Amatu, Wraithvine, and their friends now develop a plan to save Wraithvine's litch friend, frienemy? It may not work, but it's a solid plan. Between finding a willing necromancer, and Amatu's immense gifts, they may be able to save the dark one. But is Amatu willing to lose their mortality in the process? Will Wraithvine accept him as an immortal brother?
@internutter/challenge-03479-i191-ring-the-end-of-melancholy -- Fighting Fit
Necromancy seems made to be automatically gross. It takes the things repulsive and makes life out of them. Sort of. Mostly. Technically.
This was a desperate reach and they knew it. Finding a necromancer willing to do it, gathering all the ingredients, and putting them together in one place was the trick.
Fortunately, there are academic necromancers who never reanimate anything larger than a pet. Or in some cases, wire their familiars together out of found parts.
This one had an octopus made out of a human skull, and assorted spines and tails. "Donated," insisted Stravras the Really Dark Grey. "All donated to the cause of Natural Philosophy. You can see the nick marks where the students messed up the dissections."
This did very little to improve things. The "octopus" was currently attempting to climb Amatu.
"Little scamp," dismissed Stravras. "Just give him a pebble if he's a nuisance. Can't actually eat, you see, but still wants treats."
Pondermore had had to stay outside. Many academic spaces were not made with larger creatures in mind. She was, according to the shouts in the courtyard below, dominating at the local variant of SportsBall.
"We were told you'd be most likely to help us with a certain... ritual."
"I don't reanimate humanoids. That's... urgh. It gets very problematic very quickly. Also I've yet to encounter a lich ritual that's guaranteed to give the subject what they want."
Wraithvine, present in the space as if afraid ze would get infected by it, spoke up. "We were told you might be willing to create... homonculii."
The enthusiastic inhale of doom and the lighting of Stravras' eyes told the entire story. "Oh. My. Gods. YES! I've been saving up Deathclay and practicing my pottery for just such an occasion. You have all the materials? The efluvia of creation? All of it? I know where I can get a placenta wholesale if that's a problem. Oh! And the living blood needs to be fresh."
"As does the ejacula," muttered Wraithvine. "Is a death necessary to make it?"
"They keep saying so," said Stravras. "Honestly, I haven't found any evidence to support it. If there has to be one, I'd rather it not be an intelligent creature? All my research shows that pig's blood is a perfectly reasonable substitute."
"They mean blood from a living being." Wraithvine wasn't looking at anything or anyone in the room. "From vein to vessel. Enough to... feed... the results."
"Aaaah, so that's why killing them beforehand makes brainless variants that are weak..." Which was the beginning of a very long series of lectures in enthusiasm for the topic.
There were jars of weird ichor. There was, as advertised, a placenta. And the Deathclay jar big enough to hold, and decant, a humanoid infant.
Amatu provided the small vial's contents in a curtained alcove and a haze of mortification. "Will this... cost anything else? I have a girl I'd like to go back to."
"Hopefully not. Hopefully not," muttered Stravras, leafing through hir notes. "Cheer up. Everything's finite. The universe is finite, you are finite. This... is the wrong page..."
Wraithvine added some of hir hair and some of hir own blood to the mess within.
Pondermore, looming in a corner, said, "Pondermore big enough for lots of blood."
"Ooh, yes. That could give the creation a sufficient fortitude. Please use the ritual knife. Now. About the soul."
"Malforence," said Wraithvine, as if calling them in from the next room. "Malforence, you have a chance. You can live again in a new body. Erase your mistakes. Have a life and live to your fullest." Tears shed went into the pot as well. "Malforence... make something new of the love I have left for you. Come. Make things right between us."
The smoky form of Malforence coalesced into the room. "Yessss... a different way. Bind me to the body, Necromancer.... and child, ring the bell."
The smoke poured into the vessel.
Stravras invoked the chant.
Runes glowed.
"NOW!"
Amatu swung his bell, and purged the area of evil.
The burning letters around his horns...
Went.
Out.
Someone lit a lantern. Re-ignited the candles.
Amatu was a heap on the ground. Breathing, thank the gods. Wraithvine cradled him. "Hoenigh?" Ze searched for a pulse.
"F'v m're m'n't's?" Amatu mumbled. He squeezed his eyes closed and opened them blearily. "Ow. That was... whoah. I did not expect all of that to do that?"
Stravras was cackling over the stuff in the jar. "Ooooh it worked! It worked so very well. Halfway matured already. And it's kicking."
The growing body inside had elven ears, devilish horn nubs and the ghost of a halo, and what looked to be an ogre-like strength.
It was smiling.
[Image by Egor Myznik on Unsplash]
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