Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

Motes of burning light illuminated the castle’s silhouette. To the people of Tonberg, it was a monument to justice. A final bastion of law against the Order’s darkness. Lieze never imagined she would one day be standing before the very crystallisation of adversity; much less alongside Drayya, whose eyes regarded the monument with unspoken disgust.

“The Devil’s Castle…” She eventually spoke, “I will never understand the minds of royalists. To treat the heart of their beloved country with such fear yet such reverence...”

“Let me remind you that we’re not here to cause any trouble.” Lieze warned, “I’d like an opportunity to explore the castle, but chances are we won’t be allowed the pleasure.”

“Will you kneel before the maggot king when we’re taken to his pitiful throne room?”

“If he expects that of us.” She replied, “-And you will, too.”

“Oh, will I?” Drayya scoffed, “Don’t think for a moment that you have any power over me, Lieze. This confidence you’ve mustered up is making you delusional.”

If there was one thing Lieze had deluded herself into believing, it was that Drayya had become more accepting of her newfound power. A quick pull at her senior’s ephemeral leash was all it took to remind Lieze that she still had a ways to go in developing herself. Drayya would continue to act rebellious and standoffish until she could be humbled. An occasion Lieze dearly looked forward to.

The castle’s main entrance was nestled behind a blister of steel-clad royalists. Gatehouses filled to bursting with crossbowmen and arbalests studded the winding pathway ascending the hillside road. It was no wonder Sokalar had reserved Tonberg as his final conquest. Storming the castle was a proposition that seemed beyond strategy. An army--undead or not--had no choice but to expose itself to a hail of arrows and bolts on the way up.

Lieze’s name was enough to secure herself and Drayya passage towards the castle unmolested. Their escort was a knight from the Order of Green Dragons. In a manner that reminded Lieze of Helmach, the soldier was inhumanely tall, wielding a gargantuan spear with far too much ease.

Twin longswords tightened in the grips of two knights flanking the castle gates. As if expectant of their arrival, the portcullis rose quickly enough that there was no need to wait.

Rusted floral partitions reflected the sorry state of Ricta’s garden. Amber-blue autumn leaves scattered the pathways like sloughed flesh. Whatever twisting corpses remained of the great trunks sprouting from the soil seemed liable to fall over in the breeze. A smaller set of doors hid itself like a mouse amidst the foliage. One section of the four-step stairwell leading up to the entrance had snapped off, left to gather moss in the mud.

The knight pushed open the doors. Lieze’s nose tingled as dust escaped from the entranceway. An antechamber awaited within, terminating towards the grand hall wherein Ricta held court for his many subjects. Two other passageways awaited on either side, one ascending to the next floor, and another descending into purest darkness. Lieze and Drayya stifled their shared curiosity and obediently followed the knight into the throne room.

Ricta had no shortage of visitors to attend nor servants to do his bidding. Guardsmen openly patrolled the hall, creeping through doorways and behind the pillars supporting a balcony which encircled the room on three sides. The rear was reserved for a double staircase leading up to it. Nobles, holy men and commoners idled near the entrance while awaiting their audience.

Ricta was a young man. Exceedingly young. Perhaps a few years Lieze’s junior. His posture upon the throne was relaxed, and the expression on his face betrayed none of the young monarch’s disdain for matters of the realm.

Standing proudly beside him was a man who could have been mistaken for an undead. The wrinkles on his face were so pronounced and sagged that he appeared to be melting. Lieze wouldn’t have been surprised if he revealed himself to be a hundred years old. His black-golden robes were emblematic of the priesthood.

Someone was kneeling in front of the throne. Despite his voice echoing throughout the room, he didn’t seem to be saying anything of discernible value. What little Lieze could parse from his dull inflection made her want to vomit--taxes, commerce, banking, loaning; politics and bureaucracy. If there was ever a duller conversation to be had, Lieze hoped she would never hear it.

Ricta seemed to be searching for an escape just as desperately as she was. When his gaze fell upon the two visitors entering his throne room, the young king raised his palm and was granted immediate silence by his attendants.

“However the realm’s finances may appear, your words could be expressed just as easily to a treasurer or steward.” He spoke, “One of my servants will see to it that your worries reach the correct set of ears.”

“But, Your Majesty-”

“Silence.” Ricta’s hand fell towards his chest, “I am speaking.”

As if collecting himself, the young king allowed a few seconds to pass before continuing, “-There are those more deserving of my attention than financiers and wagoneers. One of my guards shall escort you to one who will see that you are heard out in full.”

Whoever the banker was, he was none too pleased at having his audience cut short. As a guard appeared from the room’s perimeter to walk the gentleman out, his face passed through every shade of red imaginable.

Ricta’s left arm extended in a welcoming gesture, “Come. The maiden with snow-white hair and her raven companion.”

Lieze had no idea how to carry herself. Her childhood had been spent catching frogs in the marshes and skipping through the tombs of ancient bloodlines, not practising her curtsy for kings too short for their thrones. By the time she had made their way across the golden carpet separating them from Ricta, she had suddenly resolved to follow in Drayya’s disobedient footsteps, idling in the silence that followed while the onlooking crowd of guards and servants awaited something resembling a greeting.

“...The lady will bow to His Majesty.” Spoke the decomposing priest on Ricta’s behalf.

“There will be no need for that, Alistair.” He replied, “Those who are deserving of praise needn’t be so formal.”

The decrepit priest clicked his tongue as Ricta returned his attention to Lieze.

“It was reported to me barely an hour ago that you selflessly corroborated the account of a necromancer hiding south of Bascoroch.” He began, “Not only were you able to eliminate a detachment of undead left behind in the town of Hoplod, but you also rescued an innocent civilian from the necromancer’s clutches.”

“That’s correct.” Lieze confirmed.

“I cannot express in words the importance of your service to Tonberg. One requires more than simple bravery to confront a necromancer.” He continued, “Tonight, this drab chamber of politics will be transformed into a venue housing the city’s best and brightest. It would honour me if you would consider attending this gathering of like minds.”

Ricta’s words were bursting with gratitude, but the bored tone of his voice told Lieze all she needed to know about just how many times he’d been forced to repeat the same spiel. As she’d expected, her audience was nothing but a formality. A poor attempt from the king of a dying country to preserve his influence.

“I’m flattered that you would extend the courtesy, Your Majesty.” Lieze responded politely, “I would be more than happy to attend.”

“Splendid.” Ricta’s hand turned slowly in the air. He submitted to the expectations of a nobleman with reluctant torpor, “And do invite a servant, or perhaps a comrade. One should never attend a gala alone.”

“Of course not.” Lieze agreed.

She wasted no time in making way for the next lowly beggar demanding this and that from the king. Drayya followed her wordlessly through the antechamber and out to the wilted garden, where the two of them were allowed a moment of solitude.

“A gala.” Drayya frowned, “Is that all the maggot king can offer to someone who risked her life for Tonberg’s sake? No gold? No accolades?”

“Ricta is a stubborn fool clinging to the vestiges of his reign.” Lieze explained, “Anyone who so much as speaks his name in a positive light will have earned themselves an audience. He needs to gather as many allies as possible to aid him in the coming war.”

“Allies to serve as meat shields while he flees the city, you mean.” Drayya corrected, “He doesn’t seem quite as much of an incompetent fool as I’ve heard, annoyingly. We should have taken the opportunity to murder him right then and there.”

“That won’t do at all.”

“What are you on about? Assassinating the last link holding the Sovereign Cities together isn’t a good idea?”

“You call him the ‘last link’, but that isn’t true at all.” She replied, “The royal bloodline has no heir apparent. If Ricta dies, the city will have the opportunity to place a more competent king on the throne. Someone more experienced in the realm of politics, and quite possibly the realm of war, also.”

“Hm.” Drayya crossed her arms, “You may have a point. Ricta’s position borders on ceremonial. He is neither particularly talented nor popular. I had always imagined that my goal would be to assassinate him, but doing so may be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“For the two of us to have reached an agreement on something... it must be an impenetrable truth.”

“Our goals are aligned.” Drayya declared, “Don’t think for a second that I consider you my equal.”

Hate.

Lieze shook her head, “This gala will give us the chance we need to explore the castle.”

“How convenient. I was just thinking the same thing.”

“We won’t be able to bring any thralls with us, no matter how undetectable they are.” She warned, “No doubt there will be a few Dragon Cardinals present. There’s simply no hiding the undead from their all-seeing eyes.”

“What do you expect to find in this dreary old fortress?” Drayya asked, “To me, it appears like the rumours of the so-called ‘Devil’s Castle’ are exaggerated.”

“Hopefully something we can use against Ricta.” Lieze answered, “Instead of killing him, it may be better to control him. Imagine the advantage we would have with the country’s very own monarch at our beck and call.”

“Can you be so sure he has any dark secrets tucked away?”

“Dark? Perhaps not. But secrets? Certainly.” She reassured, “I know it. You have to trust me.”

“I know better than to place my trust in another necromancer.” Drayya replied, “But, so long as this doesn’t prove to be a complete waste of time, I’ll continue to entertain your plans.”

They didn’t have to enjoy one-another’s company to achieve their goals. However, the Order was a cutthroat sect which encouraged betrayal even among the closest of friends. Drayya saw Lieze as a tool. A convenient scapegoat. She knew that because she, too, was guilty of viewing Drayya in the same way. For once, she didn’t have to hide her intentions when speaking. It was almost refreshing.

“How do you suppose we’ll be passing the time before this gala?” Drayya asked, “I have a mind to check the hideout. Alma seemed ready to break when you created that Breeder earlier. It would be a problem if she ran into my Wraith and died of fright.”

“You don’t think we’ll be attending a party in these robes, do you?” Lieze replied.

“...Won’t we?”

“No.”

“Well, why not?”

“Might I remind you yet again that we’re no longer in the Deadlands? The holdings of mankind are privileged enough to enjoy formal dress codes on such occasions. Especially for a gala organised by the king himself.”

“Dress code?” Drayya blinked, “We’re already dressed, you fool.”

“Quite the philistine, aren’t you? Then again, you never were very interested in your cultural studies.”

“Why should I have to memorise the rituals of man? When all is said and done--when our spirits are freed from these mortal shells, what good will culture do us?” She waxed, pausing as Lieze walked away from the castle, “-Don’t ignore me! Where are you going!? Wait for me!”

Hours passed.

Lieze was no noblewoman. The idea of rubbing shoulders with high society sent a chill down her spine more sickening than any foul experiment of necromancy. With that said, neither she nor Drayya would be allowed to enter the castle that night if the two of them turned up in their robes.

The gown she wore was a monstrous stark-white article that made her seem like a ghost in the night. To a necromancer, decorating the material form was akin to sacrilege. The Order’s robes were intended to obscure their imperfect shells of flesh. Flaunting one’s supposed ‘beauty’ was a trend Lieze simply couldn’t understand.

Drayya, however, emerged from the Dwarven tailors with a grin on her face. She appeared like an entirely different person, shamelessly admiring the frills of her black-as-sin dress with the innocence of a girl half her age.

“That Dwarf was spot on!” She declared, “This tasteful shade of dusk complements my features perfectly! All of this for only fifty gold coins?”

“That’s nearly two month’s wages for a commoner in Tonberg.” Lieze pointed out.

“Ah, Lieze.” Like a deer caught in the gaze of a predator, Drayya froze, “...This is all a bit much, isn’t it? I will never understand the world’s obsession with such trivial things…”

“Are you truly a necromancer?”

“What are you going on about?”

“...Never mind. Just remember why we’re doing this.”

“Dwarves are quite the crafty bunch, aren’t they?” Drayya continued, “I had always thought their talents were limited to metallurgy, but it seems they’re equally capable when it comes to tailoring.”

“There was no other choice, really. We would have been waiting weeks for these garments otherwise.”

“Aren’t you the least bit impressed? You look nice, too.”

“I feel like I belong in a window.”

“Hm…” Drayya’s gaze washed over her, “You’re smaller than me.”

“You couldn’t tell that before?”

“In the chest department, I mean.”

“How very observant of you.” Lieze’s face straightened out, “Let’s get going.”