Anastacia stared at the hefty pile of fresh fruit she had suddenly received from the dozen or so spriggans, who had finally mustered the courage to come and meet her. Around half of the pile consisted of things like apples, pears and grapes, which the necromancer was familiar with, as well as various citrus fruits she thought were just different colored lemons based on the similar look and feel of their skin. The other half was made up of all sorts of strange fruits that rarely made it to Valor from across the world and which she had never seen nor was even sure were edible. She picked up a curious curved and elongated yellowish green one she found particularly suspicious and wondered if and how one would go about eating it while inspecting her new crowd.
The medley of crude, wooden human-like shapes that had gathered around the rock eagerly waited to see if their gifts were to the necromancer’s liking. Each of the spriggans had very clearly put in exactly the minimal amount of effort required for them to look like a person at a glance in a shady forest and not an ounce more. This resulted in some rather frightening renditions of the usual features mortals had. The number of fingers was wildly inconsistent, mouths were often entirely forgotten, an extra pair of arms here and there, feet were usually simply the ones they had in their usual forms, antlers and tails were common as well, but those were common among beastfolk as well, so it was hard to tell if the spirits had copied them or were just being lazy. Though this was all very interesting to Anastacia, Xamiliere wasn’t particularly happy that their moment of peace had been interrupted, nor was she at all comfortable being in the company of other spriggans in any case. Choosing to let the necromancer have her fun without souring the mood, she retreated from the rock to watch over the situation from atop one of the massive roots around it.
“Greetings, everyone.” Anastacia said in an official manner, still pretending to be a Mournvalleyan royal. “I thank all of you for the gifts you’ve brought. We didn’t bring much with us, so it is truly a great help for my stay here. Now then, is there something specific you wanted from me?”
While the other spriggans glanced at each other, trying to find out who should speak up, the one Anastacia recognized as the spirit she had spoken with in the forest stood forth. “Why is your pack still so small? You challenged Baccata of all things, and still the only ones in your circle are that weirdo Sorbus and… the other one. Surely you would want to show your authority by having more capable spirits around you?”
Anastacia didn’t really understand much of the loose hierarchy of the grove beyond just the age-old ‘might makes right’ they seemed to adhere to. If there were separate groups among the spirits, they were impossible to spot, as most of them simply seemed to be going about their own business – assuming they weren’t keeping an eye on her. “I’m not versed in how things work here, but I do not have a pack nor do I plan on forming one. Sorbus and Xamiliere are simply my friends and I do not think myself above them, and as a ruler I do not measure myself by the might of those in my service.” She gave an honest answer. “If someone wishes to question my authority, they’re quite free to come directly to me and see if I lack it.”
The spriggan seemed almost disappointed by the answer. “Oh… We would never question it, not after what you’ve already proved. It’s just that… Don’t you think you could do better than this?” They said. The word of Anastacia not taking it too well when her friends were spoken ill of must have spread, since the spirit didn’t specify what exactly they meant, but the quick glance towards Xamiliere made it clear enough.
The necromancer let out a haughty chuckle. “Do better how, exactly? There seems to be a misconception of why I am here in the first place. I didn’t come here to meet anyone, not to reaffirm any ancient pacts, get on anyone’s good side or to gain prestige among you. The sole reason I am here, is to make sure my friend receives the help she needs, and so far, there hasn’t been anything worth more than that here. So no, I highly doubt I could be doing better.” She had by now figured out that this would be the first thing that needed to be settled with every spriggan and was willing to give them a pass as long as that was the end of it.
Taken aback by being so directly told that everything their ancient grove offered, was at best a secondary attraction to the first mortal who had visited it in ages, the spirit fell quiet while the others around them had a wide range of reactions to the claim. Some didn’t particularly seem to care, while others appeared visibly insulted by the very idea that someone would value an exiled spriggan above their home.
One of the smaller spriggans of the group, barely taller than Anastacia and with a number of bird-like features addressed the others cheerily. “Don’t you see? All this means is that we have to become friends with her.”
“Pray tell, dear twig, how do we do that? None of us has spoken to a mortal in forever and the only reason we even stand each other is because we got tired of fighting after like two thousand years!” One of the more competently human-shaped spirits scoffed at the suggestion. “People don’t exactly share our interests, do they?”
“Surely we can come up with something. What do mortals like? Living in houses is a big one, I think? Clothes! She has some of those! Bet that’s a thing they talk about.” Another spirit joined the conversation from atop a root.
“Clothes sounds like a solid idea, what else do we have to go with?” The bird-like spriggan excitedly tried to collect topics. “What’s the most mortal thing you can think of?”
“Dying.” One of them pointed out.
The bird-like one paused to think for a moment. “Defining trait, I’ll give you that, but probably not something they chat about.”
“But she is a necromancer, shouldn’t that kind of be her thing?” One of the others pointed out. “Spitting in the face of gods by making use of death itself, probably like bones and stuff – necromancer things.”
As they weren’t able to come to a conclusion about whether or not death was a good topic to talk about when trying to become friends with a necromancer, they eventually turned to Anastacia to get an answer. She obviously shook her head to urge them to come up with something a bit better, but commended the effort nonetheless. Workshopping their ideas for a while longer, they eventually landed on a few topics and started to argue about who should be the one to try and befriend the necromancer first. This also took its fair share of time as all of the spirits were eager to be the one to represent them. Anastacia would have told them that they were overthinking the matter, but was far too fascinated by the roundabout way the spirits decided to go about their plan.
Eventually, through no measure comprehensible by mortals, a larger spriggan with cloven hooves for feet and a pair of thick, curved horns on the sides of their head was chosen as the most suitable one to make the first attempt. “Observe.” They self-assuredly stated and marched up to the necromancer waiting on the edge of the rock.
“Yes?” Anastacia innocently asked, waiting to see what the group had come up with.
The spriggan awkwardly stood still for a moment, pondering if they should be kneeling before the necromancer, she was both some kind of a mortal royalty after all, and above them in the pecking order now that she had dealt with spriggans much stronger than anyone in the group. “Greetings, necromancer. I have come to befriend you.” They said in an extremely unnatural manner.
“Okay… That’s usually not something you declare upfront, but sure, you have my attention.” The necromancer said, struggling to keep a straight face already. “What might be your name?”
“Salix, my name is Salix.” The spriggan said, almost amazed that the necromancer would care about their name.
“I see, I see.” Anastacia nodded. “And I believe you all came up with a topic we could discuss? If you still somehow landed on death, I’ll give you a moment to reconsider.”
Salix glanced back at the other spriggans for support before finally bringing up the topic they had chosen. “We were wondering what your favorite time of the day is?”
The necromancer couldn’t help but to be a bit surprised by the fairly sensible question. “That’s an interesting question, not really something most would ask out of the blue, but not bad either.” She said as the spirits congratulated themselves for not messing up. “Mornings are obviously the worst part – if you like waking up, there’s something wrong with you. Noon and afternoon are fairly good, but oftentimes go by while you’re doing something boring that you have to get done. Now, evenings though, big fan. Time for great food and fun, definitely a contender. Nights… Hmm… Nights are probably my favorite in the end. You can sleep, which is great, but nights are also prime time for shenanigans. There’s also something to say for just being outside at night. Sitting around a campfire, atop a city wall just watching over the whole thing, walking in the woods… It’s all very different at night.”
The spriggans weren’t entirely sure what they had expected, but such thorough answer silenced them for the moment.
“How about yours?” Anastacia asked, curious if there was a reason why this was the topic they had landed on.
“Mine?” Salix asked confusedly. “I’m not sure. Most of my lands thrive in light, so I guess noon is pretty good. That sort of thing doesn’t really mean much here, we just asked because you mortals value time so greatly.”
“With such a limited amount of, we kind of have to, don’t we?” The necromancer chuckled now that the conversation made more sense. Obviously, time would be the topic brought up by immortal beings when they first conversed with a mortal. As she waited for the spriggans to settle, she happened to look over to Xamiliere, who was visibly uncomfortable even after the conversation had moved on from her. Seeing her friend reminded Anastacia of the agreement to go and see Ulmus. “Ah…”
Seeing the necromancer get up from the rock made the spriggans worried. “Where are you going?” Salix asked and stepped closer.
“I’m sorry, it’s rude of me to interrupt this so soon, but I have a prior engagement with Xamiliere and Ulmus which I should really get to. We can continue talking once I return, so you all can come up with something to talk about while I’m gone.” Anastacia reassured the spirits and stretched her back. Suddenly she felt a tight grasp around her arm.
“But we don’t want you to go.” Salix stated and clenched their fingers around the necromancer’s arm before realizing what they were doing, or rather, who they were doing it to and hurriedly letting go.
“I’ll be back, you don’t have to be so worried.” Anastacia said, slightly weirded out by the almost panicked reaction she had caused but hiding it with a smile.
The spriggan retreated closer to their group and almost seemed to shrink in size. “Are we at least friends now?” They asked.
Anastacia shrugged. “Perhaps not quite yet, but you’ve done well so far.” She said, which was enough to cause the whole group to celebrate and gave her the chance to slip a bit further away and behind some roots in the direction Ulmus had resided in when they first met.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Xamiliere, who had been keeping an eye on the situation since she wasn’t about to trust any of the other spirits, hopped down from her perch and joined Anastacia after making sure they weren’t being followed by the group. “Everything alright?” She asked, seeing the necromancer absentmindedly rub the arm that had been grabbed.
“Hm? Oh! Yeah.” Anastacia nodded after realizing what she was doing. “They just didn’t have the smoothest of barks.”
Xamiliere inspected the spot that was mostly just reddish from being rubbed. “You’re being too kind to them.” She stated rather coldly.
“I’m just being normal.” Said the necromancer. “And I get the feeling I’m the first one here to do that for them.”
“You might be.” Xamiliere sighed as they continued heading towards Ulmus’ nook of the grove. “They’re among the slightest of the spirits, only a step above the wisps of magic that occupy normal trees at times, just enough to gain consciousness. Being weak doesn’t exactly bode well for you here, so safety in numbers is what they usually go for – or latch on to someone stronger.”
“So they’re trying to latch onto me then?” Asked Anastacia, now understanding the way the spirits acted a bit better.
“Probably, they can see your soul and flock to it like moths, that’s why I said you’re being too nice to them. The more dependent on you they get, the harder it’ll hit them when we leave.” The spriggan explained, fully expecting her warnings to go entirely unheeded. “They don’t need rescuing either. They’re a part of the grove just the same as everyone else and take care of more arid places within their capabilities, and they are still very much spriggans, so you need to be careful around them too.”
Anastacia certainly wasn’t impressed with the more powerful spirits in the grove, most of whom seemed to be assholes at best, so she was curious to see what the lesser ones were really like. It wouldn’t have been the first time she found a place among the ones others paid no attention to. As far as she could tell, they seemed harmless anyway, and if there was some sense of safety she could briefly bestow on them, it wouldn’t take much for her to agree to it.
As per usual, Ulmus was resting atop their rock when they arrived to the nook between roots. They welcomed the pair with the usual exhausted glare which must have been a result of thousands of years of others only really coming to them when there was a problem. The moss had already started to settle around their large wooden body despite it only having been less than a day since Ulmus had last moved. Though they seemed less than ecstatic at first, seeing the necromancer caused the energy within them to visibly churn more brightly and the aged branches of their body to crack and rustle as their body refined their shape to be more presentable.
“Have you come for our chat, necromancer?” The elk asked, ignoring Xamiliere.
Anastacia once more took a more commanding pose by the rock and spoke in a more regal manner. “I have indeed, though with a demand first: my friend’s problem is to be addressed first.”
“Yeah, sure, let’s get this over and done with.” Ulmus immediately folded, no doubt knowing that there was no way around it and the faster they agreed the faster they could get to the part of the interaction they cared about. “The divine curse still lingers in you, hous- Xamiliere?” They asked, having to pause for a moment to remember what Xamiliere’s name was.
“It does. Not really even showing signs of relenting as far as I can tell.” Xamiliere explained, about as happy to have the conversation as Ulmus was, but knowing it needed to be had all the same.
Not surprised but without an answer ready, Ulmus pondered the case for a bit without saying anything as the spriggans annoyedly stared at each other. “It is certainly not your typical curse then, either we’ve underestimated the heft of this god or it was made hard to remove on purpose – possibly both. The deities tend to think their actions as absolute anyway, so it is already weird for one to specifically make sure it couldn’t be removed with arcane means, and much stranger that it even resists the primordial ways of the grove as well… Are you certain there is no other purpose to it than your weightlessness?”
“I’ve lived with it for months, I’d know if it did anything else, trust me.” Xamiliere claimed, frustrated that the work she had put into removing the curse was being questioned when it had consumed much of her recent life.
“Well, worry not, the methods we possess predate the meager powers used to twist your being, and we have yet to even begin going through them in earnest.” The elk proudly proclaimed, their distaste for gods far outweighing the one for Xamiliere. “Taking into account that most of us want you gone as soon as possible, and that you want to be gone as soon as possible, I would at least consider grafting yourself back into the grove. Otherwise, you’re going to be here for years at the very least.”
The energy inside Xamiliere wavered. “Is there really no other way?”
Ulmus tilted their head. “Plenty of ways, none that you’d like and even less you’d take. I don’t see you wanting to stay here, much less apart from the necromancer for the time it would take to fully recover your spirit through less intrusive means.”
“What’s this grafting you mentioned?” Anastacia poked her nose into the conversation.
“It is to temporarily let go of yourself and join back into the grove itself, from which we first sprouted. Since we were separated from its great spirit for a reason, it won’t allow for us to stay there for more than a moment, but in that moment all that is wrong with you is scorched away by the sheer might within the grove and you are returned to what the balance meant you to be. Pesky curses by the divine stand no chance of surviving its scrutiny. It is quick, it is foolproof and it is your best option.” Ulmus explained the process in a way which was still very much a simplification of a process that involved meddling with powers that had existed from the beginning of time and were understood by none.
“If it’s fast and foolproof, why didn’t we just start with it?” The necromancer puzzled, though she saw that her friend wasn’t having an easy time with the decision, so there must have been a good reason.
“I could venture a guess.” Ulmus said, sounding almost delighted by the trouble it gave to Xamiliere. “The process itself is safe, but depending on the whims of things we are never meant to understand, it may come at a cost from memories that cause one to detract from the will of the balance. This is not common however and not enough to alter one’s personality, but what worries your friend is what exactly would it mean to be returned to a state balance meant for them. The greater spirit could well deem that these… peculiarities Xamiliere has are onset by an outside force, and remove them from their being – if this is not who they truly are.”
Anastacia frowned. “What a pointless thing to worry about! Obviously this is who she is.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. Mortal souls are malleable and made to change over time, to a point where it would be strange for someone to remain the same for even a few years – but this is not the case for us. Each of us was made with a purpose and with a spirit fit for that purpose, nothing more, nothing less.” Ulmus continued. “I am not in a position to claim this is not what Xamiliere was always meant to be, or that it is entirely impossible for us to change while still staying true to our purpose. I would even consider it more likely that, despite everything, they are still on the path set out for them – but all I can offer you there is my theories on things no one will ever understand. So… have you decided, Xamiliere? Should you go through with it, I will gladly aid you to feed my own curiosity.”
Xamiliere stared at the ground before her and agonized over her options. “I… I don’t know. I need to think about it, okay?”
With the first hint of compassion in their voice, Ulmus spoke softly. “Gather your thoughts freely, time is not of essence.”
Xamiliere slowly sat down by the rock as the green light within her faded even further. When Anastacia reached out to her in the hopes of offering some comfort, the spriggan gave her a pained smile. “I’m fine, really. Go ahead and have your talk, I’m not going anywhere – I just need to think this through.”
Recognizing that if she needed to say anything, Xamiliere would ask for her input, Anastacia remained silent. She sat down by her friend and leaned against her shoulder in a position where she could just barely see Ulmus’ face over the edge of the rock. Squeezing Xamiliere’s hand even though it didn’t squeeze hers back, she organized her thoughts about the matter of the crowns she had been told to ask Ulmus about.
“While talking with Acacia about this violet sect problem we’re dealing with, it started to look like we might need to get our hands on a crown that could be used to coronate a white necromancer. They suggested that you might know what happened to them. I’ve certainly never heard them being in Mournvalley’s possession.” She finally asked, uncomfortably peering over the edge of the rock.
The elk spent a while recalling ancient memories they hadn’t needed to even think about for thousands of years, much less to recite them in an useful way or gather relevant parts of them. Yet, as suggested, they were the one to ask such things from. “Hrm… Yes, the crowns of Mournvalley, of the finest muse-make and utterly cursed. I recall what little part they had in your history.”
“Great! How do I get one?” The necromancer asked, hoping it was as easy as crawling into some old dungeon to fetch it.
“The Crown of Ivory, never worn, broken by Sir Alabaster after learning of their cursed nature and the death of the other white one. What remained of it is surely dust by now.” Ulmus recalled. “The other one, Crown of Alabaster, made for the king himself… After serving its purpose in forever cursing the souls of the two white ones, he kept wearing it during the wars that followed, in which he brought down and defeated many of the deities who had taken part in the scheme – maybe so that they would know that it was they themselves who caused their fall. Afterwards, I believe I heard a tale of him willingly passing it in to the care of a renegade deity after being promised that it would be used to once more bring together the souls of the two white ones when time warranted such a drastic act.”
“So you’re saying one of them is gone and the other one is literally not in this plane of existence? Any chance you happen to know which temple I need to go and convince a literal god to give it over?” Anastacia groaned over the increasingly unlikely success of this particular plan for fighting the sect.
“Unfortunately, I do not. Receiving news from Mournvalley after the death of Sir Alabaster wasn’t exactly common. I can’t even promise anyone besides he himself knows.” The elk shook their head and smirked at the slowly cracking noble guise of the necromancer.
“Okay. So fuck this plan then, I guess!” Anastacia exclaimed.
“I wouldn’t throw it out so easily.” Ulmus almost laughed. “Sir Alabaster may have broken the crown meant for his beloved, but things of muse-make are not that easily destroyed. For you see, though they usually force mortal masters to create their crafts, things made by the beasts themselves are woven into the threads of fate and, to a degree, doomed to exist forever. Recreating a suitable frame for it will usher the item itself back into this world, though it might still prove challenging. There might not be many of the beasts left in the world and one needs to be involved in its creation. I know you’ve survived a meeting with one before, but convincing them to-“
“Yeah, okay, I can do that.” Anastacia said nonchalantly. She figured she had at least a decent chance to get Armaata take up such a challenge if she worded the request carefully. At the very least it seemed like a better plan than going through a list of gods and trying to find the other crown.
Ulmus was baffled by the confidence the necromancer had for something that seemed unthinkable even to someone like a reasonably powerful spriggan. “Excuse me?” They asked and leaned a bit closer.
“We have one of those back home. We kind of let her have a dwarf so now she lives across the street from me. She’s actually working on something for a friend of mine at the moment, but once that’s done, it should be easy enough to have her work on a crown.” Anastacia explained the situation in Valor.
Seeking signs of lying or false confidence from the necromancer, but failing to find any, Ulmus let out a nervous chuckle. “Every time with these necromancers… I swear…” They muttered to themselves and contemplated the absolute nightmare that was the idea of having a muse willingly work with a necromancer of all things.
Meanwhile Anastacia had realized something she didn’t like the sound of. “Wait, you said the crowns are cursed. How cursed exactly?”
“The Crown of Alabaster cursed his soul so that anyone with it would lose all that meant anything to them in this world, and indirectly caused the death of the other white one to make him the only one left. Of the other one, no one knows, since it was never worn. Spells cast by a muse are no lesser to fate itself, so the souls continue to carry Alabaster’s curse to this day. I would also expect them to protest being worn by anyone but their rightful owners.” Ulmus theorized after forcing themselves to get over the whole muse matter they had learned about. “You, though mostly the inheritor of Ivory’s soul, do have some shards of Sir Alabaster burning within you, so I doubt either of the crowns would mind being seated on your locks.”
Processing what she had learned took a moment for Anastacia, but when it was done, she came to a rather daunting conclusion. “So what you’re saying is that I died because some asshole out there has Alabaster’s cursed soul in them?”
“I can not state it as a fact, but that is the part you’ve been given in this grand play of ours – the ramifications of you not staying dead are beyond my scope though, but no doubt someone’s plans are ruined for it.” The elk nodded and clearly found some level of glee out of the idea. “But that is not the part I would worry about. If I were you, I would be much more concerned about the fact that somewhere out there is your other half, and I can almost guarantee you that they are not having a good time, if the fates have decided that it is time for Alabaster’s curse to play out once more.”