Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

Lieze basked in the oblivion of the Order’s presence. The birdsong she’d grown so accustomed to during her stay in Tonberg was absent from its forests. Underfoot, the wildgrass wilted, leaving patches of bare and infertile soil. So concentrated was the Blackbriar’s presence that the very air seemed to grow thin.

Murmurs slipped into Lieze’s ears as she and Lüngen passed the levitating Deathguards. Disbelief laced the barely-concealed words of her peers. Lieze - the forsaken daughter of their leader, was still alive. As they pushed through ranks of slobbering undead, one of the necromancers descended to a break in their formation to greet them.

“Well I’ll be buggered. If it isn’t Lieze.” Hede Graeme was the same hunched-over fanatic as ever, “Master Sokalar will be… Briar’s thorns - I don’t even know what he’ll be. Intrigued? Disappointed? Perhaps both?”

Hede Graeme

Level 33 Necromancer

HP: 109 / 109 MP: 2,007 / 2,007

BODY - 1 MIND - 30 SOUL - 2

“You haven’t changed a bit, Graeme.” Lieze greeted.

“Naturally, heh… if only I could say the same about you.” He replied, “The rot-stink is powerful today, but there’s something else in the air… an electricity keeping my bones on edge. Where there was once a void in your soul, young lady, now there is a maelstrom of sorcery. Just what have you been getting up to these past few weeks?”

“Keep your questions for a lapse in our journey, Graeme.” Lüngen held a leathery hand out, “We must see Ignas right away. It’s quite urgent.”

“Still referring to the master by his first name after all these years… sometimes I do wonder if you derive some sick pleasure from stirring the pot, Lüngen…” Graeme muttered, “Find him towards the rear, and do remember your manners when basking in his presence. That goes for you as well, Lieze.”

His loathsome submission to the Lich was a product of fear and grandiosity. Sokalar cared little for bootlickers, but that didn’t stop Graeme from singing the Lich’s praises whenever there was an opportunity. Lieze imagined that he was afraid of something - demotion, most likely. It was all a careful act, albeit one just about every necromancer in the Order had caught on to by that point.

As the hunchback departed, Lüngen sighed, “...How is Drayya, Lieze?”

“Oh, she’s… having fun, I suppose.” She answered, “She likes all of this, you know? The life-cursed decadence of city life. Good food, comfortable beds, things like that… she wouldn’t admit to it, of course.”

“For the past decade, any mention of the girl’s name has been the fastest way to put you in a bad mood.” He replied, “-But your tone sounds almost playful now. Have things finally simmered down between you two?”

“I wouldn’t say that…” Lieze paused, “It’s just… uh… things are better, and at the same time, they haven’t changed at all. The two of us are no less enemies than we were before the siege, but we are also… perhaps, in some esoteric way, ever-so-slightly friendlier with one-another… if that makes sense.”

No torturer could have ever coaxed that confession out of her. The emotions of her chromatic soul were chained with such practised discipline as to never cause her a splinter of grief, but in the presence of Lüngen - a man who was as much her father as her father - she became uninhibited by strength of character. A younger Lieze might have broken down into tears at their reunion.

“Hm. Yes. It does.” Lüngen chuckled, “To be young is to be confused about the complexity of relationships, and to rebel against the simplicity that curses the newly-born and the newly-wrinkled. If you can approach the hidden truths of those relationships with such simple terms, then there isn’t anything to worry about.”

“I’m… not too sure what that means.” Lieze said.

“The fact that you are aware of it is the most important thing. Leave the ‘meaning’ for later.” He explained, “It pleases me to hear you admitting that you don’t understand something. When you were a child, the slightest misconception or mistake always sent you into a dreadful huff.”

“Let’s not dredge up the embarrassments of my childhood today.”

-Is what she said, but Lieze would have dwelled on anything if it meant stalling their pace. Near the back of the undead army, branches waved in the morning air. Faces contorted into expressions of horror were lost in the canopy-shade, melding into an unending tide of rotting flesh.

Then, as the two of them broke through the final formation, a single man was left standing in the thicket. His skeletal hand snapped the flower from a nearby bush, watching as its dew-soaked petals faded from white to brown to black, wilting away to nothing as if accelerated towards an early demise. With more curiosity than she would have cared to admit, Lieze glimpsed the information hovering over his head.

Ignas Sokalar

Level 61 Lich

HP: 577 / 577 MP: 3,134 / 3,134

BODY - 4 MIND - 50 SOUL - 7

“61…” The number echoed in her mind, “I wonder how powerful his necromancy really is… I was able to create a [Level 84] Briarknight with Helmach’s corpse. If father did the same… he’s about twice as powerful as me, so it would have been [Level 168]... is that even possible?”

Even then, their creations were artificial and reinforced with necromantic energy. Sokalar was no Scion, and yet he had managed to reach such a high level with nothing but his own research. It was no wonder why he had sought eternal life.

“Picking flowers, Ignas?” Lüngen folded his arms behind his back, “I’ll tell you this for free: the Sovereign Milkbloom has no alchemical applications. Quite popular in bouquets, however.”

“Lüngen…” The Lich spoke his name with reserved respect, “You are never so energetic beyond the confines of your archives. What information have you returned with?”

“Here’s a fine piece of information - your beloved daughter is alive and well.” With a heavy pat on her back, Lieze was sent stumbling forward, “-And as it turns out, she’s been quite the troublemaker these past few weeks.”

Sokalar’s empty glare was devoid of expression. One would assume that his quest for immortality had permanently altered the chemistry of his brain, forbidding any and all emotions, but Lüngen had always been more than happy to part with the tidbit that the Lich had, in fact, always been something of a blank slate.

“...Magic surrounds your body like a storm, but the vessel of your soul is as empty as the day you abandoned the Order.” He observed, “This power of yours is not natural. Where did you find it?”

“You’re not surprised to see that I’m still alive?” Lieze asked the first question on her mind, but the truth was that she already knew his answer.

“Your death was never confirmed. There is nothing to be surprised about.” Sokalar replied, “Answer my question. Your aptitude remains abnormally poor. There is no logical explanation as to why your necromantic abilities have improved.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I bettered myself through great effort?” She asked.

“You have imbibed every form of elixir and drought in every conceivable concentration. You have been tutored by the most qualified necromancers currently alive. You have wasted decades of your life struggling to attain even a basic comprehension of the art.” He listed, “It is not ‘hard to believe’ - it is impossible. You are numb to the ritual of communion. This is not a result of personal effort, but fundamental weakness. A result of poor breeding and biological inferiority.”

“You were the one who created me… so whose fault is it, really?” As always, Lieze locked the most scathing questions within her mind, “That isn’t the case anymore. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“What I want is to know where you sourced this power from.” Sokalar insisted.

“Ignas…” Lüngen frowned, “The young lady makes a point. This outcome is exactly what you’ve been striving to accomplish since her birth. Try to consider her own feelings on the matter.”

“Do not barge into business that does not concern you, Lüngen.” Sokalar demanded, “I tolerate your moments of weakness out of respect for your wisdom, but I will not have you softening the Order with talk of sensitivity and tenderness. If the girl refuses to tell the truth, then I will simply take it from her.”

A cold flash overcame Lieze as her father held out a single, skeletal hand. She had experienced her fair share of life-threatening situations, but never once had she lowered herself to being consumed by despair. That fortitude had been cultivated by the strict expectations of her youth, when the slightest mistake often bought her a night of sleeping in the cold or the rain. But there was no greater sin than withholding something from her father, and no greater punishment than the agonising thrum of his sorcerous mind-probing against the walls of her skull.

Lieze was paralysed with fear. Despite all her power, that single gesture from her father was all it took to transform her back into the same, powerless girl as before. She clenched her eyes, expecting the cold snap of Sokalar’s fingers grasping her skull, only to reopen them as someone stepped forward and swatted the Lich’s hand away.

“Absolutely not.” Lüngen spoke fearlessly, “I will tell you as many times as it takes, Ignas - your obsession with picking the girl’s brain as a child has left her with a mental scar so unimaginably large that she’s liable to die of fright if you continue to insist on such techniques.”

“Lüngen… you dare…” Sokalar seemed genuinely offended that someone had the courage to touch him so shamelessly, “This is about more than one girl’s welfare.”

“You already know what I’m about to tell you.” The portly necromancer began, “A child-”

“She is not my child. Refrain from wasting my time.” The Lich interrupted, “Have your freedom, then. Freedom of thought. Freedom to withhold, and to destroy. It matters not. If the eastern gate is unoccupied, then give the order to move our forces into the city immediately.”

“...As you wish.” Lüngen lowered his head, “Come, Lieze.”

From youth to adulthood, there was no greater pleasure for Lieze than the freedom to walk away from her father. It was only after the two of them passed back into the horde of thralls that she was able to uncurl her fists. Some deranged part of her had hoped for a pleasant and dawning reunion. Never again.

“As you can see, very little has changed.” Lüngen seemed to be reading her thoughts, albeit not quite as literally as he and Sokalar were known to do, “We were able to replenish our forces from the crypt. Ignas will not admit to it, but these are the very last of our thralls.”

“How many are here?” Lieze stood on the tips of her toes to get an idea, “400?”

“Yes, around that number. Perhaps 500, if we want to be brave about it.” He replied, “Gravewalkers, mostly, but you knew that already. We have 8 Briarknights, a handful of Rot Behemoths, Horrors, Fleshbags…”

“Dark Casters?”

“No.” He shook his head, “Ignas detests them. Too committal, he says.”

“Between myself, Drayya, and the other members of our cult, we have around 440 thralls. After our most recent battle, I think that number could go as high as 600 once we’ve raised the fallen.” Lieze explained, “There can’t be too many soldiers left in the city. A few hundred, perhaps.”

“You’re telling me we never needed to come in the first place?” Lüngen joked, “...No - that’s good. That’s very good. I always knew Drayya to be capable of great things, but to see the two of you finally working towards a grander purpose… it must be refreshing for you.”

“Yes… it’s been very enlightening.” She replied, “Power has changed my view of the world. It’s led me to question my ideals - the sort of questioning that wouldn’t make my father very pleased.”

“One should always question. The world is worth questioning.” Lüngen paused, “I can tell that your growth has not stopped at mere necromancy. You are a hateful young lady, Lieze, but that hatred is now being used to better yourself. It takes fortitude to suppress one’s hate, but wisdom to mold it into something worthwhile.”

“I’ll kindly forget that you called me ‘hateful’ to prove a point…” Lieze sighed, “...But, thank you, Lüngen.”