NOVEL FROG 14 - Lurking Shadows
Thin plumes of smoke rose gently towards the treeline in an unassuming corner of Tonberg’s forest. While two men rested by the campfire, another waded his hands through a mud-stained sack containing trinkets of tin and bronze. The look on his face was a combination of frustration and exasperation.
“Fuck’s sake.” He cursed, “Nothin’ but cheap baubles. I remember when you could lift a chest filled to burstin’ with gold from a wagon. Jewels from the coast--produce from the villages… nothin’ but rag-wearing vagrants comin’ up the road nowadays.”
“How much do you suppose we’ll make?” Another man questioned, “More to the point, who’s gonna buy it? Thought Rummy cut you out of the business?”
“That fuckin’ Elf would scrape the shit off my boots if he could sell it.” The first thief spat, “Lose him a single coin, and you’ve got until sundown ‘till he sends his boys to break down your door. Now we’re stuck pilferin’ what we can from whatever poor souls work their way up from the Deadlands.”
“I dearly look forward to the day when you finally stop complaining about it.”
“Fuck off.” He muttered, “Sick and tired of this life… what are we gonna do when Tonberg falls like all the rest?”
“Then we’ll run to the north and start robbing Dwarves. After that, the Elves.”
“Yeah, alright… a Dwarven merchant would cave your bloody skull in if you tried holdin’ him up…”
A rustling caught the trio’s attention. Over the course of their long and arduous days as footpads, each of them had learned to tell apart the scuttling of a woodland creature from the low, deliberate paces of a bounty hunter--and what they heard was no fox.
“Fuckin’... fuck.” The first thief sighed, “Go and check that out, the two of you.”
His twin companions had already rasped the shortswords from their grassy scabbards before he had finished speaking. Carefully, they moved towards the thicket where the sound had come from, expecting a novice hero from the Guild to come roaring out with his blade drawn at any moment. Instead, they found nothing. Not a trace of the movement which had almost deliberately caught their attention just seconds ago.
“Oi!” One of the thieves shouted, “We’ve already heard you, so come on out!”
“Hah… what a palaver…” The first resigned, hand still deep in his sack of trinkets “...Hm?”
Something wiggled at the edge of his vision. Recoiling in surprise, he noticed a strange, viscous puddle approaching their meagre camp from the rear.
“A slime?” He wondered, reaching for his own blade, “Haven’t seen one in weeks… suppose we could try to make a meal out of-”
In the next instant, his vision was obscured by a layer of pink, veiny flesh. Almost faster than the naked eye could comprehend, the ooze leapt from the grass and immediately began to cover every inch of the thief’s body. An unpleasant chill ran down his back as the stench of rotting flesh filled his nostrils, eliciting panicked groans from the blackguard.
“What the fuck!?” He couldn’t get a word out--as soon as his mouth opened, the strange creature tried to force its way down his throat, “This ain’t no fuckin’ slime! Shit!”
The creature covered him like a second skin, immobilising his arms and wrapping itself around his body. Once he was thoroughly restrained--just in time for his comrades to notice what was happening, the flesh-puddle had already begun tightening around his neck. The thief was terrified. He couldn’t fight back, despite the shortsword still firmly in his grasp, only struggle and panic as he felt his trachea being crushed by the monster’s contracting musculature.
“Div!” One of his comrades shouted, “Dragon’s Talon--what the fuck’s that!?”
He didn’t receive an answer in the form of words, but a scream. For not a second later, the ground shook beneath their feet, and his comrade--turning to face the commotion--was suddenly tackled by an enormous, misshapen creature. As it pinned his fellow thief to the ground and began ruthlessly bludgeoning him to death with its tumorous fists, he was stricken with immense fear. The beast was something he’d seen tearing through the streets of Saptra when the Order of Necromancers stormed the city.
“Ah… ah…” Whimpering, he took a few cowardly steps back, “This can’t be happening…”
Pain shot through his abdomen as something sank cleanly into his back. Paralyzed by a mixture of fear and agony, he couldn’t resist as a pale hand wrapped itself around his wrist and stayed his frantic flailing, crying out in pain as the unseen blade continued to pierce his skin.
In a matter of seconds, the three thieves had been utterly defeated by a surprise attack which took advantage of their laziness when confronting an enemy. As blood stained the serene forest floor, their assailant--a girl wearing a black robe, didn’t speak a word as the bandit within her grasp eventually succumbed to his wounds.
[Nor Baker Defeated]
4xp Rewarded
[Thomas Stride Defeated]
3xp Rewarded
[Ronald Watcher Defeated]
6xp Rewarded
Quest "Clear the Bandit Camp" Completed!
Reward - 100xp
Level Up!
You are now level [8]
HP + 5 MP + 40
Lieze sighed satisfyingly while feeling the renewed power running through her body. The bandits she’d just disposed of were the second group she’d agreed to help the guild be rid of that day, and the last batch of XP she’d collected as a reward for the latter had once more improved her abilities. Her Horror had suffered some minor blows in the last battle, having its HP reduced to [41/114], leaving her somewhat apprehensive about confronting more enemies. But her cunning had seen to the trio well enough--especially when putting her newest thrall to good use.
The pulsating mass of skin unfurling itself from the strangulated corpse of the first bandit was known as a Fleshbag. Using [Necromantic Alchemy] to strip one of her Deathwalkers of its bones and organs, she was left with a type of undead monstrosity that resembled a common slime at a glance. They were capable of rapidly immobilising and asphyxiating enemies, but suffered from terrible constitutions, necessitating that they be used covertly.
Fleshbag
Level 1 Undead
HP: 12 / 12 MP: 0 / 0
Specialising her Deathwalkers was a step in the right direction. But without an alchemy table, she would be wasting mana better spent mustering her forces. Not to mention, her grasp of necromancy was still woefully amateurish compared to her peers in the Order. It would be a while yet before she would be able to create something truly dangerous.
“...Well, no use in wasting these bodies.” She commented, “I can hand a few over to Alma if I reach my maximum capacity.”
MP - 150/220
MP - 80/220
MP - 10/220
Her ability to raise thralls was becoming quite formidable. She had been granted an improvement to her [Lesser Necromancy] at [Level 5], leading her to believe that similar boons would await her at every fifth level. Therefore, she only had 2 remaining until her abilities would be improved yet again, spurring her towards ever-riskier ventures on a quest for larger amounts of XP.
Not only that…
“Mana recharge.” She spoke aloud.
Feature - Mana Recharge
Description - If you are not experiencing the effects of [Mana Burnout], your MP recharges at a rate of 20 points per hour, on the hour.
As it turned out, it was a lot more efficient for her to conserve whatever mana she had left over after raising thralls rather than wasting it on one final cast. With that said, there appeared to be no limit on the expenditure prior to a [Mana Burnout], meaning she could use a small reserve of mana to cast a powerful spell if the situation called for it--assuming Lieze was certain she would be able to cope without spells for 24 hours afterwards.
“My constitution isn’t brilliant…” She muttered, “I’ve seen guild members with more HP than me at lower levels, but it seems like the scale is compensating for that by granting me more MP instead…”
HP - 85/85
MP - 10/220
She was a necromancer, after all. Not even her father was particularly talented in the martial arts, which only exaggerated the power of his immortality, seeing as he didn’t need to worry about placing his mortal body in danger. Lieze, however, would need to make certain that she wasn’t caught off-guard by an assailant. One wrong move could see her in an unwinnable situation.
“...Right, then.” She muttered, “A quick trip back to the cave, then it’s off to the guild.”
By the time she had reported her victories to Alma at the hideout, the amber skies above Tonberg were beginning to darken. Something about skulking across the city in the dead of night rubbed her the wrong way, though the Golden Flagon was as raucous as ever at that hour--perhaps even moreso than usual. Lieze found herself having to speak over the verses and choruses of drunkards as she turned in her twin bounties to the receptionist.
“Excellent work.” The ever-present attendant wore a tired expression, “But, from now on--a pilfered weapon or two will legitimise your success, Miss Lieze. There’s no need to turn in the extremities of those you’ve dispatched…”
“Are you telling me I didn’t need to dull my knife sawing their ears off?”
“They aren’t the most sanitary things to be bringing into a tavern.” Rejecting the crimson-flecked ears sitting in the palm of Lieze’s hand, the receptionist marched into the mysterious back room and returned with three glistening ornaments in her hands, “Your Wurms--two silver and one bronze. 250 gold in all.”
“Much appreciated.” Lieze quickly tossed the reward into her Bag of Holding, “You wouldn’t happen to know any establishments in the city that deal in alchemy supplies, would you?”
“Oh, take your pick. The closest is Numen’s Emporium in the main square, but if you’re looking for cheaper goods, I’d try the House of Herbs in the northern district. It’s on the Dragon’s Way--that street with the old monastery on it?”
“I’m sure I’ll find my way.” Lieze replied confidently, raising a hand while making her way to the exit, “Good day.”
“Well, you-” She began, trailing off as the girl was gone within a matter of seconds, “...’Try to be careful on the roads at night’, is what I wanted to say…”
Lieze wasn’t one to waste her time chewing the fat with someone who was supposed to be her enemy. The more she let on about herself, the more likely it was that such information would come back to bite her in the end. She was already treading on thin ice by taking on such dangerous requests and bounties alone despite being a mage.
At that time of night, it was illegal for citizens to wander the streets without some form of light source. The royalists took to the side roads and alleyways, brandishing torches to flush out any ne’er-do-wells and accosting anyone without a light of their own. Lieze didn’t have one, but avoiding the guards on the way to the northern district was simple enough with how dark it was.
Only, it wasn’t the guards she was worried about.
Paranoia was in the nature of every necromancer. Within the Order, murdering one’s peers to get a leg-up in the pecking order wasn’t terribly uncommon. Sokalar himself had fended off many would-be assassins during his meteoric rise through the ranks after the death of Drayya’s father--the previous leader of the Order. It was no surprise that Lieze had inherited his desire to have eyes in the back of his head.
She had noticed it over the past few days. On empty streets and hidden between the gaps of rubble in the northern district, accusatory faces vanished from the shadows as soon as she became slightly aware of them. Men wearing hoods the colour of rust, who blended in with the bustling crowds in the midday sunlight yet made no attempts to hide the target of their attention. Her lonesome walk through the streets that night only confirmed it--she was being followed, and not by one or two or a handful of individuals, but an entire institution.
Who could they be? If they were suspicious of her activities, why didn’t they report her to the priesthood? Something was amiss.
The answers to Lieze’s burning questions only began to materialise when her mysterious stalkers decided to make themselves known for the first time. As she wandered into the crumbling northern district, they wasted no time in positioning themselves to flank her. She didn’t attempt to run or call for help--by the time she had realised her folly, it was already too late. Trying to escape would only tire her out.
The bronze-cloaked gentlemen made no effort to conceal their intentions. Once she was completely surrounded, they practically flooded out from what remained of the district’s alleyways, cutting off just about every avenue of escape. The lot of them were armed, either with staves held in both hands or shortswords poking out from their waists.
Thoughts raced through Lieze’s head. She was completely defenceless without her thralls, but if they wanted her dead, they would have already killed her. The hopeful wish that they might have been a cult of necromancers within the city was quickly dashed when an absolute giant of a man wandered out in front of the group. Lieze needed to scan his boilerplate twice for the words to stick.
Helmach Lawain
Level ??? Swordmaster (!???!)
HP: ??? / ??? MP: ??? / ???
It was the man Silas had warned her about. The brother of Noma. He appeared less like a human and more like some artist’s rendition of a legendary hero--impossibly tall, with a head of golden, shoulder-length hair and chiselled features which belied his absolutely dire expression. The greatsword resting on his back wasn’t some mere two-hander, but a weapon that could have cut a horse clean in half horizontally. Lieze wondered if it was just there for show. She could never dream of lifting a blade that size, nevermind wielding one in combat.
“...Good evening.” She greeted simply, “I don’t suppose you’re here to escort me through this dangerous part of town?”
She needed to be careful. Very careful. Something about Helmach’s ambiguous nameplate told her something was very wrong. Was it possible that he was so powerful that she couldn’t even ascertain his true strength? There wasn’t any hope of escaping or fighting her way out. She would need to rely on the one strategy she’d always been proficient in--manipulation.
“Lieze.” The towering man spoke her name while trying to suppress the venom in his tone, “You’re the woman who accompanied my sister on the day she was killed, aren’t you?”
“You mean, Noma?” She replied, “...I’m sorry, but she wasn’t killed during our request. As a matter of fact, she robbed me at knifepoint and then fled to the west.”
She repeated the information that she’d told the guild receptionist. Helmach had mentioned Noma’s death in a bid to trick her into admitting that the girl was dead. As if incensed by her response, he closed the distance between them and locked eyes with her. Beneath his measured sternness boiled an anger unlike any other.
“No.” He disagreed calmly, “She was murdered. My sister was not a thief.”
“What do you expect me to say to that?” She countered, “I can only tell you exactly what happened.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I think you’ll find that the burden of proof is on you, sir.” She accused, “...You’re Helmach, are you not? Noma spoke about you as we were leaving the city.”
“Who I am isn’t important in the slightest.” He dismissed, “Why would Noma have departed for the west? Towards Bascoroch, you mean? A city overrun with undead?”
“How am I supposed to know her intentions?” Lieze questioned, “Do you have the authority to be interrogating me like this? Exactly who do you represent?”
She couldn’t help but recoil when Helmach quickly drew a dagger from his waist, but she wasn’t given the time to retreat before the handle of his weapon--faster than anything she’d ever seen, followed along the arc of his arm straight into Lieze’s temple, doubling her vision and sending waves of searing pain through her skull as she quickly lost balance and fell to the ground.
HP - 65/85
One glancing, completely non-lethal blow from the man had carved straight into her HP. Lieze had overestimated her ability to talk her way out of the situation--Helmach was clearly a man driven by more than plain hatred, and more candid than he appeared at first glance.
“Don’t think I’m going to waste any time entertaining a conniving snake like yourself.” He insulted, “The Acolytes of Reunification have found you worthy of investigation for crimes against our fair city. We’ll pull your confession out one tooth at a time if need be, just as the old faith demands.”
He didn’t wait for her response--not that she was in any state to give one. The last thing Lieze felt before losing consciousness was a heavy boot against her face.
HP - 60/85