The final test of a true warrior begins when they stare down death. The remnants of Grond stood burning, partially blocking the gates. Coated with napalm, the whipping tendrils of flame waved back and forth. The main avenue leading deeper into the city was defended. The streets beneath the walls were teeming with warriors repositioning off the walls towards the inner castle.
Captain of the guard, Gaspard, led the effort to evacuate towards Hueryss' inner castle. Yet it would take time. Time that would have to be earned in blood. The retreat was imperfect. The chaos of the situation was too much. Disorganized and isolated defenders fought upon the walls regardless of the order to retreat. Fritz ordered Brenn, Marcelle, and Neva to force the isolated defenders on the walls to fall back.
He stood at the forefront of their barricade. Behind him a mass of Beastkin warriors positioned beside a central cannon. Grapeshot and powder stood by the cannon. Ada was next to him, her enchanted rapier drawn and ready for the coming battle. A dangerous gleam was in her eyes, one that Fritz couldn't help but notice. Her tail wagged excitedly back and forth as they waited for the enemy.
Fritz yelled for the cannon to be loaded. Powder and grapeshot was hastily shoved down the barrel, as the cannon moved to the forefront. Its barrel peeked over the barricade, waiting to fire. The large wooden wheels groaned underneath the weight as the beastkin cannoneers waited uneasily.
The dead marched into the shadows of the gates arches. Behind them necromancers, riding on skeletal horses, waved dark magic through the air attempting to extinguish fire and remove chemical foam Fritz had placed to arrest their advance. Fritz held his clenched fist up to the cannon team.
"Wait for them to get closer. Do not fire until they fill up the area." He yelled.
Behind him the crowd of warriors tensed up. They leveled their weapons forming up into a porcupine of maces, halberds and swords. A wave of skeletons and zombies made it past the burning corpse of Grond. Shambling forward with their undead masters, Fritz conjured a Molotov cocktail, handing it to Ada. Barrels of gunpowder had been tossed out of the guardhouse. Dark powder and broken wooden barrels coated the stone streets.
"Throw it at the broken barrels." Fritz commanded Ada. The blonde wolfkin frowned but complied. Rearing back she threw it like an Olympic athlete. The flaming mixture landed on exposed bone, quickly shattering into a carpet of flame. The fire spread quickly to the ground. The necromancers made ready to extinguish the flames, but were too late the fire caught against the powder igniting in a chain reaction. Bones and decaying tissue shot through the air, as Fritz shielded his face. He felt the shockwave slam into his chest. His ears popped as the expanding force reached his eardrums. Nearby buildings collapsed. Chunks of flaming flesh from Grond, shot high into the air eventually extinguishing from the velocity.
Ada screamed in excitement, pointing to the carnage she had just unleashed. Fritz hoisted his shotgun to his shoulder as the undead reformed. They swarmed through the gates, heedless of the damage. They pressed into a blob ready to smash upon the defenders. Fritz readied his weapon, signaling the cannon crew. Grapeshot expanded out of the barrel spewing forth a barrage of flying metal death. The tide stalled as the cannon retreated to be cleaned and reloaded. Fritz watched Ada tense as the undead slammed into their barricade. The chaos of melee ensued. Ancient weapons raised by the marionette dead met with the living's steel.
All he knew was the confusion of melee. Blood dripped onto the barricades. Flesh was carved away, while bones shattered. The enemy was without number, crashing upon the makeshift defenses like a perpetual tide.
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"The undead are so hard to contact." Jorgen clicked his tongue. A thousand other voices responded in kind, clicking, forming a symphony of disapproval. His wings fluttered slightly. "But I suppose that makes sense. It's always easier to appear in the dreams of mortals."
The god of magic, let out a sigh. The infinite cosmos of his face swept across his never ending library.
"I suppose. I'll just have to lay a trap." He flicked his index finger upwards. As if on command, a book flew from a shelf somewhere deep in his library towards the cushioned high backed throne he had constructed in the center of his library. The book sped like a shooting star, whizzing past shelves and piles of endless knowledge. The book stopped neatly upon his lap. He read the title: 'The Genealogical Line of the Adelard Family'. Grabbing it along the spine he threw it out of the library towards the mortal plane.
"A droll and unbearable one of a kind. To the mortal realms with you." Adjusting himself within his high backed throne waited. "Now, to see if he takes the bait."
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The book was in the wrong place. The lich's domain was perfectly ordered, and yet here was something that didn't belong. His hollow eyes beheld the title. They pulsed with dark magic, as his curiosity forced his hand. He knew not know who the messenger was. The underlying threat was there. There in the pages of the book, the lich's true name could be found. Whoever sent the book knew of his past. That fuzzy mortal life was a far distant memory. Yet within it, his true name could be found. His skeletal hand reached towards the book. The red runed robes of the lich lifted slightly as bony fingers almost touched the ancient tome.
There was something within the book. A unique, unknown magic that Medraut could sense. It was so obviously a trap, yet the lich was unkillable. He was foremost. He was without equal. He was perpetual so long as his phylactery lay undisturbed.
With a jerk, he found himself in a completely different world. The mortal world with all its limitations and physical laws was nowhere to be found. Here Medraut the lich was freely floating in a dark void. Before the lich, was a robed man with black wings. The creature was weak and hunched, leaning hard against its staff. It barely regarded Medraut instead looking down into the black void
"Why, hello there." The robed man spoke with a thousand voices that echoed in the cosmic depth of the void.
"I am unaccustomed to dealing with such theatrics." The lich's enchanted voice sneered. Medraut's missing flesh attempted to snarl. Yet the skeletal grimace refused to move. "You have made a grave mistake. I shall enjoy ripping your soul to shreds."
"I have many. Many. Many. Many. Are you sure? That may take quite some time." The creature looked up, revealing a swirl of cosmos. Its wings fluttered slightly as it stretched its back upright.
"What illusion is this? Do you seek to destroy my physical body, while I am here?" Medraut asked.
"Heaven's no. Heaven's no. You really are here, right now. This is no illusion. I have brought you here to talk."
"You dare summon Medraut like some common familiar?! Speak your name, so I may slay you!" The lich's anger was rising. In his soul he could feel his phantom heart inflamed with rage. His hand lifted towards the god of magic. "Speak!" The lich yelled. A beam of untold power ripped from his fingers towards the creature. No organic creature could survive such an attack. Medraut had killed apex predators in the jungles of Cheynam like they were sheep. Yet the beam never hit the creature. It hung suspended in the air before his face as he stepped out of its path slowly like a doddering grandfather.
"I did not summon you. You answered my call. The call of knowledge called to you and you picked up the book. The genealogy of your mortal family from thousands of years ago was a droll and boring read, I must add. Do you know who I am?" The creature asked.
"No. Just that you will die!" Medraut called magic from his immortal soul. The cumulative centuries of magic surged out of his body in waves as rippling waves of destruction spread out into the dark void. With a wave of Jorgen's hand, the magic vanished. Medraut tried to blink away his confusion. Missing facial muscles attempted to contract. His eyeless skeletal sockets betrayed no confusion.
"You wield my gift to this world like a bratty child." Jorgen laughed. The thousand swirling souls twinkled with light beneath his cowl. "I am Jorgen. God of all power that you wield, even if you pay homage to the god of death."
"Lies!" Medraut seethed.
"Truth!" Jorgen countered. "And I have asked you to come here for a single request. A gift of knowledge for a favor. Wouldn't that be fair?"
"I will not be tricked by some impossible illusion! My coven must be acting against me!"
"Won't you listen? Has your immortality made you impatient?" Jorgen teased.
"Silence!" Medraut looked around the void for answers. "No illusion is perfect. There is always an escape. I will not listen to some projection!"
"Galahan Adelard. Son of Galad Adelard. You fear your true name, because it is the only thing required to compel you to divulge your phylactery's location. Of which your coven of lich-brothers would destroy if they knew of its location. Would you like me to keep going?" The lich raised his hand in anger, yet his curiosity stayed his attack.
"Who are you? How have you learned such secrets?"
"I am the god of magic himself. Jorgen appears before you in the divine flesh~! You should be grateful."
"Impossible."
"Doubt nothing. I haven't come for a casual discussion. I am offering a gift of knowledge in exchange for a favor. Besides, I think you'll want to help my good friend Fritz. After all, he is helping you. Though, he does not know it."
"Fritz? Who is this Fritz? He is no servant of mine." Medraut snapped.
"A human male. Unaffiliated with Gris. In fact, currently the enemy of. He is in danger. I would appreciate some assistance in his life. Now if possible."
"How could he possibly be helping me?" Medraut scoffed.
"He is trying to prevent Fehrenn from falling into anarchy, and well.... I don't want to divulge too much."
"How does the fate of Beastkin concern me? The lesser races of this world mean nothing to me. I have transcended above them." Medraut scoffed. Jorgen's souls could not help but sigh. A thousand souls twisted together in combined exasperation.
"Immortality, truly, is the worst. Maybe it is pride that has festered for too long. Those who live too long overlook too much. They fail to see that which lies beyond themselves."
"Your offer is beneath me. The life of a mortal means nothing to me. Death is their fate."
"My knowledge is not free. A favor for a favor. Well then? Will you help Fritz?"
The lich thought for a moment. The magic in his hand dispelled as he gestured for the god of magic to continue.
"Speak it. I shall decide then. One favor for one favor only. No compelled service. No major sacrifices. Equal in value, or I shall slay you." Medraut demanded. The cosmic swirl of Jorgen's face pinched together in a bemused smile.
"Agreed. A favor for a favor, if you choose. One where both parties come out ahead." Jorgen's cosmic smile twinkled in delight. "The type that makes the world go round~." The souls of Jorgen laughed together.