Crushing the skull between the dewy tomb stone and his hand.
He hurled over the second as a zebra escaping his prey.
Jaring his leg in loose wet mud, slips back ontop of the skeleton.
Crushing it to the ground as other skeletons cover him.
Nothing but bones to see now the necromancer laughed dust to dust.
Through ten skeletons stacked 4 feet thick a hand reaches.
Then embraces his fate by bringing a bear hug through the mid section.
Breaking the pile into half skeletons now crawling about.
Dagger silencing the throat of the incantations of the grave yard.
Pausing to speak in amazment nothing comes out.
Buldging eyes fumbling hands for the problem rip out flesh and vocal
cord.
To murmor no more as a fist plundes into his weaken flesh.
To bring an end to the necromancer who had killed his family.
Now advenged to continue his quest Conan straighten proud.


Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Daedalan, in the year 506 AF.