Necromancy-
A Day in the Life of a Bumbling Necromancer-Again
a Novelette (a very long short fiction)

Necromancy-A Day in the Life of a Bumbling Necromancer-Again

Hour 1

Quaraun sighed, his delicate shoulders rising and falling as he stared at the mountainous pile of dirty dishes teetering in the sink. Greasy plates were stacked haphazardly, their surfaces smeared with remnants of past meals. Mismatched mugs, their rims stained with dried tea, balanced precariously on top of overturned bowls still crusted with bits of stew. A stubborn streak of jam glistened under the dim light, and a sour mixture of old food and standing water perfumed the air.

The scent wrinkled his nose.

BoomFuzzy had gone outside to tend the garden, leaving him alone in the small, cluttered lighthouse kitchen, surrounded by the overwhelming mess.

“I can handle this,” he muttered, lifting his elegant Rainbow Wand.

The cool, smooth metal felt reassuring in his fingers as he flicked his wrist with a flourish. The crystal tip shimmered, pulsing with an eerie glow.

“Necromancy!”

A low hum filled the air, and the scent of damp earth and wilted petals suddenly bloomed around him.

From the windowsill, dried roses quivered in their neglected vases, their brittle petals curling inward before crackling back to life. The thorny stems twisted, growing unnaturally long, slithering toward the sink like serpents searching for prey. The once-lifeless flowers trembled with a strange, eager energy as their gnarled tendrils reached for the soapy water.

Quaraun grinned, stepping back to admire his work.

The undead roses dipped and swayed, their petals pressing clumsily against the grimy dishes. The soft rustling of leaves and the faint, wet sound of petals dragging across ceramic filled the air.

Awkward but determined, the enchanted flowers smeared soap over plates and teacups in a peculiar, hypnotic dance.

Then, everything went horribly wrong.

A dish slipped from a petal’s grasp, landing with a dull clunk before spinning wildly across the counter. One of the longer stems lashed out, knocking a precariously stacked tower of bowls, sending them cascading like dominos. Water sloshed violently over the edge of the sink, splattering across Quaraun’s robes. Suds erupted into the air in thick, frothy clouds, coating his hair in globs of perfumed foam.

More dishes toppled from the shelves, their fragile bodies shattering against the tiled floor with sharp, musical crashes. The thorny vines, emboldened by magic, writhed chaotically, snagging utensils and flinging them into the air like a deranged juggling act.

BoomFuzzy returned just in time to witness the disaster. He stood in the doorway, blinking at the chaos before him.

The entire kitchen was a battlefield of broken dishes, puddles of soapy water, and tangled vines still flailing with unnatural enthusiasm. In the centre of it all stood Quaraun, completely drenched, his luxurious pink robes plastered to his slender frame, his long silvery hair dripping with suds.

BoomFuzzy crossed his arms, arching a thick, disapproving brow.

“What are ya doing to me kitchen?”

“I am washing dishes,” Quaraun answered primly, though the effect was ruined by the soap bubble sliding down his nose.

“With roses?”

“They are helping,” he insisted, though even he couldn’t ignore the way one of the undead flowers had wrapped itself around a spoon and was now enthusiastically attempting to scrub the ceiling.

BoomFuzzy exhaled a slow, weary sigh, stepping gingerly over the wreckage. He plucked a thorny stem from Quaraun’s shoulder and shook his head.

“Stick to weaving, Love,” BoomFuzzy said with a sigh.

Hour 2

BoomFuzzy set down his basket of fresh picked carrots and parsley, then shooed Quaraun out of the kitchen with a firm wave of his calloused hands.

“I’ll have to clean this mess up before I can cook our breakfast,” the old Phooka muttered.

His cloudy silver eyes narrowed, his usually playful expression now one of exasperation as he blocked the doorway like a grumpy guard dog.

“No more necromancy for dishwashing!” he barked, his deep voice echoing off the wooden beams of the lighthouse kitchen.

Quaraun pouted, his delicate features twisting into a sulky frown as he reluctantly turned away, his long, pink silk robes swishing against the worn floor. He cast one last mournful glance at the mess he had made, then slinked off, leaving BoomFuzzy alone to undo the damage.

With a tired sigh, BoomFuzzy rolled up his sleeves, exposing the retired soldier’s muscular forearms, which were speckled with faded scars from years of wars and battles. He waved his hands through the air, fingers wiggling as he summoned his own Faerie magic.

A soft, golden glow pulsed from his fingertips, shimmering like fireflies in the dim room. The energy swept through the kitchen, crackling gently as it worked to unravel Quaraun’s chaotic Elf magic.

The undead roses, still twitching from their misguided enthusiasm, gave one last feeble shudder before their thorny vines shrivelled and curled in on themselves. Petals darkened and crumbled, disintegrating into fine dust that scattered across the counters. The enchanted dishware, which had been rattling and twitching like restless spirits, suddenly stilled.

A moment later, they levitated smoothly into the air, hovering weightlessly as soapy water dripped off their polished surfaces. Each plate, cup, and spoon dried instantly as if kissed by warm sunlight, then glided back into place on the shelves, neat and orderly once more.

“Necromancy’s for serious matters!” BoomFuzzy grumbled under his breath, shaking his head as he wiped his damp hands on his apron.

The thick fabric was already stained from years of cooking and cleaning, and today’s disaster had added streaks of soap and flower petals to the mix.

“Simple hard work, that’s what we need. No need for magic to wash the dishes. That’s what your hands are for.”

Quaraun hesitated in the doorway, glancing down at his hands. His elegant fingers, slender and once so nimble, gleamed under the kitchen lantern’s soft glow, the gold plating of his prosthetic gloves catching the light. Intricate etchings of swirling Faerie script lined the surface, delicate engravings of moons and stars twinkling along the metallic joints.

BoomFuzzy had made the Elf’s prosthetic bionic gloves. But no matter how beautifully crafted they were, they did not feel like hands.

“My hands are crippled,” Quaraun muttered, flexing his stiff fingers, the mechanical joints clicking softly. His voice was quiet, laced with an ache he rarely allowed himself to express. “I feel so useless.”

BoomFuzzy’s expression softened. He turned away from the sink, resting one broad hand on Quaraun’s shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Ya ain’t useless, Love,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Ya just better suited to things other than washing dishes.”

With that, BoomFuzzy rolled up his sleeves higher, bracing himself for the task ahead. He plunged his hands into the warm, soapy water, the scent of lavender and lemon rising from the basin. The last of the stubborn grime clung to the dishes, and he attacked it with firm, practiced scrubs, his movements efficient and methodical.

Now and then, he muttered under his breath in thick Scottish curses, grumbling about Elf magic and enchanted disasters as he worked.

From the doorway, Quaraun peeked back in, his foot long rabbitty ears twitching with uncertainty. He clasped his hands together, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his usual regal poise momentarily forgotten.

“Sorry, Unicorn,” he said softly. “Do you want me to sweep the floor?”

BoomFuzzy glanced over his shoulder, then nodded.

“Aye. Ya good at sweeping.”

Quaraun lifted his hand, summoning one of his handmade broom-weed brooms with a flick of his fingers. The handle was smooth and polished, crafted from driftwood he had painstakingly shaped, while the bristles were woven from dried sea grasses and enchanted moss. As soon as it appeared, he set to work, gliding the broom across the floor in steady strokes.

The lighthouse kitchen, being small and snug, made the task a quick one. Within minutes, every last fallen petal, vine, leaf, and thorn had been swept into a neat little pile. The dead roses, now nothing more than brittle husks, crackled under the broom’s bristles as he gathered them up and carried them to the compost bin.

As Quaraun dusted his hands off, he glanced up at BoomFuzzy.

“Need help with the rest of the dishes?” he offered, tilting his head slightly.

BoomFuzzy paused, then exhaled a weary sigh, shaking his head with a knowing smirk.

“Nay, Love. We learned that lesson al’ready.” He scrubbed the last stubborn stain from a pot before setting it aside. “Just stick to your weaving, Love. Leave the dishwashing to me.”

Hour 3

GhoulSpawn, deeply engrossed in his battered quantum physics textbook, barely registered the clatter and chaos from the kitchen at first. The pages of the thick tome were yellowed with age, the spine cracked from years of being stuffed into his oversized coat pockets. Strange, complex diagrams of dimensional rifts and energy fields filled the pages, but the sudden shift from distant kitchen racket to abrupt silence finally broke his concentration. Curious, he stretched his long fluffy digitigrade legs and wandered toward the doorway, his cloven hooves clicking softly against the wooden floor.

As he stepped inside, his golden pleco pupiled eyes flickered across the mess.

Scattered across the floor and countertops were the charred, brittle remains of what had once been roses. Their twisted, blackened petals gave off the faint scent of burnt sugar and scorched greenery, curling inward like they had been struck by lightning.

Meanwhile, the dishes — every last one — gleamed spotless, stacked neatly in their proper places as though the chaos had never happened.

GhoulSpawn blinked, his brain catching up to the bizarre scene.

“Why are there blackened roses everywhere?” he asked, puzzled, his fluffy lamb ears twitching.

BoomFuzzy, hunched over the sink, let out a long-suffering sigh as he scrubbed a soot-streaked pot. His thick arms flexed with the effort, water sloshing over the edge of the basin, his already-wet apron absorbing most of it. The scent of lavender soap and lingering burnt roses clung to the air.

“Quaraun tried using necromancy to wash dishes,” BoomFuzzy muttered, the words laced with exasperation.

GhoulSpawn snorted, his lips twitching into an amused grin. He rocked back slightly on his hooves, his floor sweeping green velvet Fagin coat swishing around his ankles.

“Necromancy for dishes? That’s… uhm… creative?” he said, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely sure if “creative” was the right word.

BoomFuzzy shot him a pointed look, pausing long enough to dunk the pot under the water with a decisive splash.

“Not funny,” he grumbled. “Magic’s for serious things, not chores.”

GhoulSpawn ignored the warning and plucked a charred rose from the counter. He turned it over in his clawed fingers, examining the delicate blackened edges. Ash crumbled beneath his touch, drifting to the floor in tiny flakes.

“Well, Quaraun does love his enchanted UnDead Roses,” he mused, holding the wilted remains up to the dim lantern light.

BoomFuzzy, still scrubbing, grunted.

“Ghouly, as Quaraun’s apprentice, he’s supposed to be teaching ya by example, how to become a wizard. And I think, me wee lil JellyElf is not setting a very good example for hims student now, is he?”

GhoulSpawn shrugged, tossing the ruined flower back onto the counter.

“Well, I’m not into Necromancy anyway,” he said. “I’m going to become a Pyromancer.”

BoomFuzzy froze mid-scrub, then groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache.

“Great! That means sooner or later, I will come home to find me kitchen burnt to the ground by flaming UnDead Roses, and fireball-breathing HellHounds.”

GhoulSpawn rocked on his hooves again, thoughtful.

“Uhm… I prefer Lava Chickens to HellHounds.”

BoomFuzzy shot him a deadpan stare.

“Of course ya do,” he said flatly, the sarcasm thick enough to spread on toast.

From the next room, Quaraun’s voice drifted in, soft and defensive.

“I was not trying to make a mess.”

GhoulSpawn cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Maybe next time,” he called out, his tone teasing. “Stick to traditional methods.”

BoomFuzzy chuckled, shaking his head.

“Exactly what I been saying,” he muttered, rinsing the last of the soap off the pot before setting it aside. Then, with a sharp tilt of his head, he turned to GhoulSpawn. “Now, Goat — ”

“I’m a sheep,” GhoulSpawn corrected, crossing his arms.

BoomFuzzy smirked but didn’t back down.

“Well, whatever ya are, with ya mountain goat horns and ya billy goat cloven hooves, grab a towel and help dry.”

GhoulSpawn rolled his eyes but grabbed a towel anyway, shaking his head as he wiped a smudge of soot off one of the cups.

“Sure thing,” he said, still smirking.

Hour 4

“I’m heading to Noodle Beach Village!” Quaraun called over his shoulder.

His voice carrying through the open doorway of the lighthouse. His tone was light, almost playful, despite the fact that he was sneaking out like a guilty child avoiding chores.

With practiced grace, he slipped soundlessly over the threshold, the heavy wooden door creaking just slightly as it settled back into place behind him.

“You two clean up my mess!”

BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn, still standing in the kitchen surrounded by charred roses and damp dish towels, exchanged long-suffering glances. Their matching expressions of exasperation needed no words — Quaraun had done it again, abandoning them to deal with the aftermath of his magical mishap while he wandered off on another one of his carefree excursions.

Outside, the salty breeze of the ocean wrapped around Quaraun like a familiar embrace, ruffling his long silken robes as he stepped onto the stone steps leading down to the shore.

The tide lapped gently at the sand below, retreating and advancing in a rhythmic dance, leaving behind glistening foam and scattered sea treasures.

As he strolled along the water’s edge, his soft pink slippers barely left prints in the damp sand.

Now and then, he stooped down, delicately picking up stranded moonsnails — tiny, spiralled shells glistening in pastel hues of pink, lavender, and cream. With a gentle touch, he released each one back into the shallow surf, watching them burrow quickly into the wet sand.

Leaving the shoreline behind, Quaraun climbed over the dunes, his long pink silk robes brushing against the tall, wind-bent grasses that swayed lazily in the breeze.

Here, nestled in the safety of the dunes, he paused near a small cluster of dried reeds and broken shells, where a mother plover sat nestled in her shallow nest. Her tiny, down-covered chicks scurried around her, pecking eagerly at sand fleas and darting about on wobbly legs.

Quaraun crouched, careful not to disturb them, a rare smile playing at his lips. He had always loved these quiet moments, these small glimpses of nature thriving against the odds.

Eventually, he straightened and continued his walk, exiting through the weathered wooden gate that marked the boundary of his vast, sprawling acreage.

The dirt road stretched ahead of him, winding its way toward the nearby Human fishing village. The scent of salt, wildflowers, and sunbaked earth filled the air as he followed the well-worn path, his mind already drifting to the supplies he needed to purchase.

Just outside Noodle Beach Village, an old graveyard sprawled beneath the shade of ancient, gnarled trees. Time and the elements had worn the headstones, their inscriptions softened by the salty wind.

Quaraun slowed his steps, tilting his head as a sudden thought crossed his mind. His lips curled into a mischievous grin.

“Necromancy!” he declared, lifting his Rainbow Wand and giving it an elegant flick.

The air grew heavy, charged with a subtle hum of power. Beneath the earth, bones stirred. A low, eerie rattling rose from the graves as skeletons clawed their way free, their bleached-white fingers breaking through the soil. Dust and fragments of old burial cloths clung to their brittle frames as they stood, their empty eye sockets flickering with a faint, unnatural glow. The creaking of ancient joints echoed through the graveyard as they snapped to attention.

Quaraun clapped his hands, delighted.

“You lot, follow me!”

The skeletons obeyed, stumbling forward in awkward, jerky movements, forming a bizarre, rattling parade. Some were missing fingers, others tilted at odd angles as if they had forgotten how to stand properly, but all of them fell into line behind The Pink Necromancer with unwavering obedience.

As he resumed his walk, Quaraun chuckled to himself, already imagining BoomFuzzy’s reaction. The Phooka, being a Lich King, often summoned skeletons for practical work — tending the vegetable gardens, pulling weeds, and helping with the harvest. It was efficient, a clever use of necromantic power.

“This shall make shopping easier,” he murmured, leading his skeletal entourage down the dirt path toward the unsuspecting village.

Ahead, Noodle Beach Village carried on as normal, its fishermen hauling in their morning catch, shopkeepers arranging their wares, and villagers chatting in the streets — blissfully unaware of the impending absurdity that was clattering its way toward them.

Hour 5

Quaraun strolled casually into Noodle Beach Village, his long pink silk robes billowing slightly in the ocean breeze, the shimmering fabric catching the morning light with each graceful step.

Behind him, his skeleton crew followed in an eerie, synchronized procession, their bony feet clicking against the cobblestone streets. Hollow eye sockets stared blankly ahead, and the occasional misplaced jawbone wobbled as they marched, some skeletons tilting precariously as if unsure how to balance in their long-forgotten bodies.

The reaction from the villagers was immediate.

Children shrieked, their games abandoned as they fled in all directions, scrambling into doorways and ducking behind barrels. Some tripped over themselves in sheer panic, their laughter from moments earlier replaced with high-pitched wails.

“It’s that crazy necromancer from up yonder lighthouse,” a grizzled fisherman muttered, his weathered hands gripping his harpoon as he leaned against a crate of freshly caught fish.

His wide-eyed nephew, a visiting relative from inland, clung to his arm, looking ready to bolt. The fisherman shook his head, watching Quaraun with the weariness of someone who had long since accepted the absurdity of their eccentric neighbour.

“Craziest neighbour we ever had.”

Unbothered by the chaos, Quaraun stepped into the village store, the small bell above the door jingling cheerfully as he entered. The scent of salt, dried fish, and fresh bread lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest trace of cinnamon from the spice shelves. He drifted through the narrow aisles, plucking items from the wooden shelves and piling them into the skeletal arms of his undead assistants.

One skeleton wobbled under the weight of a particularly large sack of rice, its bony fingers tightening instinctively around the bag, though the gesture was wholly unnecessary for something without muscles.

Other shoppers froze, gripping their baskets, their gazes darting between Quaraun and the silent, unmoving skeletons that now stood laden with goods. The atmosphere thickened with barely contained terror.

The grocer’s wife, stocking a row of glass jars, gasped audibly before scurrying out the back door without so much as a word.

At the checkout counter, Quaraun reached into his silk pouch and pulled out a handful of gold coins, the metal glinting as he placed them neatly on the wooden counter. Before he could finish the transaction, the cashier took one look at the skeletal entourage, let out an ear-piercing shriek, and bolted through the front door.

The other customers followed suit, baskets of food toppling over in their haste to escape.

Quaraun exhaled heavily, watching the last of the screaming shoppers disappear into the street. He turned his gaze back to the empty counter, his pale fingers drumming idly against the wood.

“Really? It is just necromancy,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the bag of gold onto the counter. The coins spilled across the surface, clinking against each other in a bright, metallic scatter.

“This will have to do, I suppose. They will not accuse me of stealing.”

Behind him, the skeletons clattered noisily as they shuffled toward the door, their bony arms overflowing with groceries. A few nearly lost their burdens, but with some awkward adjustments, they managed to keep hold of the goods.

As Quaraun stepped outside, the village was in complete disarray.

People peered out from behind curtains, their fearful eyes barely visible through the slats of wooden shutters. A few men had taken up pitchforks but seemed hesitant to actually use them, unsure whether they were dealing with an intruder or something far worse.

Quaraun sighed, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. He adjusted the folds of his pink silk robes, flicking a stray grain of sand from his sleeve.

“Such drama over a little magic,” he muttered to himself. “Unicorn and Glinta will never believe this. Humans make such a fuss.”

With that, he turned on his heel, his skeletal servants rattling along behind him, their groceries in tow, leaving behind a village still gripped in terrified confusion.

Hour 6

Quaraun returned to the lighthouse, his long pink robes rustling softly as he strode up the path, the hem dragging in the damp sand.

Behind him, his skeleton crew followed in a noisy, disjointed procession, their bony feet clattering against the stone steps. Some wobbled unsteadily, others tilted at odd angles as if still adjusting to the concept of walking after centuries of lying in their graves.

The grocery bags they carried shifted precariously in their skeletal grips, the sound of rustling paper mixing with the occasional clink of bottles knocking together.

BoomFuzzy stood at the top of the steps, arms crossed over his broad chest, one bushy eyebrow arched as he took in the bizarre scene before him. His long grey dreadlocks swayed slightly as he exhaled through his nose, unimpressed.

“What did ya done now?” he drawled, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Behind BoomFuzzy, GhoulSpawn hesitated, his towering frame shrinking back ever so slightly. His golden fleece bristled, and his long, long floppy Alpine-goat-like lamb ears twitched as he took an instinctive step away from the animated corpses. His cloven hooves scuffed against the wooden floor, his wide golden pleco pupiled eyes darting from one rattling skeleton to the next.

“Why are there… skeletons?” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Quaraun shrugged, entirely unbothered, as if he had simply brought home a loaf of bread rather than an entourage of undead minions.

“Necromancy. They helped carry the groceries.”

BoomFuzzy let out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, shaking his head.

“Using necromancy for chores? Really, Quaraun?”

Quaraun huffed, folding his arms.

“They were useful!”

BoomFuzzy jabbed a finger toward the skeletons, who stood obediently in a loose cluster, their empty eye sockets staring ahead in eerie silence. A few shifted in place, bones creaking softly, one adjusting the sack of potatoes it carried as if trying to maintain balance.

“Necromancy is for serious matters,” BoomFuzzy scolded. “Not grocery shopping.”

Quaraun scoffed, flicking his long jellyfish tentacle hair over his shoulder.

“You use them for weeding the garden and harvesting the crops!”

“Aye,” BoomFuzzy grumbled. “In the privacy of our farm. Not in public where Humans can see me doin’ it! Quaraun, ya know how Humans get. Humans hate Elves and Faeries and Demons and mages, and we three is all of the above. Ya want them to come up here with pitchforks at us?”

Quaraun frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“No.”

GhoulSpawn, still cautiously observing the skeletons, tilted his head, his horns glinting in the dim light of the lighthouse lanterns. He had seen plenty of bizarre things in his time-travelling misadventures, but this? This was new.

“I’ve never seen animated skeletons before,” he mumbled, still wide-eyed, his hooves shifting nervously.

BoomFuzzy’s expression grew worried.

“Did any Humans see them?”

Quaraun nodded, adjusting the lace cuffs of his sleeves.

“They helped shop. The Humans fled the store.”

BoomFuzzy groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Quaraun, I ken ya gots jellyfish for brains–”

“I do not have a brain. I am the Sacred Pink JellyFish. I am not an Elf. I merely live in the hollowed out skull of this Elf’s body. We JellyFish do not have brains.”

“I ken, but try to think before ya go usin’ magic around Humans, okay?”

Quaraun waved a delicate hand dismissively, his many rings catching the light.

“Just a little necromancy. No harm done.”

BoomFuzzy stared at him, unimpressed.

“Next time, just use a shopping cart.”

Quaraun arched a brow.

“My hands are crippled, remember?” He flexed his gloved fingers, the gold-plated cyber-tech covering gleaming against his pale skin.

BoomFuzzy grunted, rubbing his forehead.

“Aye, ya crippled hands, I know.” He exhaled heavily, then gestured between himself and GhoulSpawn. “Well, just have me and Ghouly come with ya next time. We’ll help ya shop, ya ken that.”

Quaraun paused, considering this, before finally nodding.

“Fine.”

BoomFuzzy gave a satisfied grunt, then turned to the skeletons still standing motionless in the doorway, their groceries still clutched in their bony grips. He scowled.

Hour 7

Quaraun stood on the edge of the stone patio, watching as BoomFuzzy stalked across the frostbitten garden, herding the skeletons like an impatient shepherd managing a flock of particularly slow-witted sheep.

The clattering of bones filled the cold, salty air, echoing against the rocky cliffs as the undead labourers shuffled to their assigned tasks.

BoomFuzzy’s gruff voice rang out, barking orders as he directed them, his thick Scottish brogue carrying over the wind. The skeletons obeyed without hesitation, their empty eye sockets glowing faintly with necromantic energy as they bent to pull weeds, rake dead leaves, and clear debris from the gnarled apple trees that lined the lighthouse’s orchard.

Quaraun folded his delicate hands inside the long, flowing sleeves of his embroidered silk robe, his keen blue eyes tracking the efficiency with which BoomFuzzy managed the undead workforce.

Being a Lich, BoomFuzzy had a natural affinity for animating and controlling skeletons, his command over death more instinctive than learned.

Quaraun, for all his accolades as the world’s most powerful Necromancer, had never quite mastered the art of puppeteering Human corpses. His skills leaned toward a different form of resurrection — one less grotesque, at least by Elf standards.

Quaraun watched as BoomFuzzy herded the skeletons toward the garden to work.

Being a Lich, BoomFuzzy was better at animating skeletons than Quaraun was.

Quaraun expertise was with reanimating dead plants, particularly dead roses. Though considered the world’s greatest and most powerful Necromancer, largely due to being the world’s ONLY necromancer, Quaraun had little aptitude for reanimating Humans.

The Pink Necromancer, was an Elf, and so the necromancy he practiced used Elf logic.

Elf logic dictated that Humans were vile, evil parasites that existed as a plague upon Nature.

Elf logic dictated that Nature must be protected at all costs.

His necromancy was an extension of Elf logic, and Elf logic was simple:

Humans were a blight, a disease infecting the natural world, a parasite that drained life from the land without giving anything back.

Nature, in contrast, was sacred.

Nature must be preserved.

Nature must be protected at all costs.

Elf logic dictated that necromancy was used for restoring life to grass and trees and roses.

Quaraun used his necromancy for filling his gardens with zombie hummingbirds and undead roses. Quaraun devoted his power to breathing life back into wilted grass, rejuvenating ancient trees, and resurrecting once-vibrant roses that had long since crumbled to dust. His gardens flourished with eerie beauty, populated by undead roses with petals that never withered and tiny zombie hummingbirds that flitted about on wings of shimmering decay.

Still, he found himself admiring BoomFuzzy’s craft. BoomFuzzy’s ability to harness the darker arts of necromancy, dealing with corpses and skeletons. There was something undeniably impressive about the Lich’s ability to reanimate bones and bend them to his will with such ease.

Satisfied with observing for now, Quaraun turned away and made his way back inside the lighthouse, his soft footfalls nearly silent against the polished wooden floor. Behind him, BoomFuzzy continued shouting orders, his voice fluctuating between gruff irritation and begrudging satisfaction as he stationed the skeletons throughout the orchards.

Inside, the warm glow of lantern light cast flickering shadows over the kitchen, where GhoulSpawn was busy sorting and storing the recently acquired groceries. The scent of dried herbs and old parchment filled the air, mingling with the faint, lingering salt of the sea. He worked with a focused efficiency, though his movements were occasionally distracted as he stole wary glances toward the door, still slightly unsettled by the sight of animated skeletons performing menial labour outside.

Quaraun wandered toward the kitchen counter, his sharp gaze landing on a bar of rose-scented soap resting on the wooden surface. He sniffed disdainfully, brushing imaginary dust from the sleeve of his robe.

“I feel positively filthy,” he declared, as though the very act of stepping into the village had left an invisible stain upon him.

GhoulSpawn glanced up from a bag of dried lentils, raising one thick golden eyebrow.

“Isn’t that what bathtubs are for?”

Quaraun sighed dramatically, as though the weight of the world pressed upon his slender shoulders.

“Yes.”

GhoulSpawn rolled his eyes, shifting his attention back to the shelves.

“Well, help me put this stuff away and then go take a bath.”

Quaraun wrinkled his nose in distaste, taking a deliberate step back from the mundane chore.

“Mundane tasks leave a stain on the soul. I must purify. You put this stuff away while I go take a bath.”

GhoulSpawn narrowed his eyes, setting down a jar of honey with an audible thunk.

“Hey! You could help, you know?”

Quaraun tilted his head, arching a delicate brow.

“You are my apprentice,” he stated, as though it were an irrefutable law of the universe. He turned on his heel, making his way toward the spiralling staircase that led to the upper floors. “It is your job to do the tasks I do not want to do.”

GhoulSpawn huffed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how an apprenticeship’s supposed to work.”

Quaraun paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking over his shoulder with an air of smug certainty.

“It is how mine works.”

With that, he ascended the staircase, muttering to himself about the indignity of domestic labour, his twelve foot long silver jellyfish tentacle hair drifting behind him like a silken veil.

GhoulSpawn stood in the kitchen for a moment, watching Quaraun’s retreat with a mixture of frustration and amusement. He let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he returned to stocking the pantry shelves.

Moments later, the door creaked open again, and BoomFuzzy strode inside, his thick boots leaving faint scuff marks on the floorboards. He grinned, pleased with himself.

“Skeletons are good for garden,” he remarked, stretching his arms.

GhoulSpawn snorted, still amused.

“And Quaraun’s good for entertainment.”

BoomFuzzy smirked, loosening the straps of his gloves.

“What’d he do now?”

GhoulSpawn tossed a bag of flour onto the shelf and leaned against the counter.

“He says it’s my job as his apprentice to do the tasks he doesn’t want to do… so that he can ‘purify his soul’ in the bathtub.”

BoomFuzzy let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, shaking his head.

“Aye. That sounds like him.” He stepped toward the counter, reaching for a sack of potatoes. “I’ll help ya.”

GhoulSpawn grinned.

“Thanks. If I had to put all this away by myself, I might’ve had to reanimate my own skeleton helpers.”

BoomFuzzy laughed.

“Now that’d be a sight.”

Hour 8

Quaraun, now alone in the upstairs chamber of the lighthouse, let out a long, contented sigh as he stepped into the warmth of the candle-lit bathing room.

Steam rose in lazy tendrils from the deep copper tub, curling into the air like phantom wisps before dissipating against the frost-laced windows.

The scent of rose oil drifted through the space, clinging to the humid air, mingling with the distant, briny tang of the ocean outside. The flickering glow of lantern light danced across the polished marble tiles, casting elongated shadows that swayed with the flames.

With a flick of his delicate fingers, Quaraun lifted his wand, its polished silver surface gleaming in the low light. He pointed it toward the air and intoned with dramatic flair.

“Necromancy!”

His voice rang through the room, carrying the weight of magic as the very air seemed to hum in response.

A moment later, the temperature dropped, the steam curling backward as an unnatural chill settled over the chamber.

Wisps of glowing mist coalesced in the air, swirling together until they formed the translucent shape of a ghost — a spectral figure drifting just above the tiled floor, its blurred features shifting like ripples in water. It flickered faintly, its form only half tethered to the world of the living, but its presence was undeniable.

The ghost inclined its head, its voice hollow and distant, carrying the echoes of a world beyond.

“How may I serve?”

Quaraun, utterly unbothered by the unnatural entity hovering before him, reached to the side and grabbed a soft, lace-trimmed loofah from a nearby tray of bathing essentials. He held it out toward the phantom, his expression one of expectation rather than unease.

“Scrub my back,” he ordered, stepping into the luxurious bath with the ease of someone accustomed to such indulgences.

The ghost obeyed without question, taking the loofah in its ethereal grasp and setting to work with surprising vigour. The bristles scrubbed against Quaraun’s pale skin, the sensation strangely cool yet firm, as though a faint breeze carried the pressure of an invisible hand. Quaraun sighed contentedly, sinking deeper into the fragrant water, his silken hair floating like delicate tendrils atop the surface.

For a time, all was peaceful.

The only sounds were the occasional splash of water, the rhythmic motion of the loofah against his back, and the creak of the old lighthouse settling against the weight of the wind, its grinding cogs clunking away with each turn of the beacon light.

But then —

“This lighthouse is cozy,” the ghost whispered, its voice carrying a thoughtful tone as it glanced around the room.

Quaraun tensed. His entire body went rigid, his relaxation shattered in an instant. His pointed ears twitched, and his pink pupils dilated as he slowly turned his head.

“…Wait, what?”

“I think I’ll stay,” the ghost announced matter-of-factly, its already fading form flickering once before vanishing completely, dissolving into the walls as though it had never been summoned in the first place.

Quaraun’s heart lurched.

His stomach twisted into knots.

His fingers clutched the edges of the bathtub as cold panic swept through him.

His breath came in short, sharp gasps as his mind raced through what had just happened.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

His voice broke into a sharp, frantic shout.

“Unicorn! Glinta! Help!”

The sheer urgency in his cry sent a ripple of alarm through the lighthouse.

BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn, having long since grown accustomed to Quaraun’s tendency to slip and fall — whether from his own clumsiness or sheer dramatics — immediately assumed the worst.

Without hesitation, they bolted up the spiralling wooden staircase, their footsteps a hurried clatter against the aged planks.

They burst into the room, finding Quaraun still in the bath, his alabaster skin nearly matching the ghostly pallor of his face. He looked visibly shaken, his blue eyes wide with alarm.

BoomFuzzy’s gaze darted over him, searching for injury.

“What’s wrong?”

GhoulSpawn, equally concerned, stepped closer.

“Are you hurt?”

Quaraun struggled for words, his lips parting and closing as he attempted to make sense of what had just transpired. Finally, he managed to stammer out.

“The ghost…”

Both BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn exchanged wary glances.

BoomFuzzy frowned.

“What?”

Quaraun gripped the rim of the tub, his wet fingers trembling slightly.

“A ghost! It likes it here.”

GhoulSpawn’s brows furrowed.

“Why is there a ghost here? Our lighthouse ain’t haunted.”

Quaraun hesitated, his ears drooping slightly as the weight of his own mistake dawned on him.

“…I… uhm… I summoned it. To scrub my back.”

Silence.

BoomFuzzy exhaled a long, weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as though physically wiping away his exhaustion.

“Quaraun, necromancy isn’t for bathing.”

GhoulSpawn crossed his arms, nodding in agreement.

“And now we have a haunting.”

Quaraun, sinking lower into the bath, let out a resigned sigh. The realization settled in. He had, once again, been the architect of his own problems.

Hour 9

Fresh from his bath, Quaraun stepped onto the plush, pink velvet rug, steam rising from his damp skin in curling wisps as he reached for his wand. The warm glow of candlelight flickered against the polished brass fixtures, reflecting off the crystalline bath oils still clinging to the water’s surface. His long, silvery hair — still damp from the perfumed soak — dripped in languid strands down his back, glistening like liquid moonlight. He was clean, refreshed, and utterly unwilling to wrestle with the mundane task of dressing himself.

With a flourish, he lifted his wand, its iridescent surface catching the light in a prismatic gleam. He pointed it toward the towering rosewood dresser across the room and intoned with theatrical grandeur.

“Necromancy!”

The air vibrated with the pulse of magic.

A sudden gust of unseen force rattled the room as the wardrobe doors flew open with an echoing bang. Pink silk robes, gold embroidered pink jackets, and delicate pink tulle and lace skirts burst forth like startled birds, twisting and tumbling in the air, caught in the unseen grip of his spell. Pink ribbons fluttered wildly, pink scarves slithered like enchanted serpents, and jewelled gold buttons gleamed as they spun midair in an elegant yet chaotic ballet.

At first, Quaraun watched with smug satisfaction.

But then —

A pair of pink wool leggings shot toward his face like a strangling spectre.

“Not like that!” he scolded, jerking his head aside just in time to avoid being throttled by flying fabric. “I order you to obey me!”

A pink brocade skirt came next, somersaulting through the air like a possessed spectre, flaring out as if attempting to devour him whole. He ducked, narrowly dodging the airborne garment, only for a gold tasseled pink sash to wrap itself around his ankle, nearly yanking him off balance.

“STOP IT!”

The rebellious clothes refused to obey.

Sleeves twisted and tangled around his arms, buttons fastened in all the wrong places, skirts draped awkwardly over his shoulders like misplaced capes. The more he struggled, the more the enchanted garments wrestled back, their stitched seams refusing to yield.

“Stop!” Quaraun cried, stumbling backward as a particularly aggressive waistcoat attempted to button itself over his head.

“Unhand me!”

He swatted at the unruly clothing, flailing helplessly against his own enchanted wardrobe, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to wrest control.

“NO!”

Downstairs, BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn had just begun to resume their interrupted task of stocking the kitchen’s pantry when another of Quaraun’s desperate shouts rang through the lighthouse.

With an exasperated groan, BoomFuzzy set down a crate of preserves.

“Again?”

GhoulSpawn sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before casting a knowing glance at the ceiling.

“Yeah… again.”

Both men abandoned their work and rushed back up the winding staircase, boots and hooves thudding against the creaking wooden steps. When they reached the bathing chamber, they skidded to an abrupt halt at the sight before them.

Their eyes widened.

Quaraun stood, naked, in the middle of the room, flailing his arms as if warding off an invisible assailant, his usual poised elegance nowhere to be found. Layers of rich fabrics coiled and twisted around him like living creatures in the throes of rebellion. A sleeve had wound itself around his wrist like a shackle, while a silk sash hung half-draped across his face, reducing him to a comically disgruntled, partially mummified figure.

BoomFuzzy pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What have ya done now?”

Quaraun gestured wildly at the garments still flitting and floundering around him, his movements restricted by the mess of tangled silk. His pink pupils shimmered with indignation.

“I just wanted them to dress me!”

GhoulSpawn clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. His golden eyes darted between Quaraun’s frantic struggles and the airborne clothing, and though he knew better than to make fun of the Pink Necromancer outright, the absurdity of the scene was too much to ignore.

BoomFuzzy, however, had little patience for magical wardrobe mishaps. With a resigned shake of his head, he strode forward, snatching Quaraun’s wand from his grasp with a swift and practiced motion. Muttering an incantation under his breath, he gave the wand a curt flick.

The room instantly stilled.

The rogue garments froze in place before deflating like punctured balloons. With a final, reluctant flutter, they drifted down, settling neatly onto Quaraun’s frame, aligning themselves into proper order at last. The buttons fastened, the sashes tied, the collars adjusted — just as they should have from the start.

Quaraun stood there, now fully and correctly dressed, his pride bruised but his dignity mostly intact.

BoomFuzzy handed the wand back to him with a firm look.

“Next time,” he said, crossing his arms. “Just ask for help. From us — me and Ghouly. Not ghosts.”

Hour 10

BoomFuzzy exhaled a long, weary sigh, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the weight of exasperation. Without another word, he reached out and clamped a firm hand around Quaraun’s delicate wrist. The Elf barely had time to react before BoomFuzzy dragged him forward with surprising force, yanking the frail little Elf off balance.

Quaraun stumbled, his long pink silk robes tangling around his ankles as he was hauled through the lighthouse. His jellyfish hair flared behind him in a chaotic, shimmering tangle, the delicate chains of his nose rings jingling with each hurried step.

They clattered down the spiral staircase, the wooden steps groaning beneath their hurried pace. BoomFuzzy led him through the dimly lit hallway, past shelves stacked with spice jars and bundles of dried herbs.

The moment they reached the kitchen, BoomFuzzy didn’t stop. He strode straight through, shoving open the heavy wooden door that led outside. The salt-crisped hinges squeaked in protest as the warm, briny wind of the shore rushed in.

BoomFuzzy shoved Quaraun out onto the sun-bleached sand with a final, pointed command.

“Go outside, Quaraun. No more trouble.”

The Elf hesitated, blinking against the sudden brightness of the overcast sky, the chilly breeze catching the loose folds of his robe.

BoomFuzzy slammed the door.

Alone now, Quaraun wandered toward the shoreline, his slippered feet sinking slightly into the damp sand with each step. The air smelled of salt and decaying seaweed, the rhythmic hiss of waves lapping against the shore filling the empty space around him.

Gulls circled overhead, their distant cries echoing across the misty horizon.

As he meandered, his keen gaze caught something half-buried near the tide-line — a small, limp dead pink starfish, its stiffened arms curled inward.

He crouched beside it, tilting his head.

“Oh you poor thing.”

A thought sparked in his mind.

“I am a necromancer! I shall resurrect you!”

With renewed enthusiasm, Quaraun straightened, gripping his wand tightly. He held it aloft, its crystalline core pulsing faintly as he focused his magic. His pink pupils gleamed with anticipation.

He flourished the wand over the tiny dead creature.

“Necromancy!”

The word rang out across the empty beach, his voice carrying over the whispering tide.

At first, nothing happened.

Then —

A sudden twitch.

A small convulsion rippled through the stiffened limbs of the starfish.

Quaraun’s face lit up.

“Yes! It worked!”

His excitement lasted all of three seconds.

Then —

Everything twitched.

The entire shoreline shuddered with unnatural movement.

The sand began to churn, as dead things unburied themselves.

Seven miles of pristine white sand, stirred and moved, as every last dead creature long buried by the tides, clawed its way to the surface.

The wet sand churned as lobsters, long since plucked clean by scavengers, spasmed back to life.

Crabs scuttled unnaturally, their hollowed-out shells rattling as they jerked forward with an eerie, lurching gait.

A chorus of guttural cries erupted from the sky.

Above him, a flock of half-decayed seagulls shrieked as they flapped their half-rotten wings, their skeletal forms casting twisted, distorted shadows against the grey clouds.

From the shallows, bloated seals — bodies long surrendered to the waves — rose and began hauling themselves toward the shore, their dead, filmy eyes locked onto Quaraun.

Even the seaweed moved.

Long, slimy strands of kelp slithered unnaturally, dragging themselves across the sand like writhing serpents.

Quaraun’s stomach twisted in horror.

“Oh no!” he gasped, taking an instinctive step back. “Oops.”

The beach came alive with undead chaos.

The reanimated creatures lurched toward him in a horrifying tide of wriggling, flopping, snapping death.

Then he ran.

He ran right out of his dainty pink slippers.

His pink silk robes billowed behind him, his bare feet kicking up sand as he bolted in a frantic, zigzagging escape. The zombie gulls dived at him, their skeletal talons clawing at his hair, their beaks pecking at his head. He shrieked, swatting at them wildly.

The zombie crabs scuttled in pursuit, their jagged claws clicking menacingly as they skittered over the uneven sand.

The undead lobsters bounced toward him with unsettling speed, their limp, decayed antennae flailing wildly grasping for him.

The writhing tendrils of seaweed lashed out like animated whips, tangling around his ankles, threatening to drag him to the ground.

His jellyfish tentacle hair lashed out defensively, venomous stingers flaring as he tried to fend off the attacking creatures. His frantic yelps and startled screeches echoed across the beach, carrying all the way back to the lighthouse.

Back at the lighthouse…

Inside, in the warmth of the kitchen, BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn were finally getting the groceries put away. A task that should have taken only few minutes, but had now taken half the day due to Quaraun’s endless bumbling mishaps.

BoomFuzzy had just set down the lack sack of potatoes in the side pantry, when he heard the telltale screams of distress.

He groaned, pressing his forehead against the countertop in pure, exhausted defeat.

“What the bloody fuck has he done now?”

GhoulSpawn, mid-sip of his Moxie soda, choked slightly before hastily setting the bottle down. With an uneasy frown, he stepped toward the window, pushing back the faded curtain. His golden eyes widened as he took in the sight of Quaraun sprinting across the beach, a legion of undead sea creatures in pursuit.

“Oh god!” he gasped. “Half the beach is alive and chasing him!”

BoomFuzzy’s fingers curled into a fist. His jaw clenched. He turned, slowly, deliberately, before glaring at the ceiling as though begging some unseen force for patience.

“Damn it,” he snarled. “Can he not stay out of trouble for five fucking minutes?”

GhoulSpawn grabbed his coat.

“I think we’d better go help him.”

“Aye.” BoomFuzzy exhaled sharply through his nose. “Come on.”

Moments later, the two of them appeared on the beach, the wind whipping around them as they took in the sheer absurdity of the scene before them.

BoomFuzzy planted his hands on his hips, his steampunk goggles reflecting the chaos unfolding before him. His voice rang out, sharp and cutting over the crashing waves.

“Quaraun!”

The Elf was laying on his back, mid-struggle, caught in the writhing grip of an oversized bull kelp. The slimy, undead plant had wrapped thick tendrils around his waist, dragging him backward toward the sea. Starfish clung to his face, suctioned to his cheeks and forehead like grotesque ornaments. One of them was the tiny pink one he had found earlier.

“What the fuck are ya doing?!” BoomFuzzy yelled.

Quaraun flailed, desperately trying to pry the attacking zombie sea creatures off. His voice was muffled beneath their sticky bodies.

“I just wanted to help! It was dead!”

BoomFuzzy pinched the bridge of his nose. His patience had long since drowned in the tide of nonsense Quaraun constantly conjured.

“Next time, leave dead things alone.”

Quaraun, tangled and humiliated, nodded sheepishly as BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn set to work unraveling the undead chaos.

BoomFuzzy sent a final, pointed glare toward Quaraun, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“No necromancy near the ocean. There’s millions of dead things out here!”

Quaraun sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he peeled off the last persistent starfish.

“Got it.”

Hour 11

Over supper, the warm, spiced aroma of roasted root vegetables and herb-infused bread filled the kitchen, mingling with the sweet, buttery scent of honey-drizzled oat cakes fresh from the cast-iron skillet. A steaming pot of creamy pumpkin soup, thick with fragrant nutmeg and swirls of coconut cream, rested at the centre of the worn wooden table, alongside a platter of mushroom and chestnut pâté wrapped in delicate layers of phyllo pastry.

BoomFuzzy, the extravagant master chef, had outdone himself yet again, presenting a meal fit for a king — or at least a well-fed Lich.

GhoulSpawn leaned back in his chair, idly swirling his spoon through the velvety soup as he pondered aloud, his golden fleece catching the dim candlelight.

“How did you become the world’s most feared wizard if your spells so often go wrong, Quaraun?”

BoomFuzzy, sitting comfortably with one elbow propped on the table, let out a low, amused chuckle as he set his ornate silver spoon down with a clink. The faint scent of spiced cider lingered in the air from his goblet.

“Because, my dear Ghouly, there’s nothing more terrifying than power wielded unpredictably.”

GhoulSpawn raised an eyebrow, watching Quaraun sip at a chilled bottle of Moxie soda, the fizz crackling softly as he lifted the glass to his lips.

“So,” GhoulSpawn said, tilting his head toward Quaraun. “You are very powerful, but you don’t actually know how to wield the power you have?”

Quaraun gave a small shrug, the loose silk of his pink robe shimmering in the lantern’s glow. His long, jellyfish hair draped over his shoulder, the translucent tendrils gleaming like liquid silver. He swallowed his mouthful of soda before answering in a calm, matter-of-fact voice.

“I just try my best.”

BoomFuzzy smirked, reaching for a thick slice of crusty walnut bread and slathering it with whipped maple butter.

“Yar best includes accidental armies of skeletons, haunted bathrooms, and almost being eaten by a zombie bull kelp.”

Quaraun gave an indignant sniff, setting his drink aside. He reached for one of the honeyed oat cakes, breaking off a piece with delicate, jewelled fingers before stating proudly:

“I am labelled as The World’s Most Feared and Most Powerful Wizard. Not the most accurate. No one has ever called me the world’s most accurate wizard.”

GhoulSpawn tapped a clawed fingertip against his plate, nodding slowly as he considered that.

“So, people fear you because they never know what you’ll do next?”

Quaraun grinned mischievously, his pink pupils glinting with amusement.

“Exactly. But… I never set out to be a wizard. I am a silk weaver. My husband died. I had to resurrect him — ”

“Aye,” BoomFuzzy interrupted with a knowing smirk, licking a trace of maple butter from his fingers. “And here I am now, a Lich.”

Quaraun’s expression softened as he looked at BoomFuzzy, his voice quieter now, more reverent.

“I needed you.”

BoomFuzzy gave a slight nod, reaching over to tousle Quaraun’s long, silken hair, fingers combing through the jellyfish-like strands with ease.

“I ken.”

“I love you. I could not bear the thought of living without you.”

A fond chuckle rumbled in BoomFuzzy’s throat, his sharp teeth flashing as he grinned.

“Aye, and I love ya too, even if ya are bumbling wizard with immense power — utterly unpredictable.”

They laughed, the rich sound of their amusement echoing through the lighthouse kitchen, as GhoulSpawn finally understood the true nature of Quaraun’s peculiar brand of terror.

Hour 12

In their fur-pelt bedroll atop the lighthouse, nestled in the back corner of the beacon room, where walls of glass stretched from floor to ceiling, Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, and GhoulSpawn collapsed in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

The panoramic view stretched endlessly in every direction, moonlight casting a silvery glow over the endless expanse of ocean and ice, the soft crash of distant waves mingling with their mirth. The thick, plush furs enveloped them in warmth, a cozy contrast to the biting chill outside, as the Black Tower’s great Fresnel Lens beacon above them rotated slowly, sweeping golden light across the night.

Quaraun curled into BoomFuzzy’s strong arms, his delicate frame sinking against the warmth of the Lich’s broad chest. BoomFuzzy’s scent — smoky wood, honeyed mead, and the lingering spice of his evening cider — wrapped around him like a comforting embrace. GhoulSpawn lounged lazily beside them, his golden fleece brushing against BoomFuzzy’s shoulder as he chuckled, his voice thick with lingering amusement.

“Remember when Quaraun summoned dancing laundry?” GhoulSpawn snickered, shifting to drape an arm over BoomFuzzy’s waist, his fingers lazily tangling in the Lich’s thick dreadlocks.

BoomFuzzy barked a laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye before pressing a soft kiss to Quaraun’s forehead.

“Aye! An’ the ghost in the bathroom?”

Quaraun’s pale cheeks flushed a delicate pink, his silken, jellyfish hair shimmering in the dim light as he buried his face against BoomFuzzy’s shoulder, grinning sheepishly.

“And the beach!” GhoulSpawn howled with laughter, his strong arms tightening around both of them. “Undead lobsters everywhere!”

Their laughter echoed through the beacon room, the sound bouncing off the glass walls and swirling up into the rafters. The day’s chaos melted away into warm, fond memories, misfortune turned to mirth in the safety of each other’s arms.

BoomFuzzy tightened his grip around Quaraun, nuzzling into his soft, silvery mane, placing a lingering kiss against the curve of his jaw.

“Yer a bumbling wizard.”

Quaraun huffed in playful protest, his pink pupils glinting mischievously as he pouted.

“But I keep life interesting!”

GhoulSpawn laughed, shifting closer, wrapping his long, muscular arms around them both, pulling them into a snug embrace, the heat of their bodies pressed together beneath the thick furs. He nuzzled into the crook of BoomFuzzy’s neck, his breath warm against the Lich’s skin.

“Indeed you do.”

The lighthouse swayed gently, the great tower creaking ever so slightly in the wind, its rhythmic motion lulling them into a peaceful, drowsy calm. The three of them lay entwined beneath the warmth of their furs, their bodies molded together in familiar intimacy, their breaths slow and steady, rising and falling in perfect harmony.

Still chuckling at Quaraun’s perpetual misadventures in necromancy, they drifted into slumber, safe, warm, and content in each other’s arms, beneath the ever-turning light of the beacon.

The Pink Necromancer, Moon Elf silk weaver & merchant: Quaraun on Noodle Beach. His master chef Phooka turned Lich husband: BoomFuzzy with his 1968 VW Bus Beach Noodle Food Truck. And their on again/off again mad scientist Sheep Demon lover: GhoulSpawn with his 1974 AMC Gremlin time machine. Time Travel setting swings back and forth between 40th century Maine after a comet hit the moon decimating the planet, and the 1970s, Maine. Quaraun in the main character, he and BoomFuzzy are a married gay couple. GhoulSpawn is their shared live-in lover. Art by Wendy Christine Allen.

BoomFuzzy

Quaraun

Faeries vs Elves (In The Quaraun Series) A Pink Necromancer World Lore Post

The Pink Necromancer: The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane aka The Twighlight Manor Series

🌸🦄🌸 Furry Yaoi Fiction about Elves and Faeries and Satyrs and Demons and Unicorns and Technomancer Wizards and Liches living in a Lighthouse and surviving as Travelling Merchants and Food Truck Chefs in Cyberpunk Dystopian 40th Century Maine, and Zombie Apocalypse and Time Travel but it’s Slice of Life Vignettes of Mundane Daily Lives of The UnSeelie Court’s Royal Family trying to survive after a comet hit the moon and turned the Earth into a CyberPunk Ice-Age. 🌸🦄🌸

• eBook Editions from this series can be found on: GumRoad

• Kindle, eBook, Print Paperback, & full colour illustrated Hardcover Editions from this series can be found on: Amazon

Meet The Characters

This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine. All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © [oldest articles written 1978],[website founded - 1996] –

Books By Wendy Christine Allen
Currently Available on Amazon Kindle:

Index of the Quaraun novels, novellas, & short story collections on Amazon

And GumRoad:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on GumRoad

On Medium:

An Index of the more than TWO THOUSAND Quaraun Short Stories on Medium

(NOTE: a $5 or $15 per month paid subscription required to access stories on Medium)

On Vocal:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on Vocal

On Notd:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on Notd

On OnlyFans:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on OnlyFans

(NOTE: a $4.99 per month paid subscription required to access stories on OnlyFans)

Pink Necromancer Merch: On CafePress:

An Index of the Quaraun Merch on CafePress

Pink Necromancer Merch: On Zazzle:

Index of the Quaraun Merch on Zazzle

Not Quaraun:

This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.

All Rights Reserved.