As the group paused to catch their breath after the intense battle, Talich's eyes scanned the surrounding area. The towering spires of the palace loomed ominously in the distance, their dark silhouettes casting long shadows across the city. Talich’s expression grew tense as he recognized where they were. His senses, honed over years of battle, picked up on the subtle yet unmistakable aura of powerful necromancy nearby.
“We need to get away from here,” Talich said, his voice low but urgent. He glanced at Zavet and Runner, his gaze sharp with concern. “The Lords of Necromancy are nearby.”
Zavet’s eyes widened, a mix of excitement and recklessness flashing across his face. “Oh, come on,” he protested, a grin spreading across his lips. “I think we can take them.”
Talich couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though it was tinged with nervousness. “No, Zavet. We can’t take on one of them, much less all eight. The Lords of Necromancy aren’t just powerful—they’re ancient, with knowledge and strength that could easily overwhelm us. We need to get out of here and search elsewhere.”
Runner, who had already begun to distance himself from the palace, turned back to the group. “Hey, I think I found the gnome guy from the barony!” he called out, pointing down a nearby street.
There, amidst the chaos of the undead-infested city, an undead gnome fiercely cast ice magic at a group of knights. The gnome's magic crystallized the air around it, forming sharp shards of ice that launched with deadly precision.
“Runner, you handle it,” Talich instructed, his tone firm. He reached into his pack and pulled out a flail, its heavy, spiked head gleaming ominously in the dim light. “Take this.”
Runner accepted the flail with a nod, securing his greatsword on his back before gripping the flail with both hands. He watched the gnome for a moment, sizing up his opponent, and then sprinted toward it with determination.
Talich, meanwhile, grabbed Zavet by the arm and pulled him toward the cover of a nearby building. “Let’s get out of sight,” he whispered, leading Zavet into the shadows where they could observe the unfolding events without being seen.
Zavet, still buzzing from the earlier fight, couldn’t resist a final look at the gnome. “But what if—” he started, but Talich silenced him with a stern look. “Trust me, Zavet. Runner can handle it.”
Runner approached the undead gnome with swift, purposeful strides. The gnome, engrossed in its magical assault on the knights, didn’t notice Runner until it was too late. With a single, powerful swing, Runner brought the flail down on the gnome with crushing force. The impact was brutal, shattering the gnome’s skeletal form into fragments scattered across the cobblestone street. The ice magic dissipated in an instant, leaving only silence in its wake.
The knights, who had been bracing themselves against the gnome’s attacks, looked at Runner in shock. One of them, recognizing him, removed his helm to reveal a familiar face. “Runner?” Parez, a fellow knight of the Morning Glory, said, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Nice to see you, man.”
Before Runner could respond, Ivan, a stern and battle-hardened knight, stormed forward, his eyes narrowing as he took in Runner’s appearance. “He looks undead to me, boys,” Ivan declared, suspicion lacing his words.
Parez quickly intervened, slamming into Ivan with a forceful shove. “Sir, to your left! I just saw a pack of ghouls!” he shouted, his voice filled with urgency.
Ivan, always quick to respond to a perceived threat, immediately turned to face the supposed ghouls, his weapon ready to strike. Runner didn’t hesitate, using the distraction to slip away unnoticed. He darted down an alley, moving swiftly to distance himself and the knights.
As Runner disappeared into the shadows, Parez waved after him with a grin, giving him a thumbs up. Another knight of the Morning Glory, having witnessed Ivan’s easy distraction, couldn’t suppress a laugh. The tension in the air eased slightly as the knights returned their focus to the task at hand, unaware of Runner’s true intentions.
Talich and Zavet watched the scene unfold from their hidden vantage inside the old building. The tension from earlier battles had eased, replaced by a mixture of relief and quiet amusement. Talich’s eyes remained on the knights outside, his sharp gaze tracking every movement as he spoke. “Looks like Runner made it out just fine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Zavet gave a slight nod, still processing the unexpected turn of events. The two of them stayed crouched by the window, hidden in the shadows, as they observed Runner navigate his way back. He moved cautiously and confidently, scanning the area for any sign of his companions. He quickly waved when he finally spotted them peeking out from behind the cracked glass.
Talich and Zavet waved back, beckoning him inside. Runner quickly slipped into the building, closing the door quietly behind him. The air inside was musty, filled with the scent of old wood and dust, but it was a haven for the moment.
Runner glanced around, taking in his surroundings. The dim light filtering through the dirty windows revealed a room filled with easels, paint-splattered canvases, and sculptures in various stages of completion. “Oh, what’s this place?” Runner asked curiously, lacing his tone as he took in the cluttered yet oddly peaceful space.
Talich looked around as well, his eyes sweeping over the remnants of someone’s creative endeavors. “It’s an art studio from the looks of it,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “Doesn't seem like the kind of place looters would target.”
Runner turned to Talich, raising an eyebrow. “You think people are looting right now? In the middle of all this?”
Talich nodded and gestured toward the window. “Look out there,” he said, his voice grim. Through the smudged glass, a group of figures moved stealthily between the buildings, ducking in and out of doorways. It didn’t take long to recognize them as members of the Solond barony. Some were entering and exiting various buildings, while others stood guard, keeping a vigilant watch for any approaching threats.
“We need to stay put until they clear out,” Talich continued, his tone serious. “They might try something if they spot us, especially since we’ve got this flail.”
Zavet, ever the idealist, looked troubled by the suggestion. “That’s not right,” he said, his voice tinged with concern. “We have to stop them.”
Talich turned to face him, his expression a mix of caution and practicality. “If we do that, we can’t leave any witnesses,” he said matter-of-factly. “I can turn them undead, and we can leave them for someone else to find.”
Zavet’s curiosity piqued, and he tilted his head slightly. “Would they remember us killing them after they resurrect?”
Talich shook his head, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “No, they wouldn’t. You lose your memories from about thirty minutes before your death. There are rituals that can reduce that time to fifteen minutes, but they’re not common. And unless you’re a necromancer, you don’t retain any memories from the time you spent as an undead.”
Runner, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, turned to Talich with a surprised look. “So, you keep your memories while you’re undead?”
Talich nodded, leaning casually against an old wooden table. “Yup. You don’t lose the standard thirty minutes of memory after resurrection sickness like most do.”
Runner’s expression shifted as he recalled something from their past. “So that’s how you remembered your fight with Iscariot,” he said, piecing things together.
Talich chuckled, clearly amused by the memory. “Well, kind of,” he said with a shrug. “I’m half-zombie, you see. It’s something that happens after having a necromancy imbuement for so long. Once the magic starts to fade, your body becomes so used to the necromantic energy running through you that part of you becomes undead. It’s not exactly a common side effect, but it does happen.”
He paused, glancing at the paint-splattered walls around them. “It’s easy enough to hide with some makeup and the right clothes,” he continued as if discussing something as mundane as a daily routine. “But it does mean I have to cut off dead skin and heal myself more frequently as time goes on. The perks are worth it, though. I usually just tell people I’ve got a necromancy imbuement.”
Runner gave a slow nod, processing this new information. “So you always know if someone kills you,” he said, more as a statement than a question.
Talich’s grin widened a hint of pride in his eyes. “Exactly,” he confirmed as if this were just another advantage of his unique condition.
Meanwhile, Zavet had wandered off to the other side of the room, where several jars of paint had been left open. His hands were now smeared with vibrant colors, and his face bore streaks of blue and red. “Hey, this stuff is fun!” he exclaimed, a childlike joy evident in his voice as he painted random patterns on a nearby canvas.
Runner and Talich exchanged glances, both trying and failing to suppress their laughter. The sight of Zavet covered in paint, so wholly absorbed in his newfound artistic endeavor, was a welcome relief from the grim realities they’d been facing.
Talich finally let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Zavet, you’re one of a kind,” he said, amusement clear in his tone. “But we should probably keep an eye on those Solond looters. Once they’re gone, we can figure out our next move.”
Runner nodded, still smiling at Zavet’s antics. “Agreed,” he said, settling into a more comfortable position near the window, ready to wait out the looters and prepare for whatever came next.
They waited silently as the last of the Solond members moved out of sight, their distant figures gradually disappearing into the darkening streets. The city shrouded in the deepening twilight, seemed almost eerily quiet for a moment. Talich, Zavet, and Runner finally stepped out of the art studio, the tension in the air shifting as they prepared for their next move.
The trio made their way southwest, navigating through the city’s narrow, winding alleyways that led them just outside Krimlond’s district. They moved with purpose, clearing out any undead that crossed their path but carefully avoiding the larger clusters. The night was quickly descending upon the city, bringing with it an unsettling stillness. The faint glow of distant fires cast flickering shadows on the walls, and the echo of their footsteps seemed louder in the silence.
After a few hours of methodical clearing and cautious movement, they noticed the sky darken completely. The chill of the night air crept into their bones as they continued their journey. Talich glanced up at the moon, half-hidden behind clouds, and signaled to the others. "It’s time to head back," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "We’ve done what we can for now. The keep needs us more."
Zavet and Runner nodded in agreement, their thoughts already on the Krimlond embassy. They turned back, making their way toward the heart of the district. As they approached, they began to notice an alarming sight: a large, growing horde of undead was steadily moving toward the Krimlond district, their numbers swelling with every block they crossed.
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The streets seemed to pulse with the low, guttural moans of the undead, a harbinger of the chaos that was about to unfold. The three quickened their pace, a shared sense of urgency driving them forward. The sight of the keep’s high walls in the distance was a welcome relief, a beacon of hope in the midst of impending doom.
As they reached the gates, the golem guarding the entrance activated, lowering the magical ward that created an impenetrable physical barrier around the keep. The ward was a formidable defense, one that no amount of brute strength could breach. Only magic could hope to break through it, and that made the keep one of the safest places in the district.
The courtyard was bustling with activity as they entered. The once sparsely populated keep now teemed with life—refugees from the district mingled with Krimlond members, creating a tense, overcrowded atmosphere. The air was thick with the murmur of worried voices, the rustling of weapons, and the hurried steps of people preparing for what was to come.
Zavet, Runner, and Talich made their way to the common room, where they found Lina, the baroness of Krimlond, engrossed in her spellbook. She looked up as they approached, her brow furrowing with concern as Talich delivered the news.
“Baroness Lina, we saw a large group of undead making its way through Krimlond’s city district,” Talich reported his tone grave. “We need to prepare immediately.”
Lina’s eyes widened at the news, and she quickly closed her spellbook, her mind already racing through the preparations that needed to be made. She rose to her feet, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “Gauge, Hoat,” she called out, her voice cutting through the din. “We’ve got a large group of undead near the embassy. We need to get ready now.”
Gauge, who had been tinkering with a collection of his inventions scattered across a large table, looked up at Lina’s words. His mind, always quick to assess the situation, began to formulate a plan. “Alright,” he said, his voice calm but decisive. “Let me move all of this out of the way. We can use these tables for cover—they’re reinforced to withstand high levels of magical damage.”
He quickly began to clear the table, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. The rest of the room sprang into action as well, everyone working together to transform the common room into a makeshift fortification. The tables were flipped on their sides, creating barriers that would offer some protection against the incoming assault.
Suddenly, Flynn burst into the room, his face pale and his breathing ragged. “A very powerful undead is coming this way,” he announced, his voice trembling with urgency. “I think it’s a lord of necromancy.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the gravity of his words sinking in. A lord of necromancy was no ordinary undead; they were among the most feared entities in existence, capable of wielding necromantic magic with terrifying power. The thought of facing such a creature sent a shiver down everyone’s spine.
Flynn didn’t wait for anyone to respond. He immediately set to work, rounding up the civilians who had taken refuge in the keep. “We need to get you all out of here,” he urged, his voice firm but compassionate. “If you stay, it’s just going to be harder for us to manage. Your deaths will only add to the number of undead we have to fight.”
The civilians, though terrified, understood the logic of his words. They began to gather their belongings; their movements hurried but quiet as they prepared to leave the safety of the keep. Flynn and a few others guided them toward the safer outskirts of the district, away from the imminent battle.
Back in the common room, the tension was palpable. Lina turned to Talich, her eyes steely with determination. “We need to hold this keep, no matter what comes our way,” she said, her voice low but resolute. “If it’s a lord of necromancy, we’re going to need every ounce of strength and magic we’ve got.”
Talich nodded, his mind already racing with strategies. He knew the stakes were high, but there was no room for doubt or fear. They had faced impossible odds before, and they would do so again.
As the final preparations were made, Zavet, Runner, and Talich exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. They were ready to fight, ready to defend the keep and the people within it. The battle ahead would be fierce, but they would face it together, united by a common cause.
Outside, the night was dark and foreboding, the distant sounds of the undead growing louder with every passing moment. The stage was set for a confrontation that would test the limits of their courage and strength. And as the first echoes of the approaching horde reached their ears, they steeled themselves for the fight of their lives.
Screams pierced the night, echoing ominously through the thick stone walls of the keep. The sounds of terror and agony came from those who had tried to flee the safety of the Krimlond embassy, hoping to escape the ever-growing horde of undead now swarming the district. Their cries were cut short, leaving a chilling silence in their wake, only to be replaced by the relentless moans and shrieks of the undead.
Inside the keep, Flynn rushed into the common room, his face ashen with fear. “Baroness Lina,” he gasped, struggling to keep his voice steady, “I’m getting reports of wraiths in the area. They’re picking off anyone who tries to leave.”
Lina’s heart sank, but she quickly steeled herself, knowing that any sign of fear would only worsen the already fragile morale. She raised her voice, firm, and commanding, to address everyone huddled inside the keep. “Stay calm, everyone! No one leaves this keep. We will hold our ground here.” Her tone left no room for argument, and the room fell into a tense silence as people looked to her for guidance.
Lina moved swiftly to a corner of the room where a small, intricately carved wooden chest lay. She opened it, revealing a collection of ritual components—powdered gemstones, vials of rare herbs, and a single, ornate dagger with a darkened blade. With practiced precision, she began to prepare a ritual message, one that would reach the highest authority she could call upon: Merlot, the powerful leader of the Razlond barony and, by virtue of his marriage to the queen, a man of great influence within the kingdom.
She arranged the components in a precise circle on the floor, each item glowing faintly with latent magical energy. Lina then took the dagger and pricked her finger, allowing a single drop of blood to fall into the center of the circle. As the blood hit the floor, the components began to hum with power, their glow intensifying. Lina focused her mind, channeling her thoughts into the ritual.
“Your Majesty,” she began, her voice laced with urgency and desperation, “Krimlond embassy is in dire need of reinforcements. A large force of undead, led by a lord of necromancy, has us trapped within our keep. We cannot hold them off for long without your aid. Please, send help immediately.”
The message, imbued with her magical essence, shimmered for a moment before disappearing into the ether, carried away to its intended recipient. The room was silent as they awaited a response, the air thick with anticipation and fear. Minutes felt like hours as the tension grew, each second a reminder of the dire situation outside.
Finally, the ritual circle flared to life again, signaling the arrival of a response. Lina’s heart raced as she leaned in, her breath catching in her throat as Merlot’s voice echoed through the room, projected from the magical energies of the ritual.
“Baroness Lina,” Merlot’s voice was steady but carried a weight of grim resolve, “I regret to inform you that we are unable to meet your request for reinforcements. The lords of necromancy have launched a coordinated strike. We, too, are under siege, with a horde of undead at our doorstep, led by one of the lords. The situation is dire across the kingdom.”
Lina’s heart sank further as she listened, her worst fears being confirmed with every word.
Merlot continued, “I am sending messages to all the barons and guild masters, urging them to defend the Resurrection Halls at all costs. If we fail tonight… the kingdom will be no more.”
As the final words of the message faded into silence, Lina closed her eyes, letting the gravity of the situation wash over her. The Resurrection Halls, sacred places where the kingdom’s fallen could be brought back to life, were the last bastion of hope. If they fell, their people would have no return from death—no hope for the kingdom’s future.
She opened her eyes and looked around the room at the faces of her comrades—Talich, Zavet, Runner, Gauge, Hoat—and the many others who had sought refuge within the keep’s walls. They had all heard the message. The fear in their eyes was palpable, but there was also a flicker of determination, a refusal to give in to despair.
Lina took a deep breath, straightened her back, and addressed them again. “We may not have reinforcements, but we are not alone. We have each other, and we have the strength and magic to hold this keep. We will not let these walls fall. Not tonight.”
Her words were met with nods of agreement, some more resolute than others, but all understanding that their fate rested in their hands. The keep was their sanctuary, and they would defend it with everything they had.
Outside, the wraiths circled the keep like vultures, their ethereal forms barely visible in the shadows, while the horde of undead pressed ever closer. The darkness of the night seemed to close in around them, but within the walls of the Krimlond embassy, a spark of defiance burned brightly.
Lina flipped through the pages of her spellbook, her fingers moving quickly as she searched for anything that could tip the balance in their favor. The pages were filled with arcane symbols, incantations, and diagrams—each one a potential solution, yet none seemed sufficient for the overwhelming threat they faced. As she neared the end of the book, her eyes caught a title that made her pause: Sanctuary.
Her heart skipped a beat. This ritual could turn the tide, if only for a short while. She skimmed the details, racing her mind to absorb the complex instructions. The spell was designed to create a protective barrier around a designated area. This barrier would repel greater undead—wraiths, liches, and death knights—entities that would otherwise be impossible for them to fend off on their own.
"I found something," Lina said, her voice carrying a newfound hope. The others in the room turned to her, their expressions a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
“It’s called Sanctuary,” she continued her eyes still on the page. “This ritual creates a barrier around the keep that will last for three nights. It’s powerful enough to keep out any greater undead and will even force out those who are already inside. However,” she added, her tone growing more serious, “there’s a catch. Wards are fairly easy for a lich or other powerful necromancer to break—at least from the outside. But this ritual is different. The only way to truly destroy it is from within the protected area, by destroying the ritual catalyst.”
She looked up, meeting the eyes of her comrades. “The catalyst is a crystal, and it needs to stay on the person who casts the spell. That means I’ll need to carry it with me at all times. If I’m captured or killed, the Sanctuary spell will fail, and the undead can enter freely.”
The room was silent as everyone absorbed the gravity of her words. The responsibility of carrying the catalyst meant that Lina’s life was now directly tied to the survival of everyone within the keep. If anything happened to her, the last line of defense would crumble, leaving them at the mercy of the undead.
Lina continued, her voice steady despite the weight of what she was about to do. “The spell isn’t permanent, but it should last us until dawn. By then, the wraiths and other greater undead will be forced to retreat from the sunlight, buying us precious time to either escape or regroup. But until then, we’ll be protected—as long as the ritual remains intact.”
Gauge, who had been tinkering with his inventions, looked up, his face serious. “It’s a risk, Baroness, but it’s our best option. I’ll reinforce the doors and windows with whatever I can, but we’ll need that barrier if we’re going to survive the night.”
Hoat, who had been listening quietly, nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to stay close to you, Lina. No one can afford to be separated, especially with you carrying that crystal. We’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”
Flynn, still pale from the earlier reports of wraiths, added, “I’ll coordinate with the others to set up a defensive perimeter inside the keep. If any undead do manage to breach the outer defenses, we’ll be ready for them.”
Lina took a deep breath and gathered the components needed for the ritual. The Sanctuary spell required more than just a crystal; it needed a focus of power, something that could channel the energies necessary to create such a potent barrier. She found what she needed in the chest she had used earlier—a large, clear crystal, uncut and rough but brimming with latent magical energy.
She placed the crystal in the center of the room, arranging a circle of protective runes around it with chalk. Then, she began the incantation, her voice rising and falling in a rhythmic chant as she called upon the ancient magic embedded in the spell. The crystal started to glow with a soft, inner light, pulsing in time with her words.
The others watched in silence, holding their breath as the ritual progressed. Lina’s voice grew louder and more commanding as she reached the climax of the spell. The light from the crystal intensified, filling the room with a warm, golden glow that pushed back the shadows and filled them all with a sense of peace.
Finally, with a final, decisive word, Lina completed the ritual. The crystal’s light stabilized, forming a protective aura that spread outward, enveloping the entire keep in its protective embrace. The barrier was invisible to the naked eye, but they could all feel it—a reassuring presence that filled them with a sense of safety.
Lina picked up the crystal, now cool to the touch but still glowing faintly, and placed it in a pouch at her side. The weight was both physical and symbolic—she was now the keeper of the spell, the one thing standing between them and the horde of undead outside.
She turned to the others, her expression resolute. “The Sanctuary is in place. We’re safe for now but can’t let our guard down. We need to be ready for anything. Let’s prepare for the night ahead.”