8

There was a long pause.

I believe they’re antlers, Luck

“Fucking antlers!?” I shouted, gaping. “How and why do I have antlers?” I reached up, disbelieving, feeling around with growing horror as I found what were, in fact, antlers…tree antlers. Just like that bastard of a deer. As I felt around my new…appendages, is that the word? I could feel the same little leaves sprouting here and there, and the same twisting roughness of the bark on the tree-antler things that had crowned the great stag. Mine weren’t so huge, thank god, but they were still about a foot and a half off my head. This was some cheeky TTRPG bullshit. I'd rolled a god-damned natural one. I bet the things would keep growing too. It felt incredibly weird, like someone had welded something - two somethings - to my skull. I couldn’t really feel anything directly when I touched them, or, as I grew braver, bent them. It was kind of like the sensation of touching your own fingernails. I continued to be outraged by this development and swore often and loudly as I knelt beside the pond.

I believe this is a result of the Mark of Embermantle. If you recall, the description noted that minor cosmetic changes may occur, said Sage helpfully.

“Minor? Yeah, well fuck that creepy deer,” I said with a sigh. “As if it wasn’t enough that I have to go participate in his weird ass ritual sacrifice, I am now blessed with this majestic rack”

The statistical increases are notable, said Sage.

“Yeah they are pretty awesome,” I agreed reluctantly.

I drank as much water as I could stomach and stood back up, trying to ignore my new bonsai rack. I hadn’t even noticed them before I saw them mirrored back at me in the pond, and now it was all I could feel. A soft breeze moved through the air, and I swear I could sense my little leaves rustling in the wind. I grumbled as Sage helpfully reoriented me back towards the direction of Spade’s Rest.

“You know, this might be cool if I was a druid, or maybe even a ranger. But nobody wants a rogue with trees on his head. How do I even wear my signature billowing black rogue cloak? Do I cut holes in the hood or something, and then just pretend like I don’t have a foot and a half of god-damned tree sticking out of me? Gods are shitty,” I declared as my outrage fizzled out.

It may be possible to trim them, she said. Both trees and antlers can be trimmed under normal circumstances.

“Oof,” I said, tentatively touching my leafy sproutlings. “I’m not looking forward to the process by which we find that out.”

It was under an hour before we finally found the road, and as I emerged from the trees, I took a deep breath and looked around. It was fully night now, and I was on a dirt track. It was marked by the long grooves of cartwheels, and It looked about wide enough to fit two good sized wagons side by side.The village itself was about two kilometres south, and I trekked along with growing weariness. It had been a long afternoon, and I was looking forward to getting somewhere that was not occupied by monsters or deities, even if I had to sleep against a wall or something.

After what felt like a longer time than it was, I began to move up the steady incline of a hill, and atop it I could see the outline of a low, rickedy wall, more of a fence really, and an almost comically bad gate made of wood that was cracked and sagging, and reminded me of something you might find in the laneway of an old farm. Behind it was a row of stone and wood houses leading further into the village.

I heaved a sigh of relief at the sight, but paused as I saw the two figures standing at the gate. A lantern sat at the feet of one of the figures, and one looked to be leaning on a spear or maybe a small halberd, but their faces were shrouded in shadow, their heads helmeted. They looked like soldiers, but…odd. They were definitely human, dressed in what looked to be patchy armour, a chain hauberk on one, something like half-plate on the others. The limbs between the pieces of armour, however, were spindly and thin, and as I continued to approach, I could see they were, in fact, made of bone and decrepit dry sinew.

My indicator popped up helpfully, forming two little white circles floating above the figure’s heads. When I focused on them, I was surprised to find their indicators were purple, a colour I hadn’t seen yet. I queried Sage and she informed me that purple dots represented minions or summoned creatures.The descriptions of these decaying soldiers read:

Tally, Level 8 Zombie Minion. Class: Disgruntled Marine Captain, Raised by Gerard Val Torn.

Squish, Level 8 Zombie Minion, Class: Resentful Marine Sergeant, Raised by Gerard Val Torn.

Zombies guarding the damn gates, I thought, and I was strangely calm and resigned, simply because I just couldn’t do anything about this continuous crazy bullshit. Fucking zombies. I looked them over as I approached. One, the zombie named Tally, leaned on his long spear, and wore a motley collection of plate mail, the breastplate of which seemed to have caved in and come apart jaggedly just above his ribs. Atop his head he wore a simple skull cap helmet that was dented and lined with scratches and scrapes, which was strapped snugly under his mostly-bone jaw.

The other - Squish - was shorter, and bow-legged. He looked like he had once been a stocky man, but undeath had naturally reduced him to brittle dead skin and bleached bones. He wore a chain hauberk and had a hefty shortsword with a wide blade at his hip, with a big mean looking crossbow slung over his shoulder. Instead of a skullcap, Squish had a leather cap-type-thing with ear flaps, like you’d see on an old time pilot, minus the goggles. When Tally spoke, I was not greeted by the low moans of the classical mindless and shuffling undead, but instead a cracked cockney accent that called out in a low rasp, sounding like he’d chain smoked on the streets of London straight for a hundred years.

“See that, Tally? I do believe some kind of wild man-thing approaches our impregnable defensive position. Shall we kill it?” Tally gently butted his spear on the ground and regarded me with what I could only assume was suspicion. It wasn’t easy to tell, on account of him having no eyes.

“Aye Squish, I see it there, creepin’ out the dark. Do you suppose those branches on its head are supposed to fool us into believing it’s a tree? I think we could stick it, easy enough. What say you? Go stick it, Squish.” He pointed at me lazily, directing the other zombie with presumed authority. “Go on then, before it runs.”

“Me?” asked the second zombie, Squish, who was incredulous. “I stuck the last one, you lazy shit. How many god-damned years we been posted together? You still try an’ cheat me every chance you get. YOU go stick him. ‘Sides, it looks like somebody’s already done half the job.”

“Jesus, no one needs to stick me” I interjected loudly. lifting my hands in appeal. “I don’t even know where I am. I just wanted to find somewhere to eat and sleep,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. I was not entirely sure I should even be standing here, but these macabre gate guards were kind of mesmerising, dead and animate as they were. I stood just at the edge of their lantern light.

“It seems the sad wretch is trying to speak with us, Tally,” said Squish.

“Seems so. Perhaps we should enter into negotiations with the half-dead man-thing and discover the nature of his intrusion,” he said thoughtfully. Alright Squish, begin negotiations.” He waved towards me casually, a bit of something grey and powdery falling out from his leather gauntlet.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Me!?” Squish asked again, outraged. “Gods-damn you, you sagging flesh-tent. If I weren’t here, goblins would have overrun this post weeks ago. But fine, you ungrateful shit, I’ll show you exactly how to negotiate with fools rude enough to approach the guard station of Squish, Shield of the North Wall.”

“By the gods, Squish, titles are not something you give yourself!” yelled Tally.

“This, from the asshole who went around with the moniker ‘Tally the Red,’ like you were a gods-cursed pirate.”

"'Shield of the North Wall?" Tally scoffed. "Have you seen this bloody wall?" He gestured behind him, at what amounted to a glorified fence. "You're gonna need a big fucking shield, mate."

I edged towards the pair. It was probably a bad idea, but my alternative was the dark goblin forest. "Uh...hi.” I said finally. What the hell was even going on here? I sighed. “Before we begin...negotiations, thank you for not eating my brains right away. Or uh, sticking me, I guess.”

“A moment,” said Tally, raising a gauntleted finger. “Eat your brains? Explain that, boy. What do I look like to you? A bloody cannibal?”

I blinked. “Oh, uh, where I come from, the classic zombies are supposed to eat people’s brains. They’d just stumble around, moaning and eating brains and shit. I have no idea why. There’s probably an explanation on a sub-reddit somewhere.”

“Have you ever tried to bite through a human cranium?” He blurted incredulously. “Look at my gods-cursed teeth and tell me these rotted stumps could penetrate your skull. Go on,” He said, and he thrust his mouth towards me, his rotted grimace showing what were indeed shattered bits of yellow tooth and mottled brown sockets. I could see what were once molars through a hole in his cheek. “I’d be lucky if I could put a dent in your bloody scalp, and all I’d get for my trouble would be a mouth full of hair." He paused for a moment. “We happen to like a good stew, if you must know.”

“Stew? Jesus. Okay, okay, sorry.” I said, pulling away from the assault of his excessively close ruined face. “I guess people just figure you guys are filled with some dark necrotic power that gives you inhuman strength.”

“Gods-damned right we are,” said Squish, puffing out his cratered chest and thumping it with his gauntleted fist. This time grey dust absolutely puffed out from beneath his battered hauberk in a small cloud, making me cough and desperately fan the air, fully aware I was inhaling airborne bits of his dead-ass body. “Our Manager is a man of wealth and taste. And power. Only the finest of the Dark Flow for ol’ Squish and Tally.”

“It’s Tally and Squish,” interjected Tally.

“Fuck you, Tally.”

“Fuck you too, Squish.”

They both looked off into the night and sighed with satisfaction, as though all was right in the world.

“Wait,” I said after a moment’s awkward silence. “Your…manager?”

“Aye,” they said together. I blinked.

“Like, your boss? That's the guy who…raised you, from the dead?" I asked, bemused.

“Aye, he did. Some five years ago now. Me an’ Squish came up together. Up through the ranks, and then up through the dirt,” he said with a dry cackle. “We was in Nith, fightin’ for the Emperor. We ate dirt during the first Silosian campaign. I was Squish’s captain,” Tally said, his skeletal chin lifting in pride.

“Oh, not this shit again” moaned Squish. “This ass seems to think that his ‘authority’ followed him through death, an’ it gives him the right to order me about like a clucking hen.”

“Authority is something a man lives and breathes, Squish. He’s born with it. It’s a gift that must be guarded well, and wielded with wisdom. A proper Captain inspires his men to the highest standard,” said Tally, gesturing magnanimously, as though his knowledge was a gift he was bestowing upon us.

“Inspire me?” Squish shot back. “The only thing you inspire in me is the desire to die a second time, you puffed up fuck. Next time you bark an order-”

“Uh, so you have a contract? Like, in writing?” I quickly interjected, before the two dead guys came to blows. “This isn’t how I imagined Necromancy working.”

“Aye, that we do,” said Squish. He might have been narrowing his eyes at Tally, if he had any, but after a moment he looked back at me. “Gerard gets us gigs,” he said matter-of-factly. “Like this one. It’s a bit boring, but I got to put bolts in a few goblin skulls. That makes Genevieve happy.” He patted the crossbow at his back. “She’s a thirsty girl.”

He turned so I could get a look at “Genevieve.’ She looked mean. I was no hunter, and I didn’t really know what to expect from a crossbow, but this seemed like the heavy kind. It was large, as long as a rifle, taking up most of the zombie marine’s back when hanging from its strap. The bowstring was incredibly thick, and I eyed the crank and the bolts he kept in a quiver belted at his side. They were shorter than traditional arrows, and nearly as thick as my finger. The thought of one of these things punching into my chest was a decidedly unpleasant one.

“She’s modified, special-like,” said Squish, swelling with obvious pride. “You oughta see what she can do on a battlefield, lad. Nithian Marines have a reputation for nasty surprises, and ol’ Squish is no exception.” He patted my shoulder and I fought the urge to cringe. He didn’t smell as bad as you might expect from an animated corpse, but neither did he have a pleasant aroma. A bit like dry dog food and bonemeal. Tally spoke up, and I could see him appraising me.

“You came in from the north, lad. Nothing up that way but an abandoned mine and a goblin camp. You’re no goblin, and your garb is strange too. What’s that on your…tunic, hey? A coat of arms or somesuch? ” He asked dubiously.

I looked down at Boba Fett and sighed. “Uh… where I come from he’s sort of a…warrior, from a famous story. I think people mostly like him for the helmet,” I said blandly. Tally snorted.

“So, where you come from, grown men wear pictures from storybooks, right on their chests?” he asked. He didn’t need to tell me what he thought of that.

“I mean, not everyone. My mom hates this shirt,” I said. She did.

“Your mum sounds sensible, boy.” He said flatly. I had the feeling I was not impressing Tally. Squish spoke up then.

“Tally’s mum was very sensible,” he said innocently. There was a moment of silence as the words hung in the air, then, without word or warning, Tally drew back and punched Squish right in his dead-ass face.

“Don’t you talk about my mum, you rot-speckled prick! Next time I’ll chop your head off and strap it to your boney ass, face first.” To my surprise, Squish only cackled in response, and there was a sort of crunch-slash-squelch sound as he worked his jaw back into place. I had expected a retaliation from the zombie that would lead to a full-out brawl, and I was surprised when it didn’t. It then occurred to me that I was no closer to a meal or a bed than I had been when I arrived, so perhaps it was time to come back around to the point.

“So,” I interjected quickly, before they could continue the old married couple routine. “I did run into a goblin, but I killed it. After that, the weird God-voice said something about a spell and some weird shit about mortal impudence. I assume you guys heard that part. It seemed like a general announcement." I looked between them. "Then, I tried to pet this big deer that turned out to be another god, and he headbutted me - like fifty feet. I don’t recommend getting smited, it's unpleasant. After that, I woke up nearly dead and discovered I had a pair of leafy antlers. Also I’ve been invited to some fucked-up sacrificial ritual where I’m supposed to kill the creepy deer and feed his flesh to the Gods.” I took a breath as I finished. The two zombies looked at each other for a long moment, then back at me. Tally spoke in an almost fatherly tone.

“Gods,” he said in a low voice. “Stay away from gods, boy. Stay far, far away.”

“Nothing but trouble,” Squish added helpfully. “Bad trouble.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I replied ruefully, thinking about the “Gods” up there in their city of Jericho. That was a curious name. Jericho had been the first walled city on Earth. “So, I would really like to get into this town and find some food and a bed. I can pay. I have gold. I promise not to do any… rabble-rousing or whatever.”

Tally was conciliatory when he spoke next. “You seem harmless enough, lad, but we can’t just let strangers what wander out of the dark into town on a whim. We’d be remiss in our duty,” he said, and I could tell he meant it. In spite of the bickering, I got a sense these two had, at least once upon a time, been experienced and skilled soldiers. “But, Squish here will escort you to the Fleet Fox, the tavern where our Manager holds court with a gnomish tree witch named Quicklily. She’s the Guild rep here, and Gerard’s a good lad. For a Necromancer. He’ll give you a look over, and if he gives you the nod, then we’ll see if we can’t get you settled for the night.”

To my relief, Squish didn’t offer any protest to Tally’s ‘suggestion’ that he be the one to escort me to the tavern, which was apparently called The Fleet Fox. As we walked through the silent, empty street towards what looked to be the centre of town, I looked around at the town itself. The central road was narrower than the road to the gate had been, and was oriented in a more or less straight line leading to a central square, off of which lead three more roads in a cross-shape oriented to the cardinal directions.

The southern road led to another gate, this one about as well-kept as the first. No zombies posted there, I noticed. The houses were modest, single story and constructed of thick wooden beams and what looked like fieldstone. Low light flickered from within some of the homes, but many were dark. Not a soul walked the streets. The sparse light provided by widely spaced lanterns hanging from wooden posts cast wavering shadows over the fronts of the lined homes, but left the centre of the road draped in darkness.

“Hey, Squish?” I asked as we walked between the halos of orange lantern light. The zombie soldier was leading me at a casual pace through the street toward what looked to be one of the few multi-story buildings in the town.

“What’s that, lad?” He replied, looking over his shoulder curiously.

"What's it like? Being undead?"

"Profoundly disturbing." He grinned. "I don't recommend it."