NOVEL FROG 225 - Final Approach
Baccharum’s head perked up. Lieze had learned to take the gesture to mean that something terrible was about to happen, but his alertness faded in the next second.
“...Another pair of eyes on us.” He muttered, “We should assume that we’re always being watched from here on out. Remember to sleep in shifts, and always keep a handful of Deathguards on hand on to stand guard.”
“Can’t you deal with them?” Lieze asked.
“Hah… I’m quite deadly with a blade, but I’m not suicidal.” He smirked, “There must be… twenty or thirty of them, at least. Assassins usually operate alone or in smaller cells, so that alone doesn’t bode well. If the guilds have formed a temporary alliance…”
“Guilds?”
“Assassin guilds.” He clarified, leaning down to toss another log onto the fire, “Nobody can say for certain how many of them there are, but I encountered quite a few during my stint as a hired killer. Normally they’re at one-another’s throats, but I suppose the threat of incoming oblivion has them worried about the future of slitting throats.”
They were making final camp before their climactic march upon the Black City. A day had passed in blissful peace since the appearance of the Rootborne Titans. Lieze’s mana burnout had come to an end, lifting a weight off her shoulders. Herself, Baccharum, and Lüngen were burning away the hours, awaiting their turn to take a power nap in one of the few tents they had left to their names.
“Lüngen.” Baccharum held out a rolled-up leaf, “You said you were interested in trying it.”
“Ho-hoh! So this is the coveted dauberlight the Elves are so fond of?” The old man reached out with a grunt and took the dart for himself, “I’ve been told it’s quite different from tobacco.”
“-It doesn’t kill you nearly as fast, for one thing.” Baccharum replied, “It does give you quite an appetite, however. And you’ll be in no state to contribute anything meaningful to our plight with your head in the clouds.”
A moment of calm amidst her seething ambition enlightened Lieze to just how tired she really was. Lüngen’s words seemed to drift off into the haze of her subconscious as she sat by the fire, feeling her eyelids growing heavier by the minute.
“You should rest, Lieze.” After lighting the tip of the leaf with the campfire, Lüngen took a quick puff and offered a piece of sagely advice, “Victory won’t be nearly as satisfying when you’re about ready to keel over. Baccharum and I will keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.”
“I’m not sure I could sleep if I wanted to.” She dragged both hands over her face.
“To think the Order has come so far under your dutiful guidance.” He continued, “I’m quite proud of you. From the moment you were screaming for your first breaths, I knew you would accomplish great things, Lieze.”
“...Where’s this coming from, all of a sudden?”
“Well… we will all be dead soon, won’t we?” Lüngen addressed the subject with the practised ease of a man approaching the end of his long life, “If this Light in Chains is anything you claim it to be, then the spool of our cosmic plane will come undone by its vengeful will, leaving naught but careful, comforting oblivion in its quest to destroy those who imprisoned it.”
“I doubt even something that could call itself a ‘God’ will destroy this fabric we call reality.” She replied, “There are things older than Gods in this universe. Concepts beyond immaterial understanding. I wonder if my dreamlike ‘oblivion’ is nothing more than a suggestion of the real thing. I wonder… if struggling against fate is possible.”
“You will struggle against it as fiercely as any human can hope to manage.” Lüngen concluded, “-And whatever becomes of your exploits, know at least that the world will never be the same again. The very rules of our reality shall be overwritten - not by Gods, but by the efforts of mortal men. This is your doing, Lieze.”
“Let’s not discuss this any further. One crisis of faith is enough for me.” She shook her head, “I’ll take from this Head Shaman what rightfully belongs to me as champion of this celestial contest. The Light in Chains will be released. And if the Sages choose to betray me in the end…”
She clenched her fist. No, she thought. There was no need to worry about the possibility. She had already developed the measures needed to overcome such a betrayal. Her only concern was the war against Elvenkind and its enigmatic Scion.
“...Maybe I will try to get some sleep after all.” She stood, “I’ll be using the Portable Home, so make sure the artefact is kept in a safe place while I rest. The last thing I want is to leave only to find myself somewhere I shouldn’t be.”
“Have pleasant dreams, Lieze.” Baccharum replied, “You might never get another chance.”
“My dreams are rarely pleasant. The best nights are those when I don’t dream at all.” She said, “I’ll be glad to be rid of them.”
Lieze’s nap was graciously free of memories or deific encounters. Her desk wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but she would never find a safer place than the confines of her Portable Home. Mindful of the time, she ejected herself from the artefact, transported to the empty interior of a tent. The Portable Home was not-so-subtly tucked under a bedroll.
She had yet to grow accustomed to Akzhem’s perpetual twilight, half-expecting to see shafts of sunlight dancing beyond the tent’s flaps. The sounds of Deathguards preparing for a long and supremely eventful day informed her that she hadn’t slept in.
“One at a time, damn it! Try to have some decency - there’s enough soup for everyone!” Roland’s voice coursed across the meadow as she poked her head out. A sweet, inviting smell was wafting out from a pot bubbling over the campfire.
Even at the advent of total oblivion, simple pleasures were welcome. Or, perhaps it was precisely a result of their imminent demise that the Deathguards were so keen on enjoying themselves for once. Convinced of the future, the simple act of indulging in a hearty meal was a form of personal mourning in and of itself.
“It’s a little thin today, Roland.” Drayya began, “I remember your soups tasting better than this.”
“If you fancy sprinting all the way back to the wagons and sourcing me some fresh ingredients, then be my guest.” He tapped the ladle against the side of the pot, “Otherwise, I don’t want to hear any complaints. Plus, the broth is still delicious - you just have an underdeveloped palate.”
When was the last time Lieze had felt so relaxed? Everything she had owned, experienced, and learned as a child had come with a price. She had never enjoyed a meal without the threat of missing her studies, never smiled for fear of the gesture being punished as a sign of weakness. Even within the embrace of twilight, when she rattled around beneath her sheet, the footfalls echoing beyond her door always seemed seconds away from barging in and dragging Lieze off to another foul session of experimentation. She had cultivated a personality of caution and fear, reluctant to lower her guard for the slightest moment.
Why hadn’t that side of her faded in Sokalar’s absence? For once, there was nothing to fear among her subordinates. She stood at the apex of her craft, peerless in the discipline of necromancy, more proficient in spellcasting and knowledgeable about the Order’s plight than Sokalar ever was. But that girl of yesteryear - the trembling, affectless Lieze of her past - remained staunchly in sight.
There was no changing that, she knew. The troubles of her past may have been excised, but the scars remained. She would never shed those suggestions imprinted upon her by Sokalar. In some terrible fashion, she was still very much the same individual. Worse still was her inability to feel horrified by the revelation. Apathy had been branded onto the grooves of her brain.
All of it; her past, the torture of Sokalar’s existence, the events leading towards a conflict that wracked the continent with blood and sweat - she could trace it back to the same origin. The shrouded enemy deserving of humanity’s rancour was a hidden one, trapped behind millennia of worship and dogma. It was Lieze’s responsibility to exact vengeance on those plotting grandmasters. And in that comically ironic way, her faceless demeanour was exactly the sort of attitude one needed to accomplish such a goal.
Beyond the laughs and jeers of the campfire, towards Akzhem’s impenetrable night, lay the final piece of the puzzle. Lieze was awash with finality, honoured - or perhaps relieved - to have found herself squarely at the end of her long journey. The once-distant dream of the Order was drawing close.
Resistance on their path towards the Black City was pitiful. At the eve of every second hour, Rootborne abominations rose to oppose Lieze’s army. Having deduced their critical weakness to fire, a well-organised formation designed to weather a frontal assault while peppering the enemy with volleys of sorcery quickly disintegrated any troublesome foes.
Battle Report:
Rootborne Scout (x71)
Rootborne Warrior (x141)
Rootborne Behemoth (x90)
Total XP Earned - 11,990
Level Up!
You are now level [64]
HP + 0
MP + 55
MIND + 1
Between the infernos, Lieze had a few moments to decide upon her latest [Specialisation].
You have reached level [60]. Please choose [1] specialisation from the following choices.
Death Defying
Description - Whenever you take damage that would reduce you to [0] HP, you are instead reduced to [1] HP. The remaining damage is then multiplied by a factor of 10 and distributed among [Undead] creatures close to your position (up to 100 feet away). If there are no thralls within this range, or if the amount of thralls present cannot absorb the remaining damage, you are instead reduced to [0] HP.
Brainstealer
Description - Spend an amount of MP equal to double a targeted thrall’s level to assume direct control of its movements and actions. Anything permitted by the thrall’s physiology is also accessible to you. When controlling a thrall in this manner, you lose MP equal to triple the targeted thrall’s level every [60] seconds. Your physical body remains vulnerable during the possession.
Unlike before, there was a significant choice to be made. Surviving a fatal blow could easily be the difference between life and death, whereas controlling a thrall directly had a multitude of applications that meshed well with Lieze’s spontaneous style of leadership. With regards to the importance of the upcoming battle, she settled on the choice that guaranteed survivability, as opposed to versatility.
Specialisation ‘Death Defying’ Chosen.
“I already have enough control over my thralls. She rationalised the decision in her head, “This should work well to guarantee my survival during the battle… or as a final act of resistance if the situation calls for it.”
With that out of the way, she had no other concerns but the looming threat of the Head Shaman. Whether as a result of her rampage across the forest or a consequence of caution on the Elves’ part, the remainder of the Order’s march was blissfully peaceful. Not that ‘peace’ settled Lieze’s mind in the least - she knew that a battle unfought to begin with was one she would only be fighting later.
After another quiet day of marching, the Great Oaks and long grasses gave way to an astounding glade hidden within the heart of Akzhem. In the far distance, Lieze could spot what appeared to be stars twinkling in the darkness.
“The Black City…” She muttered, “It’s time.”