The Necro Monologues

Beyond Dominia: The Fiction Mill: The Necro Monologues

By Spin13 (Spin13) on Saturday, December 01, 2001 - 02:14 am:

Note: Some of these were written back to back, some were not. Almost all of them take into account the basics of the one before it, but take each one as you will. However, the speaker IS the same throughout:

Eric Spinelli
The Necro Monologues

And the voices keep calling my name out and I know there is nothing but pain here.
Enter my realm and know the death I hold, the bones I clench in my hands.
See the grip of heartache on my poor demented soul of misery,
yet know my powers, and know it was but willingly that I paid the price-
an eternal damnation in hell for a chance at immortality.
Who would not take the risk, except those who fear the power absolute granted in life?
Why would one not lift his essence above his head in sacrifice for this godly knowledge,
for to know what I know is to see between the tightly scripted lines of death,
to know its infinite story, both its future, and past?
I can live with the voices, floating to me from the Twisting Nether,
where I have spent too much time, for though it powers my energies,
it takes my soul closer to the ultimate craze-the demons and the dead I wish to command.
But know that I take the voices in stride because I am their master in sanity.
Play the words as you wish, but see my powers arcane, and know that it is I who raises
demons in the night.
Yes, see my powers arcane-and know that I am a Necromancer!

They challenge me from the deep, calling my eternal name,
yet they do not know who I really am, who I was first called.
They do not know it, and they cannot control me,
yet I can control them, forever breaking their immortal sleep.
They are the dead, who wake at my command,
yet they can do nothing, except wait-and pray.
To control the spirits I have given up my name,
and they cannot know this.
I have traded my identity to be a master of my kind,
a raiser of demons, a ruler in Hell.
My true name has been lost, the name that can bind me.
Most would look at that as a blessing, for one can hold life above another’s head with the power of that very first word-the man’s true name.
Many go through lengths to hide this uttering from the world, yet I have destroyed mine.
It is forever hidden, from myself, the dead, and you, and nobody can control me.
They call me insane, and say I worship the dead.
No, I do not worship them, but summon them in my own self pity.
They have what I shall forever wish, for without a name, I cannot die.
No, I will never know eternal rest, and that is why I cry out in my sleep,
and confess to demons, and pray for my name.
It is forever hidden, from myself, the dead, and you, and nobody can control me-
not even me.

Deep down, in the black of my mind it lurks,
Hiding, waiting for the moment when I myself am weakest.
That is when it will strike, the death I control,
The death I make, will take my soul, too.
For even I, the faceless one, trading honor for thought,
Life for power over death, to control the gates of Hell,
To swing them wide open upon my slightest whim,
Am not exempt from the powers which make me so great.
Even for my control of the hosts and the hordes of undead,
I must pass on, as well, I cannot live forever,
But unlike they, I will never be raised,
For I am the last of the Necromancers,
Or so I was.
Now I understand what it means, to be the last,
I understand how I will die, even without a name,
And I understand why I am faceless.
This body, it is perishable, but this soul will onwards.
I live on, as my mind breeds death into another living person-
Another body, another corpse.

My mind melts with his and all I can think about is dying,
Though I know I must live forever.
Damn these people! Dam them all!
The trick of death, the trap of this death during life!
It is not for one to hold, not to be even touched.
Damn the dead, who draw the living into this half-life of magic,
This Necromancy.
Scar their eternal souls, and let them come down no more-
From Hell, nor their spanning bridges into the suns…
This soul accepts the power I poison it with,
The power to draw the dead from their resting places,
And I know this soul was mine.
I am his soul, I know it, this eternal cycle,
My life is his, but he will never know until…
I know how the black hole of his mind soaks the will, the name,
From his heart, and I know it dies with me.
Oh, how I would love life for just one moment,
If this could be his day to die.

I do not hear you, and I cannot.
Here, in this absolute void of nothingness,
You cannot touch me, you cannot see me.
Nowhere can I be found,
Yet it is true, the power of the Necromancer,
To live life over death,
While death lives your life.
I cannot hide my past anymore than my past hides me.
Without a name you cannot call me,
But nameless I still call to you.
Free me; free me from what I have killed,
Killed in my power of death.
Save me, and I will save you,
Let your blood run free,
And help yourself to Heaven,
That you may know where I can never go.

Under the gray vines of the jungle small mounds of flesh bulge up from the earth.
This is where they sleep when they are not waiting for me.
I am one of them, and yet, they are not like me.
They hide, in waiting, and they strike at my back.
It is not enough to live again deach day, but they must kill me each night.
Here in this Hell I cannot see the light, and when I cannot see, they tear at me.
They are watching for me; breathing for me!
I am hunted, driven to the brink of insanity, then brought back.
They will not let me go, and so I know my unearthly pain.
In life I knew them as my servants, in death I controlled them as my pets,
But not in Hell!
I burn! I burn so hot! And may my hide scar and blister for they will not let me go!
It is the unseen who tell me things, whisper to me in the dark.
They know of my power and they know that I cannot use it-
For what good is it to call upon the beasts of Hell, to raise the dead,
When I can call to myself, and tell myself nothing more.

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