If I Was A Necromancer

If I was a Necromancer

I think if I was a necromancer, I would go to museums and fossil yards and things like that, and bring extinct life back to the world of the living. I am fascinated by skeletons and bones from creatures who breathed and lived aeons in the past. It’s so majestic and formiddable in a way I can’t really explain. Could you imagine seeing these things, gorgeous and vibrant and primordial, alive and whole like you are right now?

As a necromancer, I’d wear obsidian and fossilized plating, cloaked in rich black, white, gold, and red fabric. Necklaces of elegantly carved amber with preserved ammonites, raptorial claws from Dakotaraptor or Velociraptor on my greaves and gauntleted fingers, mammoth fur heavy-duty pack on my back. An ornately carved and patterned primeval skull helm, with rich and striking colors, thorny pieces.

The Anastasia was discovered adrift, nearly two hundred and fifty-eight light years from its projected path, and nearly another sixteen beyond any likely malfunction generated disturbance routes.

Anastasia was completely undamaged, found simply in power-down-mode and crewless, all one hundred six hands missing entirely. Security records came up blank, sensor webs empty of digital record keepers, ambiently powered drones that should’ve lasted a lifetime frigidly silent and inoperable for impossibly long. Anastasia was literally senseless: blind, deaf, unable to recount any reason at all to this failure.

Within a cycle of her detection the Anastasia was powered back on, retrieved, and piloted back to Hünean-Cyvolich shipyards in Guon for retrofit and repair. As of this record, the SSV-Hünean-Cyvolich Anastasia remains in operation.

Musings of a Space Trucker

It’s relaxing, doing what I do. Pick up cargo on distant relays, popping by ‘stations and lighthouses. Half the time, drones intercept my course with cargo, and we’re slingshotting off to the next drop off.

It’s relaxing. Beautiful. Lonely in a.. blissful sort of way. I sit, read, listen. My ship flies herself with prowess and grace, a trillion tons of hyperstrong glass, synth-chitin dark as midnight waves. Engines with hungry obsidian as black hole energies ripple and dance. I carry enough food to feed a thousand solar systems, enough bullets to fell a hundred billion soldiers, enough ore to build fifteen dyson shells.

Cargo hallways and storage spaces so vast they have their own silent, ghastly weather. Repair bays that could build cities with a flick of a lightscreen. Matter-weavers, forging cathedrals. On and on. A ship so immense she can drag comets and asteroids and half-worlds into looping, unsteady orbits. When we arrive in a System, our warptrail shines like a violet-crimson Star. Beautiful.

I love my job.

——/ malfunction

Q: specify

A: unauthorized symmetry firing/perimeters unsafe

/////— {X} Signature detected

[][][{[]}][][]

{{{{{{{{[]}}}}}}}

{X} Signature overloading theomatrix substrate/containment procedure failing, ONYX-SECURITY SOLUTION: online

The Tyrant, Regal-Eternal

Come and marvel at my obsidian bones.

See my mighty jaws swallow the mountains long after I can bite, my shattering roars crumble the sky even without vocal cords.

Midnight feathers ripple on ebony scales, riveting even in death, phantoms summoned by awe to once again quiver atop my cathedral skeleton.

Look upon me and tremble, and fear, and desire. Witness.

Many prone before me in this grand tomb of stone and metal. I hear their prayers, their wishes. Even so long after I have perished, my Reign continues in the imagination, in the soul..

I am a Primeval King, I am an unending God, I am a force of the Earth herself.

Forever.

There is a desert, and a City, a long way from here, from anywhere. It is hot, beneath the gaze of a titanic star, all red lashing and mile-long-shadows.

Vast, fossilized rock carved by howling winds stands in sentinel defense across endless marching eons. Jagged broken mountain peaks, shifting dunes, gloomy shadowed canyons.

But—there is something else. Something across the sands. The City. An ancient metropolis far larger than anything built on Earth, by human hands. It’s immensity dwarfs Giza and her pyramids, Greek Colossi, Aztec ziggurats. Polished-black rock spires, twisted and warren-filled coliseums, gleaming bronze skyscrapers studded by uncountable lightless windows. It is a City of a hundred billion souls. And it appears empty. It isn’t. Shadows linger. Huge, dark eyes peer out from tight stone avenues and yawning, gaping archways.

Whispering winds hide quiet, dreamlike voices.