The Reluctant Resurrectee

Released: 7th April 2007
Size: 180 KB
Genre: comedy

Introduction
You blink. You're alive then.

Damn.

In a way you suppose it was inevitable that High Chancellor Verenor would find a way to bring you back. If you'd managed to grind yourself up into dust then set fire to the dust and burn it to ash then fed the ash to a thousand rats and drowned the rats in the deepest ocean in the world, he'd still have found a way to bring you back. He's determined, you'll grant him that.

You blink again.

There seems to be something a little… odd. Something unusual. Something you can't quite put your f-

Ah. That's it. You don't have a finger.

Or a hand.

Or, in fact, a body at all.

Except for this one eyeball.

Damn that Verenor.

"It was a most unfortunate accident, Your Highness," you hear him say. (Quite how you're able to hear when all that's left of you is a single eyeball you don't know. Then again, quite how you're able to think when your brain has been blasted to mush is a quandary, too.) "But rest assured, I have had the guards executed."

At this point, you'd normally speak up and tell Verenor that you killed yourself and so having the guards executed was uncalled for, but while the eyeball that is you can hear and think for itself, speech a little beyond it.

Verenor goes on, "the same goes for a messenger who was passing the palace at the time of your murder. He denied being involved when questioned, but, nevertheless, I had him beheaded just to be on the safe side."

You… no, you don't wince because there's not enough left of you, but you certainly would if you were capable of it.

"But it is good to have you back, Your Highness," says Verenor. You fancy that he frowns. "In a manner of speaking anyway. I regret that the High Arcanist was unable to restore more than your left eyeball but perhaps his predecessor will have more success when he arrives. For we have need of you, Your Highness. The southern barbarians are at the gates and demanding tribute we do not have; the eastern plainsman are threatening bloody war at any moment; there is revolt among the lower classes due to our quite acceptable sport of using them as target practice for our archers; and many of the barons have become somewhat… dissatisfied with your son's progress on the rulership front. At the moment, he is locked up in the High Tower for his own safety but even that is questionable safety as I believe several of his guards also wish him dead."

You… come very close to wincing.

"I shall leave you to ponder the situation, Your Highness," says Verenor, speaking the only good words you've heard him speak in this lifetime. "No doubt you will, in your own genius way, come up with the solution to our problems and, again, save us from our enemies most foul. I shall return as soon as the bell located on the desk is rung, Your Highness."

And with that, Verenor departs. If he is aware of the problem with a single eyeball ringing a bell, he does not see fit to acknowledge it.

A door closes somewhere.

You are alone.