The Fractured Kingdom

As the earthquake began to shake the foundations of Tiaghaneth, Iscariot floated above the city, surveying the chaos unfolding below. His dark cloak billowed in the wind, and his eyes glowed with the malevolent energy that had fueled his necromantic conquests. He had just arrived at the location where the undead Runner had informed him Zavet was being held—a place that, under normal circumstances, would have been an easy target for Iscariot’s power.

But these were not normal circumstances.

The ground beneath him heaved and buckled, buildings crumbled like sandcastles, and the earth roared in agony. The city was in the throes of destruction, but Iscariot focused on his quarry. Zavet. He had been so close to capturing him, to bending his will to the dark purposes of necromancy. But as the earthquake intensified, Iscariot’s plans began to unravel.

Zavet, sensing the danger, seized the moment. As the ground split open and structures collapsed around him, Zavet made his move. He had been trapped, but now the chaos of the earthquake provided him with an unexpected opportunity. Amid the upheaval, Elias, the lord of necromancy who had been holding him captive, was pinned under a massive slab of stone. The weight of the rubble immobilized Elias, and for the first time, Zavet saw a chance for freedom.

With a swift and decisive motion, Zavet drove his blade into Elias, piercing the heart of the necromancer. The lord of necromancy’s eyes widened in shock as the fatal blow was delivered. His body convulsed, and the dark energies that had sustained him flickered and dimmed. In those final moments, Elias’s grip on life was severed, and he crumbled into the dust of the ruined city.

Iscariot watched the scene unfold from above, powerless to intervene. He could only observe as one of his most powerful allies was struck down. The death of Elias was a devastating blow, but it was not the only loss Iscariot would suffer that day. The earthquake’s wrath was indiscriminate, and the earth claimed two other lords of necromancy in its wake. Their lives were snuffed out instantly, their dominion over the undead severed.

As the tremors continued to rock the city, Iscariot could feel the death of his creations rippling through his being. The undead hordes he had painstakingly raised and commanded were annihilated in the blink of an eye. The ground opened up and swallowed them, the buildings collapsed and crushed them, and the air seemed to tear apart their existence. The losses were catastrophic, and for the first time in his long reign of terror, Iscariot felt a pang of fear.

Only four lords of necromancy remained now—Emmett, the lord of Revenants; Emmerich, the lord of Death Knights; Behr, the lord of Banshees; and Merek, the lord of Liches. They were powerful, but the balance of power had shifted dramatically. The earthquake had done more damage to their forces than any battle they had ever faced.

As Iscariot hovered above the city, paralyzed by the magnitude of the destruction, a familiar voice echoed in his mind. It was the voice that had guided him through so many trials and conquests, a voice that had never led him astray. But now, there was a note of caution, even fear, in its tone.

“This is an unknown force, Iscariot,” the voice warned. “We cannot comprehend its full extent. Retreat now before it claims you as well.”

Is that panic? Iscariot thought, feeling a deep unease in the voice's message. But even he could not deny the logic. The earthquake had unleashed a power beyond his control that had already decimated his ranks and taken the lives of four lords of necromancy. To stay would be to court disaster, to risk his destruction.

Krimlond’s forces took three long, exhausting days to regroup after the earthquake, and the true test was not in rebuilding but in surviving. The warriors of Krimlond, who had always prided themselves on their strength and unity, were now pushed to their limits. Exhausted and battered, they gathered just outside the ruined city, their faces etched with weariness but also with a determination that refused to die.

Zavet, Talich, Runner, and the others had somehow escaped the disaster. Talich and Runner had fallen during the chaos; their lives snuffed out amid the turmoil. But in a remarkable display of quick thinking and leadership, Gauge took charge of the resurrection hall, clearing it first and ensuring that his fallen comrades were brought back to life a day later. The hall, usually a place of solemn ritual, became the heart of their survival—a place where hope was rekindled.

The camp outside the city was hastily assembled, a patchwork of tents and shelters, but it was more than just a physical refuge—it was a testament to their resilience. Fires burned in the center, casting flickering light on the faces of those around them. These were the survivors, men, and women who had faced the unthinkable and lived to tell the tale. They were bruised and scarred, both physically and emotionally, but there was a spark in their eyes, a fierce determination that could not be extinguished.

Conversations around the fires were low and intense. They spoke of those who had fallen, of close calls and miraculous escapes. Zavet, now among them, shared his own harrowing experience, his voice steady but filled with the weight of what he had endured. There were no grand speeches, no declarations of victory—only a quiet understanding that they had survived something extraordinary. And in that survival, they found strength.

Despite their weariness, the survivors of Krimlond were not idle. They knew that to rebuild and recover, they needed to act swiftly and decisively. Zavet, despite the exhaustion that hung over him like a shroud, took on a crucial role. With his unique ability to detect necromantic energy, he roamed the ruined city, guided by an almost preternatural sense of the dark magic that had ensnared its people.

His journey through the wreckage was both grim and urgent. The city’s ruins were a labyrinth of destruction, where every creak of debris and every shadow held the potential for new horrors. Zavet’s senses led him to those trapped beneath the rubble—citizens claimed by Iscariot’s spell and turned undead. Their bodies lay entombed in the wreckage, neither truly dead nor alive, caught in a state of unnatural stasis.

Zavet approached each of these unfortunate souls. He used his blade to end their suffering, a swift and merciful act to release them from their state of limbo. Each death was a painful reminder of the cost of the disaster, but it was also a necessary step toward restoring some semblance of normalcy. By killing these undead, Zavet ensured they could be resurrected properly, giving them a chance to return to the world of the living.

As he moved from one location to another, Zavet was driven by the knowledge that his actions were vital for the city's future. The task was grueling and emotionally taxing, but he remained focused, determined to bring back as many of the city’s people as possible. Finding, killing, and allowing the trapped citizens to resurrect was a relentless cycle, but it needed to be completed for Krimlond to heal.

Amid the devastation, Zavet’s efforts were a beacon of hope. Each rescued citizen was a testament to the survivors' resilience and commitment to reclaiming their homes. The city’s recovery began through rebuilding the physical structures and the revival of its people, who would help forge a new path from the ruins.

Flynn and Lavender stood before the imposing canvas tent, its exterior marked by the crests of Tiaghaneth and the White Orchid Knights. The scent of damp earth filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of burning wood from nearby campfires. The camp, still in the midst of recovery, was a stark reminder of the devastation that had befallen the kingdom.

As they approached, one of the White Orchid Knights, a broad-shouldered man clad in gleaming armor, stepped forward, raising a hand to halt them. "Do you have an appointment with His Majesty?" he asked, his tone firm but not unkind.

Lavender, her green eyes steady, shook her head. "No, but we’ve uncovered something critical and need to inform His Majesty immediately."

The knight studied them for a moment before nodding. "Wait here." He disappeared into the tent, leaving Flynn and Lavender in the uneasy quiet of the camp. The soft murmur of voices from within the tent was the only sound.

Moments later, the tent flap was pushed aside, and Merlot, the interim ruler of Tiaghaneth, emerged with the knight by his side. His face was drawn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion and worry. "Did you find her?" he asked, his voice edged with desperation.

Flynn stepped forward, his expression grave. "No, Your Majesty. But we found something just as pressing—two necromancers who’ve been posing as our allies."

Merlot’s expression darkened, frustration flaring in his tired eyes. "More allegations," he muttered, almost to himself, "when we should be focusing on finding our people—our Queen."

Lavender took a deep breath, her voice steady but urgent. "Your Majesty, it’s crucial that we root out these necromancers and the undead. They are a blight upon the world, and we must rid ourselves of them."

Flynn nodded, his expression resolute. "It’s Zavet and Talich, Your Majesty. Just as I suspected and warned during the last meeting."

Merlot’s gaze sharpened, turning icy as he regarded Flynn. "Flynn, didn’t you once accuse your baron and nearly all your barony of being necromancers? After that fiasco, how long did it take to restore Krimlond’s reputation in the kingdom? If you’re so eager to spy on them, perhaps you should join Erenlond and let Krimlond focus on what they do best without your interference." His words cut through the air like a blade, deliberate and unyielding.

Flynn’s face flushed with anger. "It’s illegal to be a necromancer! Are you saying they can break the law because they’re from Krimlond?"

Merlot let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "You don’t even know the laws you’re so keen to enforce. It’s illegal to consort with, create, or control undead. Being a necromancer, in itself, isn’t a crime. Just like last time, you’re stirring up trouble that will only get more people killed." He paused, his voice lowering to a cold whisper. "By the way, Flynn, did you ever find your wife and children?"

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The question hit Flynn like a physical blow, and he stammered, his anger faltering. "You lie… That’s not true… They are uhh…" His eyes darted around, the weight of Merlot’s words sinking in as he realized the truth. His accusations and suspicions had so consumed him that he had not even searched for his own family.

Lavender’s eyes widened in horror, her hands trembling as she dropped her head, overwhelmed by guilt and shame.

Merlot’s expression hardened further as he stepped forward, his knuckles white as his fists clenched at his sides. Without warning, he delivered a swift punch to Flynn’s nose. The impact sent Flynn stumbling back, crashing to the ground. Blood streamed from his nose, his eyes wide with shock.

One of the White Orchid Knights quickly placed himself between Merlot and Flynn, preventing any further retaliation from Flynn, whose face was now contorted with a mix of pain and fury.

Flynn spat blood onto the grass, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "This is why we sought out the Grove of the High Druid! He saved our kingdom with that earthquake!" His words hung in the air, the implication of his statement slowly dawning on everyone present.

Merlot’s face drained of color, his voice breaking as he spoke. "What did you just say?"

A twisted smile spread across Flynn’s face, sensing the impact of his revelation. "I said. Lavender and I are the ones to thank for the lords of necromancy retreating. We bought the kingdom time to find our people and rebuild."

Lavender’s face paled, panic flashing as she grabbed Flynn’s arm, trying to stop him. "Shut up, Flynn! That’s not what happened!"

But it was too late. Merlot’s legs gave out from under him, and he collapsed to the grass, expressing utter devastation. "You… you did this?" he whispered, his voice choked with grief. "Our city… our people… My wife… my son, and my daughter… They lost their lives because of that earthquake. They were children… their souls too young to be heroic. They won’t resurrect… My wife… we don’t know if her soul was strong enough…"

The White Orchid Knights, sensing the gravity of the situation, moved swiftly to encircle Flynn and Lavender. Their hands rested on the hilts of their swords, ready to act at a moment’s notice.

The knight who had first addressed Flynn and Lavender stepped forward, his voice cold and authoritative. "Flynn, Lavender, by order of His Majesty, you are under arrest for your actions leading to the devastation of our kingdom and the loss of countless lives. You will be taken into custody and judged for your crimes."

Flynn struggled to his feet, his face a mask of fury and defiance. "You can’t do this! We saved the kingdom! We—"

The knight silenced him with a stern look. "You’ve done enough. Take them away."

Two other knights moved in, binding Flynn and Lavender’s hands with enchanted chains that glowed faintly, ensuring they couldn’t use any magic to escape. Flynn’s protests were drowned out by the sound of clinking chains and the grim silence of the camp.

As Flynn and Lavender were led away, Merlot remained seated on the grass, his head bowed, consumed by the weight of his grief. The White Orchid Knights stood by him, their presence a silent show of support for their broken leader.

As the knights led Flynn and Lavender away, the heavy atmosphere inside the camp seemed to settle like a suffocating blanket. The silence was broken by the soft rustle of the tent flap, and Yvonne, Merlot’s only remaining child, emerged. She appeared youthful, barely more than a teenager, but the weight of responsibility had aged her beyond her years. She wore battle gear, a polished breastplate and greaves, with a sword strapped to her side, the hilt well-worn from training and use. Her silver eyes, a hallmark of her lineage, gleamed with a mix of concern and determination.

Yvonne took in the scene—the disheveled state of her father, the knights’ tense stances, and the lingering presence of the druids, now being escorted away. Her heart ached at the sight of her father, who had always been a pillar of strength, now crumbling under the weight of his grief and anger. She stepped forward, her voice soft yet steady. "Father, are you okay?"

Merlot looked up, his tear-streaked face a portrait of sorrow and despair. The sight of Yvonne, his only living child, standing before him in battle gear, was both a comfort and a reminder of everything he had lost. His composure shattered, and he broke down, his tears flowing freely. For a moment, he was not the powerful leader of Tiaghaneth but a father grieving for the children and wife he would never see again.

Yvonne knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. She said nothing, allowing her presence to offer the solace words could not.

After a long moment, Merlot’s tears began to subside. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his grief hardening into resolve. His voice, though raw, carried the authority of a king. "The druids," he began, his tone laced with the weight of his decision, "are to be watched closely. If they do anything—anything at all—we are to know about it immediately."

Yvonne listened intently, her expression solemn. She knew her father’s words carried the weight of a decree, one that would reshape the way the druids were treated within the kingdom.

"If they kill anyone without our knowledge," Merlot continued, his voice growing firmer, "they are to be treated as murderers. I don’t care if they witness a necromancer raising the dead or anything of that nature. They must report their findings to one of our knights. Only then will an investigation be conducted. The druids are not to be trusted."

Yvonne’s eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked her surprise. She understood the gravity of her father’s words—this was not a mere suggestion but a command that would alter the delicate balance between the kingdom’s forces and the druids.

"Do you understand, Yvonne?" Merlot asked, his gaze locking onto hers. He needed to know that his daughter, his heir, comprehended the importance of this directive.

Yvonne nodded solemnly. "Yes, Father. I will ensure that the knights carry out your orders."

Merlot’s expression softened slightly as he looked at his only remaining family, Yvonne. "We cannot afford any more losses," he whispered, his voice heavy with the pain of recent events. "The kingdom is on the brink… We must control what we can."

Yvonne tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, feeling the weight of her father’s expectations settling on her shoulders. "I will do everything I can to protect the kingdom, Father. You have my word."

Merlot gave a slow nod, the faintest hint of a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "I know you will, Yvonne. You are your mother’s daughter—strong and unwavering."

Yvonne stood, helping her father to his feet, her arm gently supporting his weary frame. As they began to walk back toward the tent, she glanced back at Flynn and Lavender, their figures slowly disappearing into the distance. The druids, once revered for their wisdom and connection to nature, had now become symbols of disruption and distrust.

Merlot’s voice, though soft, carried a weight of authority that pierced through his grief. “The druids have upended our lives once again,” he murmured, his tone tinged with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. He turned to Yvonne, his gaze steady but tired. “It’s time for you to start learning what it means to be queen, Yvonne. I want you to go and have a talk with the High Druid at the grove. They need to understand the consequences of their actions.”

Yvonne nodded, though her heart sank at the thought. She had always found the druids exasperating, with their aloof demeanor and their tendency to prioritize nature over the kingdom’s immediate needs. Yet, she understood the importance of maintaining a dialogue, even with those she found difficult. “I’ll go, Father,” she replied, her voice steady. “But after I speak to the High Druid, we need time to mourn. We’ve lost so much… it’s overwhelming.”

Merlot nodded in agreement. “Your mother’s side of the family has a beautiful ancestral home, secluded and known only to our inner circle. It’s where your grandparents live. We’ll go there after your visit to the grove. It will give us some peace, a chance to remember and grieve properly.”

Yvonne felt a wave of relief at the thought of retreating to the ancestral home, a place untouched by the recent turmoil. The idea of being surrounded by family, in a haven far from the chaos of the kingdom, was a comforting one. “Thank you, Father,” she said softly, as she gently escorted him toward the tent. “I’ll speak to the druids, though I must admit… I’m not looking forward to it. They always act as if they’re above the kingdom’s laws, as if their connection to the land makes them more important than the rest of us.”

Merlot managed a weak smile at his daughter’s candidness. “I know, Yvonne. But that’s exactly why you need to go. We need to remind them of their place, that they’re part of this kingdom, not above it. While you’re there, ask them to supply wood and iron to help rebuild what they destroyed. It’s the least they can do.”

As they reached the tent, the flap opened, revealing Elandor Silverleaf, the kingdom’s archmage. The elf’s presence was calming, his aura one of ancient wisdom and quiet strength. He was seated at the table, his piercing silver eyes taking in the sight of the two as they entered.

“Your Majesties,” Elandor greeted them with a respectful nod. His voice was smooth, carrying the melodic cadence of his kind. “I have been keeping tabs on the one known as Zavet. You will be glad to know that he is not truly a necromancer in the traditional sense. The transformation that made him a lizard man was due to residual raw magic from the Moon of Necromancy. He didn’t seek out necromantic power; it’s simply part of his nature now. But despite this, he is a good-hearted soul. And, I must add, quite young—perhaps no more than three years old.”

Yvonne guided her father to a chair, helping him sit down before turning her attention to the archmage. A genuine smile lit up her face at the mention of Zavet. “Hello, Master Silverleaf,” she said warmly. “I’m glad to hear that Zavet is good. He made me laugh during the tournament. There’s something endearing about him, despite everything.”

Merlot, however, did not immediately respond. He sat with his head bowed, his mind still burdened by the weight of his losses. Elandor noticed this, and a frown creased his ageless face. He hesitated for a moment, then pressed on, determined to lift the spirits of his king.

“I have more good news,” Elandor continued, his tone gentle but firm. “From what I’ve gathered, Zavet has an unusual gift—he can smell the undead. The rumors say he has found more survivors than all of our search parties combined.”

Merlot’s head slowly lifted at this revelation, his eyes focusing on the archmage. The news seemed to spark a small but significant shift in his demeanor. “Where is he now?” Merlot asked, his voice more alert than it had been since they’d entered the tent. “I’d like to join him, to help in the search. I need to do something—anything—besides sitting here and crying. I need to contribute.”

Elandor nodded, sensing the importance of this request. “He’s currently near the outskirts of the city, continuing the search for any survivors. I can have one of the knights take you to him.”

Yvonne watched her father closely, her heart aching for him. She understood that he needed this—needed to focus on a task, to find a way to channel his grief into something productive. “I’ll stay here and ensure the kingdom runs smoothly while you’re away,” she said softly. “And I’ll handle the druids. Go, Father. Do what you need to do.”

Merlot looked at his daughter, his eyes filled with a complex mixture of love, pain, and gratitude. He reached out, placing a hand on her cheek. “Thank you, Yvonne,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “You’ve grown into someone your mother would be so proud of.”

Yvonne placed her hand over his, squeezing it gently. “We’ll get through this, Father. Together.”

With a final nod, Merlot stood, his resolve firming as he prepared to join Zavet in the search for survivors. Elandor summoned a knight to escort him, and as they left the tent, Yvonne turned back to the table, her mind already racing with the tasks that lay ahead. She sat down at the table next to elandor. “Can you take me to the druids and can you be my adviser? I most Definitely will need one.” Elandor nods and puts his hand gently over hers. “of course. We will even bring a unit of knights.” He said gently