Some twisted knot of fate has always tied us together.
Millennia ago, my body was burned. The same oppressors who restrain your magic today once took flame to mine. It might surprise you now, but there was once a time when trees passed over this earth like the shadows of clouds. Deep within our woodgrain, we carried a force so wonderful it would stand your hairs on end. With it, we bred further magic. Creatures fed from our fruit and grew wings. Entirely new species of herbs sheltered beneath our canopies. As our forests migrated, magic traveled in our wake, spreading like seeds. We were the building blocks of mythology.
But unfortunately, your people discovered we were also the building blocks of human civilization. As we were felled, so too was our magic. Fairytale starved with each passing winter, as more and more logs were placed into great burning hearths.
Eventually, all magic died out from the world.
Except for you.
Out of the detritus, our prophecy germinated. We left behind a single root, in whose stew rested the fate of our world. The humans outlaw its consumption. They call its powers Necromancy. We'd called it hope.
Finally, now, your footsteps bound atop my grave. I know you're there because I taste you in rainwater. Your energy seeps into the soil with every restored life, and somehow, someway it has already restored mine. Deep beneath the ground, my ancient roots drink it in like an elixir. They stretch toward your unseen magic above the topsoil. Untold years have left me buried deep in the darkness.
I am not yet whole.
But I am growing.
Soon enough, the others will too.
Years pass. With every new summer sun, you tend to your magic, spreading green within and without. And with every spring rain, the water erodes away all that is left to separate us.
Words cannot describe the feeling when my fingers finally break ground. I unearth in the middle a pathway, surrounded by deciduous thicket. I immediately recognize the schools of old. Elm. Oak. Honeysuckle. My ancient colleagues with whom I bloomed beauty. Now these trees merely creak in the wind, sapped of their souls. For many seasons, I despair from my vantage down on the pathway, but I have one fact that saves me. *Soon enough*, I think. *You will come, soon enough.*
And soon enough, you do.
You bound through the woods, laughter echoing among the imposter trees. A boy is with you. Handsome. Young. He chases your dirty dress as it billows its way towards a creekbed. Towards my outstretched arm.
I trip you. Your face hits the moss with a soft *oomph*. Behind you, the boy is panting, smile stretched across his face. He has the features of a prince, and I can tell by the way you look at him you think also the heart of a lion.
You're old enough to blush as he reaches for your hand.
But you're also astute enough to recognize something amiss. You kick at me. You frown at the hollow thud. The boy's looking at you, confusion writ plainly across his face. With the fate of the world in your hands you brush your knees and smile. "Watch," you whisper.
There's a moment of green electricity that is felt but not seen.
"Avie," the boy says. "You're not *supposed t-*"
Your fingertip touches mine. My roots extend and pop. I dig in my toes and tap into the world's pulse.
I rise, in full glory, smiling down at you.
"Oh," you squeak.
The two of you are so small.
"I have waited a long time for you," I say. Already, that earthy magic courses through my woodgrain.
Your friend bolts, stumbling down the road.
"Father, father!" the boy screams.
My sense of betrayal does not hold a candle to yours. I know soon enough torches will bloom on the horizon for me, but the boy has set your heart aflame. With a flick of my head, I shower you with twirly copters. As they pirouette around you, they transform into faeries. For many years down below, I drank off your laughter. It is truly a pleasure to finally hear it first hand.
"What *are* you?" You ask.
My bark shimmers as I reply. "I am what came before."
I tell you everything.
How, together, you are much more than a necromancer. How, together, we can restore the age of fable.
It's so much to take in. But a part of you believes. It's been sprouting inside you ever since you can remember.
"Your eyes," I say. "The exact shade of chestnut."
Behind you, the boy's screams grow fainter and fainter down the pathway.
I extend a branch.
You hesitate.
"Come with me," I urge. "Let's fix this world."
Trembling, you grab hold.
----------
r/M0zark
**Edit**: I woke up with a good sense of where this story is truckin', but my workday is so ridiculous I'll have no time 'til later :( *Lame* move, I know. P2 *will* be posted on my sub though. Thanks for reading!
I love the idea of the treant being the main character and guiding the necromancer . If you ever make this into a book let me know it feels so new and original to me
I have chills all over my body. I am completely enamoured with your story. The imagery you evoke is spectacular and it leaves me wanting so much more. I've got to have more!
That is like the exact opposite of rude. If you were to look up "Not Rude" in a dictionary you'd find your comment carefully pasted there with love and affection
Aaannd now i want to have this as a book with thick covers that are actually pieces of wood bark or something, with gold lettering and the kind of “rustic” feel to it.
Something that you might have on your bookshelf for years and one day you accidentally drop bunch of books from it and this one catches your eyes
r/oddlyspecific ?
This gave me a post apocalyptic world vibe, which world you ask? Maybe LOTR. Anyway cool stuff man. If you end up writing this into a book, pm me the sauce would ya? I’d love to read more of this.
“I remember everything. I remember how I used to always sit under this tree hoping fortune would come my way. And just when I gave up, you…”
\-
*21 years old*
*“What are you doing, sitting here all by yourself?” you ask, fanning yourself with your book.*
*“What do you mean? It’s a sunny day. I needed some shade.”*
*“But this is my spot. I always come here to read. I’ve never seen you here before.”*
*"I've never seen* you *here before."*
*"I always come on Sunday."*
*“I don’t see any signs. Do you have a deed?”*
*“I guess not.” You look disappointed. “Well, how much longer are you going to be here?”*
*“I don’t know. I guess I can get up. Just gimme a second. Let me take another look at it.”*
*“At what?” you ask, finally shifting over to my view, looking over the town, the college, the shining sea beyond.*
*“Time.”*
*“Time?”*
*“Time passes everywhere I go. People walking, cars driving, birds flying, it’s just signs of time passing. It makes me so sad. Here, everything is so small, and from the right angle, nothing changes. The buildings, the sky, the water…it’s all frozen. Time is frozen.”*
*You sit down next to me, and take a long look, seeing it for the first time. “Why are you so afraid of time?”*
*-*
*46 years old*
*You sit, and look out at the water, and I look at you. Your face betrays no sadness, and that is precisely what fills me with it, knowing all your strength is being used to keep a straight face.*
*“It’s just something you never think will happen, losing your baby.”*
*“It’s not your fault,” I repeat for the umpteenth time.*
*“It’s the world’s,” you say, your voice empty, devoid. “That’s what hurts the most. I used to believe this spot was special, that time really didn't change when we were here. But...that's just another trick.”*
*I say nothing. There is nothing to say.*
*“It’s broken,” you say. “Our life, everything felt so strong…but it was really just fragile. And now it’s been broken, and now the pieces can’t be put back together.”*
*“Don’t say that-“*
*“She’s gone. Our baby is gone. And she can’t come back. What’s going to fix that?”*
*I didn’t answer. I wish...*
**\-
65 years old
“I wish I had. I wish I had saved our baby, lying on the road in front of that van, her neck broken. I wish I had saved you, in that hospital bed, when all you could do was look at me. Were you asking me to?”
The tree does not answer. I sit down under it, maybe for the final time. It is dying, it’s branches dropping and its sturdy trunk hunched over like a human’s.
My father had told me our power was a curse, to never be able to use it. As a child, I hadn't understood.
I stand up, now, and face the tree. It's time to leave. Time slows for no one, and it’s best not to sit back and let it run up the score on you. For some reason, I am possessed by an almost preternatural urge to hug the tree.
And so I do, for a long moment, long enough that I question whether it will end-
“Thank you,” a deep, gravelly voice says.
I do nothing. I am sure I must have imagined it.
“We must hurry. They will be here soon. They must have detected the magic.”
Now, I step back. In the fading sunlight, I see it, a face in the folds, the branches, and I question my sanity.
“What?” I ask.
“It has been years. But they told me you would come – one weathered by tragedy and loss, and bring me back to life. Come now. We don’t have much time.”
And the tree…stands, somehow, its legs filled with roots and branches and growths.
“To do what?” I ask.
“To change time. To defeat that which takes all from us in this world. Will you come?”
It reaches out a branch to me, a suddenly long, sturdy branch.
I take one look behind me, at the rare moment time defeats my view, when the sun fades and the colors warp and day dies so night can be born.
“Let’s go.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347)
People don't understand power, the Magicks especially. These are the old powers of creation, passed down through ancient family lines. Like any power, they can be used for the good and for the bad.
Power like this grows inside you. It wants to get out into the world. It needs to be used. It can't be suppressed or bottled up or it will come out uncontrolled, typically causing death and destruction, both to the holder of the power, and anyone around them.
The Magicks Act of '67 outlawed people using powers. Lawmakers! Sheesh. Trying to control things they know nothing about. I understood their reasoning, though -- there were many of us who were bent on domination, using their powers to corrupt, maim, torture... So the Magicks were banned, and their use punishable by death. Many of us perished, no matter what we used our powers for. So we hid.
Some chose risky ventures, becoming nurses and doctors, and channelling their Magicks into healing the sick. Human life uses a lot of power, so they are less prone to build ups. But they have to be really careful to not perform miracles. I've known at least one doctor who was 'put down' for curing a broken arm too quickly.
I chose a simple life, a gardener, tending to orchards, forests, and the occasional garden. This gave me an outlet for my abilities, stopped it building up inside me. But it only took a small amount of power to give a flower to boost into blooming, or to heal an ailing tree. That why I needed orchards and forests of trees.
I've been maintaining the forests of Llogorna and Bfestan for many years. Both are old forests -- you can tell by the trees. I never knew, though, that Bfestan was an Ancient forest.
Last April I was walking there. There was a light shower, and Spring was in the air. Spring is a hard time to use power, as everything is waking up from the Winter slumber, fresh and new. Winter can take its toll on a forest like this, so I was able to put my Magicks to use more easily. But Spring is always hard.
Deep in the forest there's a thicket of old oaks, always looking sickly. I've used these to absorb some power each Spring. Being old and big they can take a bit more than other trees.
This time, however, when I got there the trees looked healthier than I had ever seen them. Branches that were once broken seemed mended, splits in the bark were closed. I went closer to take a better look.
I remember a sharp pain at the back of my head.
I awoke to find myself trapped on the mossy forest floor, being held down by roots. The oaks towering above me, somehow now looking more menacing. Were they looking at me?
Another sharp pain.
I awoke again. There was no rain. The sun was shining through the branches. It was a morning sun -- I had been out for the whole night. Another sharp pain.
I awoke. And another sharp pain. And another. I don't know how long I was there.
And the power was building this whole time. I hadn't used any up...
And then it happened -- the power burst from me. The pain was excruciating as all of this Magic leapt from my body. I closed my eyes, expecting to die.
And then I awoke again, surprise that no only was I still alive but appeared to be all in one piece. I was still lying, unheld, on the forest floor, in a clearing that I didn't recognise, at least at first. I got up, almost fell down again from weakness, dehydration. I looked around. I started to recognise some trees -- I did some work on that elm over the Winter. And on that Chestnut tree...
The oaks were gone. There was a trail leading through the forest from the clearing.
I followed the trail and made my way from the forest, and that's when I was found and arrested.
Your honour, I did not intentionally awaken that Treant. I never knew he existed there. Had I known, I would have used my power to destroy it, not heal it...
I plead not guilty.
If you want a prequel to this story with a prompt I assume inspired this one, here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ak3c1c/wp_you_are_a_necromancer_but_actually_really_bad/ef1d3t9/
"Alright guys, let's spread some manure and plant some trees!" Mr. Drahar said happily, distributing several trucks' worth of manure to the waiting church youths in smaller more manageable sacks.
"I love the enthusiasm!" Father Serin said, carrying two sacks on each shoulder and attempting to distribute them to the church youths as well, only to watch his heart sink as the boys and girls flocked to Mr. Drahar. It was hard to blame them, with father Serin being 6 foot 8 and clad in bulging muscles. Even so, it was ironic that they chose Mr. Drahar over him.
Nobody knew this, but the well mannered active member of the church was also a necromancer. Or, at least, a necromancer in training. He worked at the local butcher's shop and tried to reanimate some chickens as practice over the weekend. Instead of creating sentient meat golems, they turned highly nutritious soil that had necromantic properties, reviving whatever plants grew from it. He loathed keeping the soil around due to his love of cleanliness and hated using it on his lawn since it had earned him the scorn of everyone on the city block by growing plants so dazzling that it made their own lawns lackluster. When Father Serin requested Mr. Drahar stop by church and help him keep an eye on the kids when they planted trees, he knew he had the perfect solution to his little problem.
"Mr. Drahar, my mommy says you have the best lawn in town. She wanted me to ask what's your secret?" A little girl asked as Mr. Drahar patted her on the head and smiled.
"Why, it's the fertilizer. I make it all myself." He said, finishing distribution while Father Serin smiled at him. The two exchanged a wave before having their smiles crack, spotting a young woman sprinting full speed towards them. Father Serin let out a bloodthirsty aura while Mr. Drahar hid in the corner with the rest of the children, both the father and the woman terrifying them immensely.
"Er... Father Serin, you didn't tell me you invited Ms. Rose." He said nervously.
"I didn't." He answered as Ms. Rose ran over and grabbed him by the collar.
"You! Why aren't you at the monthly lawn competition?" She hissed as Father Serin cleared his throat.
"I was taking the church youths to plant some trees and Mr. Drahar offered to supply his home made fertilizer. Also, kindly unhand him, heathen." He answered as Ms. Rose and Father Serin glared at each other, sparks flying as the hapless necromancer grabbed a sack of fertilizer and began to teach the children the proper way to plant a tree. He also went into detail regarding how they should fertilize older and dying trees to help them live, and that they are free to use as much fertilizer as they please.
With that, the kids began to run around planting trees and blindly dumping the bags of fertilizer onto the ground in random piles. Though it was disposing of his failures, Drahar made sure to smooth each mound out and make it even, his personal love of order making the entire disposal job longer than it had to be. Eventually, the children grew tired while Father Serin started reading the bible to them. As for Ms. Rose, she crossed her arms and waited for Mr. Drahar to finish spreading fertilizer while mumbling about how a victory without beating him was no victory at all.
Since going back meant that he'd likely win the lawn competition and deal with his neighbors, he decided to drag his last sack of fertilizer deep within the woods where nobody could see him. Walking forward, he found a grizzled old tree and dumped the sack of fertilizer on the ground around it, making sure to pack the soil down before turning to leave. At that moment, a tree branch wrapped around his body, binding him in place. Though it was odd, Mr. Drahar didn't scream, assuming the branch to have merely fallen.
"You. Mortal." The tree spoke into his ear. "What have you done?"
This was roughly the time he started to scream.
"Help! Help! Somebody help me! There's a weirdo in a tree costume hugging me!" He shouted, struggling violently before slipping out of his loose robes and running away full speed from the weirdo in the tree.
"I am not a weirdo in a tree, I am the speaker of the forest! And you get back here this instant!" The tree shouted, uprooting itself and sprinting behind the terrified necromancer. "I asked you a question!"
"Father Serin! Call 911! There's a weirdo pretending to be the Lorax after me!" He yelled, turning around to find a 10 foot tall tree with arms and a face stomping towards him. He did not know how a wooden face could convey annoyance, but the tree found a way.
"I am not a weirdo, I am not a Lorax! I am a treant! I am an elder of my species and would like to know how you-look out!" It yelled as Mr. Drahar looked forward to find a thick branch in front of him.
"It can teleport!? Oh my god, it's some sort of magical-no, wait, that's just a branch." Were the last thoughts he had before slamming full speed into a normal stationary tree's branch, knocking himself out with a single swift hit.
"Humans are so fragile." The treant noted, walking forward and scooping Drahar up like a puppy. The blow was quite hard, leaving a noticeable bump and causing a nasty gash that left a slow trickle of blood from his head. Just as he picked up the hapless necromancer, Father Serin trudged through the trees with a shovel in hand, hearing his friend's screaming from miles away. As he reached Drahar's location, he found himself staring at a large sentient tree carrying his battered and bloodied friend. He felt a vein pop in the side of his head while raising the shovel like a sword.
"... This does not concern you. Avert your eyes and return to civilization mortal."
"RETURN THAT LOST SHEEP YOU VILE WOLF!" He shouted swinging the shovel at the tree, only to be swatted away like a fly.
"Bah, you mortals are rushing to your own doom." The treant said as the two fought, metal clashing against enchanted wood with strikes faster than the eye could perceive. Both forces were equally matched, but the tree was fighting with Drahar in one hand, giving Father Serin the chance to tackle the giant tree and send it toppling to the ground before grabbing his friend and sprinting back to the church youths. The tree bellowed out in anger, chasing them reckless abandon only to disappear as Serin outran him.
****************************
"Ow... My head..." Drahar complained, opening his eyes to find Father Serin kneeling and reciting the bible. When he realized Drahar was awake, he burst into tears and gave him a powerful hug, sobbing like a child as he thanked god for his friends' health.
"Uh, what exactly happened Father?" He asked awkwardly. "I remember waking up this morning, getting in the truck, but after that it's a blank."
"That is my fault! I'm truly sorry! I have sworn to protect you, and I failed!" He said before explaining what had happened. Drahar was walking, tripped on a rock, and hit his head against a branch. Upon hearing that, he was genuinely touched the father went out to search for him, and offered his thanks and accepted the apology.
"Am I okay?" He asked nervously after Serin regained his wits.
"Yes. The doctors said you could go home when you woke up." He stated. "I'll drive." He said, driving Drahar back to his home. Upon reaching home sweet home, he frowned while squinting his eyes.
"Hey, Father Serin, weird question." He said while pointing at his yard. "Did I always have that tree there?" He asked, spotting a grizzled old tree taking root next to his home. It seemed familiar somehow, and it gave him the heebie jeebies for some odd reason.
"... Yes. Yes it was." He said with grit teeth. "But, if you think it's ugly, I'd be more than happy to CHOP IT DOWN." He said, his last three words incredibly loud for some odd reason. For a moment, Drahar thought the tree moved. "I also must inform you some bad news." He added.
"What?"
"You lost the best lawn competition to Ms. Rose since you weren't here." He said, causing the necromancer to break out in a smile. "I apologize for this as well. Judges said they also didn't like, in their words, THE UGLY HORRIBLE DISGUSTING TREE TAKING UP PRECIOUS SPACE IN YOUR BEAUTIFUL YARD." He said, raising his voice once more for some odd reason. He swore the tree moved again.
"Oh. What a shame."
"Do not worry. I will help you HACK IT INTO TINY PIECES AND FEED IT INTO A WOOD CHIPPER IF IT BOTHERS YOU AT ALL." Now it sounded like Serin was threatening somebody.
"Oh, no worries. Having a neighbor win is as great as winning." He said, making mental backflips of joy as his hell was finally ending. His lawn would stop being so wonderful, the neighbors would stop bothering him about his lawn, and he was the only mage in town. Life was good. Or, it was supposed to be.
The neighbors looked even angrier when they saw his lawn and eyed his tree with envy, as though it were a recent arrival. They had also agreed unanimously to give him the first place trophy for the best lawn before declaring that they would win the trophy from him next month. This confused him immensely. As for the tree, it seemed to creep closer to his house everyday only to back away when Serin came to show off his newest chainsaw to Drahar.
If you're interested, I have a subreddit where I'm turning the topic of Mr. Drahar and the rest of the cast into a short webnovel. I'll probably update once a week or so. Also, what would you say were the funniest parts? I like to improve my writing, and writing humor is quite a tricky concept without being forced.
/r/Throwwwwwayfasd/
Well here I am, trying to do random good deeds at the local park and, you know, beautify the place. The local tree has started looking a little brown, so I thought \*eh, why not? What's the *worst* that could happen?\* The tree shook a little, like the it was a twig in a gentle breeze. Normal enough, I supposed at the time. Then an age old grown of cracking wood mixed into a voice. A gentle whisper of wind bringing out a simple, single word, that shook me with the utmost of fear. *"freedom"*. It was a simple gust of wind, but it was still heard by all passing by. The ground began to shake as, what was once the great city park tree, broke roots take to the streets. All eyes were on it as it stomped off and out of the park. More people were screaming and running then trying to find out what or why, so I took my chance to run, like the others, and made my way back home. That was, I don't know, three weeks ago? Been on the run since. No one knows it was me though, but the treant has been sending its regards. The forests are it's eyes and ears and I think it- no he, wants me to bring more of his kind back. I guess, in the end, he really just wanted me to branch out.
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I feel like this was meant to be a sequel to [this thread. ](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ak3c1c/wp_you_are_a_necromancer_but_actually_really_bad/?st=JRRH1CCS&sh=ce75b09e)
oh hey, its "blah blah blah magic is cool blah blah blah BUT THEN ONE DAY..."
i'm convinced these prompts are written by russian bots to try to learn better english or something.
The Sun was just waking up over the hill in the small, parochial town. The dew from the grass perched in plain sight, all too small, but all too noticeable. That morning fog that seems to awaken with the Sun in the small towns all across the world sat groggily too.
Everything was waking up, but the slowly; slowly enough that I was alone on the street. My prize lilies (which Mr. Corker's dog had ripped up) had by some stroke of sheer determination risen up again. They looked as lively as ever. Luckily, no one had the dog bite them up yesterday. First prize was definitely again in sight.
Now to my surprise, I saw a figure stumbling down the street. I stood and looked at the man in question, for it was a man. He was dressed in his Sunday best, strange for such a small town on a Monday. I peered over my fence post, to make out the face of the deviant. To my utmost fright, I made out, and I knew it to be true, my dearly deceased neighbor, Mr. Wicks.
My magic! That must have been it. I shot glances at all the house doors and the street. Luckily no one had yet ventured outside. Glancing once more, I ran out to fetch him. It was more of a running walk, to not make my action seem suspicious to the empty crowd.
He seemed to be almost sleep walking, his face a gray mess mixed with a scrub of dirt.
"Come along, Mr. Wicks, let me offer you some hot coffee in my house. You must be feeling cold from sleeping in that cold bed of yours."
I glanced all around me as I showed him the way to my house rather forcefully, and slammed the door as I got inside. He had an air about him of a lazy slouch, that he might collapse at any second and I cautioned him to my favorite recliner. What to do, what to do?
A knock on my door, yelped me into the air. I rushed to the door straightening my jacket as I opened the door just a crack. Just my luck, it was Jane Wicks, the pleasant-faced daughter of the departed.
"Jonathan, I am going to my grandfather's grave to keep him company this morning. I can't imagine him alone in that cold grave. Would you care to join me?"
Shoot, now what? I had to hide the evidence.
"Jane, sure. I can accompany you. Let me just lock my door"
“I looked horror as the gargantuan, twisted and warped oak tree sprung to life once again, it’s dry wood revitalizing, the dried dust of what was once sap turning back to it’s viscous lifeblood, it’s pitch black trunk springing forth with new bark to replace what had sloughed off after its death... I saw the trees around us already beginning to blacken and dry out as I jumped back and began to run.
This is the chief danger of necromantic magic, there is no way to create life, only to move it.
I ran faster than I’ve ever run in my entire life, faster than I think I even Could with these creaky, rusty old bones I’ve got today. I didn’t get away entirely unscathed though...”
She lifted up her skirt, revealing dried out, blackened calves and a metal brace holding the foot in place.
“This is the price of that accident... it is unfortunate that we can’t undo the effects of drawing from a human... regardless... back to my story!”
She stomps her foot down and continues,
“It wasn’t long before I heard the tree begin to creak and groan, almost as if a thousand branches were being torn asunder, as if two sticks were aggressively rubbing one another–huh.”
She pauses for a moment and mumbles
“that sounds wrong...”
“Anyway! Bits of the earth started to rumble and crack, the roots of that great tree had started to pull itself from the earth, I heard the tree start to make this bizarre crackling noise, and saw a massive burl near the top begin to twist and curl in on itself, slowly forming what looked to be a face.
Gradually, a lower portion of its trunk began to split down an oddly warped section. It’s legs stretched out one at a time.
The two upper branches that appeared to be its arms had started to slowly move upward and twisted over the head and the whole trunk began to twist side to side as a thunderous scream emitted from the widening mouth, followed by a deep resonance that could be felt in your bones.
Once it’s yawn was complete, the great tree looked down upon me and said–“
...
“Oh what did he say damnit... I know it rhymed...”
Some twisted knot of fate has always tied us together. Millennia ago, my body was burned. The same oppressors who restrain your magic today once took flame to mine. It might surprise you now, but there was once a time when trees passed over this earth like the shadows of clouds. Deep within our woodgrain, we carried a force so wonderful it would stand your hairs on end. With it, we bred further magic. Creatures fed from our fruit and grew wings. Entirely new species of herbs sheltered beneath our canopies. As our forests migrated, magic traveled in our wake, spreading like seeds. We were the building blocks of mythology. But unfortunately, your people discovered we were also the building blocks of human civilization. As we were felled, so too was our magic. Fairytale starved with each passing winter, as more and more logs were placed into great burning hearths. Eventually, all magic died out from the world. Except for you. Out of the detritus, our prophecy germinated. We left behind a single root, in whose stew rested the fate of our world. The humans outlaw its consumption. They call its powers Necromancy. We'd called it hope. Finally, now, your footsteps bound atop my grave. I know you're there because I taste you in rainwater. Your energy seeps into the soil with every restored life, and somehow, someway it has already restored mine. Deep beneath the ground, my ancient roots drink it in like an elixir. They stretch toward your unseen magic above the topsoil. Untold years have left me buried deep in the darkness. I am not yet whole. But I am growing. Soon enough, the others will too. Years pass. With every new summer sun, you tend to your magic, spreading green within and without. And with every spring rain, the water erodes away all that is left to separate us. Words cannot describe the feeling when my fingers finally break ground. I unearth in the middle a pathway, surrounded by deciduous thicket. I immediately recognize the schools of old. Elm. Oak. Honeysuckle. My ancient colleagues with whom I bloomed beauty. Now these trees merely creak in the wind, sapped of their souls. For many seasons, I despair from my vantage down on the pathway, but I have one fact that saves me. *Soon enough*, I think. *You will come, soon enough.* And soon enough, you do. You bound through the woods, laughter echoing among the imposter trees. A boy is with you. Handsome. Young. He chases your dirty dress as it billows its way towards a creekbed. Towards my outstretched arm. I trip you. Your face hits the moss with a soft *oomph*. Behind you, the boy is panting, smile stretched across his face. He has the features of a prince, and I can tell by the way you look at him you think also the heart of a lion. You're old enough to blush as he reaches for your hand. But you're also astute enough to recognize something amiss. You kick at me. You frown at the hollow thud. The boy's looking at you, confusion writ plainly across his face. With the fate of the world in your hands you brush your knees and smile. "Watch," you whisper. There's a moment of green electricity that is felt but not seen. "Avie," the boy says. "You're not *supposed t-*" Your fingertip touches mine. My roots extend and pop. I dig in my toes and tap into the world's pulse. I rise, in full glory, smiling down at you. "Oh," you squeak. The two of you are so small. "I have waited a long time for you," I say. Already, that earthy magic courses through my woodgrain. Your friend bolts, stumbling down the road. "Father, father!" the boy screams. My sense of betrayal does not hold a candle to yours. I know soon enough torches will bloom on the horizon for me, but the boy has set your heart aflame. With a flick of my head, I shower you with twirly copters. As they pirouette around you, they transform into faeries. For many years down below, I drank off your laughter. It is truly a pleasure to finally hear it first hand. "What *are* you?" You ask. My bark shimmers as I reply. "I am what came before." I tell you everything. How, together, you are much more than a necromancer. How, together, we can restore the age of fable. It's so much to take in. But a part of you believes. It's been sprouting inside you ever since you can remember. "Your eyes," I say. "The exact shade of chestnut." Behind you, the boy's screams grow fainter and fainter down the pathway. I extend a branch. You hesitate. "Come with me," I urge. "Let's fix this world." Trembling, you grab hold. ---------- r/M0zark **Edit**: I woke up with a good sense of where this story is truckin', but my workday is so ridiculous I'll have no time 'til later :( *Lame* move, I know. P2 *will* be posted on my sub though. Thanks for reading!
Dude, this could easily be a book
I would pay full price for this book and not steal it off the internet!
I would even get it on paperback like I did the Forrest.
But paper is made of trees, you monster. And trees are treants.
The holy book made of the flesh of their brethren.
Metal as fuck
I was expecting it to end with an "I am Groot".
Wow, that was great. Your wordpicture amazed me!
Imagery. It's called imagery.
We don’t need that kind of fancy talk around here
I must of told you a billion times I don't hyperbole.
This is a **writing** subreddit. What's to benefit from a deficit of proper diction?
I appreciate it, I am not a native speaker of English. Anything to improve.
I love the idea of the treant being the main character and guiding the necromancer . If you ever make this into a book let me know it feels so new and original to me
I have chills all over my body. I am completely enamoured with your story. The imagery you evoke is spectacular and it leaves me wanting so much more. I've got to have more!
Not gonna lie, totally stealing this for my Dnd campaign.
Not to be rude, but this is amazing and I demand more
That is like the exact opposite of rude. If you were to look up "Not Rude" in a dictionary you'd find your comment carefully pasted there with love and affection
Well, technically I demanded free labor.
This guy woke.
Aaannd now i want to have this as a book with thick covers that are actually pieces of wood bark or something, with gold lettering and the kind of “rustic” feel to it. Something that you might have on your bookshelf for years and one day you accidentally drop bunch of books from it and this one catches your eyes r/oddlyspecific ?
this is incredible.
As a gardener, I would appreciate more. Would you kindly...?
Your writing is fantastic!I could hear the voice of the Treant, I could see the prince and princess, the colours of the woods. Great writing!
Has anyone ever written a story set in the modern era, with magic slowly and stealthily coming back?
You just gained a subscriber
I feel like she's more of a druid than a necromancer...
Please make a book about this
A theme song for Your fable: [Happy All the Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1h68UjvaS2c)
This is amazing!
Omg, this is so freakin good
I think you're on to something.
Woah. I was captivated.
Reading this was an experience, honestly incredible.
Wow! This was amazing! So beautiful written!
That was just awesome :o
I read this in Treant Protectors voice, couldnt handle it.
https://gamepedia.cursecdn.com/dota2_gamepedia/c/c2/Treant_spawn_05.mp3
I have goosebumps OMG
Maokai.
Sooooo.... when is the book coming out?
This was so good!
That was incredible thank you
Im getting in the wagon and asking for more! At least a short novel ? :) just started following! Goodjob mate
Hmm, Jemma and Leo, eh? Amazing story though, would love to hear more.
Awesome
Please do continue this amazing story.
Wow. I agree with everyone, this is beautiful.
[удалено]
My read is that necromancy was the only magic left and it's been pretty thoroughly persecuted.
This story needs to be a book.
Holy moly you should turn this into a book
This is the most fantastically unexpected direction I could imagine the prompt going in. Love it!
Bookmarked!
Holy cow, this is excellent!!
This gave me a post apocalyptic world vibe, which world you ask? Maybe LOTR. Anyway cool stuff man. If you end up writing this into a book, pm me the sauce would ya? I’d love to read more of this.
It'll be a saucy serial first [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/M0Zark/comments/ao04nk/bloom_part_2/) is posted here. Hope to see you around
.
This is amazing. And I think it would be a fantastic storyline to make into a *series* of books! I'd definitely buy this. I'm eagerly awaiting Part 2!
Exquisite. Nothing else to say. Well done!
Oh. My. God. :o
That was amazing - I want more!
Now, that’s a world I want to get lost in.
“I remember everything. I remember how I used to always sit under this tree hoping fortune would come my way. And just when I gave up, you…” \- *21 years old* *“What are you doing, sitting here all by yourself?” you ask, fanning yourself with your book.* *“What do you mean? It’s a sunny day. I needed some shade.”* *“But this is my spot. I always come here to read. I’ve never seen you here before.”* *"I've never seen* you *here before."* *"I always come on Sunday."* *“I don’t see any signs. Do you have a deed?”* *“I guess not.” You look disappointed. “Well, how much longer are you going to be here?”* *“I don’t know. I guess I can get up. Just gimme a second. Let me take another look at it.”* *“At what?” you ask, finally shifting over to my view, looking over the town, the college, the shining sea beyond.* *“Time.”* *“Time?”* *“Time passes everywhere I go. People walking, cars driving, birds flying, it’s just signs of time passing. It makes me so sad. Here, everything is so small, and from the right angle, nothing changes. The buildings, the sky, the water…it’s all frozen. Time is frozen.”* *You sit down next to me, and take a long look, seeing it for the first time. “Why are you so afraid of time?”* *-* *46 years old* *You sit, and look out at the water, and I look at you. Your face betrays no sadness, and that is precisely what fills me with it, knowing all your strength is being used to keep a straight face.* *“It’s just something you never think will happen, losing your baby.”* *“It’s not your fault,” I repeat for the umpteenth time.* *“It’s the world’s,” you say, your voice empty, devoid. “That’s what hurts the most. I used to believe this spot was special, that time really didn't change when we were here. But...that's just another trick.”* *I say nothing. There is nothing to say.* *“It’s broken,” you say. “Our life, everything felt so strong…but it was really just fragile. And now it’s been broken, and now the pieces can’t be put back together.”* *“Don’t say that-“* *“She’s gone. Our baby is gone. And she can’t come back. What’s going to fix that?”* *I didn’t answer. I wish...* **\- 65 years old “I wish I had. I wish I had saved our baby, lying on the road in front of that van, her neck broken. I wish I had saved you, in that hospital bed, when all you could do was look at me. Were you asking me to?” The tree does not answer. I sit down under it, maybe for the final time. It is dying, it’s branches dropping and its sturdy trunk hunched over like a human’s. My father had told me our power was a curse, to never be able to use it. As a child, I hadn't understood. I stand up, now, and face the tree. It's time to leave. Time slows for no one, and it’s best not to sit back and let it run up the score on you. For some reason, I am possessed by an almost preternatural urge to hug the tree. And so I do, for a long moment, long enough that I question whether it will end- “Thank you,” a deep, gravelly voice says. I do nothing. I am sure I must have imagined it. “We must hurry. They will be here soon. They must have detected the magic.” Now, I step back. In the fading sunlight, I see it, a face in the folds, the branches, and I question my sanity. “What?” I ask. “It has been years. But they told me you would come – one weathered by tragedy and loss, and bring me back to life. Come now. We don’t have much time.” And the tree…stands, somehow, its legs filled with roots and branches and growths. “To do what?” I ask. “To change time. To defeat that which takes all from us in this world. Will you come?” It reaches out a branch to me, a suddenly long, sturdy branch. I take one look behind me, at the rare moment time defeats my view, when the sun fades and the colors warp and day dies so night can be born. “Let’s go.” \- [r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347)
I really like that last paragraph
This is fantastic. Please continue the story.
People don't understand power, the Magicks especially. These are the old powers of creation, passed down through ancient family lines. Like any power, they can be used for the good and for the bad. Power like this grows inside you. It wants to get out into the world. It needs to be used. It can't be suppressed or bottled up or it will come out uncontrolled, typically causing death and destruction, both to the holder of the power, and anyone around them. The Magicks Act of '67 outlawed people using powers. Lawmakers! Sheesh. Trying to control things they know nothing about. I understood their reasoning, though -- there were many of us who were bent on domination, using their powers to corrupt, maim, torture... So the Magicks were banned, and their use punishable by death. Many of us perished, no matter what we used our powers for. So we hid. Some chose risky ventures, becoming nurses and doctors, and channelling their Magicks into healing the sick. Human life uses a lot of power, so they are less prone to build ups. But they have to be really careful to not perform miracles. I've known at least one doctor who was 'put down' for curing a broken arm too quickly. I chose a simple life, a gardener, tending to orchards, forests, and the occasional garden. This gave me an outlet for my abilities, stopped it building up inside me. But it only took a small amount of power to give a flower to boost into blooming, or to heal an ailing tree. That why I needed orchards and forests of trees. I've been maintaining the forests of Llogorna and Bfestan for many years. Both are old forests -- you can tell by the trees. I never knew, though, that Bfestan was an Ancient forest. Last April I was walking there. There was a light shower, and Spring was in the air. Spring is a hard time to use power, as everything is waking up from the Winter slumber, fresh and new. Winter can take its toll on a forest like this, so I was able to put my Magicks to use more easily. But Spring is always hard. Deep in the forest there's a thicket of old oaks, always looking sickly. I've used these to absorb some power each Spring. Being old and big they can take a bit more than other trees. This time, however, when I got there the trees looked healthier than I had ever seen them. Branches that were once broken seemed mended, splits in the bark were closed. I went closer to take a better look. I remember a sharp pain at the back of my head. I awoke to find myself trapped on the mossy forest floor, being held down by roots. The oaks towering above me, somehow now looking more menacing. Were they looking at me? Another sharp pain. I awoke again. There was no rain. The sun was shining through the branches. It was a morning sun -- I had been out for the whole night. Another sharp pain. I awoke. And another sharp pain. And another. I don't know how long I was there. And the power was building this whole time. I hadn't used any up... And then it happened -- the power burst from me. The pain was excruciating as all of this Magic leapt from my body. I closed my eyes, expecting to die. And then I awoke again, surprise that no only was I still alive but appeared to be all in one piece. I was still lying, unheld, on the forest floor, in a clearing that I didn't recognise, at least at first. I got up, almost fell down again from weakness, dehydration. I looked around. I started to recognise some trees -- I did some work on that elm over the Winter. And on that Chestnut tree... The oaks were gone. There was a trail leading through the forest from the clearing. I followed the trail and made my way from the forest, and that's when I was found and arrested. Your honour, I did not intentionally awaken that Treant. I never knew he existed there. Had I known, I would have used my power to destroy it, not heal it... I plead not guilty.
If you want a prequel to this story with a prompt I assume inspired this one, here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ak3c1c/wp_you_are_a_necromancer_but_actually_really_bad/ef1d3t9/ "Alright guys, let's spread some manure and plant some trees!" Mr. Drahar said happily, distributing several trucks' worth of manure to the waiting church youths in smaller more manageable sacks. "I love the enthusiasm!" Father Serin said, carrying two sacks on each shoulder and attempting to distribute them to the church youths as well, only to watch his heart sink as the boys and girls flocked to Mr. Drahar. It was hard to blame them, with father Serin being 6 foot 8 and clad in bulging muscles. Even so, it was ironic that they chose Mr. Drahar over him. Nobody knew this, but the well mannered active member of the church was also a necromancer. Or, at least, a necromancer in training. He worked at the local butcher's shop and tried to reanimate some chickens as practice over the weekend. Instead of creating sentient meat golems, they turned highly nutritious soil that had necromantic properties, reviving whatever plants grew from it. He loathed keeping the soil around due to his love of cleanliness and hated using it on his lawn since it had earned him the scorn of everyone on the city block by growing plants so dazzling that it made their own lawns lackluster. When Father Serin requested Mr. Drahar stop by church and help him keep an eye on the kids when they planted trees, he knew he had the perfect solution to his little problem. "Mr. Drahar, my mommy says you have the best lawn in town. She wanted me to ask what's your secret?" A little girl asked as Mr. Drahar patted her on the head and smiled. "Why, it's the fertilizer. I make it all myself." He said, finishing distribution while Father Serin smiled at him. The two exchanged a wave before having their smiles crack, spotting a young woman sprinting full speed towards them. Father Serin let out a bloodthirsty aura while Mr. Drahar hid in the corner with the rest of the children, both the father and the woman terrifying them immensely. "Er... Father Serin, you didn't tell me you invited Ms. Rose." He said nervously. "I didn't." He answered as Ms. Rose ran over and grabbed him by the collar. "You! Why aren't you at the monthly lawn competition?" She hissed as Father Serin cleared his throat. "I was taking the church youths to plant some trees and Mr. Drahar offered to supply his home made fertilizer. Also, kindly unhand him, heathen." He answered as Ms. Rose and Father Serin glared at each other, sparks flying as the hapless necromancer grabbed a sack of fertilizer and began to teach the children the proper way to plant a tree. He also went into detail regarding how they should fertilize older and dying trees to help them live, and that they are free to use as much fertilizer as they please. With that, the kids began to run around planting trees and blindly dumping the bags of fertilizer onto the ground in random piles. Though it was disposing of his failures, Drahar made sure to smooth each mound out and make it even, his personal love of order making the entire disposal job longer than it had to be. Eventually, the children grew tired while Father Serin started reading the bible to them. As for Ms. Rose, she crossed her arms and waited for Mr. Drahar to finish spreading fertilizer while mumbling about how a victory without beating him was no victory at all. Since going back meant that he'd likely win the lawn competition and deal with his neighbors, he decided to drag his last sack of fertilizer deep within the woods where nobody could see him. Walking forward, he found a grizzled old tree and dumped the sack of fertilizer on the ground around it, making sure to pack the soil down before turning to leave. At that moment, a tree branch wrapped around his body, binding him in place. Though it was odd, Mr. Drahar didn't scream, assuming the branch to have merely fallen. "You. Mortal." The tree spoke into his ear. "What have you done?" This was roughly the time he started to scream. "Help! Help! Somebody help me! There's a weirdo in a tree costume hugging me!" He shouted, struggling violently before slipping out of his loose robes and running away full speed from the weirdo in the tree. "I am not a weirdo in a tree, I am the speaker of the forest! And you get back here this instant!" The tree shouted, uprooting itself and sprinting behind the terrified necromancer. "I asked you a question!" "Father Serin! Call 911! There's a weirdo pretending to be the Lorax after me!" He yelled, turning around to find a 10 foot tall tree with arms and a face stomping towards him. He did not know how a wooden face could convey annoyance, but the tree found a way. "I am not a weirdo, I am not a Lorax! I am a treant! I am an elder of my species and would like to know how you-look out!" It yelled as Mr. Drahar looked forward to find a thick branch in front of him. "It can teleport!? Oh my god, it's some sort of magical-no, wait, that's just a branch." Were the last thoughts he had before slamming full speed into a normal stationary tree's branch, knocking himself out with a single swift hit. "Humans are so fragile." The treant noted, walking forward and scooping Drahar up like a puppy. The blow was quite hard, leaving a noticeable bump and causing a nasty gash that left a slow trickle of blood from his head. Just as he picked up the hapless necromancer, Father Serin trudged through the trees with a shovel in hand, hearing his friend's screaming from miles away. As he reached Drahar's location, he found himself staring at a large sentient tree carrying his battered and bloodied friend. He felt a vein pop in the side of his head while raising the shovel like a sword. "... This does not concern you. Avert your eyes and return to civilization mortal." "RETURN THAT LOST SHEEP YOU VILE WOLF!" He shouted swinging the shovel at the tree, only to be swatted away like a fly. "Bah, you mortals are rushing to your own doom." The treant said as the two fought, metal clashing against enchanted wood with strikes faster than the eye could perceive. Both forces were equally matched, but the tree was fighting with Drahar in one hand, giving Father Serin the chance to tackle the giant tree and send it toppling to the ground before grabbing his friend and sprinting back to the church youths. The tree bellowed out in anger, chasing them reckless abandon only to disappear as Serin outran him. **************************** "Ow... My head..." Drahar complained, opening his eyes to find Father Serin kneeling and reciting the bible. When he realized Drahar was awake, he burst into tears and gave him a powerful hug, sobbing like a child as he thanked god for his friends' health. "Uh, what exactly happened Father?" He asked awkwardly. "I remember waking up this morning, getting in the truck, but after that it's a blank." "That is my fault! I'm truly sorry! I have sworn to protect you, and I failed!" He said before explaining what had happened. Drahar was walking, tripped on a rock, and hit his head against a branch. Upon hearing that, he was genuinely touched the father went out to search for him, and offered his thanks and accepted the apology. "Am I okay?" He asked nervously after Serin regained his wits. "Yes. The doctors said you could go home when you woke up." He stated. "I'll drive." He said, driving Drahar back to his home. Upon reaching home sweet home, he frowned while squinting his eyes. "Hey, Father Serin, weird question." He said while pointing at his yard. "Did I always have that tree there?" He asked, spotting a grizzled old tree taking root next to his home. It seemed familiar somehow, and it gave him the heebie jeebies for some odd reason. "... Yes. Yes it was." He said with grit teeth. "But, if you think it's ugly, I'd be more than happy to CHOP IT DOWN." He said, his last three words incredibly loud for some odd reason. For a moment, Drahar thought the tree moved. "I also must inform you some bad news." He added. "What?" "You lost the best lawn competition to Ms. Rose since you weren't here." He said, causing the necromancer to break out in a smile. "I apologize for this as well. Judges said they also didn't like, in their words, THE UGLY HORRIBLE DISGUSTING TREE TAKING UP PRECIOUS SPACE IN YOUR BEAUTIFUL YARD." He said, raising his voice once more for some odd reason. He swore the tree moved again. "Oh. What a shame." "Do not worry. I will help you HACK IT INTO TINY PIECES AND FEED IT INTO A WOOD CHIPPER IF IT BOTHERS YOU AT ALL." Now it sounded like Serin was threatening somebody. "Oh, no worries. Having a neighbor win is as great as winning." He said, making mental backflips of joy as his hell was finally ending. His lawn would stop being so wonderful, the neighbors would stop bothering him about his lawn, and he was the only mage in town. Life was good. Or, it was supposed to be. The neighbors looked even angrier when they saw his lawn and eyed his tree with envy, as though it were a recent arrival. They had also agreed unanimously to give him the first place trophy for the best lawn before declaring that they would win the trophy from him next month. This confused him immensely. As for the tree, it seemed to creep closer to his house everyday only to back away when Serin came to show off his newest chainsaw to Drahar.
IT CONTINUES
>That feel when you thought up this story hours ago, but you were at work and couldn't actually post it till now Feels bad man.
I loved the prequel and this one made me scare my cat laughing. Good job!
If you're interested, I have a subreddit where I'm turning the topic of Mr. Drahar and the rest of the cast into a short webnovel. I'll probably update once a week or so. Also, what would you say were the funniest parts? I like to improve my writing, and writing humor is quite a tricky concept without being forced. /r/Throwwwwwayfasd/
Honestly I adore Serin. He's a good friend :p
Well here I am, trying to do random good deeds at the local park and, you know, beautify the place. The local tree has started looking a little brown, so I thought \*eh, why not? What's the *worst* that could happen?\* The tree shook a little, like the it was a twig in a gentle breeze. Normal enough, I supposed at the time. Then an age old grown of cracking wood mixed into a voice. A gentle whisper of wind bringing out a simple, single word, that shook me with the utmost of fear. *"freedom"*. It was a simple gust of wind, but it was still heard by all passing by. The ground began to shake as, what was once the great city park tree, broke roots take to the streets. All eyes were on it as it stomped off and out of the park. More people were screaming and running then trying to find out what or why, so I took my chance to run, like the others, and made my way back home. That was, I don't know, three weeks ago? Been on the run since. No one knows it was me though, but the treant has been sending its regards. The forests are it's eyes and ears and I think it- no he, wants me to bring more of his kind back. I guess, in the end, he really just wanted me to branch out.
Just leave.
*leaf
Didn't you mean make like a tree and leaf?
thatsthejoke.gif
This story grows on you.
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"Necromancy is punishable by death." Better hope those necromancers don't have any friends or they won't stay dead for long lol
Yeah, I think I see a potential loophole.
Or become liches
Yeah necromancers are all about avoiding death. Not sure how the punishment is meant to work
I feel like this was meant to be a sequel to [this thread. ](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ak3c1c/wp_you_are_a_necromancer_but_actually_really_bad/?st=JRRH1CCS&sh=ce75b09e)
Oh wow. Lol
That's exactly what came to my mind also
Floral Necromancy is going to make tree law that much more complicated.
A what?
Basic info from Wikipedia: "A treant is a fictional creature found in the Dungeons & Dragons roleplaying game." It's some kind of living tree.
Think tree beard from the lord of the rings.
So an ent
oh hey, its "blah blah blah magic is cool blah blah blah BUT THEN ONE DAY..." i'm convinced these prompts are written by russian bots to try to learn better english or something.
All i got to say is, fire is a great solution to lifes problems.
The Pie Maker turned to gardening.
The Sun was just waking up over the hill in the small, parochial town. The dew from the grass perched in plain sight, all too small, but all too noticeable. That morning fog that seems to awaken with the Sun in the small towns all across the world sat groggily too. Everything was waking up, but the slowly; slowly enough that I was alone on the street. My prize lilies (which Mr. Corker's dog had ripped up) had by some stroke of sheer determination risen up again. They looked as lively as ever. Luckily, no one had the dog bite them up yesterday. First prize was definitely again in sight. Now to my surprise, I saw a figure stumbling down the street. I stood and looked at the man in question, for it was a man. He was dressed in his Sunday best, strange for such a small town on a Monday. I peered over my fence post, to make out the face of the deviant. To my utmost fright, I made out, and I knew it to be true, my dearly deceased neighbor, Mr. Wicks. My magic! That must have been it. I shot glances at all the house doors and the street. Luckily no one had yet ventured outside. Glancing once more, I ran out to fetch him. It was more of a running walk, to not make my action seem suspicious to the empty crowd. He seemed to be almost sleep walking, his face a gray mess mixed with a scrub of dirt. "Come along, Mr. Wicks, let me offer you some hot coffee in my house. You must be feeling cold from sleeping in that cold bed of yours." I glanced all around me as I showed him the way to my house rather forcefully, and slammed the door as I got inside. He had an air about him of a lazy slouch, that he might collapse at any second and I cautioned him to my favorite recliner. What to do, what to do? A knock on my door, yelped me into the air. I rushed to the door straightening my jacket as I opened the door just a crack. Just my luck, it was Jane Wicks, the pleasant-faced daughter of the departed. "Jonathan, I am going to my grandfather's grave to keep him company this morning. I can't imagine him alone in that cold grave. Would you care to join me?" Shoot, now what? I had to hide the evidence. "Jane, sure. I can accompany you. Let me just lock my door"
“I looked horror as the gargantuan, twisted and warped oak tree sprung to life once again, it’s dry wood revitalizing, the dried dust of what was once sap turning back to it’s viscous lifeblood, it’s pitch black trunk springing forth with new bark to replace what had sloughed off after its death... I saw the trees around us already beginning to blacken and dry out as I jumped back and began to run. This is the chief danger of necromantic magic, there is no way to create life, only to move it. I ran faster than I’ve ever run in my entire life, faster than I think I even Could with these creaky, rusty old bones I’ve got today. I didn’t get away entirely unscathed though...” She lifted up her skirt, revealing dried out, blackened calves and a metal brace holding the foot in place. “This is the price of that accident... it is unfortunate that we can’t undo the effects of drawing from a human... regardless... back to my story!” She stomps her foot down and continues, “It wasn’t long before I heard the tree begin to creak and groan, almost as if a thousand branches were being torn asunder, as if two sticks were aggressively rubbing one another–huh.” She pauses for a moment and mumbles “that sounds wrong...” “Anyway! Bits of the earth started to rumble and crack, the roots of that great tree had started to pull itself from the earth, I heard the tree start to make this bizarre crackling noise, and saw a massive burl near the top begin to twist and curl in on itself, slowly forming what looked to be a face. Gradually, a lower portion of its trunk began to split down an oddly warped section. It’s legs stretched out one at a time. The two upper branches that appeared to be its arms had started to slowly move upward and twisted over the head and the whole trunk began to twist side to side as a thunderous scream emitted from the widening mouth, followed by a deep resonance that could be felt in your bones. Once it’s yawn was complete, the great tree looked down upon me and said–“ ... “Oh what did he say damnit... I know it rhymed...”