The Necromancer

The quill dipped quickly into the inkwell before Jack Kreacher scrawled his own illegible name on the bottom of a bank note made from fresh fibers. He lifted the parchment up and sniffed the fumes wafting from the drying black ink while the candlelight flickered on his mahogany desk. Putting his head back, he sighed and put the paper back down while the sound of irregular footsteps came up from behind him.

"Kreacher, you asshole. I told you put a tether in the bathroom so I could use the damn bucket and not have to worry about falling into my own shit. Not so you could hang a stuffed cat like some maccab toilet scarecrow."

Kreacher leaned back in his chair, still in his surgical apron with only his gloves off so he could properly feel with his fingers. Hooking his toes on the back of desk so he wouldn't fall on his back he looked back and saw the upside down image of his yellowish roommate/business co-owner/hobbled stick leaning friend, Lareal. "Sorry, Diz. I forgot what it was was there for, and… well, I just thought it would be funny."

Lareal, leaning on his hickory stick, as usual, went slowly to the unopened window that was right beside Kreacher's working desk. "I don't see why you'd think that was funny. But then again, I don't see why you do a lot of things, like-" He pushed opened the shutters with a weathered hand and let the bright, Elsweyrn sunlight spill in. "-why would you waste candles in the middle of a cloudless, sunny day?"

A sudden, violent sneeze caused Kreacher to lurch and topple out of his chair. "Damn it. Damn this country and it's cat inhabitants and damn me most of all for coming here in the first place." Kreacher got up on one knee and used the desk as leverage to pull himself up. He fumbled for a bit to open one of the drawers, tugging it a few times as it constantly got stuck, until it finally came free. Reaching inside, he pulled out a small, fragrant bottle filled with a special blend of herbs that helped relax his sinuses. He pointed an accusing finger at Lareal as he uncorked the contents with his teeth. "Candles aren't nearly as expensive as this is, Diz. You want me to be considerate of your disabilities, fine. Just be more aware of mine is all I'm asking."

His friend scoffed and glanced outside where the sound of horse driven cart rolling by reach their ears. "If you're seriously comparing your allergies, which is mildly annoying at best, to my gimped leg then you've got a serious ego on yourself. Honestly, I don't understand how I can stand it. I suppose a lifetime of drinking snake venom will eventually give you an immunity to it, but I'd rather not have to deal with it all. Lareal looked away from the window and at Kreacher, then to the bank note on the desk. "I suppose you'll want me to take that over to Shadya, right?"

"It's probably for the best." agreed Kreacher. "You know how we are. I don't want to accidentally drive up the rent again if it can be helped. We'd be on the street if it goes up much higher; unless, of course, you actually start bringing in some septims on your own."

Ignoring that last comment, Lareal took the banknote and stuffed it into his pocket. The hickory stick clanked as he limped to the front door. But before leaving he ran a palm through his short, straw colored hair and listened for something.

"My time keeper didn't go off even though the noon has went. I should fix that." Then Lareal was gone. The bell above the door rang as he left.

Kreacher closed the opened window as soon he left then spent the next five minutes pondering what his afternoon activities would consist of. He decided that he would make the rounds on supplies to make sure that everything was organized and stocked up. There was no telling when the next apothecary would come through and it was best to know what he needed before hand. So he opened the door to the basement and went down the stairs, stepping into the room where he did most of his work. Inside were a lot of drawers and cabinets, along with sharp knives and frightening instruments that looked like torture devices. Thankfully, that's not what most of them were for, and in actuality everything was kept sterile for when the need arises to use them. In the center of this room was a square table with a smooth surface to place patients.

It was dark as briar's heart down there. Kreacher had to light a lantern to see where he was going, and placed the lantern on a hook hanging down from the ceiling. Then he proceeded to take stock with a small roll of paper with a list of everything he needed. He would open a cabinet, see that he had enough disinfecting alcohol to effectively poison an elephant, close the door and then move on. By the time he was finished he had marked down on his paper that he needed several more spools of thread, for stitching, and was also missing a bag of tranquilizer he had bought last week.

"Now the question is, did I lose the pint or did big rat eat it and i'm going to find it's cadaver under the ice box?" That was a question he set out to find the answer to at once. Unfortunately, there was no dead rat under the ice box when he went to go check and before he went to look elsewhere he heard the ringing of the front door echo all the way down to where he was at.

"Hello? Is there anybody here? My pet is sick."

"I'm coming." responded Kreacher, hollering back up the stairs.

When he reached the top of stairs he saw the owner of the voice was a tall Khajiit man with a lion's mane of white hair. His outfit was minimal with wool woven trunks and straw sandals; and in his arms he carried what looked the still body of a Nipon chameleon.

"Sorry for the wait. Is this the pet?" asked Kreacher, pointing at the chameleon. "Eh. Doesn't seem to be moving. How long has it been like this?" He wiggled the critter's foot with a gloved finger. Nothing.

The Khajiit eagerly gave Kreacher the chameleon, laying it in his arms like a babe. "Yeah, He's been like this all morning. Truth be told, I know he's dead. But my son… he still thinks there's something that can be done. He found it in the forest, so I'm thinking of going out and getting another just like it."

Kreacher tried to pay attention while also attempting not to be apparent that he was holding his breath. Already he could feel his nose tingling with the inclination to go into a sneezing fit.

A bulge in the critter's throat caught his attention and he opened the mouth to get a better view. "Uh huh." Suddenly he looked up at the Khajiit, as if seeing him for the first time. "Sorry, what's your name? I forgot to ask."

"S'Aliit."

"Well, S'Aliit," said Kreacher. "It looks like your pet's airways had been obstructed. Looks bad, but luckily there's something I can do. You don't have to get a new pet after all."

The Khajiit doubled back in confusion. "What? You're saying it choked to death… and somehow you can heal it? Now, I'm no healer but-"

"Exactly," interrupted Kreacher. "you're not. In fact, you look like a fisherman, right? You'll just have to trust me when I say I can fix your lizard cause that's all you can do. I'll be back before you know it in just a few short minutes. In the meantime, I've got a few balls of yarn I can lend if you need some entertainment."

If the affronted look on S'Aliit's face was any indication Kreacher was about to get a few broken bones if he didn't leave at that exact second. So, he took the chameleon downstairs into the basement where all of his supplies where and lay it down on the table. Taking a pair of tweezers out of a drawer he opened the animal's mouth one last time and reached in. Out came a big spider covered in mucus and spit, the cause of the airway obstruction. Though there was no doubt the chameleon was dead at this point, but Kreacher still had something up his sleeve. He took to a cabinet and shoved aside jars of suppositories to reach trunk in the back. Once in the trunk he looked upon rows and rows of Geode gems, each with an animal label above them. He took one with chameleon assigned to it and closed the trunk up. Going back to the table he took the gem and touched it to the small of its head, whereupon a blinding light filled the room. When the Kreacher blinked the stars out of his eyes he was greeted with the sight of the chameleon struggling to get off its side.

The look on the Khajiit's face when Kreacher went up with the revitalized animal was priceless; but he put a price on it anyway.

"A hundred and fifty septims?!"

Despite the fact that S'Aliit had a small miracle clinging to his arm he wasn't very receptive to Kreacher's way of doing business. "It's not that much at all," insisted Kreacher. "Honestly, a healer at a temple would have asked for more, and now you get to go back home to one of the happiest boys in all of Tamriel. This is a bargain." He could see it in the Khajiit's eye: anger and suspicion. Kreacher got that a lot but usually clients don't act out on it. Sometimes they did though, and he was currently trying to make one of them pay for the vase they broke from over a month ago.

"Please," asked S'Aliit. "can't you lower the price? I'm not bringing much in right now. The fish have been scarce and I want to get my wife and children something nice at the Merchant's Festival."

Damn, not the sympathy card. I've never been able to resist a pity plea. Sucking the air through his teeth, Kreacher placed his palms on his waistband and shuffled his feet. After a moment of false pondering he eventually waved his hand in proclaimed defeat. "Alright, alright. I'll accept ninety but I don't want you letting others know I'm cutting you a deal. Everyone with a pet fly will want a discount if I'm not too careful." That was acceptable for S'Aliit, and with a quick exchange of hands Kreacher was ninety septims richer than he had been half an hour ago. After the Khajiit had gone Kreacher went to the kitchen and stood with his hands splayed on the counter, watching the fireplace dry his socks as they hung above it. Some blend of herbs was burning in the hearth; smelling of lavender and maple. It made him nostalgic for the open air on a fresh summer's day. Lareal had often tried to push Kreacher to go outside, and being alone had the uncanny effect of making him crave the company of others. But what if a client comes in while I'm gone, or if my high elf friend comes back and falls into the toilet again? It would be irresponsible of me to meander around the city.

"Oh well. Life's made for taking risks is what I always say."

He made sure to lock the door as he left. A wooden sign with the words Lareal Inventors & Kreacher's Petnasium dangled from a wooden post right off the porch, a wild vine growing through the cracks. On either side of the shop were two other stores. Power Pottery on the left, and Second Skin on the right. Both were owned by the same man, a wood elf by the name of Oridir. In fact, it was beginning to become difficult to find a store or shop not owned by that Bosmer. Every shop in Senchal from the slums to the high risers were falling one by one into his golden lap. He had even come to Kreacher's and Lareal's place to try and open a discussion on property price. "It's not as if you're doing anything worthwhile here anyway," he had said. Just the thought of that old and wavering voice set Kreacher's blood on boil. Instead of focusing on that unpleasantness though he distracted himself with the sight's. He followed the cobble stone road to the end of the merchant district and then took a shortcut down an alleyway that saw him in front of the one the oldest foundations in all of Senchal, the Moon Temple. Kreacher had planned on spending the afternoon by the docks to gaze out at the sea, but a commotion brought his attention to the steps. A large crowd had began to form, using the stone stairs as theater seats while performers played their instruments at the base. A few carts that served as homes to these traveling minstrels were parked just nearby under the shade of a large and twisted beech tree.

"Greeting my music lovers!" bellowed a woodwind playing dark elf, skin blue in color and ash in shade. "Merchant's day is not far off, but let's not forget ourselves in the face of discount prices and cheap treats. Nothing is more important than community or family! So spend these next few days with each other if you can! You never know how many days you have left. Actually, why not spend your time here? We'll be performing all week! My name is Fweet the Wind Whistler and remember, any support you can provide would be much appreciated." What support Fweet was hoping for, Kreacher could not see. Most of his audience consisted of the homeless and deprived. Some had even made makeshift beds on the steps where they could more easily access the free meals given by the temple acolytes. A few of them were watching from the opened temple doors at that exact moment, wearing their white and red robes in symbolism of the two moons: Jone and Jode.

"Go to the Briar lair if you have no care!" sang a woman's voice. The one who it belonged to lept out of a caravan dressed in a leafy garb. It was clear that she was meant to look like a wood elf, but her tail and fur which poked out of the green robes made it clear she was a wiley Khajiit. "I'll eat any wanderer that I ensnare! If you pick a leaf, a flower, or weed there's a dark deed awaiting at home for thee!" the Khajiit wore a wooden mask with a threatening scowl, and kept low to the ground as the minstrels played played their instruments. The woodwind played a light hearted tune while an orc on a pair of tall twin drums banged up a jungle beat. Suddenly, the Khajiit woman's head twisted at the sound of a bird chirping, and she leapt up into an overhanging tree limb in an impressive display of acrobatics. Then a man in a stuffed shirt and a comically designed mask walked in from stage right.

"Daisy petals or dandelion leaves. I cannot suffer an evening without these. If cheese with geese is a pleasant tease a salad with trey seeds is twice to please!" He picked a nearby flower and placed it daintily in his hair as the Khajiit dressed as a wood elf watched from above making exaggerated movements of obvious rage. "Dew drops as dressing. Berries a blessing. Wood Nyphs do not scare me from trying a little tasting."

In the tree, the Khajiit cried out to the heavens with her fists in the air. "A fool! A fool! A heretic and a ghoul! Briar trees give me the power to make this right and I'll make this tool regret his deplorable trite! Ideas have I of a-"

"Treat, Imperial?"

A hunched woman with a unibrow with a basket of honey coated nut sweets stood near Kreacher, offering one in a wrinkled hand.

"They're free?" asked Kreacher. She nodded her head and smiled with mouth full of crooked teeth. He felt almost guilty as he accepted it, but the taste put it out of his mind almost immediately. It was sticky and clumpy, but there was a certain something of having the honey stick to the roof of his mouth that made all the more satisfying. By now, on stage, the fat man who had eaten the flowers had a spell cast on him by the briar. His head had turned into a monkey's face, or rather, the Khajiit had come down and placed another mask on him while he pretended to sleep.

"Demon!" cried the fat man's wife as she came on stage floor. Her outfit consisted of many silks and fell down till the dress was being dragged across the dirt and weeds. "Where have you taken my lovable but stupid husband?!"

A hand grabbed Kreacher by the shoulder, startling him and draw his attention away from the show. Lareal's eyes were seething with anger. "Kreacher? Kreacher, what are you doing out of the shop? The irresponsibility is-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Calm down." said Kreacher, taking Laurels hand off of his shoulder. "I don't think we have to worry about any customers going elsewhere. There's no other animal doctor in the entire country as far as I know. What's this about?"

Lareal hung his head low and whispered to himself. A militia guard looked over at them curiously. Shaking his head, Lareal looked back up at Kreacher; now looking frightened and sad rather than mad. "Shadya has raised the rent by two thousand."

"Two thousand!" exclaimed Kreacher in alarm. "That's double than what it was previously. Why? Did she give an explanation?"

With a huff, Lareal sat down on the soft grass. "I forgot to ask." he said, pinching the middle of his brow. He set his stick down by his side and sighed. Cicadas ringed loud in the hot summer air as the two looked at each other, even louder than the theater troupe as they played and sang. The hot humid air was suffocating. "I'll… have to start taking commissions again."

Kreacher's face went pale.