NOVEL FROG 65 - Secrets of the Order
The way back to the hideout was stormy and uncomfortable. Lieze had always admired her father’s tenacity when it came to weathering the trials of the living with a straight face, but in that moment when the city faded into the distance, replaced by the waltzing branches of the nearby woodlands and a slow chorus of rain, she found herself wishing for nothing else than a warm, dry place to linger.
But no such pleasure arrived. Her home was a teeming mess of insects and undead flesh. The ice-cold wind blowing in from the entrance drafted up to the furthest chambers and guaranteed that she would never be granted any degree of comfort. So, instead of concerning herself with the pitiful needs of humanity, she sat herself at the table in the living quarters and busied her mind with exploring the secrets of her newly-acquired grimoires.
Drayya was interested in nothing else but nursing the injury she’d taken from sliding down the Library’s roof. Marché, as always, was concerned with managing his inexperienced followers and maintaining a constant supply of thralls from the dead city of Saptra. Altogether, the brickwork was laid for Lieze to enjoy a few hours of relative silence.
She couldn’t be certain of who had penned the skin-bound tome. Necromancers had a habit of foregoing introductions or signatures in order to preserve secrecy, but whoever it had been, they understood the art of thrall-raising with enough clarity to rival the likes of Lieze’s father.
Technique Observed (35%)
Interspersed by lengthy theses on the efficient manipulation of mana were records of a time Lieze had studied only on a handful of occasions as a young girl. Notes had been kept on wars waged by necromancers well over a century ago - atrocities, death counts, victories, defeats; anecdotal recollections of grand battles and feverish criticisms of the Church of the Golden Dragon, as well as a few targeting the Order itself.
Technique Observed (35%)
Finally, there were lessons. Theory distilled into practice, left in the form of instructions to the necromancers of the future. The sole reason for the Order’s numerous defeats, it claimed, was the severity of its momentum. Once a spearhead had been established into an undead army, necromancers were left with no consistent or reliable methods of recuperation. In short, their value as contributors to a war of attrition plummeted.
Corpse scarcity, logistics, and individual ability were to blame for the problem. Lieze’s grimoire was dedicated to improving the already-existing techniques of necromancy in order to cull the issue for good - improvements that would serve herself and the cult well in establishing a sturdy foothold from which to conquer Tonberg.
Technique Observed (35%)
Technique Learned!
Type: [Passive] Name: [Necromantic Efficiency)
Description - By unearthing yet deeper secrets of necromancy, the MP cost of raising thralls has been reduced by [20%]. Additionally, the time consumed by [Necromantic Alchemy] ritual has been reduced by [50%]
Secret Quest "Versatility" Complete!
Description - Learn as least one technique from 3 different categories of the [Necromancy] school.
Reward - 2,500xp
“This is exactly the sort of thing we needed.” Lieze smirked, “If everyone in the cult could learn from this tome, it would save an incredible amount of time.”
-But she wasn’t finished yet. There was still the matter of the other, much larger grimoire Drayya had managed to find. With some effort, she managed to hoist the book up onto the table, blowing a layer of dust from its featureless, crimson cover before having a peek at the first couple of pages.
“This is some fine penmanship…” She noticed, “And so long, too… this must have been a necromancer’s greatest work. Hopefully there’s something of use hidden in here.”
The worthiness of its existence was proven moments later. Unlike the previous grimoire, it didn’t hesitate to state its author’s name plainly - Kazor Nict. Lieze’s eyes lit up upon reading the familiar moniker.
“This must have been stolen from the Order during the time of Kazor’s crusade against the Sovereign Cities…” She muttered, “The loss of his research was thought to have set us back centuries…”
More than simple necromancy, Kazor’s magnum opus was an enlightened document on the foundational principles of the world itself. From the grandiosity of his notes, it was clear that he had greater goals in mind besides advancing the Order’s ideals. The tome revealed great and terrible secrets - the hidden cities buried deep beneath the forbidden Wildlands from which Kazor originated, or theories as to the Gods’ intentions and origins.
Day turned to night as Lieze pored over his knowledge. Truthfully, she understood very little of it, especially chapters concerning themselves with the fundamentals of alchemy and spiritualism - matters best understood by Sokalar, who was Kazor’s most attentive apprentice. But one chapter in particular caught her attention.
“The breaking of the seal…” She read from the page tentatively, as if afraid she would invite a curse, “Scions…”
The word tingled an inquisitive region in her brain. Scion. A term she had heard recently. Upon the eve of Helmach’s defeat, her scale had thrown the word at her recklessly upon touching flesh to the strange gem unearthed from his corpse.
Helmach was a scion. As far as Lieze understood, she was a scion, as were Alistair and Furainé. But the secret of their God-chosen status was known only to them. Gripped by a ravenous curiosity, Lieze delved into Kazor’s worldly observations in the hope that his findings would unravel the mystery of her scale.
The Phenomenon of the Scion
Insofar, these conclusions represent a togetherness - or ‘coalescence’ - of the fundamental materia. Using what few excerpts remain of the Sixteen Sages, this appears to compose at least one part of the so-called ‘enlightenment’ sought by those who consorted with the Gods. Indeed, evidence of such ‘scions’ exists in the writings of Alberich of the Mound or upon the coveted steel tablets of Akzhem’s Black City.
These ideas culminate in the idea of the ‘Seal’, which represents an as-of-yet indeterminate but coveted future sought by the most powerful and influential scholars of ages past. Mythology of the races seems cultivated from this singular concept - even the enlightenment pursued by the Order. The Sages, who came suicidally close to such enlightenment, remain the only reliable lead into this phenomenon. Were it that they still walked this world as mortals, I may have gleaned its most tantalising secrets.
“I don’t understand a word of this…” Lieze admitted that to herself, “The ‘seal’.... what is that supposed to mean? What did the Sages have to do with this?”
The world was indeed a troublesome and disturbing place. Magic was not an entirely understood medium of concentration or thought, and what little of the force was understood had attributed itself to heavenly beings peering in from their celestial ocean. Lieze could parse a single detail from Kazor’s writings: that she, and all others touched by the Gods, were the pieces in some grand, esoteric game.
“A plaything of the heavens…” She muttered, “But not for long.”
Soon, the woes of the living would pain the world no longer, and nothing but blessed silence would remain on the plane of the material. Lieze’s enemies were abstractions of the suffering so coveted by living things. They had needs, desires - weaknesses. She would strike at every last opening until only darkness remained.
Marché returned early the next morning. Lieze had grown accustomed to the worried look on his face, like a pup concerned for its master’s wellbeing. Alongside him reared up the wagons purchased then stolen from the city, piles of thralls twitching in their carts.
“I was in the city earlier to see Alma.” He greeted Lieze at the entrance, “Something is burning - or, was burning, I should say.”
“The Library.” She nodded.
“The Library!?” His shock was displaced with exasperation. It was a response he didn’t expect, but wasn’t surprised to hear, “Just what did you get up to over there?”
“It was Furainé. She torched the building while we were inside - not because she found us, before you ask, but for another reason.” Lieze explained, “You’re a city-dweller. Why would a nun want to set fire to an archive of her own faith?”
“I don’t know, Lieze.” He gave a refreshingly honest answer, “Strangeness seems to have the city by its throat recently. You would think the plague caused by our Nightcrawlers would be the Church’s top priority at the moment, but I didn’t see a single healer tending to the sick.”
“The city is rotting from the inside-out.” She replied, “If Alistair is content with watching the jewel of his crown melting away, then I won’t complain. But I’ve been doing this for long enough to know that the truth won’t be so simple.”
“Speaking of Alistair…” Marché stepped aside to allow a procession of Gravewalkers into the hideout, “-It seems he’ll be giving a formal address in the city square tomorrow afternoon.”
“An address?” Lieze tilted her head, “In a dying city? With necromancers plotting against him?”
“Yes.”
She paused, “...That’s bait.”
“Yes.” He said again, “-But you’ll take it. Even I know that.”
“How well you’ve come to understand me.” Lieze crossed her arms, “Yes, I will be taking it. If we can keep one step ahead of him, this might turn out to be the chance we’ve been searching for.”
“A chance to get killed, you mean.”
“No. A chance to rid ourselves of these troublesome throne-dwellers for good. A chance to establish a foothold in Tonberg, and begin the actualisation of our goals.” She said, “Drayya and I liberated two grimoires from the Library before it was destroyed. One of them - the tome wrapped in flesh - will make your life much simpler. I recommend giving it a read.”
“I’ll do anything that isn’t ferrying corpses across the countryside…” Marché replied, “Alma is doing fine, by the way. I dropped by her home with a few curatives to ensure she wouldn’t catch whatever’s going around.”
“If she’s worried about it, just tell her to come back.”
“That’s easy to say when you don’t have any qualms about sleeping in a damp cave filled with undead creatures.” He sighed, “Well, we have a few beds now, so perhaps…”
“-Besides that, how close are we to organising an empowered legion of thralls?” Lieze asked.
“We aren’t.” He folded his arms, “It takes at least two hours to improve a thrall’s strength and speed separately, so-”
“The grimoire. It will help with that.” She spoke over him with plain confidence, “Rope in all of your followers. I want it done by tomorrow.”
“That’s… hah…” Rubbing a hand on his forehead, Marché understood right away that putting up a fight wasn’t worth the effort, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Marché’s desperation to please the Order placed Lieze in a unique position of leadership. As the daughter of Sokalar, she had more sway over the man than she would have first assumed. With the cult’s operations increasing in scope by the day, it was imperative that she flaunt her authority as often as possible.
“Try not to walk head-first into a trap. That’s all I have to say on the matter.” Marché offered a final piece of advice as he wandered into the hideout.
Alistair was attempting to drag her in. He knew there was no chance she’d pass up an opportunity to kill him out in the open. What he failed to consider, however, were the lengths Lieze was willing to go to in order to ensure victory.
“An address… there will be a crowd. And priests. Plenty of priests.” She thought, “Does he think he’s going to outwit me? I’d like to see his reaction when he realises I’m prepared to do anything to get a leg up.”