Even as the twin necromancers made their escape through the twisting alleyways of Tonberg, a chorus of metallic screeching filled the midnight streets with reminders of just how poorly their encounter with Helmach might have turned out. It wasn't long before the pair of them were wandering past scores of torch-wielding guardsmen rushing to discover the source of the chaos.
"The Blackbriar…" Drayya's tone was studded with confusion, "Why? Why would a follower of the Gildwyrm be capable of summoning that kind of power?"
"Don't you see? The Church is a corrupt, hypocritical institution." Lieze replied, "They swear loyalty to a single God, only to rely on their worst enemy in times of need. They're nothing but cowards…"
"Lieze, that was no mere spell…" As the two of them came to a stop, Drayya leaned down while catching her breath, "Summoning the Blackbriar itself… I don't think even Master Sokalar is capable of something like that."
"No…" Lieze agreed, "There's something else at play here. Something more sinister."
"I hate to admit it, but Marché was right. Ambushing Helmach was a poor idea." Drayya admitted, "At least we now understand the true extent of his abilities… confounding as they may be."
Somehow, Lieze couldn't help but be reminded of the Gildwyrm's appearance during the siege. Her father had claimed that it was a 'miracle'. Was it possible that Helmach had accomplished something similar? If that was the case, then--of all the powers he could have manifested--why did he choose the Blackbriar? It was her first time basking in the presence of her own God.
"He's canny, isn't he? That Helmach…" Drayya muttered, "We merely exchanged glances in that church the other night, and yet he recognised me in an instant. I never knew I was so popular."
"He does seem… unusually perceptive…" Lieze replied.
"Well… hopefully the royalists will see him in that sorry state and execute him on the spot." Drayya hoped, "-Though, I can't imagine it will be that simple."
"What about the Wraith?" Lieze asked that question apprehensively, as if afraid of hearing the answer, "Don't tell me we've lost it…"
"No." Drayya shook her head, "I can still sense its presence. It lives--though it's been severely weakened."
"How are we to defeat an enemy that can stand up to that kind of power?" She asked, "The Wraith is… it should be invincible."
Lieze received nothing but silence in response.
"Drayya…"
"I don't know." She answered reluctantly, "Unless we can harness that kind of power for ourselves, then I can't say for certain whether conquering Tonberg will even be possible."
Helmach's transformation hadn't triggered Lieze's latent [Observation] talent. It was neither a spell nor a technique, but something innate. A power Helmach could begrudgingly rely upon to deliver him from death.
New Quest Received!
'Miracle' - Unveil the origin of Helmach's power.
Reward - 3,000xp
Lieze's scale was all she could rely on. If her cult was going to stand any chance against the likes of Helmach, she would need to be more proactive about seeking out-- and completing--its quests.
"Lieze." Drayya watched the girl staring into her palm for an answer, "...Lieze!"
"Ah-" She quickly lowered her hand, "W-What is it?"
"You've been doing that a lot recently, haven't you?"
"...Doing what?"
"Looking at your hand. I thought you were just being melodramatic at first, but you were even doing it when you stepped out to meet Helmach." Drayya crossed her arms, "Is there something distracting you?"
"No." She lied.
"Hm." Drayya smirked, "That's not the truth, is it?"
Up until that moment, nobody had even noticed Lieze's scale. No--that wasn't entirely true. When she was imprisoned in Helmach's precinct, he had grabbed her wrist in a manner that would have exposed it. His reaction was strange, as if it was the last thing he expected to see.
Would there be any harm in revealing her secret to Drayya? Or would she see the Gildwyrm's gift as some kind of sacrilegious emblem? Either or, her silence had only piqued Drayya's curiosity, who at that moment seemed quite interested in hearing about what she was hiding.
"It isn't." Lieze answered, "But I can't tell you anything about it."
"It wouldn't have anything to do with your sudden increase in power, would it?"
"You're quite nosy, aren't you?" She lashed out.
Drayya circled around her, "How could I not be? The last anyone saw of you, you were marching straight towards the Gildwyrm. By all accounts, you should be dead. And yet here you stand, suddenly a practised necromancer."
"Do you want to hear the truth?"
Drayya paused. She considered that word--'truth'--as if it was something she was better off not knowing, "...Yes. I do."
"Look at this."
Without hesitation, Lieze held out her hand, revealing the wart of gold grafted to her palm. Sickly-yellow lamplight accentuated its lustre as Drayya leered at the scale, not entirely sure what to make of it but equally as cautious of its distinctive golden hue.
"I woke up with this after I spoke to the Gildwyrm." Instead of waiting for a response, Lieze launched into an explanation, "It's the source of my new power."
"Hold on a minute--you spoke to the Gildwyrm?"
"Well… it was one-sided."
"Even so, the Gods aren't known for striking up conversations. Only the 16 Sages were ever known to communicate with them." Drayya retold, "-Up until they disappeared, that is."
"I was offered a gift." Lieze continued, "I think… when the Gildwyrm was summoned during the siege, the Church paid a price in exchange for its power. This gift might be the result of that--a kind of 'fairness' granted to me in order to balance the scales of justice."
"Hm…" Drayya's expression was conflicted, "You mean to say… this newfound power of yours isn't the result of your own efforts?"
Was that really how it was? Certainly, Lieze had been gaining levels on her own initiative. But if she'd never been granted the scale to begin with, would she still be the same, powerless girl she was prior to the siege?
"...No." She answered, "No, I suppose not."
Drayya paused, "...That isn't fair."
Lieze's brow furrowed, "Fair? You want to talk about fairness? I've dedicated my entire life to necromancy, and what have I received in turn? Nothing but pity. Pity and abuse--abuse from people like you, who had to remind me every single day that I simply wasn't 'fated' to be a necromancer."
"Lieze-"
"-I spent so long trying to catch up with the likes of you. I drilled myself on the absolute basics until I could recite them from memory. I spent days in the ritual chambers battling my own ineptitude. But it was never enough. My poor aptitude was seared into my blood. And now that I've finally found a way to overcome it, you claim that it's unfair? Even after everything I've accomplished on my own terms?"
A memory replayed in her head. It wasn't the first time she'd blown up at Drayya. Sokalar had drilled apathy into her head from a young age. Acting so emotional was supposed to be beneath her, but even she could only tolerate so much. The stress of far too many years finding herself outdone within the Order as a result of factors she couldn't change had finally proven too much to handle.
It had come out. Drayya had every opportunity to lash back with an impassioned speech surrounding Lieze's inferiority. But as the seconds ticked by, no such rebuke came. Drayya's gaze was off in the distance, reluctant to return.
"...You didn't have to go that far." She replied, "I said it without thinking."
"Then, you still think it's true?"
"No! I…"
There was nothing Drayya detested more than sentimentality. Lowering herself to considering the feelings of others was a habit she'd left behind in her youth. Lieze understood that well. Like all necromancers, Drayya couldn't afford to let her guard down--emotionally or otherwise. Watching her struggle with that belief made Lieze wonder if she was secretly a much more pleasant person that she let on.
"-I don't think that, and I said it in the moment, and I'm sorry." She rattled off, "I don't want to hear your answer to that, and I don't want to talk about this anymore."
With all that needed to be said out of the way, she stomped off in the direction of the southern gates. It was a short apology--unbearably short, and woefully inadequate. But Lieze was satisfied. She knew that hearing any apology from Drayya at all was quite the rarity. Dealing with her thorny exterior required a delicate hand.
"...Hah." Sighing, Lieze ran ahead to catch up, "Wait! We still have no idea what we're going to do from here!"
The city's modern precincts were monuments of undying faith. With painstakingly-crafted stained-glass windows and ornaments of solid gold resting upon every surface, they represented a far more sterilised devotion to the Gildwyrm than Helmach's crumbling base of operations.
None of that lavishness extended to their prisons, which were just about as dilapidated and rat-infested as any of the abandoned homes in the northern district. It wasn't the first time Helmach had been on the wrong side of the bars--his attitude as a young disciple of the Church had earned him a caning on more than one occasion--but it was the first time he had been incarcerated since his baptismal inauguration as a Dragon Cardinal.
He was in no state to move, either physically or emotionally. With each perforation of its thorns, the Blackbriar had stolen years of his life in exchange for power--and the maddening will to put that power to good use. His wrists were sprained. The Wraith had shattered his ribs. But even so, he was still alive--although perhaps not in the Church's eyes.
He spent an hour in that prison. Unmoving. A pair of disciples descended into the gaol not long after that, plumes of sickly-sweet smoke escaping from their golden censers. One of them burdened Helmach with a blindfold before ushering him towards the staircase. He didn't understand the need for it. He already knew where he was being taken.
The freezing midnight air reminded him of his scrap with the Wraith. The aching in his chest made it more difficult to walk from one place to another than he would have liked. The streets were deathly quiet--a welcome respite from the heavenly choir which grew on the air as he was pushed along.
Helmach recognised the hymn. Bradalieré's 'Congregation of the Saints'. There was scarcely a day when it couldn't be heard leaking out of the Grand Cathedral. When the doors of the Lord's home were thrown open, he couldn't help but be awed by the building's haunting acoustics. The straining voices of at least 40 nuns bounced from the walls in perfect synchronisation.
It was a shame Helmach couldn't witness the cathedral's splendour. But only those untarnished by sin were allowed to gaze upon the image of His Eminence. The hymn continued as he was escorted to the golden throne. A pair of hands pressed down on his shoulders with some difficulty. He already knew the posture to assume--both knees on the ground, with his head placed against the floor. Only when his fealty was proven completely did the Dragon Priest bless him with an audience.
"And so, the cursed child has returned." His booming voice overpowered the room, "Pray forgive him, my Lord, for he knows not what he does…"
There was no need for Helmach to respond. It would be more bearable if he didn't.
"Your faith is unwavering, Helmach. But that zeal has once more tempted you towards sin in a selfish grasp for power." He continued, "Oh, Lord… he must be forgiven. He is but a lost lamb."
Truthfully, Helmach detested the man. For one so close to the Lord, he was quick to dole out punishments and stricken with a love for the bottle. But like all of Tonberg's institutions, his fate was decided by blood, rather than suitability.
"This is your second transgression. And you will receive the second punishment. Oh, forgive him…" The Dragon Priest continued, "Once, you were relieved of your pride. Such is the nature of penance. Now, it is your soul which shall be offered unto the Lord."
Something was unsheathed close to Helmach. He could picture the knife in his mind--a curved, golden blade, emblematic of the Church's devotion to wicked luxury.
"Oh, my Lord… forgive this poor soul. He knows not…" Something snaked through the Dragon Priest's voice. Against the grain of his sadness was a longing--a longing for blood, "Do not resist the pain, my lamb. This, too, is an act of penance."
A pair of footsteps wandered towards Helmach. A hand grasped his chin firmly. He was already wearing a blindfold, but he still clenched his eyes in hideous anticipation. He didn't even bother trying to keep his mouth closed--not when he knew there was no escape. The sound of his heartbeat rose to drown out the choir as the knife pried open his lips.
Helmach's screams were barely audible over the radiant hymn.