The Bone Man

The Bone Man, a legend, a job of legend. He searched the forest, scurrying for bones for the Overseer. He found a pile of rib bones laying on the dirt with blood and cartilage still on them, the blood still glistened off them. He leaned in to examine them, adjusting the clarity and magnification of his lens.

He studied each specimen carefully, each one from a different victim. He was looking at the matrixes micro-matrixes and their concentrations to determine which one he would use. He could determine what race they belonged to. One of the bones that he would show the overseer had to show the entire family on it, which often was of four adults and three children.  Finding the children’s bones, he took them out, and while wrapping them in a purple silk cloth, allowing the auras of their spirits to fade. Once the spirits had vanished, he proceeded to bury them under a sapling tree near where he found them.  As he buried them, he wondered how many bloody wars there had been to fertilize the lush forest he was in.

In these primitive times, there had been no wars or any great battles for technological gain to be had; the world had become a fight for survival, a survival of the fittest and for individualism. Not even constructs planted a millennia ago were used to help move the world from medieval times to now, and now they were driven to extinction. The future of the planet now never to be changed, it was set and now done.

Now redirecting his attention to the adult bones, he found the female ones to be the best. The female bones had the finest concentration of bone-matrix. Happy with his decision he then proceeded to remove the male bones and dropped them into a pile of sticks that he was going to light up later for a fire. Taking his gourd off his belt, and pouring fresh water on them, to purify them. After the purification, he placed them on a rock to dry. While the bones were drying, he dug holes for the remaining victims. His job was not great or even grand, or even enjoyable but work of a legend never was, and he still had ten years left of his sentence to serve and in that time, he had to search the locals for someone to take up the tradition of the Bone Man. As for how that person would deal with being an item of his observations, he hadn’t quite figured out yet, that’s of course if he ever finds someone ideal, or who has a desire for bones.

By dawn the last of the holes had been filled and placed on a worn wooden block in the centre of each grave, it was used as both a custom and religious act that that had to be done.  Although royal blood usually acquired a royal burial, under these circumstances simple was the best way to go.  As a paid assassin he was not to show signs of remorse, and he had no idea why the victims had to die, not that he cared, for his place in the great scheme of things was complex and with no intrigue in the world.  He knew there would be another person to become the next victim before the night’s end and the indignity that poor soul would suffer. And the Bone Man would soon follow that victim, for he is legend.

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