"Hello, I - oh, sir, sir, you necro-things should really make some effort. The nice man from before already stank, but you're even worse. It’s like you’ve been living in a dung pit!"
Robert received no immediate answer and glanced disapprovingly at the old man who was stumbling as he tried to get away from him - it was extremely rude indeed. The peasant tried to slowly get closer, but the dark wizard only mumbled incomprehensible things to his sleeve.
"Well, listen to me" said Robert, exasperated. "I only come to carry a message. Would you please listen to me without making such a fuss?"
Zamioculcas froze, then regained his composure and straightened, fiddling with his beard - a nervous gesture, no doubt, Robert told himself.
"Very well very well!” The wizard squeaked in a nasal voice. "Express yourself but beware of my mood! "
Robert was careful not to mention that he saw the old man's knees tremble and scraped his ghostly throat.
"You see, the kind gentleman who now rests over there”
"Machronus, the dog," murmured Zamioculcas.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“This very good-natured individual, although a little singular, held me a very pleasant conversation during your frightful, uh, discussion. Damn it, will you stop mumbling while I am talking to you? Thank you. He asked me to talk to you about his final spell. Is it a rat I see in your sleeve? "
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"All who hear the Bell of the Underworld will see their souls swept away by the gods from below. There is no way to prevent it, either for men or even, some say, for the titans. The Bell itself decides how many times it rings, and each of its sounds is a year of deferment to those who have heard it. But when their time is up, no complaint, no fame, no sorcery will prevent the hand of the gods themselves from drawing them to the abyss. Casting the spell calling the bell is useless, stupidly dangerous even - after all, the one who uses it will hear its sinister noise too, and its allies alike. The necromancer who in position to discover this spell has much better weapons in his arsenal, that can kill much faster and a lot more people - clouds of undead insects, waves of death, igneous orbs of destructive power. When I discovered it, I perceived only one use in this hex: giving time to its victim at the expense of one’s own life; and for most necromancers, this is absurd. But for most only. Tell this to Zamioculcas - tell him too that his power was greater than mine. From now on, he will have no interest in killing, in absorbing the lives of innocents to obtain a supreme longevity. My wish was not to kill Zamioculcas - I wanted to give him a handful of years when he could seek true happiness, one that does not depend on the slaughter of others. I just hope it can help him find his death. I was not powerful enough to stop him from acting, but I could offer him those few years, free from his harmful obsessions. Zamioculcas, despite your innumerable victims, you also deserve to end in a way that suits you. "