The Necrosis Chronicles

I: Bitter Winter

“In this world, only winter is certain” ― George R.R. Martin

Book I: Flesh Eater

I: Bitter Winter

The northern winds were cruel and stinging, biting the skin a raw red as snowflakes fell from the iron-grey sky, spiraling downwards in a languid fashion, blanketing the earth in an icy fleeciness.

Another snowfall had arrived. Death's icy grip tightened on the winter-bound realm of Rimelheim, strangling all life with a frightening persistence.

Perched on a throne made of disfigured human bones, the Dead King Orcus sneered, his sunken coal black eyes gleaming and lighting up his otherwise cadaverous face, lending him the visage of the great Demon Lord Lucifer himself.

X-x-X-x-X

Leaning against the rough stone walls of the apothecary, Shilverase watched her breath escape in misty swirls and whorls of opaque steam, the warmth dissipating into the frigid air as if it had never existed. She shivered in the cold, drawing her fur-lined coat tight around herself, and scanned the somber streets of the city of Ymir. Graven people, all clad in furs, milled through the frost-ridden streets. All their faces were familiar, but none of them was the person she was supposed to meet.

“D-dammit Ronan,” she grumbled through chattering teeth, her stormy grey eyes narrowed in vexation. Shilverase hissed slowly, rumpling her glossy brown locks with a gloved hand before shaking her head in frustration and biting her bottom lip. “Screw him, he can just show up on his own. I’m not going to wait any longer in the cold for him… stupid Ronan, probably got hung up with some vapid ditz with a pretty face,” she muttered in a dour undertone before storming away.  

X-x-X-x-X

Ymir’s inn was crowded, bursting with people as they conversed merrily with each other, savoring the precious warmth that the roaring hearth and spirits provided them. Inside, people could shed their coats and kick their feet up while sharing a plate of vegetables and the flesh of the city’s deceased.

While seemingly barbaric, it was necessary. Animal meat was precious and rare due to the cost of feeding an animal and the nigh impossible challenge the brutal Eternal Winter provided in maintaining livestock while fresh fish is hard to come by in this middle region of Rimelheim. It could be off-putting to eat someone who you might’ve known and even considered a friend, but it served a practical purpose beyond sustenance.

It did not leave behind a body...

“Shilverase! Shilverase! Over here!” an exuberant young woman with butter-yellow hair and aquamarine eyes cried out to Shilverase as the brunette entered the inn. Shilverase acknowledged the blonde with a curt nod and took off her coat, weaving her way over to the table, briefly stopping to apologize when she accidentally ran into someone who had their head leaned back.

With an exasperated sigh, she pulled the chair out from the table and plopped her butt down, burying her head in her hands.

“Is something the matter? Where are Ronan and Nimue?” the blonde queried.

Shilverase snorted, raising her head and giving the blonde an annoyed eye roll. “I don’t know about Nimue, though I would guess Fenrin had something to do with it." She reached for the steaming mug of mulled cider on the table. “And Ronan…” she continued, “is being an idiot. I was supposed to meet him on Main Street, but nope, he didn’t show, Octavia.” She set the cider mug down, the golden liquid sloshing and splattering the table.  

Octavia tilted her head to the side before giggling and resting her elbows on the table. “He must be serenading his latest lady friend,” she drawled devilishly.