about 48 hours later. This contest has a 2000 word limit.
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Skeleton Assassin says "BETTER late than never..."
Posted using Partiko Android
Thank you.
This post was shared in the Curation Collective Discord community for curators, and upvoted and resteemed by the @c-squared community account after manual review.
Awesome. Thanks.