A Dirge that Never Ends

First and Last

The plague spreads.

As the Dead God's legions advance upon the Turstarkuri monk's sanctuary, death and decay become order of the day.

The Dead God had sent his most dreaded general, the Lord of the Flies to storm the remote monastic eyrie.

The general prepares for the assault, eager to slaughter the ascetic monks and raise their bodies as Unliving Priests. For once bound into eternal praise of the Dirge they shall proselytize the unholy mandate. Spreading the poisonous nihilosophy throughout the lower realms

Large bloated flies swarmed around the Lord as he simply walked into the monastery. There was no resistance. The complex was deserted and undefended.

Upon entering the main chapel he found his quarry. His prey congregated to pray.

The orange purple sunset filtered down through the stained glass window. Facing into the light, the monks sat deep in contemplation on silken cushions. Only the sound of carrion flies buzz in anticipation.

The Lord of the Flies stalks, like a vulture around the prayer circle. Deep in gnosis, the monks paid no heed.

The Lord began to hum. Dirge filled the air as he took a knife across the throat of the first monk.

With a lower meditative heartbeat, the blood slowly oozed from the fatal cut. No response. He went to the next monk. His song grows in disappointment as each stoically accepts their death.

Hiding high in the chapel rafters, the young initiate Timay watched in horror and awe.

Timay prayed in vain that they would stay dead. But the Dirge will not be denied. The monks' bodies rose to the song. Gruesome ritual complete, the hordes of the Dead God retire with their prize. The unliving of monks of Turstarkuri.

After sunset Timay came down from hiding. Stood silently on the blood painted floor.

Without immediate fear, grief now overwhelmed the young acolyte. Alone. His breathing shortened as his heart sunk through the ground. The monk's gentle faces haunted his mind.

Stern but kind Monks had never uttered a word in anger. Their positive feedback made Timay feel that he mattered. Coming to the monastery as a pilgrim in search of wisdom he found a home.

Tears began to well. Sobs wracked upon his shoulders.

Uncontrolled he wailed at the unreal pain like a broken machine. They were his teachers and family. For while parents had given him being. The monks had taught self being and through hard work and toil he found purpose.

"You would trouble yourself with some doddering old fools?" Timay heard the voice of Brother Zeno clearly in his mind.

The sound of scraping footsteps behind him jolted Timay back into fear.

He spun around to see the form of Brother Haim reaching out to him with the glowing green eyes of the unliving. Timay froze at the horrible sight of the monk. The front of his garb covered in blood up to his opened throat.

The form of Brother hesitated, placing a hand to his open throat, "Timaaay, it's me."

His mind raced but was slower than his heart. Timay rushed forward and swept up the bloodied old monk into his arms. Fortunately the unliving Brother Haim could no longer feel pain as the hug began to crack his bones.

"I thought you were dead," Timay's mind catches up.

"Well, I was for a bit." lied Brother Haim.

Timay's confused expression punctuated the hanging silence.

Wringing his cold hands anxiously around his neck, the monk confessed, "I didn't want to die! It's so final...A blade slicing across your throat really makes you think. I failed--I changed my mind." At the final moment Brother Haim faltered. The monk projected his consciousness astrally in fear, only to return after his body completed its transmogrification ritual.