The section of the sewers they’d managed to trespass into was some kind of holdover from a previous age. Practically took a backseat to design. The artistry of Tonberg’s long-dead architects could still be seen in the fleurs and accents of the canal drop-offs, curling inward like the legs of a dead spider. Lieze’s injured hand burned with a silent, acidic screech as she attempted to descend yet another ladder.
*Splash*, went one of Drayya’s thralls. The same Skeleton that had carved into Lieze’s palm just a few moments ago, careening into the scum-covered soup running down the passage’s centre-line from the top of the ladder. Without a need to breathe, and without the raw instinct of mortal fear, it contentedly sank to the bottom of the water.
“Shit…” Drayya cursed. It was a surprisingly honest reaction, “If there’s one thing I dislike about herding thralls, it’s trying to keep them from destroying themselves.”
Lieze got the impression that it wasn’t the first time she’d complained about it. Communing with the single Gravewalker she’d taken for herself, she attempted to persuade it down the drop with a touch more finesse. As if the ladder didn’t exist, its bloated body walked cleanly off the edge, hitting the ground right next to her with a hideous splat. Something had burst. A stench fouler than any sewage cut through the air as a combination of blood and pus escaped from a gaping wound in the corpse’s abdomen.
HP - 13/24
Drayya’s remaining thrall - another Gravewalker - apparently had enough brain tissue remaining to make use of the ladder, albeit at a glacial pace. In the meantime, Drayya walked forward to assess their prospects moving forward.
“No more thralls.” She noticed.
“-Not in plain sight, you mean?”
“No. I mean none at all.” Spinning around, her raven hair escaped from her cloak, trailing her like a ghost, “You can’t feel it as well?”
‘It’, in that scenario, represented something esoteric regarding necromancy that Lieze had always been too inept to learn. An ability that allowed one to sense residual evidence of nearby thralls. Something in her gut told her that her level wasn’t quite high enough to comprehend it.
“No.” She answered honestly.
“I suppose every corpse counts when you’re stuck in the capital.” Drayya replied, “The two of us, we’re so used to having hundreds of them at our disposal.”
She was trying to illustrate a point. The difficulty of raising an undead army in the world’s largest city with only three necromancers. It was a problem, judging by the hopeful tone in her voice, that she planned on resolving sooner rather than later.
“We must be close.” She repeated.
As they descended further into the old sewer tunnels, the darkness started to become a real problem. Lieze suddenly became very conscious of the thin walkway and the infested canal of rot just a few unguarded steps away. The bloodstain they’d been following on their way down had devoured several identical sigils by that point, having grown into a sweeping cascade of crimson painting the stonework a beautiful scarlet.
Their final destination was barely a few minutes of blind wandering away. One last shaft of light beaming down from higher than Lieze could estimate illuminated an intersection in the labyrinth. A seeping tunnel, not dissimilar to others they’d been walking past earlier, was bored into the wall on the left side of the northmost exit. The large grate that would have normally prevented anyone from wandering through it had been removed. Four wrought-iron bridges decorated with spiralling guardrails allowed access to each walkway of the quad intersection.
“Are they really safe down here, I wonder?” Drayya eyed the tunnel with a suspicious glance, “Any guardsman could come down here and notice the thralls walking about.”
“It’s an amateurish mistake.” Lieze replied, “This cult must have been recently established.”
The southernmost bridge pinged with a metallic instability as they crossed over. The circular tunnel was wide enough for two people to walk through side-by-side. As Lieze and Drayya stared down into the darkness, they waited patiently for something. A foul beast rising up through the depths to attack them, or a voice calling from within.
Nothing. For all they knew, it was a regular old tunnel.
“Down we go.” Drayya tested to see whether she’d immediately slide down the passageway before placing both feet inside, “Come. I’d like to be out of this place sooner rather than later.”
Their twin thralls followed them obediently, lifeless groans bouncing into the earth. It was dark then - incredibly dark. Lieze could spot a light in the distance, right at the bottom of the passageway. A sunset-warm glow.
It was impossible for them to proceed silently with their thralls in tow. The surface at the end of the tunnel levelled out into some kind of chamber which didn’t reveal itself fully until they were already far too close.
It was a surprisingly intricate room. An artistic holdover from Tonberg’s fervent days. A shallow valley continuing along the tunnel’s trajectory was filled with water, separating the space into two halves. Chipped busts of the eternal Gildwyrm’s visage were mounted on the walls, damaged by either age or decay. Twin staircases at either end of the room’s furthest point rose towards a precarious ledge, where, sunken into the back wall, a tremendous door awaited. Ramshackle ‘tents’ of tarred cloth were propped over assortments of rubbish and stacked antiquities, inhabited by frozen silhouettes.
Quest "Septic Shock" Completed Reward - 900xp
Lieze looked up. Connected to two tethers bursting from the chamber’s ceiling was a flayed, almost skinless corpse suspended in the air. It was a decoration that probably took far too much effort to be worth it. Her interest was immediately broken by the distinctive sound of a bowstring being drawn back. then another. Two cloaked individuals flanking the entrance had both Lieze and Drayya in their sights, ready to execute them at a moment’s notice.
“Bows?” Unperturbed, Drayya clicked her tongue, “A necromancer should never dirty their own hands if they can help it.”
Seconds later, their thralls shambled down the remainder of the tunnel. Lieze and Drayya had already instructed them not to attack anyone in the chamber. Neither of them were in any particular rush to die.
“Relax those bowstrings, you two.” A voice commanded, “There’s no need for violence.”
Poking his head out from one of the tarpaulin homes was a single man who had elected not to wear his hood up. The bright-red hairs spindling from his head were those of an Outlander - someone not native to the Sovereign Cities. The low light may have been betraying his youthfulness, but Lieze guessed that he could have been at the very most twice as old as Drayya. Far from a young man.
“Those are our thralls.” He spoke plainly, pointing towards the corpses behind them, “There was a Skeleton, too. Where is it?”
“Wading its way through the water somewhere.” Drayya answered honestly, nodding to her side, “It injured her.”
“Who is she?” The man phrased that question as if it was a technicality. He asked because he knew he would have to at some point.
“Lieze Sokalar.” The ‘she’ in question answered, “-And this is Margoh Drayya.”
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Both names meant something to him, but the suspicion remained rich in his eye - singular. Lieze noticed that the light had gone out completely from his left socket. He had elected not to cover up the missing organ, almost as if he was proud of it.
Marché Hopper
Level 13 Necromancer
HP: 128 / 128 MP: 402 / 402
-Stronger than Lieze by a single level. He was competent. Far more competent than Alma. Lieze already knew that she had to take control of the conversation. Drayya was too convinced of her own superiority within the Order to make any allies outside of it. She would need to make a grasp for immediate power.
“Marché Hopper?” She greeted.
“Hm.” He was impressed by her knowledge, if only for an instant, “You shouldn’t know that name, no matter who you are. Where did you learn it?”
“Perhaps you should ask that question to one of your peers?” Lieze shot back, “You aren’t as concealed as you might think you are. Attract any more attention to yourselves, and the royalists will have you on the gallows by the end of the month.”
“Yes, well... if you have a better place to hide, I would certainly like to hear about it.”
“I’m not going to mince words.” She replied, “The Order will return to Tonberg for a second siege. By the time they arrive, the city will be a mere husk in need of toppling over. You are going to help me accomplish that goal.”
“And who are you to demand that of us?” Marché defied.
“You know who I am.”
There was no denying that, and yet Marché was searching for a single excuse to contest the idea that the woman in front of him was the daughter of Ignas Sokalar. He wanted to remain in control.
“Do you think of every necromancer as belonging to the Order?” He answered, “These people - sons and daughters of Tonberg, all, aren’t the same heartless monsters cultivated for the sake of conquest. They know love. Happiness.”
The faceless sewer-dwellers huddling in their tents didn’t have a shred of dignity between them.
“Perhaps they did, long ago.” Lieze answered, “Are you trying to say they’re misunderstood? Alienated? Don’t tell me you consider this to be some sort of ‘community’?”
“If not that, then what else?” Marché posed that question with authenticity. He did not know the answer, “Is the Order not a community? A community of exiles?”
“The Order is an idea- or, rather, an extension of the Blackbriar’s will.” Lieze took a step forward, “This is just some rotting hole deep beneath the city. A hideaway for murderers. Those who practise necromancy as an act of childish rebellion against the system.”
“These people are weak.” Marché insisted, “The weight of the world has crushed their spirits. Someone like you can’t possibly understand the suffering they’ve endured.”
“You deny them the role they were always meant to play.” Lieze accused, “This - what you’re doing here - is pure evil in its simplest form. These people are criminals. You lure them into your hideout with promises of togetherness and solidarity, and then grant them nothing but isolation. Now they’re merely stray animals trying desperately to fend off the dogs of the church.”
Meaningless necromancy. Murder without purpose. Lieze was expecting to find a group of people who obeyed the Order’s ideals to a fault, but instead she found a den of quite possibly the most despicable rodents in the city. Without assertive leadership, they would soon be destroyed.
“...I want to create something separate from the Order.” Marché’s voice became exasperated. It wasn’t the first time he’d shared this conversation with someone, “We share similarities.”
“No. We don’t.” Lieze denied, “-But I do understand your dream. To create something esoteric and meaningful. But whatever rituals and ideals you practise, nothing will ever be as pure as the Order’s goal. You taint death with this sick hedonism of yours, pleasuring yourselves with the ecstasy of murder. The Order can deliver you from that sin.”
“-By killing everyone in the world?”
“None of us take any pleasure in the culling of life.” Her words were truthful, “We wish to see the beauty of the soul exposed. Our bodies are a curse imposed on us by the Gods. Only in death can we be free of our suffering.”
“-And yet you still live.”
“For what other purpose than to deliver salvation?” Lieze shrugged, “-Unless you are a Lich, of course. The perfect crystallisation of our dogma, where the body need only be a vessel for the immortal soul.”
Somewhere deep down, Marché regretted his choice of words. Sweeping the chamber with his single eye, he could see nothing but desolation. A gathering of broken souls and psychotic fools. He had always imagined himself to be the singular ray of hope in their lives, but the truth of the matter was that he’d managed to change very little about their ways.
“...Why have you come here?” He asked, already knowing full-well the answer.
“Join with the Order.” Lieze’s answer was somehow both a command and an offer, “Aid us in our quest to fell Tonberg, and my father will welcome you and your fold with open arms.”
“Sokalar…” It wasn’t the first time Marché had uttered that name, “I wasn’t sure if the rumours of his supposed daughter were true or not.”
“What about Drayya?” She asked.
“Yes.” Drayya folded her arms, “-What about me?”
“This is Bran’s daughter?” Marché looked the girl up and down, “I know of her. Most necromancers do.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.” Lieze reminded.
“What will you do if I refuse?”
“You and your vagrants will be left down here to die.” She answered, “The royalists will find you sooner or later. And even if they don’t, once my father’s army approaches, you will not be spared from the culling.”
“I don’t have a choice, is what you’re trying to tell me?”
“The choice to die is an honourable one.” Lieze replied. It was something she truly believed, “But the choice to live, and suffer so that others may be granted salvation, is more honourable still.”
There had to have been at least 15 necromancers huddled away within the confines of Marché’s hideout. They were almost certainly far weaker than him, but Lieze wasn’t in a position to refuse help, and there was nowhere else in the world besides the Deadlands where she would find so many potential recruits.
“...What you said about the Order.” Marché began, “Is that true? Will you welcome us?”
“Provided you’re willing to seek deeper meaning in the art of necromancy. You and your comrades here.” Lieze nodded, “Yes. And you’ll be protected.”
“I have no reason to refuse, in that case.” There was a sigh of relief somewhere in his capitulation. He was already troubled by the state of his cult. Lieze’s offer had provided him with the chance of a lifetime, “But... toppling Tonberg by ourselves? That’s quite the undertaking.”
“I won’t tell you it will be easy. Quite the opposite, actually.” She didn’t need to lie about it. The truth was obvious, “-But we will succeed. You have my word.”
“If I heard that from the mouth of anyone else, I’m not sure I would believe it.” Marché paused, “But Sokalar has been known to accomplish the impossible. If not yourself, then who else is deserving of my trust?”
“I’ll see to it that your faith isn’t displaced.” She vowed.
Quest "Flowering Brotherhood" Complete! Reward - 1,200xp
Secret Quest "Swelling Brotherhood" Complete! Description - Have a total of 10 members in your cult Reward - 2,400xp
Level Up! You are now level [13] HP + 20 MP + 35
Level Up! You are now level [14] HP + 0 MP + 55