Dirge of the Skulltaker

Epigraph
"Will you dance with my, Lady Waters?"

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 conquerer. 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 Matoran 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 Brotherhood of Makuta came crashing down about their ears. Where once the Toa 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 Legion, 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 a body. 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.''

<p style="font-weight:normal;">''The plague upon flesh riddled our legion with absesses 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 ever marching at the head of our legion, 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 dishonourably, 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.''

<p style="font-weight:normal;">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,