A flickering candlelight was all that illuminated the room. Cold granite walls eliminated any semblance of homeliness, and yet it was obvious from the bookshelves and discarded alembics littering rotting tables that someone had made that unfeeling chamber their own. An acrid, chemical smell was rich in the air.
Two silhouettes waited patiently - one tall and one short - for the mixture in a flask to finish boiling. Once it was cool enough to touch, a hand tattered by ribbons of flesh wrapped around its neck and sloshed around the viscous solution within, causing it to darken in colouration. The robed man spoke no words and beheld no worldly expression, but it was clear that he was engrossed in thought.
Finally, his skeletal hand descended with a crack, offering the flask to a young girl with ethereal, snow-white hair.
"Drink it." His voice escaped with a repulsive slither.
"...Do I have to?" The girl asked.
"Yes."
-And that was the end of that. She had posed that question too many times to not understand the series of events that would surely follow. There was no arguing with her father's commands. Taking the flask in both hands, she allowed her curiosity to get the better of her, lifting the lip to her nose and sniffing the concoction with the full knowledge that it was only going to worsen her apprehension.
"Ew…" She frowned, pulling her head back, "What's in this one?"
"Leadflower extract, pig's blood, and willowshade mycelium; thickened with starch and infused with the leaves of the wilted deathbloom." The man explained, "To discover enlightenment, we must first delve into the subconscious 'darkness'. This mixture, and its effects, represent that darkness. Another, the enlightenment. This is the 'chemical perfection' sought by the sages of old."
With that out of the way, he waited patiently for the young girl to drink it. Knowing there was no way out, she took a deep breath before downing the flask in one go, allowing the liquid to pass clean past her gums without allowing too much of it to linger. With that said, it was inevitable that her sense of taste would pick up on the acidic overtones before long, and as soon as it did, she was struggling to resist the urge to chuck up.
"Urgh…" With the sourest of expressions, she placed the flask back on the table, "No… I don't think I can-"
A freezing-cold finger was suddenly placed on her lips.
"Do not vomit." Her father commanded, "If you do, you will simply have to drink another."
"That's easy for him to say! He knows it isn't so simple!" Despite her justified frustration, she managed to keep the drought down long enough for the foul taste to subside, though she'd be detecting hints of it for weeks to come.
"Done…" Sighing in relief, she lowered her head, "Can I go play with Drayya now?"
"No." He replied, "We must test the viability of this brew while all of its reagents are still fresh in your body. If it grants even the slightest improvement to your aptitude, it is imperative that we document that change."
"I don't feel any different…"
She didn't receive a response. A low drone accompanied the skeletal being's movements as he levitated towards the centre of the room. His current form was beginning to show its age. Soon, he would seek out another, fresher vessel to infiltrate with his immortal soul. Illuminated by flickering light on the chamber floor was a corpse - remarkably fresh, by the standards of a necromancer.
The Lich's daughter followed in his ghastly wake. For one so young, she was stubbornly unaffected by the presence of death. Indeed, it wouldn't have been an exaggeration of the truth to say that she was more acquainted with the dead than the living. She recognised the corpse's arrangement. It was a trial she knew well, but always dreaded.
"This specimen has been dead an hour." Her father began, "-A merchant from the east who thought himself capable of escaping after peddling snake oil disguised as mana potions to some of our less-experienced members. There could never be a subject more ripe for thraldom than this."
"Do not fail."
The young girl could parse the true meaning of his words. Her father was an especially busy sort and detested every moment dedicated to improving her naturally underwhelming necromancy. Truthfully, his ceaseless perseverance was almost heart-warming, but it was obvious from the scathing bite to his tone that absolutely none of it was founded in fatherly love.
She knew the ritual well. She had spent more nights with her eyes glued to the Loremaster's grimoires than she had spent sleeping. In order to practise magic, one must commune with the Gods and borrow their power. But the Gods were fickle beasts indeed - generous with some and miserly with others. And there was no individual more shunned by the Gods than herself.
But she had no choice. Her father commanded it. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and attempted to establish a telepathic connection to the heavens. Her target was the malefic power of the Blackbriar, most forbidden of all deities. Even she could feel the repulsive sensation of its ethereal tendrils assaulting her mind, eager to impart power to whoever sought it.
But something was amiss in her very core. A spiritual corruption of the blood - resistant to the Gods' boons. Though the Blackbriar tried desperately to infest her body, she could manifest only a piddling suggestion of its power. Not nearly enough to raise a corpse into thraldom. Forsaking all worldly connections, the young girl pushed herself into a mental void bereft of feeling and purpose, but even such grand spiritual isolation left her unsuitable as a conduit for the Blackbriar's magic.
By the time her eyes were open, the girl was down on all fours. The frenzied breaths escaping from her throat exemplified the exhaustion - and risk - incurred by communion. A pity she had nothing to show for it in the end, for the corpse resting on the floor remained just as deceased as before.
She was terrified of facing her father after such a failure. Despite his emotionless features, it was clear from his tired silence that he couldn't have been more disappointed in her. For ten years, that cycle of exasperation had been perpetuated. She awaited the moment of his scolding with practised expectation, but no such critique arrived. Instead, she stood to her feet only to see the Lich hovering towards the room's entrance, disappearing into the darkness and leaving her alone in the foul-smelling chamber.
Not a word. It was even worse than receiving a stern lecture. He had become so acclimated to disappointment that he no longer had the willpower to punish her. To that young girl, who for the longest time had dreamt of nothing but pleasing her father, the void of abandonment ripped open on that day shattered any hope she had remaining.
Never again would the Lich call her into that chamber to test yet another of his concoctions, and never again would demands be made of her to improve. The cruel experiment that was her life had concluded, and from that day forward, she was little else but a steward of the Order, kept alive to suffer for her incompetence. The unfounded love that steered her drive for success was replaced by a thinly-veiled loathing. She desired power not to claim an abstract, non-existent form of love, but to prove to the world that she was more than an artificial tool.
The name 'Sokalar' was attached to her like a cancer. Each time it was spoken aloud, the knot in her heart only tightened. If she wished to be known as anyone, it was not the 'Cursed Daughter of Sokalar', but simply 'Lieze'.
Lieze…
The name echoed in her ears.
"Lieze!" A scream woke her, "Get up, for the love of all that's good! This is no time to be napping!"
Drayya was looming over her, cradling the stump of her severed arm and making use of her [Blood Manipulation] spell to prevent the wound from crying. Something deadly close to relief flashed on her face when the girl opened her eyes.
"Wha…" Her head was swimming, "Where's…"
"Helmach?" Casting a glance over her shoulder, Drayya finished the sentence, "-Putting up a surprisingly good fight, considering he's without his sword. But a man - however powerful - can only get so far with his bare fists."
Lower down on the hillside, a storm of violence could be heard beneath the pounding beat of Lieze's heart.
"You fucking imbecile." Drayya laid into her, "What in the Sages' names were you thinking, opening yourself up like that? There's risky, and then there's plain suicidal. You couldn't have taken one step to the left when you saw a greatsword being hurled towards you?"
"...It's not… as simple as that." She replied.
"Isn't it?" Drayya blinked. She didn't believe a word of that, "Well, you did manage to disarm Helmach, but it's not particularly strategic to hand your life over on a silver platter for an attempt on one man's life, is it?"
She didn't want to answer that question. Her truthful reply - a crystallisation of her devotion to the Order's ideals - would be a stark rejection of that statement. She was more than willing to put her life on the line if it meant claiming victory. But even so, the swelling pride in her heart made her fearful of death. She didn't want to die a fool. Certainly, she could go out in a blaze of glory, but she couldn't have it both ways. Fulfilled ambition, or a glorious end? The choice was obvious.
Despite her delirium, there was something deeply cathartic about hearing Helmach's rebellious screams echoing through the air. His suffering was prolonged and deserved - caught in a hopeless battle of attrition against countless enemies, forced to revel in his own impending death or risk leaping over the brink of insanity. Lieze wondered if he could have been happy in those final moments, free of the Church's meddling and his psychotic madness.
Helmach's last words were drowned out by the horde of thralls sinking their teeth into his flesh. No matter what they were, Lieze was certain that they would have been directed towards her. A final curse against her name as the last of his strength waned and his consciousness faded. He perished far from home, with his comrades scattered and the institution to which he owed his life corrupting itself before his very eyes. A truly pitiful death.
Quest 'The First Seal' Complete!
Reward - 6,000xp
Level Up!
You are now level [24]
HP+10 MP+45
MIND + 1
Lieze would have felt a deep satisfaction at Helmach's death if she wasn't so concerned with the excruciating pain running through her arm. Frankly, she was surprised to find herself so unbothered by the fact that she'd lost an entire limb. There existed a morbid optimism at the back of her skull that somehow, she would find a method of regenerating the lost arm.
"It's over…"
She spoke more for Drayya's sake than her own. The knowledge of Helmach's death immediately put the girl at ease, but suggestions of worry still dashed her expression as she looked over Lieze's injury.
"No 'thank you', then?" She remarked, "No 'I would be dead if it wasn't for you, Drayya'?"
"Is that what you really want…?" Lieze asked.
"No." She answered, "What I want is for you to stop being such a fool."
"That's… asking too much…"
Marché released a held breath as he approached, "Is she still alive?"
"Regretfully." Drayya replied, "I'm staving off the blood loss, but the chance of infection will only grow the longer we allow this wound to fester. Please tell me at least one of your associates is versed in the art of healing?"
"One or two of them, yes. But we'll have to wait until they return from Saptra." Marché rubbed the back of his head, "In the meantime, we should move her inside - away from all the rotting flesh. I made sure some supplies were dropped off when last we made the rounds from the city, so we'll be able to dress the wound, at least."
"Do you hear that, Lieze?" Drayya smirked, "It seems like you'll be living for a few days more. At least until you catch something nasty from the rot-infested air."
"The joys…" Lieze muttered, "...Thank you, Drayya."
"Didn't I just tell you I don't want to hear that?"
"No… during the battle." She continued, "If we'd never met again… if we hadn't recruited Marché and the others… I wouldn't have been able to handle Helmach…"
She'd been unconscious from the moment her arm was severed. During that time, it had been left up to her allies to coordinate the thralls on her behalf. Without Drayya, Marché, and Alma, Helmach could have easily closed the gap to deliver a decisive blow after his reckless attack.
"...Hm. Bailing you out of trouble is nothing new to me." Averting her gaze, Drayya focused on keeping Lieze's blood from pouring out, "Now do yourself a favour and shut up."