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(Page 2 of 2) Na'Atal From Betrayed By God by Tristis WardThere are ways, but the narrator assures him some rebuilding will require sacrifice.
It is punning. It does not simply mean a sacrifice of other parts of himself or of energy; it means spells need to be cast. Necromancy has not been practiced in his family for two generations. The narrator does not need to bring it up at this point. It is merely expressing sarcasm. How delightful.
Perhaps a less drunk old man who had not already been slipping resolutely into death would have been more confused by the strange thoughts now filling his head. Regardless. Albert Weston is sufficiently drunk. It was not that bottle of rum, either. That is his stash. For emergencies. No, not the rum: twenty feet from where he settled for the night is a ring of five bottles of after-shave which fell one-by-one from his lap as he sat against the back wall of this hole and finally found the level he needed to get to sleep.
It was a long trip, those twenty feet. It was a slick and grimy crawl into his stuff for what warmth he could get along this wall. Don't shit where you sleep, the narrator says, and Albert decides he likes him just for how much he reminds him of Old Jack.
"Old Jack is dead, isn't he?" Prince Na'Atal asks, and turns himself onto his side so the rain will not fall so directly into his eyes.
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