Companion Slain: Valmier Viceria (Lv. 16)
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Victoria looked at the notification again, desperately wishing it wasn’t true. She’d promised herself after Bartrand died that she’d close off her heart. After all, no one in this accursed world besides him could be worth her tears. But she slumped into a chair, her vision growing blurry.
Val had been there since the beginning. When she woke naked in a crypt, she’d thought that portal had sent her to hell. But the undead there welcomed her. They even taught her how to use her special gifts. And Val was the first of them to pledge his loyalty. How long ago was that now? Two years, maybe three?
“Time flies when you’re being tortured.” She touched the long scar on her arm, the one that wouldn’t heal no matter what she tried.
The undead had warned her not to use her gifts around other humans. But she didn’t listen. Got them and Bartrand killed. Val was one of the few who made it out, and he was the one who rescued her from the Justicar’s dungeons. And when she declared her war on the living, he agreed to help her without hesitation.
She reached her right hand toward the candlelight and inspected her rotting fingers. Her transformation into a Lich would be complete in only two months. Yet Val wouldn’t be there to see it.
“Mistress.” Lora’s skeletal form appeared in the arched doorway, her body illuminated by the chandelier hanging above.
“Have you news?” Victoria almost hoped Lora wouldn’t say anything. She was tired of news at this point, for it was never good.
“The Lich Cultists have refused to abandon their camp. They are in fact fortifying the position.”
“Damned leeches,” Victoria slumped further in her chair. “This is why I told Val we shouldn’t deal with them.” She shook her head. “But with my numbers dwindling, I may need their help. Have they sent word?”
“Not yet. Though I believe they still do not know about the fort.”
Victoria had sent a few undead Wargs to check the fort the previous night. By touching the undead she could sift through their fragmented memories. These only included images when touching such primitive creatures, but she saw enough to know the fort had truly fallen. Part of her “alliance” with the Lich Cult included the delivery of corpses for raising. These were to be high quality, the kind she could raise a Death Knight or Revenant with. But she saw the burned coffin and dead cultists. Most likely none had survived.
“And Oliver? Has he cleared up the issue in the swamp?” Oliver was now her last remaining companion. The problem was, she couldn’t trust him. His unique skills were useful, and he was handy in a fight. But both his refusal to become undead and his general lack of drive were enough for Victoria to send him away. Now she had no one else to rely on.
“He sends word that a tribe of goblins has declared war on you.”
“Goblins?” Victoria turned, Lora’s skeletal face showing no hint of emotion. “How many do they number?”
“The message did not say. But it did say they are a minor threat.”
“Did it say why they decided now of all times to fight me?”
“The Nether Gate in the ruins sits atop one of their holy sites,” Lora said, the blue fire in her empty eye sockets flashing. “It seems it is a place of pilgrimage for them. The note suggested it is a location the tribe visits to make offerings before the coming of winter.”
Victoria groaned. “Of course it is.” She waved Lora away. “Send a message to Oliver that I need them wiped out by this time tomorrow night. He’s to return here once he’s completed his task.”
“Very well.” Lora bowed and then rattled her way down the hall.
Victoria brought her quest menu up and inspected her latest objective.
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Quest: Preemptive Deicide
Objective: Kill Darian Carmine
Bonus Objective: Kill Fria Von Rostcliff
* Reward: Triumph unlocked – [Slayer of Aspirants]
* Bonus Reward: +1 [Divine Essence]
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Was it this Darian and Fria who killed Valmier? The odds were likely. But who is he?
She strode from her bedchamber and down the winding staircase that led into the center of the crypt. The place was half buried when she arrived, but her minions had done excellent work restoring the crumbled halls. She’d doubted the crypt was real when she first set foot in the forest, but the information she’d been given turned out to be true. Yet nothing has gone well since I arrived. She turned down a curved hall, the wine room not far.
Her hand reached up and touched the gem imbedded in her chest. It pulsed with necromantic power, voices whispering at the edge of her hearing. When Oliver stole the gem from The Society, she’d thought he made away with nothing but a pretty rock. But the gem augmented her powers, giving her further dominion over the dead. Yet for all her time with it, she still couldn’t fully harness its power.
But that will soon change. She pushed on the double doors, the smell of aged wine touching her rotting nose. She took a moment to savor the scent, to feel the damp press of stale air on her skin, the flicker of dim light against her eyelids. In a few months, she would be nothing but bones, these sensations foreign to her. But shedding her mortal form would make her stronger, and little else mattered to her now.
“Master,” Nalmar said with a bow. The skeleton stood amidst the barrels of wine, his body wrapped in a purple robe. “What brings the Lady of Graves here at this late hour?”
“What do you think?” Victoria settled onto a stool that sat in the corner, a small oak table beside it.
“And which vintage does my lady require?” Nalmar asked, walking to a nearby cupboard.
“Just give me the oldest we have.” Victoria put her elbows on the table and sighed. “Honestly, just give me anything strong.”
Nalmar grunted something and then set to work. Victoria watched him as he retrieved a silver goblet and then went to the rows of bottled wine at the far end of the room. He was one of the few who survived the Justicar’s attack on her old home. When Valmier rescued her from the Justicar’s dungeons, Nalmar was the first to embrace her. She still remembered how he fought to protect her from the flames that night. Yet so many more met their final end, and the thought of it happening all over again sent a cold jolt through her chest.
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“Do you think we can win?” She asked the question absently, her mind wandering.
“Against who?” The goblet clinked as Nalmar poured.
“The Justicars,” Victoria answered. “They may be distracted for now, but they’ll be forced to respond once I march past the mountains. What happens to us then?” She slumped forward, feeling rather tired of the whole thing.
“War will be ugly,” he said, his bony feet crunching against the stone floor. “And we may not win.” He sat the goblet on the table, the wine within dark and inviting.
Victoria sat up and pressed her lips to the rim. “What if we built our defenses here? We could make a home of this place.”
“But the followers of Argus know we are here. They will never allow us to rest.” Nalmar stepped away and crossed his arms behind his back. “Either they are killed, or we are.”
“I know.” She let the wine fill her mouth, the taste dulled by her decomposing tongue. Then she swallowed and turned off her poison resistance. “It was just a foolish idea.”
She thought about home again. Her real home, back in the old world, a world that seemed more like a dream with each passing day. She’d been enjoying the end of the fall semester when a portal appeared and dragged her inside. Things after that were blurry, but she remembered a voice asking her questions and the feeling of her body changing, shaping into something new. Then she woke up in the crypt, Valmier and his family of undead providing what shelter they could.
Thinking about the Valmier of the past sent a guilty tug to her heart. He was rightly fearful of the living then, but the Justicars turned that fear into hatred. She always wanted to know if he blamed her for what happened, but now she would never get the chance to ask.
“Mistress.” Lora was at the door, her head bowed.
“More news?” Victoria took another drink.
“The Cleric’s body is ready for you.”
She sat the cup down and stood. “Finally.” She took one last drink, then handed the goblet to Nalmar. “Thank you for the wine.”
“It’s a pleasure to serve you,” he said with a bow. “But please mind the steps on the way down.”
Victoria thought about reactivating her poison resistance, but she held off, enjoying the warmth spreading inside her. She instead gave Nalmar an overconfident nod and then followed Lora down the hall. They passed several rooms as they went, the chambers mostly empty. Besides Victoria, no other living creature inhabited the crypt. The upper levels they walked through belonged to some wealthy family in ages past, one that seemed to dig out these rooms to practice their necromancy in secret. Judging by the fire damage visible on the old structures above, someone eventually found them out.
Always fire. She giggled to herself, the idea somehow humorous.
“Are you well, my lady?” Lora asked as she unlocked a door leading below.
“I’m splendid.” She wasn’t sure if that was a lie anymore. Just days ago, she’d been sitting in the crypt bored out of her rotting skull. But then Adenion died and despite herself, she felt a rush of excitement. Now that reaction seemed foolish, and she wondered if some part of her sanity had already withered. She found herself taken to flights of vengeful rage one moment, then melancholy the next. But in the present moment, she settled on something close to numbness.
The chamber was small and rectangular, with a raised dais at its center. Atop the dais was a thick table, the corpse of a dead Justicar laid across it. Her body was covered by a cloth, but Victoria knew arcane runes were carved into her flesh.
“Master,” Pasitus said as Lora and Victoria entered. “She is ready.”
Victoria looked down at the woman’s corpse, her lip curling in disgust.
“Her clerical powers shielded the body at first, but all things wither with time,” Pasitus said, a small blade in his hand gleaming in the candlelight.
Victoria touched the woman’s face and activated her divine skill [Grave Lord]. Information flooded her mind, the woman’s class levels, race, age, and even her last memories. These she already knew from touching the body the day it was delivered, but now she checked her chances of success.
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Chance of successful raising: 47%
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Pasitus’ work the last few days had nearly doubled her chance of success. But it’s still a gamble. She looked over the body again, wishing one of the other Justicars was on her table. But the surviving paladin from the group had burned the other two bodies, leaving her with this torn mess. Gershank wasn’t gentle with you, was he?
“Is there nothing more we can do to increase my odds?” Victoria asked.
“Nothing that can be done quickly,” Pasitus answered, laying his knife on a nearby table. “Waiting for the body to further decompose could work, but her holy powers will make that take considerable time.”
The woman had been dead long enough for decomposition to start, but the corpse was still nearly fresh. Damned clerics. She thought about using the body to fashion a Bone or Death Knight, but she had several of them already. Though an undead cleric’s healing powers would be harmful to the undead, she could give her to Oliver. He stubbornly retained his flesh and so the woman would make a fine servant for him.
“I’m going for it,” Victoria said, pressing her palm against the woman’s face.
She channeled the negative energy stored in the gem, her divine skill absorbing it and filling the Justicar’s body. Without the gem, raising a perfect undead would be impossible at Victoria’s level, but with it strengthening her, she had a chance. She willed her power to bring the corpse into unlife. Now she would either be presented with a new servant, or a steaming pile of ashes.
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Raising Successful
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The woman jerked up, her foggy eyes blinking at Victoria.
“Marvelous,” Pasitus said from behind. “Welcome to the family.”
“Where,” the undead woman said, her head snapping to the side, her movements frantic. "Who?"
Victoria pressed a finger to the woman’s forehead. “I am your master.”
A flash of blue enveloped the dead woman’s eyes, and she calmed. “You are my master.”
Something pulled at Victoria’s insides, same as it always did when she raised a new servant. But she couldn’t have them betraying her. She’d gone through enough of that already.
“Do you remember your name?” Victoria asked.
“Yulia?” she said with a tilt of her head.
“Good enough for me.” Victoria helped Yulia off the table. “Pasitus, go up and get some clothes ready for her.”
The skeleton bowed, then vanished through the doorway. Lora approached her new sister, a skeletal hand falling onto her shoulder.
“Lora, have you already sent my message to Oliver?”
“I have not,” she replied.
“Send Yulia with the message.” An undead cleric would not do them any good here, but at least Oliver could get some use out of her. “And send the new battalion with her.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am.” Victoria had formed this battalion as an elite guard for the crypt. But with the fort destroyed, she needed the other two gates to remain operational. Gershank and his horde of Wargs protected the western gate, and though she couldn’t fully trust them, the gate in the swamp was only a few hours' travel from the crypt. If it fell, Victoria’s enemies would be within striking distance of her new home.
“Very well,” Lora said with a bow. “I will send Yulia with your commands.” She took the new undead by the hand. “Come with me, I will show you the way.”
Victoria watched the two ascend, hand in hand, to the upper level. She turned to the table behind her, the surface blood stained and weathered. If fate was kind, this Darian fellow would be the next person for Pasitus to carve.