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Published:
2024-11-29
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1,041
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1/1
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Lost in the Necropolis

Summary:

Mourn Watch Rook was found as a small child. Who found them?

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

There was something strange going on.  Of course, there was always something strange going on in the Necropolis, but this was… different.

 


 

A man whispered to his partner as he washed up for breakfast.  He’d just finished the morning chores.  “Another goat vanished.”

His wife responded, quietly.  “Did it?  That’s the third one.”

“We’re going to have to report this.”

She sighed.  “Yes.  I’ll tell them.  I have to go to the Memorial Gardens today.  There’s been something going on.”

He hugged her.  “Still missing those wisps?”

“I don’t know where they could have gone.  They were always so interested in the flowers.  They’d show any time anyone wandered near.  I hope nothing happened to them.”

 


 

“One of the libraries has moved.”

“Oh?”

“We’re still looking for it.”

“Which library is it?”

“The Pergamanium.”

“Oh dear.  The students will need that one.”

“I’ll keep you informed.”

“Please do.”

 


 

“SIX workers?”

“Yes.  And they apparently took a bushel of apples, three loaves of bread, a whole cheese, and an entire crate of eggs.  COOKED eggs.  Disappeared overnight, they did.  Maelon,  I’ve never seen such a thing.”

The mortalitasi, Maelon, eyed the cook.  “Is it possible that they were in some way unhappy?  I have only seen the animate shirk their duties when mistreated.”

The cook stood up straighter, indignant.  “I have never mistreated anyone, animate or mortal, and there was no change in anyone’s treatment recently.  Nothing that could cause this.  They’re normally so helpful!”

“Hmm.  Perhaps having the animate helping in the kitchen was a poor idea.  The temperature changes and the animals perhaps?”

“It hasn’t bothered them in the last thousand years.  Why would it start now?  Something happened, I know it.  You have to find them.  They aren’t equipped to be out there on their own.  Please find them.  They don’t have to come back, but we need to know they’re safe.”

Maelon patted the cook’s back awkwardly as the woman burst into tears and leaked all over his brocade vest.  “We’ll do our best.  There there.”  He escaped as soon as he could without causing offense.

 


 

“Vorgoth.”

“YES.”

“I found the Pergamanium.”

“THE STUDENTS WILL BE PLEASED.”

“The skeleton guards won’t let anyone in.”

If a spirit with no head or face could raise a brow…  That was the feeling coming from the ancient.  “EXPLAIN.”

“There are several pikeman guarding the door, and they won’t allow anyone entry.  Turak told me to tell you.”

“I SEE.”

“Could you please go take a look?  Maybe talk to them?”

“WHERE?”

“The Ingellvar mausoleum.  The old one, in the Necrotic Fields.”

“VERY WELL.”

 


 

Vorgoth and their teenage assistant stood in front of the door that had appeared in the ancient mausoleum.  There was no available space beyond it, but they knew that didn’t matter.  The door would lead where it leads.  Spatial relations weren’t always what one expected this deep in the necropolis.  

The several pikemen had been joined by a single swordsman and two general workers.  The pikemen were blocking the door.  Two on either side, pikes crossed both high and low, and the swordsman stood in front.  Piles of bones and mostly rotted cloth were on the worn flagstones at their feet.

Vorgoth said nothing, but the assistant could feel that they were communicating, somehow, with the undead before them.  The girl started changing her stance after about five minutes, shifting her weight from left to right.  The heaviness she felt in the silence kept growing.  After ten minutes, she was unconsciously wringing her hands and looking around nervously.  The weight of their conversation was oppressive, magic swirling and pressing.

Vorgoth and the undead all stopped whatever it was and looked at her.  “BE AT PEACE,” was all Vorgoth intoned.  She stilled, taking a calming breath as the group went back to whatever they were doing.  She struggled to stay erect under the crushing environment.

A short time later, everything stopped.  The heaviness she’d felt lifted all at once, and she stumbled at the sudden change.  Vorgoth bowed, and the undead marched off.  “COME, CHILD, WE HAVE BEEN GRANTED ENTRANCE.”

 


 

In the small atrium of the Pergamanium, peals of childish laughter greeted them.  The place was very bright, wisps blanketing the area and spinning around in dizzying fashion.  At the edge of a seating area, there was a pile of blankets and pillows covering one of the study tables.  “Looks like we found the missing wisps.  And the linens.”  Three goats stood chewing wheat stalks that had been strewn on the floor nearby, and the table itself was laden with food.  “Maybe everything that’s gone missing.”

“YES.”

As they approached, a half-dozen skeletons came out of the stacks.  “And there are the missing workers.” The ambience swirled with diminishing glee and devolved quickly into silence and watchfulness, and Vorgoth’s assistant took a relieved breath.  Vorgoth waved her toward the blanket fort, which had gone quiet.

She got on her knees, crawling forward and lifting the edge of a blanket.  Wisps streamed through the opening, seemingly trying to drive her away.  The etheric aura rapidly deteriorated to panic and fear.  She dropped the blanket, sitting back on her heels and blowing her fringe out of her face.  “Maybe you…”

“NO.”

She huffed.  Grasping the synergistic energy flow, she wove calm over the area.  The dizzying display of the agitated wisps slowed, until they floated in groups at the edges of the space.  She lifted the blanket again, peering inside.  There was a child!  Dirty, covered in what was obviously ragged clothing scrounged from the crypts.  She surged forward, attempting a rescue.  The child scurried backwards, eyes huge, mouth opening, and the child started trembling.  Her face softened.  “Hey, it’ll be okay.  We’re here to help.”  She moved forward again, and the child slipped under the back wall of blankets.

She hurriedly crawled back out, looking around for the child.  The slightly glowing form of Vorgoth was oddly… low.  The child, no more than 2 or 3 years of age at a guess, had both hands gripping Vorgoth’s hood.  The two seemed to stare at each other for several long moments, then Vorgoth’s bracers lifted the child.  “TELL THEM TO COLLECT THE MISSING ITEMS.”

“Is the child okay?”

“SHE WILL BE.”

Notes:

Thanks to my besties for saying yes, this tiny thing is appropriate to post.