Dirge of the Skulltaker

And a bony hand plucked her gown.

"Will you dance with me," said the Hooded One

"For the plague has reached this town."

"No,I will not dance," said the Lady,

"For
I know your name is Death."

And
behind her mask she sweated

At
the Hooded One's fetid breath.

-Unknown

## **STAGE ONE: Fresh**

I remember my death.

It was a calm little thing, like drifting off into a slumber from whence one never
awoke. It wasn't full of the pains and anguish of old age, or sickness-a spear
through the head is a peaceful exit from this mortal coil, comparatively speaking. A valiant fight is only valiant for as long as your blood slinks
around your body, oozing through every vein. I put up a valiant fight, but in the
end, my body was broken, my brain destroyed-what part of my body still tingled with the essence of life would soon have that essence siphoned off into the aether, and I would be left a husk, another number on a statistic for some mad conqueror.
One death is a tragedy, after all, but I was one of thousands.

There's simply no point dwelling on the unfairness of it all. I don't-well, didn't
care. I was dead, and there's not much to care about when you're dead. I'd never been superstitious-there wasn't room for it with my people-but looking
back on it, I think I would have rather stayed dead. It was a sort of bliss, being in that way-I salivate on thinking of how comforting the entrapment of death was, how warm it was to me. It's a cause for interest how I remember how
it felt, of course, but I really couldn't care for the answer. Some things don't need explaining. They simply need to be there.

I don't know how long I stayed dead-to this day, no Makori who has not matured
has ever lived long enough in my presence to tell me the date-but I assume it was some time, for what was once the mighty Arch-Council of Tyranis came
crashing down about their ears. Where once the Imperian Confederacy had
crumbled before their might, now the hunters stood on the back foot. It was in
this time I found myself dragged from my mass grave alongside my brothers and
my sisters, skulking out of the pit from where we had been banished. I found
myself chained, almost, but with no physical restraints-only a constant pounding in the back of my mind, and a hissing that could drive lesser men
insane. I was a lesser man, but my death meant I could be given no such
amenities, and my sanity was remained mercilessly intact.

My flesh still hung onto my bones, with I being perhaps the least fetid and
horrific of my brethren. I had a childhood friend beside me, his eye sockets empty, his once boyish and delicate posture now having turned to shambling. Was he aware of me? Or was I the only one? This I would never find out-the mystery
of my death, destined to remain unsolved. We marched forth, a tide of undead
creatures, under the banner of Bartherious, the Skull Dominator. We were the reanimated, the Skull Swarms, and henceforth, we were the harbingers of chaos and anarchy.

There is no sweeter chalice than that of fresh blood.

## **STAGE TWO: Bloat**

We marched through oceans of time, searching for the victims our master would have
us rend. Sometimes, hapless travellers would find themselves in our way, and
shortly after our legion would increase in number. There was no rest for the
living, least of all the wicked. We were like angels of pestilence, for in our
odd little way, I suppose we were beautiful. We were uniform, and consistent;
we were predictable; and indeed, we were of the same mind. There was no greater
collective than ours, not at that time, and we acted as one organism. Each of us was a body, with a mind as a mere appendage to aid in its execution. It is
at this time our legion, however, lost some of its beauty, for the natural
process of decay was an ever-growing issue.

The plague upon flesh riddled our legion with abscesses and bloats, meaning our
travel over water would be nigh impossible. It was a pity, to be sure, but I
cared little for my compatriots. I had long since discovered that, whether or
not they were aware of things, only I seemed to retain my own spirit, my own
state of mind. Bartherious was, as ever, marching at the head of our swarm,
with the staff which caused dull thuds in my mind whenever I looked upon it
directly pointed at the sky. To be an undead was a curious experience, but I
had little opportunity to explore it in those early days. Mercifully, my decay
was not so dishonorable, and I took great pleasure in watching another
shuffling form topple over and begin to crawl beside me, knowing I could never
sink so low.

Finally, with weeks upon weeks of travel, of our legion swelling and thinning
haphazardly as more of us crumbled to decay and more foolhardy adventurers
found their doom, we came across our first true victims. Now, we had
purpose, and truly, did we act it out with prejudice.

The men came out first, prodding at us with their spears and torches. Some of my
brethren caught alight, only to take one of those warriors by the face and burn
him irreparably. It matters little-his flesh would fall in time, regardless. They fell quickly and with little impact to our momentum, and
Bartherious rose them to join our ranks. The women came next, armed with what
they could pick up, but most were simply too horrified by their husbands,
brothers, and fathers marching with cold, dead eyes at them, and they fell even
more easily. Once again, our legion was bolstered.

Then...came
the children.

I remember only small forms, at first looking up at their mothers and fathers
with such palpable innocence. I remember a peace in their first reactions that
I perhaps thought may melt Bartherious' steel heart and elicit mercy from him.
Oh, to this day, I believed I would rather have served an eternity as a living
corpse if it had meant my thoughts were aligned with the truth. What
unspeakable horror, even by my cynical lens of this reality, took place that
day should not be uttered, and never again. To detail the screams, the young
bodies spasmodically lunging at each other as they were risen in combat...

Such evil was incomprehensible to these children. Perhaps they thought their parents
were punishing them for their wrongdoings. What I saw that day made me desire
the view of Rah’Gerrok himself, for at least then the insanity he caused was an
escape. Here, there was no escape. There was only horror...and the death of
youth.

## **STAGE THREE: Active**

Our legion now numbered over one hundred thousand, varying from freshly reanimated
corpses to shambling relics of a bygone era. We butchered and pillaged tens of
villages in our way, each time rising in strength, and in number; soon, we
began seeing the beginnings of a general panic, with some villages evacuating
before we could pursue those who retreated. Some stayed behind valiantly to
defend their homes-but valiance only lasts as long as blood flows in the veins.
I saw two individuals in this time, in the legion, who seemed to share my
self-awareness. I would commit them to memory, for indeed, this was a fact
worth remembering.

By now, my flesh had long since rotted away, and I was a shambling skeleton, clad
in rusted armor, with a blunt sword as my weapon. My armaments were typical for
a member of this legion, although many of these undead simply clawed at the
living. This sword and this armor would serve me well in the time I used them.
Curiously, and somewhat thankfully, I never felt compelled to touch a child,
unlike the others; whether this was of my own volition or of Bartherious'
notice, I would not say, nor did I care, for it benefited me immensely, and I
would not dare question it.

The time came for our confrontation with the Primis, and their compatriots. I
remember a colossal white titan of a Erthus, immense in stature, indomitable in
action. We had enjoyed countless victories, and our meeting with our great
lord, Tyranis, as well as his armies, had begun to make our bones complacent.
This Erthus Titan, Kratindikur, cut a swathe through our legion
single-handedly, with his elementally charged weaponry destroying their bodies
utterly. The rest of our lord's armies fared far better, and Tyranis himself
marched forth to fell ten Erthus with each swipe of his staff. The fateful moment
arrived when he miscalculated one swing directed at Ignithitus, the marshal of
the Erthus armies, to finish him, and this fatal mistake cost Tyranis his
physical form, and the Diobalith their total defeat. Bartherious was defeated
and forced to retreat, as did the surviving Diobalith, and as he left, I saw my
brothers and sisters crumble around me.

I felt an odd sensation of floating, as if I were to ascend into the realm of
death once more. I felt utter bliss for a second that seemed to last forever;
and then, it was gone. I still stood, my mind unshackled, in a sea of bones and
rusted weapons. Two others stood, too-a woman and a child-but before I might
ask them what to make of all this, they turned and fled. I followed suit, and
it seemed as if the Erthus had no intention of tying up loose ends as I was
mercifully left alone.

My bones were chilled, and for the first time I felt each movement I made. I was
not merely an observer of my own body, now-I was the controller, the driver
behind it. I was doomed to a miserable existence of walking the universe,
shattered as I was in my undeath; yet, a spark of inspiration occurred to me.
My people, the male Tudari of my world, were still the downtrodden, under the
boot of the matriarchy that oppressed their strength and capability. Now, I
possessed the ability to strike them down-for in those brief moments of bliss,
I had taken up the strength of my lord and my master. Now, I was strong. Now, I
was one...of the Diobalith.

## **STAGE FOUR: Advanced**

I returned to my homeworld as a stowaway, posing as a corpse for the mass graves
on my world, my bones being recognizable as belonging to a Tudari. Before they
could deliver me, I killed each of the female crew members and released the
male slaves from their work in the engine room. I told them of my return, and
that I would rule the planet and free them from their chains. They swore to
follow me, and I imbued each of them with the smallest of energies to make them
at least somewhat useful to me. We burned the bodies of the female inhabitants,
and jettisoned their ashes to the cold reaches of space. When we landed, I
walked out to greet the party that questioned us. Some of them ran, some of
them vomited out of sheer horror, but one foolhardy woman made a strike at me
with her sword. I caught her arm, and snapped it effortlessly. I then removed
it and the weapon altogether, and dealt with her as she had intended to me.

My disciples came from the vessel, chanting, and by now the composure of some of
the guards had returned to them. They made a movement to my cult, and I
dispatched each one of them, snapping their necks, or twisting their spines to paralyze
them. Performance of the latter, in particular, gave me great pleasure, as it
was a traditional method of execution practiced by the female Tudari to male
revolutionaries. I took their weapons, arming my followers, and we marched on
the capital. I released each of the male slaves that was imprisoned, and I
amassed a legion which rivalled the Skull Swarm in size. The proletariat of
this society stood behind me, and I was an avatar of a Utopian future. They idolized
my form, and I delivered their praise to each of the females who stood against
me. Those who submitted to my rule were given their lives, but in the position
I had once been in. I found the empress-a formidable woman who had been born of
the lineage of Bolynnus-and she was faster than I gave her credit. Until this
point, no person had landed a blow on me, and as she sliced my arm from its
socket, my skeletal appendage clattering on the ground. She turned to her
courtiers as if triumphant, but she was so very wrong.

I grabbed her neck from the rear, turning her to face me, having her stare into
my empty sockets as I squeezed the life from her helpless, struggling form. Her
courtiers stood in shock, and I held her above my head. Her eyes rolled into
the back of her head, and I threw her to the floor. The advisers were
horrified, of course, but not broken-and thus, I hit the final chisel to the
stone of my new throne. I rose her from the dead, and her reanimated form
shambled to pick up my arm, attaching it to my body. I now controlled their
empress with my own will. I was the ruler of the Tudari people, and they
capitulated at my might. I took my seat upon the throne, and declared my
lordship.

There were small pockets of resistance across the planet, and I crushed each and
every one myself. Each time, I would raise their leader and add it to my
collection of rebels-a constant reminder to any dissidents that my rule was
never to be challenged. The Cult of the Skeleton King came into being, led by
my first disciples, and each of them worked to bring about the societal change
I was too busy to conduct. Soon, the tables had been turned, but I was not an
altogether immoral ruler. Shreds of my morality refused to be defeated by the
darkness of my state, and I decreed that any woman that was born after my rule
was asserted would be given the same freedoms as any male. Those who oppressed
and enslaved us would suffer for one generation, and then the new would live in
an idealistic world, where each Tudari was given equal opportunity for their
ambition to manifest. Several decades passed in this time, and my cult never
lessened in popularity. I was a God to these people, their savior and redeemer;
I had earned the title, and lived somewhat contentedly on my own terms.

Then came the Confederacy. They declared my ruling of the planet to be immoral and
improper, and sought to take me in for crimes against the living. My seething
anger had no room for mercy to their messenger, who spoke with such arrogance,
and I added him to my cabinet of the dead. I replied that when the men had been
enslaved, there were no such talks, and there was no such rescue attempt; the
Confederacy closed all communications and simply declared war on this small
planet. An entire empire arrayed against me, but I would not give in. My people
would retain their position, and I would fight with every fiber of my newfound powers
to achieve it. I marched to war, walking in the footsteps of my master; and
whilst one day I declare that he shall die by my hand for what he has done,
perhaps it shall be a quick death, for without him, I would not have the means
to my mantle.

I was a Skeleton King, and I would have blood.

## **STAGE FIVE: Remains**

I amassed the largest and most indomitable army that had ever been assembled
outside of the Confederacy by one species. I rose a burning legion of hatred, unbound by the secrecy that Bartherious was, and my military numbered in the millions. Each of my cult leaders were given a small token of my power to lead their own divisions of
this corpse brigade, and in troves we assaulted every world within our reach. I
commanded that no child was to be hurt, and re-homed each orphan on the
homeworld, where they were raised as our own. Our armies would swarm across
their worlds, conquering the Confederacy once and for all to end their tyranny
over the elements. Alas, such a fate was not to be.

In time, we reached their capital, Magnus Impera, where the very strongest of the
Erthus arrayed themselves against us. I personally led the charge against the Erthus,
and once again I saw the white giant, Kratindikur. With my artefact blade, I
disarmed him, and had him taken prisoner. The rest of his team, the Erthus Titan,
were far too pre-occupied with my hordes to impede my progress, and I made my
way to the final artefact I needed to create my lasting legacy. I needed Vitacis,
the Helm of Life, to spell death for those who threatened the peace I
envisioned. I found my way into the inner sanctum, and touched the mask,
feeling the rush of power and control wash over me. I truly was a God incarnate
for that brief moment, and I almost placed the mask upon my face.

Then came the Primis.

They were known as the Erthus-Knights, for their power and raw elemental strength
were totally unrivalled. Besides Ignithitus, their leader, stood the rest of
the Primis. I grew complacent, and in my arrogance I made my one and only fatal
mistake. I underestimated the power of my enemies.

In my defence, I had the Vitacis! I was a God; I controlled life itself! Outside
this sanctum, my hordes overran every last bastion the Erthus had established,
and to my knowledge, the Primis possessed no strength that could equal mine. I
accepted their challenge, believing this to merely be a product of their
misbegotten stubbornness, and clashed swords with each of them. I defeated them
in turn, and just as I was to strike the killing blow, I felt my head loosen,
my neck unbound, and my vision toppled to the floor, my body falling along with
it. In an instant, my skeleton hordes crumbled and fell, and my last sight
before the blackness conquered me was that of my chief cult leader, looking
down at me in horror. I had become the very thing that I had sworn to destroy.
I was a tyrant, and my final death would be my redemption. The Vitacis released
energy which returned the life I had decimated to the way it should have been,
and all my efforts, all my suffering, was undone.

I embraced the warmth once more, and felt myself slipping away towards the peace
I had long since desired. As the gates on my life began to close, one being put
their foot in the door. His voice made Bartherious' seem lilting and sweet by
comparison, and his presence was instantly identifiable.

Tyranis, the Prime Evil.

He told me all the good I had done for the Tudari people, all the changes in
society, would be overturned and removed if I were to die. My people would be
enslaved to an oppressive matriarchy once more, and he told me of a future he
had foreseen in which no male existed at all, for the females had mastered
asexual reproduction. All the while, the Confederacy stood and watched as a
near-genocide took place, and did not conduct intervention. I lashed out at
him, threatening him, and he told me that which instilled me with dread I had
never felt before; there was nothing I could do.

In this form, anyway. He made me an offer I tried desperately to refuse-become one
of his heralds, his Apex Dozen, and he would ensure peace for my people. Could
I be prepared to sacrifice my morality, my last, best chance at entering the
darkness as I had been intended for? Were my people worth the struggle?

In my cold, dead heart, the answer was clear. He reanimated me, bestowing me with
immense new powers, new artefacts, and impenetrable armor plating. He gave me a
purpose-to pave the way for his revival, and to ensure that he would walk this
planet once more.

I am Skarthion, the Skull Taker, and with the forces of heaven arrayed against
me, I shall raise hell.

### **Epilogue**

"And
you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

-Dylan
Thomas