Freedom is here and its telling me,
I can be as free as the fish in the sea,
Because oh, how I long to swim away,
And go back to the time when all was ok.
I had just finished working on a garment for Carrion. Stretching my fingers and arms I decided to visit the kitchens for a snack. Opening the door I entered a dark stone hallway with little lighting. Twisted and wicked paintings covered the walls; I tried not to look at them. Finally, I made my way down to the main floor. Stitchings, monsters, and every gruesome thing in between could be found there. Sneering glances were sent my way. A particularly ugly and annoying stitching named Thim approached me. Thim was made up of different colored fabrics that seemed to be mismatched, smelly, and dirtied. He walked with a limp because about six inches of his left leg was severed and stitched up messily rancid mud oozing out every now and again. Dark beady eyes seemed out of proportion with his massive swollen head and small, sharp teeth. "Your attire seems hardly appropriate. Out to please the Lord?" he asked with a perverted sneer as he looked me up and down.
"Excuse me? Well, as a servant of the Lord, why don't you go please him, after all, its kind of your job, right?" I replied as I walked past.
"Why don't you just answer my question?" he said with a smile on his face.
"Yeah? Why don't you go have an eating contest with a zethek?"
"Why don't you go dancing with a dragon?"
"Why don't you go burn in hell?" I turned my back and left. A stream of whooping and whistling followed me, a stream of laughing and booing followed him as he stood speechless. I had been free to walk in the 12th tower as I pleased for some time. However, as many times as I have seen its occupants, I still never got used to it.
Passing through the various hallways gave me a chilling and eerie feeling. One might expect the tower to be dripping with water and filled with rats, but I was actually quite nice. Stone arches with brilliant stone work supported the massive arched ceilings depicting many different forms of torture and gruesome images. Finally, after many wrong turns, I arrived in the kitchen. The chefs there always made fun of me because I was picky about what I ate. Anyone would be picky too if they saw what went on in those kitchens. So, instead of fried zethek wings or pickled dragons' tounge, I prefered fish and fruit. Isbet was leaving just as I entered. "Can I talk to you?" I asked him. After a moment of silence, he nodded his head.
As Isbet and I walked down the hallway I asked, "Is there anything I should avoid while my stay here?" Isbet rubbed his scarred snout before he replied.
"Yes, avoid the swamps, stitching, the acid pools and garden," he said abruptly.
"Thanks," I replied. We continued in silence as we made our way down the hallway. Suddenly, a figure stepped out to block our path, Thim. "What do you want?" I asked him. "I was laughed at thanks to you. No one humiliates me," he finished. As if to prove his point he revealed a long dagger. Three more stitching stepped out of the darkness smiling maliciously flexing and cracking their fingers. I felt myself start to panic a little. There was no way out and it was 4 to 2. I doubt Isbet was much of a fighter so the odds went down 4 to 1, not in my favor. It was Thim who made the first move. Running at me he slashed his dagger wildly madness and rage in his eyes. I could have laughed. This fool against me, a third degree black-belt? 1 down, 3 to go. I heard a yell behind me, one of the stitchlings had attacked Isbet - successfully. That was followed by a sicking squeltching sound as Isbet rammed and stabbed the stitchling with his horns, making its seams pop. By the time our little skirmish was over and done with Isbet didn't look like he was in the best shape. He had few wounds, but they were deep. "Please don't leave me…" he said as he lost consciousness and blood. "I won't," I replied. "I won't…." dragging him to my room, luckily we weren't far from it in the first place.
Isbet woke up about 10 minutes later in my room. I had patched him up and he should be good to go. "You didn't leave me…" he said, "Thank you," he said quietly as he finished examining his stitches.
"No problem," I replied, "Can I ask you for a small favor?"
"Sure."
"Tell me, does Lord Carrion plan on leaving this island anytime soon?"
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Little bug, Little bug
How you disgust me,
Little bug, Little bug
How you make the girls cry
But no matter,
For I shall crush you like a fly
Carrion stood neither at his window nor in his tower, but rather on a small vessel heading toward the Pyramids of Xuxux. The ship he was in didn't compare with the magnificence of the Wormwood he had to blend in; and the little boat with a study black mast did just that. His sacbrood he bought from Pixler years ago were mature by now and readied to be riled up for the war that would shake the world. His gaze rested on the horizon of the black placid midnight sea. An occasion fish jumping would disrupt the nearly flat ocean. Out from the Isabella's smooth waves rose the Pyramids, tall and mighty. However, this wasn't a job he could handle alone; no he needed someone this time. That someone was Leeman Vol.
Vol loved insects. The burrowed in his flesh and laid their eggs in his skin. In fact, Vol had lost his nose to a spider; so he covered the hole with a fake leather nose instead. Leeman had an unusual talent; he could speak to not only bugs that roosted on his being, but with all insects. Not only does that set him apart from your every-day evil being, but also the fact that he had tree mouths. When he spoke, his voices were in unison and enough to make a man go insane. So it's no surprise that Vol isn't exactly Christopher Carrion's favorite person.
"Why is it you brought me with you to the Pyramids of Xuxux?" asked Vol, lice weaving in and out of his pores. He, Carrion, and Mendelson Shape were standing at the door of the largest pyramid. Carrion knew he just had to resist the urge to leave Vol there and let the Sacbrood eat him alive, no, he needed him now; he could dispose of Vol later. "Vol, I would like you to say hello to our friends, the sacbrood," said Carrion. Carrion knew he had to make this trip fast though. Hopefully, he could make it back to midnight as soon as possible. Within a few hours preferably…
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If time is of the essence,
And essence of time,
Then it will be very soon,
When you, freedom, shall be mine
I knew my window of time was quickly slipping away. After Isbet left, I hauled the body of a stitching into my room and rolled up my sleeves. Time to do some dark magic I thought to myself. Glancing out the window I took a deep breath. It was now or never.
"Hey! Stop!" shouted my guard, Hycle. But I continued to run, straight for the swamps. Swatting the pallid flies from my face, I continued to run; the stitching hot on my heels. The sting of acid vapor met my lungs, almost there. If only I could make it to the acid pools. "Stop! The Lord will have my skin if anything happens to you!" begged the stitching, his breath now ragged. Heedless, I jumped into the pool. Bubbling red acid engulfed my body bubbling madly. Vapor rose up from the pool withering the leaves on the braches. Something floated to the surface. The guard stopped in his tracks. "The boss won't be happy about this…," mumbled to guard as he bend down and scooped up the remains, "not happy at all…"
Using dark magic, I temporarily transformed Thim's body into my own. The process was dangerous and took about an hour to perform but the results were worth while. Thim looked, like me but didn't speak like me so it was important that there was no talking. Using the juice from the yapa fruit mixed with vultures bones, I hypnotized him into what he was about to do; jump into the acid pool. Finally, I dressed him in the dress I was wearing that day and gave him explicit instuctions on what to do. I took a deep breath pointed at the door and barked, "Jerbe Balusla!" and the new me was off. I knew my plan had worked the moment I saw the guard chasing Thim into the forest. Off into the acid pool "I" go. Now was my chance to sneak on a boat while my guard was busy hunting "me" down.
The boat's gentle rocking soon put me to sleep. I looked lazily out of the window to see another boat on the horizon advancing toward the red haze of midnight. That's probably Carrion I thought lazily to myself. Luckily, the sailors didn't know who I was, even with all the make up I had put on to disguise myself. For the first time in a long time I fell into a peaceful slumber.
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On the midnight isle,
So far from the day,
On the midnight isle,
Please do come and stay,
We feast on your fear,
And will dance on your graves,
For here on midnight,
Pleasure becomes pain.
Carrion was sitting in his study yet again plotting his victory over Day. A knock interrupted his thoughts. A frown crossed his scarred lips, he had been receiving a lot of knocks recently, few of them were ever good news. "Enter," he said. A sad looking stitching entered; it had mismatched skin of dark green, brown, and colors that don't even have a name that seemed to sag. It was the guard, Hycle; who was especially intelligent for a stitching. Bowing before his lord he started to speak. His deep voice cracking with nervousness.
"I don't know how to say this…" started Hycle, "but Marina is dead." As if to prove his point he deposited the remains in front of him; bones and the tatters of a dress, shoes and clothes littered the floor.
Carrion first felt the rage build up from his core, growing and growing he felt his pupils dilate angrily. His rage screamed and tore its way within him. "I leave you for a few hours unsupervised and THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS?" roared Carrion advancing toward the stitching. "CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT?" he finished. The paintings on the walls shook. The grisly fleshless vultures at the top of his bookcases shook restlessly – eager for fresh meat; they sensed violence. Sparks flew around Carrion's head as he gripped the stitching's neck and threw it back toward the wall. Hycle's body arched as many of his ribs cracked from the impact. He squatted down and covered his head with one arm and held his ribs with the other breathing heavily. Carrion glared at him, soon Hycle was writhing on the ground smoldering slightly as mud oozed out of his seams.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" demanded Carrion. His voice was silky smooth but under that smoothness was danger. Hycle said nothing as he rose to his feet.
"I said SPEAK!" roared Carrion. Hycle nodded his head numbly. "Look at me," hissed Carrion. Hycle felt an invisible hand jerk his head up so his eyes met his masters.
"I-I-I'm sorry lord. But she jumped into the acid pool! I tried my best to saver her!" moaned Hycle trying to save himself.
"If you can't do anything right, what use to me are you?" murmured Carrion almost casually.
"I'm truly sorry! It won't happen again!" begged Hycle.
Gently, Carrion placed his hand in his collar and released his nightmares one by one. And one by one they slithered toward Hycle, their sickly sallow bodies slowly advancing toward their next victim slithering likes snakes stalking mice. They stopped and waited about a foot away form Hycle as if for their master's command. "No!" begged Hycle as he legs gave out from underneath him. As he slid down to the floor he covered his head. "No! Please! It won't happen again, I swear!" begged Hycle who was now reduced to a sobbing mess on the floor.
"No, of course not…you won't get the chance," remarked Carrion. He barked out a command in a foreign tongue and the nightmares pounced, eager to take their next victim. Hycle screamed, his body flailing wildly. The stitching shrieked and begged for mercy and just minutes later, it stopped. Hycle's figure went limp as the nightmares retreated from his body. His face frozen with fear, his glazed over eyes seeing some sort of terrifying fear; his mouth was opened and foam dripped down onto the cold stone floor. Carrion's gluttonous nightmares returned to their master having had their fill of fear. The vultures swooped down onto the figure on the ground, their pasty listless eyes gazing at the stitching hungrily. But Carrion wasn't paying attention to this; he was busy gathering the remains of his seamstress and arranging them in a pile with candles and potions. After all, he could speak to the dead.
And he found out astounded him, Carrion did not expect this. He let a thin smile cross his lips as he threw the remains away, "Clever girl," he said as he gazed out the window toward the sea. "Clever, clever girl."