Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

The overcast skies above Fanrae seemed liable to split with thunderous rainfall at any moment. Rot-stink pilfered the cool autumn air and carried along the northerly winds towards the holds of living men. It was the stench of death--of rotting husks and peeling skin, of flesh twice-dead and blood half-dried. On the far horizon, footfalls crackled like lightning against the foul earth.

An army of undead monstrosities marched across the plains. From skeletons to the dead risen once more, to abominations indescribable by common eyes. An observer wouldn’t be called mad for thinking the end of the world had arrived. Amidst the foetid tide of flesh was a figure that hovered ominously above the quivering mass. Its long, black robes, marred by years of dust and grime, did a poor job of concealing the emaciated body beneath. And yet, despite its pitiful appearance, the malefic glint in its eyes could make a grown man die of fright.

Slowly, another silhouette rose to meet the apparent leader, flying unsteadily through the air as if not quite accustomed to the skies.

“Master Sokalar…” Its voice was like ice, pouring from a set of chapped, discoloured lips, “By my estimation, almost half of the good king’s armies have fled from his command. Either towards the Elven forests or-”

“-Or to the Dwarves, yes.” The second figure seemed to shrink as an overpowering voice rose to interrupt it, “I do not need to be reminded of such trivial matters.”

“O-Of course not…” The servant capitulated immediately.

“And-” A sickly, cracking sound accompanied a turn of the leader’s head, “Refer to the throne-warming maggot Ricta as the ‘good king’ again only if you wish to have your skin flayed over the course of a fortnight.”

The lowly Hede Graeme, who had spent the better part of two decades clamouring his way through the (literal) gauntlet that was the Order of necromancers, knew as well as anyone else that Sokalar despised nothing more than being told what he already knew. Despite having somehow risen to the coveted position of Deathguard, he felt his blood run cold at the Lich’s words.

“Of course…” He bowed his head, “Of course, my master… you offer me too lenient a penance…”

“And Lieze?”

“Protecting our rear flank! As you requested!” Hede answered instantly, “Although…”

“What is it? Do not waste my time with prattling.”

“The young lady has requested on numerous occasions to be placed closer to the battle.” The frail necromancer straightened his back, “She was… very adamant that I express this desire.”

“What do you see on the horizon, Graeme?”

“The… the horizon?” He repeated, “Certainly not as much as you do, my master!”

“You have licked my boots enough for one day. I desire your opinion, not thoughtless worship.”

“Well…” Hede allowed his gaze to scan the waning horizon, “I see a great deal of nothing. But beyond that, I see a battle! Yes, yes--a battle which will surely cement your rightful position as the ruler of the Free Kingdoms!”

“And how many do you suppose will perish in this battle?”

“It matters not!” He exclaimed, “For every footsoldier of ours that falls, another will rise to take its place! Ricta and his Knights cannot oppose those who wield the power of death!”

“I am referring to our necromancers.” Sokalar corrected, “Would you lay down your life if I demanded it of you, Graeme?”

“O-Of course!” The stammering fellow didn’t sound entirely sure of his answer, “Any one of us would consider it an honour to perish by your orders! Why, I would say that any member of the Order who refuses such an opportunity is no better than a royalist!”

“Would that include Lieze?”

“W-Well, uhm…” Hede’s fervent grin straightened out.

“The girl is a mere apprentice, despite her age. I have afforded her the Order’s most accomplished teachers; provided her with personal lessons, and yet she remains incapable of performing even basic feats of necromancy.” The Lich’s half-skeletonized hand tightened around his staff, “I do not send your sort to the front lines to die, Graeme. The necromancers of old were all-too-eager to sit politely as their armies carved through the Free Kingdoms. In the end, they were defeated. Do you know why?”

“P-Please do tell, my master…”

“It is because they discarded strategy, Graeme.” Sokalar taught, “To them, a prodigious undead army was unstoppable. When they found themselves pressured by the developing strategies of the Sovereign Cities, it was already too late. The Order was shattered--its members either mounted on pikes or thrown into oubliettes. But, what if one was to combine the raw intelligence of the human mind with the subservience and tenacity of the undead?”

“-We would have the Order as it is today!”

“Precisely. That is why, much to the Council’s dismay, I insist upon each and every Deathguard attending battles personally.” He concluded, “And it is also the reason why I will not send one as untalented and stubborn as Lieze to the front lines. We have come too far to jeopardise our chances.”

“Master…” Hede considered his words carefully, “...She is your blood.”

“Lieze is a failed experiment, and nothing more than that.” Sokalar derided, “If the combined tutoring of myself and Lüngen cannot elevate her abilities, then there is no hope. She should be grateful to even hold the title of Deathguard, yet she spends her days pointlessly studying the Order’s way instead of gorging herself on strategy.”

“Yes… of course, my master.”

Beneath the two necromancers, horrid groans erupted from the crowd of undead. It was previously thought impossible by the Order to exercise such a degree of control over the dead as to arrange them into formations, but as was his signature, Sokalar had devised a magical method to account for the weakness. The development of the ‘Sokalar Method’, as it was so called, involved the passive generation of weak magical forces in order to transmit orders to every nearby thrall, thereby giving the necromancer in question a method of issuing basic commands to their army.

The horde which marched for the Sovereign Capital of Tonberg consisted of eleven legions, and each was commanded by one of the Order’s Deathguards. Naturally, Sokalar enjoyed the largest, with several thousand undead abominations bent to his will, though the others were certainly nothing to scoff at, either.

At least, that was the case for all but one.

From a bird’s eye view, it was difficult not to notice that a portion of the army’s rear was somewhat thinned. The undead creatures marching in that regiment--all of them run-of-the-mill Gravewalkers and Skeletons, numbered barely a quarter as dense as their neighbours’ groups. Its commander; a Deathguard like any other, was by far the youngest of those who were taking part in the march. Her short, chalk-white hair lent the girl an otherworldly appearance.

Lieze Sokalar had only three days prior seen her twenty-second birthday. It was the anniversary of the day she had been evacuated from the glass chamber her foetal self had named a mother. Twenty-two years since the beginning of her education as a master necromancer, and twenty-two years running she had been the target of endless disappointment from her father and peers.

She had taken to the books well, but they had not taken to her. Every dweller of the Free Kingdoms--even mere beasts, had at least some form of connection to the Blackbriar. Prodigal sorcerers with exemplary aptitudes were born every few years, but similarly, there were also those whose magical talents were almost non-existent. Lieze was one such anomaly, and not the good kind.

Unable to even levitate above her regiment, she was forced to march alongside the stench and groaning of what few undead minions her mind could strangle into submission. Personal lessons from her father and Bardy Lüngen--the Order’s Loremaster--had at least guaranteed some level of proficiency in the art of necromancy, but her growth was stunted by forces beyond her control.

“Oh my.” A feminine voice caught the girl’s attention. Someone was staring at her from above, shawl billowing in the wind, “I was having some trouble telling you apart from these ragged undead.”

“Drayya…”

Of all her peers, the most likely to target Lieze for harassment was her prodigal senior--the studious Margoh Drayya. The girl’s locks of raven hair corresponded to her often wicked attitude, especially when one-upmanship was the concern. Indeed, there was hardly a sector of necromancy in which Drayya hadn’t excelled. A pattern well-suited to her noble blood.

“I can’t believe Master Sokalar deigned to bring you along on one of the most important crusades the Order of Necromancers will ever know.” She began, crossing her arms, “I suppose it must be comfortable, tucked so far into our rear that you’d be lucky to see a single royalist.”

“I don’t suppose you’re here to say anything of value?” Lieze tilted her head.

“I am, as a matter of fact.” Drayya smirked, “Graeme has ordered me to relay Master Sokalar’s answer to your request--or, should I spare you the sting of rejection?”

“I’m sure you’d enjoy every second of it.”

“A shame you weren’t given the opportunity to attend the front lines. I would have loved to see you and your thralls overwhelmed by the priesthood. But, we can’t always have what we want--a lesson someone submerged in nepotism like you would do well to remember.”

Lieze was practically impervious to Drayya’s shameless insults--the two of them had been playing the same game every day since their first meeting as children. Drayya’s father was once the most accomplished necromancer in the order, tragically killed during his failed attempt at capturing the Sovereign City of Bascoroch and opening the way for Sokalar’s meteoric rise through the Order’s ranks. His ascension to Lichdom; a feat Drayya’s father could never attain, had left the girl with a sour taste for her new master--and his untalented vat-spawn.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Pardoning herself, Drayya began to levitate away, “I must make preparations for the upcoming battle. Not all of us can ride the coattails of our superiors, you see.”

Lieze breathed a sigh of relief as the girl left. She would have liked to think that Drayya’s taunting had become stale, but a knot of frustration quickly welled in her chest while surveying the pitiable turnout of her regiment. Only the most maggot-infested corpses had been so disconnected from their mortal selves as to hand themselves over to her control.

It wasn’t fair. She knew that well. But complaining about it had become just about the most tiresome thing imaginable. Lieze longed for the day when she could step beyond her weak affinity for the magic arts, but as the years passed her by, she only seemed to be falling further behind. Breathing through her mouth so as to resist the rot-stink permeating the air, she turned her attention to the far horizon, hoping that the upcoming battle would present some miraculous opportunity to prove herself.

Sokalar’s army marched northwards from the Deadlands--swathes of uninhabitable, life-sapped plains dominated by the Order, and had over the past two months conquered the cities of Saptra, Bascoroch and Dolore. If they so wished, the army could have easily breached the defensive line of the Sovereign Cities and pushed through to the Dwarven and Elven territories, but Sokalar sought utter domination of the Free Kingdoms, and so naturally desired humanity’s capital--Tonberg, for himself.

In a matter of hours, the city’s towering walls seemed to rise up from the earth. Great spires denoting the chapels and churches of Tonberg’s priesthood rose shamelessly to the heavens above. Its hilltop castle--the treasure Sokalar so desired, was nearly thrice the size of the pitiable forts felled by his previous conquests.

With a mere thought, Sokalar exercised his will over the undead army, bringing them to a delayed stop before assembling his Deathguards for a strategy meeting. By the time Lieze had arrived on foot, the Lich was already most of the way through his preliminary spiel.

“The king of maggots will be expecting us. Scouts will have no doubt reported our numbers to the capital, and so we must move forward with the expectation that Ricta has already prepared a counter-strategum.” His echoing voice snuck into the ears of the Deathguards like some kind of parasitic worm, “Graeme.”

“Y-Yes, my master?”

“Your thralls shall move through the forest to our east. I suspect Ricta has laid an ambush with the intention of attacking our rear. Perform a survey of the woodland and engage any enemies you discover. If you find nothing, use the treeline to proceed towards Tonberg’s eastern entrance and begin a diversionary attack on the gates.”

Lieze resisted the urge to sigh. Because of her ineptitude, the army’s rear was a significant weak point, forcing Sokalar to take precautions. Hede was a nervous fellow who perhaps enjoyed necromancy a little too much, but he was second only to the Lich himself in the art.

“I was wondering when you would show up.” Lowering her voice so as not to disturb Sokalar, Drayya quietly made her way over to Lieze’s side, “The battle hasn’t even started and you’re already holding us back.”

“Father is right. There could be an ambush.”

“I’m sure that’s what you’d like to tell yourself. We wouldn’t have to worry about any hidden priests in the woods if you could just scrounge up a few more corpses.”

“Margoh.” Sokalar called, “If you’re quite done scheming with Lieze, I have a task for you.”

“Of course, Master Sokalar!” The girl’s neck twisted so fast it almost came off, though not before casting a sour glance towards Lieze, “What would you have me do?”

“Now that we’ve covered our flank, we can afford to split our forces with less risk.” He began, “Join your forces with Lieze’s and accompany Graeme into the forest. Instead of participating in the diversionary siege, however, you will make use of the chaos to circle and attack the city from its rear. Ricta cannot afford to place as many men there, so you will push through easily. We will use our sheer advantage in numbers to overwhelm the royalists’ command structure and reduce the efficacy of their foot soldiers.”

“An excellent plan. As expected of you, my master.” Drayya complimented his strategy, though Lieze could see the beginnings of a frown developing on her face.

“Our remaining forces will engage the main army which will no doubt be gathered at the city gates. Do not waste your mana fortifying our thralls--The priesthood’s repertoire of spells will overcome any defences. Instead, focus on raising salvageable corpses, and do not place yourselves in harm’s way. I will not have a repeat of Bran Drayya’s failed crusade against the Free Kingdoms. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master Sokalar!”

The confident response to his strategy seemed to have pleased the Lich, who quickly set about resuming the undead horde’s march towards Tonberg. Drayya stomped angrily towards her own forces without casting a second glance at Lieze, who was more than pleased at having been offered the chance to prove herself that she’d always desired.