CHAPTER 2: RISING TENSIONS
The longhouse was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire in its central hearth. Around a large wooden table sat Frostholm’s elders, their expressions grave as they studied the hand-drawn map sprawled across its surface. John stood near the head of the table, his dark wings folded against his back, while Freya leaned forward beside him, her sharp eyes fixed on Elias. The merchant, dressed in his finely embroidered cloak, stood with one hand on the map, his other gesturing as he spoke.
At the far end of the table sat Egil, the village shaman, his grizzled hair and beard streaked with white, his sharp eyes betraying an energy that belied his age. Runes etched into the wooden staff at his side glowed faintly, pulsing in time with the crackling flames. Egil was the one who had summoned John to this world, and the air of authority he carried made it clear he was not only an elder but also a vital pillar of Frostholm’s survival.
“Varrosk isn’t just a threat—it’s a force of nature,” Elias began, his tone grave. “Their dominance over the southern river is absolute. They don’t just raid; they take control. Every village, every trade route, every scrap of resistance is crushed under their warships and their sorcerers. They extort settlements for resources and loyalty, and once they have a foothold, it’s permanent.”
Egil tapped his staff against the ground, the sound drawing the room’s attention. “They seek to turn the river into their lifeblood. Frostholm stands in their path. We are the stone that will either redirect the current or be worn away.”
Freya leaned forward, her hands braced against the table. “Then we ensure we don’t break. We fortify our defenses, train every able-bodied villager, and make Frostholm a place they can’t afford to attack.”
John frowned, his gaze flickering between Freya and the map. “That buys us time, but it doesn’t solve the problem. If we wait too long, they’ll consolidate their forces and hit us harder. What if we strike first? Disrupt their supply lines, take out one of their strongholds before they have a chance to gather.”
The suggestion hung in the air, tension rippling across the room. Egil’s voice was calm but firm as he addressed John. “Your boldness is commendable, Bone Caller, but Varrosk is a beast that strikes back with twice the fury when provoked. A preemptive attack may hasten the storm rather than weather it.”
Elias nodded, folding his arms. “He’s right. I’ve seen what happens to those who try to challenge Varrosk too early. They respond with overwhelming force, leaving no survivors to stand against them.”
“And waiting gives them more time to grow stronger,” John countered, frustration creeping into his voice. “It’s a no-win situation if we don’t act.”
Freya’s voice cut through the tension, measured but resolute. “We act by preparing. Frostholm isn’t ready for open war. We need time to train, to gather allies, and to build our strength. If we’re going to fight, we need to fight smart.”
Egil’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at John. “Do not mistake caution for inaction. Preparation is not weakness; it is wisdom. A fire that burns too soon consumes itself.”
John sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But we can’t just sit here and wait for them to march on us. I’ll scout the area, see if there are displaced clans who might join us. If we can recruit more fighters, we’ll have a better chance.”
Egil nodded approvingly. “A wise decision. The mana reservoir I’ve accumulated for the village is strong enough to use for some upgrades. Use it wisely, and let it bolster our numbers even more.”
John quickly pulled up his settlement screen:
SETTLEMENT UPGRADE SCREEN: SKELETAL GARRISON EXPANSION
Current Status:
* Capacity: 15 skeletal guards + Magnus (Skeletal Guard Captain)
* Training Grounds: Expanded, basic undead tactics in use.
Upgrades Available:
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1. INCREASE SKELETAL GARRISON CAPACITY
* Description: Expand the garrison’s capacity to house additional skeletal guards, increasing defensive strength and battlefield presence.
* Benefits:
* +25 skeletal guards (total capacity: 40).
* Additional guards can be equipped with Bone Armory or specialized formations.
* Magnus gains access to new tactical commands for larger formations.
* Requirements:
* Bones: 500
* Mana Infusion: 150
* System Points: 2
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2. ADVANCED UNDEAD COORDINATION (PREREQUISITE: INCREASE SKELETAL GARRISON CAPACITY)
* Description: Enhances the coordination of skeletal forces through magical tuning. Allows for more complex battlefield tactics.
* Benefits:
* Enables advanced formations such as shield walls, phalanxes, and encirclement tactics.
* Increases skeletal guard reaction speed and cohesion.
* +10% attack and defense efficiency for all skeletal forces.
* Requirements:
* Bones: 400
* Mana Infusion: 200
* System Points: 3
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3. SKELETAL CHAMPION INTEGRATION
* Description: Designate three skeletal champions to lead squads within the garrison. Champions possess increased durability and the ability to inspire nearby skeletons with minor buffs.
* Benefits:
* +3 Skeletal Champions added to the roster.
* Champions enhance morale and combat efficiency of skeletal squads.
* Grants Magnus an aura ability to further boost champions’ capabilities.
* Requirements:
* Bones: 250
* Mana Infusion: 150
* System Points: 2
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4. NECROTIC BEACON (PREREQUISITE: INCREASE SKELETAL GARRISON CAPACITY)
* Description: Constructs a Necrotic Beacon within the garrison, amplifying necromantic energy to sustain and strengthen skeletal forces.
* Benefits:
* Passive regeneration for all skeletal guards, reducing upkeep costs.
* Extends the duration of summoned undead outside of Frostholm’s borders.
* Grants the ability to call reinforcements to distant battlefields (limited to 10 reinforcements per call).
* Requirements:
* Bones: 750
* Mana Infusion: 300
* System Points: 5
* Soulbind Orb
John noted, that some of the requirements have been increased. John suspected this was because of the increased power of his new race. He hoped that meant the upgrades would be more powerful too. Increasing the skeletal garrison seemed like exactly what the village needed. He just neede two more system points.
Magnus, who had been leaning casually against a support beam, broke his silence. “So, you’re saying while John’s flying around playing diplomat, I get to whip the skeletons into shape? Fine by me. Just don’t crash into any trees, Bone Caller.”
Freya smirked, though her tone remained serious. “And I’ll handle the villagers. We’ll train them, reinforce the walls, and prepare for the worst. If Varrosk underestimates us, we’ll make them regret it.”
Elias tapped the map again, drawing their attention. “Remember this: Varrosk doesn’t see Frostholm as a threat. Use that. Hit them where they don’t expect it. That’s the only way you’ll survive.”
Bjorn, standing at the far end of the table, folded his arms, his presence as solid as the forge he commanded. “Then it’s settled. We prepare Frostholm to stand, and we find allies to fight beside us. Every resource, every decision will matter.”
Freya nodded firmly, her gaze meeting John’s. “And every mistake will cost us.”
The meeting adjourned, villagers dispersing to their tasks. Egil remained by the fire, watching as John lingered near the map, his mind racing with possibilities.
“John,” Egil said softly, his voice carrying a note of both pride and caution. “Your power has grown since you first arrived. But strength alone is not enough. The choices you make will shape Frostholm’s future more than any spell or summon.”
John met the shaman’s gaze, the weight of his words settling heavily. “I know. And I’m not going to let this village fall.”
Egil nodded, his staff glowing faintly as he turned back to the fire. “Good. Then let us prepare for what’s to come.”
John exhaled deeply as he left the longhouse, the cold air biting at his skin. The river stretched out before him, its surface reflecting the growing twilight. The decisions made tonight would shape the days ahead, and for better or worse, the fight for Frostholm had already begun.
The clearing outside Frostholm stretched wide, surrounded by a wall of snow-dappled pines. The late morning sun filtered through the trees, its pale light casting long shadows over the packed snow. John stood in the center, his wings unfurling awkwardly as he braced himself for what he knew would be a rough start.
Magnus, leaning casually against a tree with his sword planted in the ground beside him, watched with his eternal skeletal grin. “This is going to be majestic,” he said, his voice dry with amusement. “Truly a moment for the ages. Let me know if you need me to fetch a healer.”
John shot him a glare, his nerves showing through. “You could try being supportive, you know.”
“I am,” Magnus said, his tone mockingly sincere. “I’m supporting your inevitable crash into a snowbank. It’s called managing expectations.”
Freya’s laugh carried through the trees as she approached with a bundle of furs draped over her shoulder. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous he doesn’t have wings.”
Magnus tapped his gauntleted hand against his ribs. “Jealous? Please. Skeletons don’t fly; we soar in spirit.”
John sighed, shaking out his wings, the necromantic runes along their feathers pulsing faintly. “Alright, let’s see what these things can actually do.”
He crouched slightly, focusing on the mana flow through his body. A rush of energy surged to his wings as they snapped open, propelling him into the air. For a moment, he felt weightless, the ground shrinking beneath him.
Then his balance wavered.
“Crap, crap, crap!” John yelled, flailing as he veered sharply to one side. His wings fought to stabilize, but he overcompensated, sending him tumbling into the snow with a muffled thud.
Magnus’s clapping echoed through the clearing. “Bravo! Ten out of ten for the landing. Precision, grace, dignity—oh, wait.”
Freya covered her smirk with a hand. “You okay, Bone Caller?”
John groaned, brushing snow off his face as he climbed to his feet. “Yeah. Just testing the durability of my ego.”
He tried again, and again, each attempt a chaotic flurry of unsteady glides and graceless landings. By the fifth attempt, his wings were trembling from exertion, and his mana reserves were noticeably thinner. But he refused to stop.
“Alright, one more,” he muttered to himself, shaking out his wings.
This time, he focused on smaller, controlled movements. Instead of trying to soar, he aimed for a steady glide. His wings caught the air, and though wobbly, he managed to maintain his altitude, gliding in a wide arc before landing on his feet with only a slight stumble.
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Freya gave a slow clap, her grin genuine. “Not bad, John. Looks like you’re getting the hang of it.”
Magnus tilted his head, feigning shock. “He didn’t crash! Truly, we’re witnessing a miracle.”
John straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. “Laugh it up, Magnus. One of these days, I’m going to swoop down and knock that smug skull off your shoulders.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Magnus replied with a shrug.
Despite his exhaustion, John allowed himself a small smile. He wasn’t there yet, but the progress was undeniable. These wings weren’t just for show—they were a tool, one that could change the way he fought, scouted, and even led. But like any tool, they needed practice and patience to master.
As the clearing grew quieter, Freya stepped closer, her expression softening. “You’re doing fine. Just remember, you don’t have to figure it all out today.”
John nodded, his gaze drifting to the sky. “Yeah. But I don’t have a lot of time to waste, either.”
Freya placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll get there. And when you do, I’m sure Magnus will find some new way to heckle you.”
Magnus raised a bony hand. “You can count on it.”
The three of them laughed, the sound carrying through the trees. For a moment, the looming threat of Varrosk felt distant, and in that fleeting moment of camaraderie, John felt a spark of hope.
The training yard had been cleared of snow, the hardened earth beneath packed from the steady march of skeletons. Rows of skeletal warriors stood at attention, their empty sockets fixed forward. Their bones gleamed faintly under the overcast sky, runic etchings glowing on some of their surfaces—a result of John’s recent experiments with the Book of Forgotten Tides. The book lay open on a nearby table, its pages filled with diagrams and arcane instructions for improving undead minions.
John stood before them, arms crossed, with Magnus at his side. The skeletal guard captain paced back and forth in his pristine armor, his bony fingers clasped behind his back as he inspected the troops.
“Straighten your spines, you sacks of bones!” Magnus barked. “You’re not decorations for the Bone Caller’s study. You’re soldiers!”
John arched an eyebrow. “Pretty sure they’re already as straight as they’re going to get, Magnus.”
Magnus turned his skull toward John, his hollow voice dry. “And that attitude is why you leave the drilling to me.” He turned back to the skeletons. “Form up! Three squads, twenty-four per unit!”
The skeletal warriors shifted with eerie precision, dividing into three formations. At the head of each stood a skeletal champion—larger, sturdier, and armed with heavier weapons, their presence bolstered by additional runic enhancements.
John let out a low whistle. “Not bad. Those champions look like they could give Freya a run for her money.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Magnus quipped. “Unless you want to find out how sharp her axe really is.”
As the skeletons finished assembling, John stepped forward, raising his voice to address them. “Listen up! You’re not just fodder for my magic—you’re Frostholm’s shield. Each of you has a role to play, whether it’s holding the line, flanking an enemy, or overwhelming them with sheer numbers. And we’re going to make sure you know how to do it right.”
He turned to Magnus. “Show them what you’ve been working on.”
Magnus nodded, his sword flashing as he raised it. “First formation! Shield wall!”
The front ranks of each squad snapped into action, skeletal arms locking shields together. Behind them, spears bristled through the gaps, creating a phalanx-like formation.
“Move forward!” Magnus commanded. The skeletons advanced in perfect unison, their movements smooth and deliberate.
Freya entered the training yard, her brows lifting as she took in the sight. “Well, I’ll be damned. They actually look like soldiers.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” John said, grinning.
Freya crossed her arms, watching as Magnus shifted formations. “Shield wall into tetsudo!”
At the order, the skeletons moved with eerie precision, the front ranks lowering their shields while the second and third rows angled theirs overhead, creating a protective shell.
“That’ll come in handy against archers,” Freya murmured, her tone impressed.
John smirked. “It’s amazing what a little necromantic ingenuity—and some inspiration from Roman tactics—can do.”
Freya glanced at him oddly. “I don’t know what “Roman” is but you’re full of surprises, Bone Caller.”
Magnus turned to the second squad. “Alright, your turn. Break ranks and regroup into a pincer maneuver!”
As the skeletons moved, John noticed a small group of villagers lingering at the edge of the training yard. Their expressions ranged from unease to outright fear, their whispers carrying faintly on the wind.
“...too many of them...”
“...unnatural...”
“...he’s building an army...”
Freya followed his gaze, her jaw tightening. Without a word, she strode toward the group, her presence commanding.
“Enough,” she said, her voice firm. The villagers flinched but didn’t scatter. “I know what you’re thinking. That these skeletons are dangerous, that they’re unnatural. But let me ask you this—would you rather face Varrosk with them or without them?”
A man stepped forward hesitantly, his brow furrowed. “But... they’re not alive. They’re... wrong.”
Freya’s gaze softened, but her tone remained resolute. “You’re right. They’re not alive. But they’re tools—just like a sword or an axe. And right now, we need every tool we can get to survive. John’s magic is keeping them under control, and I trust him. You should too.”
The man hesitated, glancing at the skeletons before nodding reluctantly. The rest of the group slowly dispersed, their whispers fading.
Freya returned to John, her expression serious. “You’ll need to keep proving yourself, Bone Caller. Not everyone’s as quick to accept this... or you.”
John nodded, his jaw tightening. “I know. But I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this village, even if it means making them uncomfortable.”
Freya smirked faintly. “Good. Because the only thing scarier than Varrosk is me if you screw this up.”
As the training drills continued, John glanced at the open Book of Forgotten Tides, his mind racing with possibilities for further improvements. Magnus’s drills were already making a difference, but there was so much more they could do.
“We’re just getting started,” John murmured, watching the skeletal formations move with increasing precision. The undead weren’t just his weapon—they were Frostholm’s lifeline. And he was determined to make them a force that even Varrosk would fear.
The longhouse was full again, but this time the atmosphere was different. The village elders, seated around the large wooden table, exuded a sense of formality. Freya and John stood at the head of the room, their postures confident but their expressions carefully composed. Egil, the shaman, sat at his usual place, his staff resting against his chair, its faintly glowing runes casting long shadows on the floor.
Bjorn, the elder blacksmith and one of Frostholm’s most respected figures, rose to address the gathered assembly. “It has become clear that Frostholm needs strong leadership to survive what’s coming. Varrosk looms on the horizon, and every decision we make now will determine whether we stand or fall.”
Freya nodded, her voice steady and commanding. “This village has always been strong. We’ve fought off raiders, rebuilt after storms, and endured the harshest winters. But we’ve never faced a threat like this. We need to adapt, to grow—and that starts with unity.”
The room murmured in agreement, but there was tension in the air. Freya’s nomination was a foregone conclusion; her strength and loyalty to the village were unquestioned. It was John’s place among them that sparked hesitation.
Bjorn gestured toward John. “Our Bone Caller has proven himself. He’s fought beside us, defended us, and brought new power to Frostholm. But some of you still question whether his magic, his... necromancy, is a force we can trust.”
John stepped forward, meeting the gazes of the villagers. He could feel the weight of their doubt, their unease, but he didn’t flinch. “I get it,” he began, his tone frank. “Skeletons aren’t exactly warm and fuzzy. And trust me, when I first found out I could raise the dead, I wasn’t thrilled about it either.”
A faint chuckle rippled through the room, easing the tension slightly. Freya shot him a quick, approving glance.
“But here’s the thing,” John continued. “We’re outnumbered, outgunned, and facing a nation that doesn’t lose. If we want to survive, we need every advantage we can get. My magic may not be pretty, but it works. And I’ll use it to protect Frostholm, no matter what it takes.”
Egil rose, his voice carrying an air of authority. “The power John wields is not without risk. But I summoned him here because I saw a spark in him—a will to stand against the dark forces that threaten us. That will has not faltered.”
One of the elders, an older woman named Glenda, leaned forward. “And what happens if it does? What if this power consumes him, or us?”
Freya stepped in, her voice cutting through the murmur of agreement. “Then you’ll have me to hold him accountable. I trust John because I’ve fought beside him. I’ve seen him risk everything for this village. If you trust me, trust my judgment.”
John looked at Freya, her words hitting him harder than he expected. She believed in him, even when others didn’t, and that belief felt like a lifeline.
Bjorn nodded slowly. “Very well. Let’s put it to a vote. All in favor of recognizing Freya as one of Frostholm’s leaders?”
Every hand in the room went up without hesitation. Freya inclined her head, her expression steady but her eyes gleaming with pride.
Bjorn continued. “All in favor of recognizing John Harper, the Bone Caller, as a leader of Frostholm?”
There was a pause. A few elders raised their hands immediately, including Egil and Bjorn. Others followed, more slowly, until nearly all hands were raised. Glenda hesitated before raising hers last, her expression reluctant but resolved.
“It’s settled, then,” Bjorn said. “Freya and John will lead Frostholm through what lies ahead. May their strength and wisdom guide us.”
The room exhaled collectively, the decision made. Freya turned to John, a small smile breaking her usual stoic demeanor. “Congratulations, Bone Caller. Looks like you’re stuck with us.”
John chuckled softly, though the weight of the moment wasn’t lost on him. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
As the meeting adjourned, Egil lingered near the fire, watching John with a thoughtful expression. When the others had left, he approached. “Leadership is a heavy burden, Bone Caller. Every choice you make will echo through this village. Be sure your heart remains steady.”
John met Egil’s gaze, his voice steady despite the doubts swirling in his mind. “I’ll do my best.”
The shaman nodded, his staff tapping lightly against the floor as he walked away. Freya placed a hand on John’s shoulder, her touch grounding him. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, well... that’s why you’ve got me.”
John smiled faintly, the firelight casting long shadows over the room. Leadership wasn’t a role he’d ever sought, but now that it was his, he was determined to prove himself worthy of it.
The sun was rising over Frostholm, casting a warm, amber glow across the snow-covered landscape. John and Freya stood at the edge of the village docks, the icy river flowing steadily beneath them. The water reflected the growing light, broken only by the occasional drift of ice. The quiet hum of the village behind them felt distant, as if the weight of their task had carved out a space just for them.
Freya leaned against one of the dock posts, her axe resting across her shoulder. “So,” she began, her tone casual but her eyes sharp, “what’s the plan, Bone Caller? Now that you’re officially in charge, what’s the first move?”
John folded his arms, staring out at the river as if it might reveal the answer. “I’ve been thinking about what Elias and Egil said. We need more people, more resources, and more time. The skeletons are strong, but they’re not enough—not against Varrosk. If we want a fighting chance, we need allies.”
Freya tilted her head, watching him closely. “You’re talking about the clans displaced by the Warden.”
John nodded. “Exactly. They’ve lost everything, but that also means they have nothing left to lose. If we can bring them into Frostholm, offer them a place to rebuild, they might fight with us. And we’ll need their numbers.”
Freya’s gaze shifted to the river, her expression thoughtful. “It’s risky. Some of those clans might not be too keen on joining forces with a necromancer.”
“I know,” John admitted. “But I’m not expecting it to be easy. I’ll go to them myself, see what they need, what they’re willing to fight for. And if that doesn’t work... well, I’ll figure it out.”
Freya smirked. “And how exactly are you planning to reach these clans? Walk across the river? That might take a while.”
John stretched his wings slightly, the dark feathers catching the fading light. “I was thinking of taking the express route.”
Freya’s smirk widened into a grin. “You’re actually getting the hang of those things, huh?”
“More or less,” John said with a shrug. “Let’s just say I’m not crashing into snowbanks as much anymore.”
Freya chuckled, but her expression turned serious. “If you’re going, you’ll need more than just wings and skeletons. You’ll need a plan for what to say, what to offer. People don’t fight just because you ask them to.”
John nodded, her words sinking in. “You’re right. I’ll figure out what each clan needs. Supplies, protection, a chance to strike back—whatever it is, we’ll offer it. But we need to be prepared to deliver.”
Freya crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “And what about Frostholm? While you’re out there playing diplomat, we need to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”
John turned to face her fully. “That’s where you come in. You’ve already got the villagers on your side. Keep training them, fortifying the defenses, and working with Magnus to get the skeletons combat-ready. I trust you to hold things down here.”
Freya blinked, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes before she covered it with a nod. “Alright, Bone Caller. I’ll keep the home fires burning. Just make sure you come back in one piece.”
John smiled faintly. “That’s the plan.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the sound of the river filling the space between them. The enormity of their task loomed, but for now, it felt manageable—like the first step in a long journey.
Freya broke the silence, her voice softer now. “You’re doing good, you know. Even if you don’t always feel like it.”
John glanced at her, the sincerity in her words catching him off guard. “Thanks, Freya. That means a lot.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm and grounding. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
John nodded, his resolve hardening. “Together.”
As the sun continued to rise above the horizon, painting the river in shades of gold and crimson, John turned his attention to the sky. His wings unfurled, the dark feathers rippling in the cool evening breeze.
“Time to see what’s out there,” he said, more to himself than to Freya.
She stepped back, giving him space. “Fly safe, Bone Caller.”
With a strong push of his wings, John launched into the air, his silhouette cutting through the light. Freya watched him until he disappeared into the distance, the weight of leadership settling heavily on her shoulders.
Below, the river flowed on, a silent witness to the choices that would shape the fate of Frostholm.