'Little thing'
Vell hated getting his hands dirty, but as a necromancer apprentice that couldn’t be avoided forever. Today he would be supervised as he prepared his first corpse for resurrection. His master lead him into the room and gestured at the body on the table. It was quite readily apparent that this corpse had been out in the sun for a few weeks. Vell gasped and covered his nose and mouth trying to block out the stench. Sharso grasped him by the back of his robes and shoved him roughly to the table. Vell grabbed the edge of the table and convulsed, dry heaving several times over the body. She would have been a slim Altmer woman but was bloated and misshaped, in places her skin had slit open and the rotten contents had begun to seep out. He closed his eyes, he didn’t want to look at her let alone touch her.
“Your tools are on the shelf” Sharso said coolly.
Vell didn’t move or open his eyes, he tried not to breathe in the smell either.
“Go on, get to work.” Sharso was not a patient man. When Vell continued to remain stationary he lunged forward, grabbing Vell by the back of the neck and slamming his face down onto the corpse.
Vell screamed and squirmed violently, he could feel his face growing sticky and movement beneath the skin of the elf. He gasped and started hyperventilating before screaming again, he was crying now as well. Sharso growled angrily, he could feel his breath on the back of his neck. Then he was cast to the ground where he hit his head on the stone. He cried out but his screams were short lived as his master stepped on his chest and forced the air out of his lungs. Sharso pressed down harder and harder putting more and more of his weight on his chest before…
Pop.
Stars swam around in Vell’s vision. He felt his ribs snap one by one very distinctly. one, two, three… four. Four broken ribs. One concussion. Maggots on his face.
