NOVEL FROG 219 - The Final March
Beyond establishing the foundation for her fellow necromancers to follow, Lieze couldn’t accomplish much in the way of [Necromantic Alchemy] thanks to her mana burnout. It had already been agreed among them that staying in one place for too long was incredibly risky, and so she would be forced to rely on her thralls in the case of an attack.
Once the skies beneath the canopy were cursed with Grotesques, all that remained was to perform some minor adjustments on the Order’s undead army while they approached the Black City. The uneven terrain moving forward, as well as the abundance of roots jutting out from the landscape, made travelling with the wagons an unfortunate impossibility. Lieze had her reanimated steeds slaughtered so that their blood could be put to good use before distributing as many rations among her living ranks as would be required to sustain them on the journey.
New Quest Received!
‘Final Destination’ - Reach the Black City
Reward - 6,500xp
“All that delicious meat left to rot…” Roland expressed his distaste at the idea, “I don’t care what you tell me to do, Lieze - I’m carrying two packs and filling one of them with as many fresh ingredients as I can carry. I can’t last another day on salt pork and water.”
“If you can shoulder the burden, then be my guest.” She replied, “-But fall behind, and you’ll find yourself lost in these woods for the rest of your life. We can’t afford to slow down now.”
-Especially not with untimely visitors monitoring their every move. They attempted to keep themselves hidden within the upper shrouds, ducking behind gargantuan leaves for cover, but Baccharum was quick to reveal to Lieze - privately, for fear of causing a panic - that the Elves were spying on them.
“How many?” She asked.
“At least five, as far as I can tell.” He was bent over to reach Lieze’s ear, voice lowered to such a bare whisper that she had trouble making out the individual words, “They’ll probably try to poison you again once we make a move. What should we do?”
“Where are they most likely to attack from?”
“If it was me…” Baccharum paused, “I’d try to get as close as possible beforehand - somewhere out of sight but not terribly high up. A low branch, or something like that.”
Lieze could only glimpse suggestions of the heavenly forest sprawling above their heads; leafy clusters obscuring tangled ropes of bark, each of them providing ample room for someone with enough balance to avoid falling off.
She turned her head, “Drayya! Come over here!”
Lieze stepped out of the wagon, and Drayya followed in her wake. The Deathguards had been busy arranging their thralls into formations that wouldn’t fall apart as they marched through the forest, prepared to depart at a moment’s notice. According to Baccharum’s visions, they were due southwest from the Black City, placing them further north than Lieze had anticipated.
The remaining blast powder barrels were too important to be left behind in the wagons, so she transported them into her Portable Home for the time being. Grotesques circled the darkness above, screeching and hollering with such frequency that Lieze found herself wishing she hadn’t bothered transplanting their vocal chords.
When she mounted the Manticore and turned to face the cluster of lanterns and torches, she could see the light reflecting from the eyes of every necromancer under her command. They stood there expectantly, awaiting some grand and impassioned speech from their leader.
“...I hope none of you are expecting me to wax on about honour and the greater good.” She began frankly, “Exiles, criminals, madmen… we’re all cut from the same dismal cloth, having lost our capacity to understand the world’s beauty. There will never be a more deplorable band of murderers to walk this cruel plane - though if all goes according to plan, there will be no more sinners to follow in our footsteps.”
“She has such a way with words…” Drayya smiled, “Don’t you think so, Marché?”
“Please don’t entrap me with a question like that. I’m not being given much of a choice…” He muttered, “-Not to suggest everything she just said isn’t true, of course. But there are more pleasant ways to put it.”
“-But, with that said, the results speak for themselves.” Lieze continued, “The maggot king Ricta and his usurper are dead by the Order’s hand. The impregnable labyrinths of the Dwarves run lifeless, their dreaded king a husk of his former self who chose to melt in the mountain’s belly rather than face thraldom. These timeless holds - built, reigned, and honoured over centuries, were dismantled in a matter of months by the incontestable might of our undead army. Now only one remains; a final bulwark resisting the natural conclusion of this life-cursed world.”
The Deathguards clung on to her every word as she reared the Manticore in the direction of the Black City, “-We have been made the flock of terrible forces, reined into countless wars for the sake of ensuring divine providence. Compared to the lives we have taken, those sacrificed by the Gods to ensure their continued rule are stolen with no regard for the betterment of our souls. We live and die by this wheel, bound to its spokes for as long as the true nature of this world can be concealed. But we will suffer this cycle no longer! With the power of the Scions in hand, even the Gods may be trampled! For the first time since the advent of sorcery - since the dawn of civilization - we shall journey unbound into the vast unknown beyond the dreams of our celestial captors!”
Pure madness - anyone with half a mind would rightfully dismiss her speech as the prattling of a woman who had lost her mind. But the Deathguards knew of the world’s true nature just as she did, such that her wild ambitions of challenging the Gods themselves seemed - impossibly - as though they were within Lieze’s grasp. Their cheers attested to that belief, capturing the serene forest in raucous bellows.
It was the perfect moment, she thought, for any nearby assailants to make their move.
Elven darts tore through the moist air, travelling inexorably towards Lieze’s vitals, tipped with a poison extracted meticulously from man-eating tarantulas over the course of months for use in an assassination of dire importance, engineered to kill near-instantly. It was a terrible shame, then, that barely a few inches from piercing her flesh, the darts were deflected by a crimson barrier.
Slick with viscous poison, they fell and rolled off the Manticore’s body. Their point of origin, recalled by the perforated surface of her [Blood Barrier], revealed the precise position of her assailants within the tangle of branches and leaves overhead.
She only needed to point one finger towards the vicinity of the attackers for the Grotesques to understand her intentions, fluttering towards the canopy with splitting maws prepared to rend the flesh of their hidden adversaries.
Wails descended from on high as the overgrowth shook with activity. The rip of flesh peeling from bone, the crunching of skulls, the slow drip of blood falling like rain upon the forest floor. Then, finally, four disfigured corpses plummeted one-by-one, the impact breaking what remained of their limp bodies.
Battle Report:
Elf (x4)
Total XP Earned - 139
Just moments ago, Lieze had Drayya conjure a [Blood Barrier] to protect her from a surprise attack, performing the spell inside of a wagon and hiding the supply of blood used during casting within her Bag of Holding to prevent the Elves from realising she’d become impervious to their darts. As soon as they attacked, their position was revealed, and Lieze used the opportunity to sic her Grotesques on them.
“I doubt they’ll be trying that again.” She muttered, returning her attention to the Deathguards, “One of you - go and raise those corpses. We’ve wasted enough time here.”
Soon, a quartet of spindly Gravewalkers had joined the army, regrettably devoid of the litheness they possessed in life. Baccharum was quick to search their packs for anything he could put to good use, pocketing a few of the Elves’ poisonous needles for himself. Lieze didn’t object to the act - if it wasn’t for him, she would have never noticed the assassins to begin with.
Once they were on the move, some grand relay of intelligence was ferried across the peninsula. Elven scouts sent to report on the army’s position doubled back to the Black City with unerring agility, delivering news of the attack that was bound to assail the capital in the coming days. Lieze had no interest in stopping them, knowing full-well the Head Shaman expected their arrival. She could only wonder what the Scion of transmutation had in store for her.
Unmolested by the vicious wildlife native to the region, that purposeful march across Akzhem came deadly close to peaceful. A chorus of distant birdsong melted into the earthy scent of damp soil, reminding Lieze of the scarce few days every year when the Deadlands were cursed with torrential downpours. She and Drayya would shove buckets and wooden bathtubs out into the cutting wind to gather rainwater, returning to the hideout soaked to their bones where Lüngen would be waiting patiently with a towel in hand.
Lieze’s innocent daydream came to an abrupt end when something split through the soil not too far ahead. Clumps of dirt flew past her face as a familiarly rigid beast worked its way out of the fertile ground; a colossal Rootborne, whose rude awakening was joined seconds later by scores of its kin lingering - waiting - beneath the earth.
She darted her eyes between their levels - [29], [40], [36] - and determined that the threat they posed to the army’s wellbeing was large enough to warrant a tactical retreat.
“Rootborne!” She pointed to the army’s rear, “Move the Rot Behemoths to the frontline! Let the Grotesques and Dark Casters wear them down!”
The Manticore swiped lazily with its paws as the twisting abominations drew near, splintering any Rootborne foolish enough to charge ahead. Lieze repositioned herself atop its spine to avoid being dragged off by any looming limbs, just barely picking up another anomaly in her [Blood Barrier] while the enemy had her full attention - a few more darts had been fired her way.
“Elv!” Baccharum’s sharp ears twitched, “Roland!”
The young man skidded to a stop, “What!?”
“Call down two of your Grotesques! I’ll tend to the assassins hidden above us!”
Roland hesitated, but couldn’t afford to waste time deliberating on small decisions. With a nod, he commanded a pair of flying undead to approach Baccharum’s position before running off to deal with the Rootborne. The Elf awaited his escorts, listening for the sound of flapping wings and screeching maws to alert him. Once they arrived, he leaped up and wrapped his fingers around the ankles of each, which had no trouble supporting his lanky but near-weightless body.
“Fly, you damnable beasts!” He commanded, “Towards the canopy!”
“What the fuck does that fool think he’s doing…?” From a distance, Drayya observed Baccharum disappearing into the shadows above with both legs dangling in the air, sighing as she returned her gaze to the battlefield, “...Oi! Marché! Get your head out of the clouds and clear a path for the Rot Behemoths!”
As their strategies blossomed, the soil rumbled underfoot. Scores of Rootborne continued to pour out from the earth and the trunks of the Great Oaks. Briarknights armed with blades, mauls, and hammers squeezed through the defensive line of Rot Behemoths to join Lieze and the Manticore on the front lines, accelerating towards the ocean of fae-touched monstrosities.