The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 18 - Preparing for Finale)

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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 8 - 10 out now)

Post by StandYourGround »

That is really an amazing story.  Now I'm tempted to write it from Ronard's point of view, painting Ronard as the selfless hero and Zarek as the mindless villain.  Just for fun.
I will now resume lurking silently.
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Jarkko
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 8 - 10 out now)

Post by Jarkko »

XI: Bad News

”You said who?!”, Ronard raged. The general, who was bringing a message didn’t have to travel all the way to Felham, but somewhere halfway to a city named Dunroth. It isn’t clear, how Ronard became an arch-magister in the first place, but in the Kingdom titles were known to switch their holders by most bizarre ways. Whatever it was, Ronard was in charge of the entire western region, and he answered directly to the King. And now his region was under attack – His rage was more, than justified.

”He said, his name was Zarek”, the general repeated.
”There are seven strongholds in the area from here to Wyron. Are you telling me, that you just – came directly to me and not send any forces to intercept them?”
”Sir Ronard. I am a general in fifth generation. Forgive my bluntness, but I am not stupid. I rode to every fortress, that came across, and advised them to stay alert. I just thought, that a message as urgent as this should be delivered in person.”

Ronard calmed down. It was no use to yell to an officer who was just doing his job.

”So… Very well – Zarek the Healer has declared a war against Kingdom… What could you say about the forces? What did you see there exactly?”

The general was quiet, as he relived the events of Fort Wyron in his head.

”Men… Dead men, dead animals – and skeletons, about a hundred. Each time they struck a citizen down, the fallen joined them. The fleshy ones were easier to slay and they moved very slowly… but the skeletons were a nightmare. I bet my title, they fought exactly like Kingdom soldiers. I’m also pretty sure, they came from the Backlands – they somehow managed to circle around the defenses. All I can tell is, that they spread around like wildfire. We were practically defenseless.”

”So – That’s, how you bring your venge, Zarek…”, Ronard muttered to himself.
”Excuse me? Do you know our opponent?”

Ronard raised up and watched out of the window to the bustling city. For a moment he lived the past months again. How he torched Zarek’s reanimated girl, how he ran the Maulsons, yet defeating them again. How he managed to collect some undead rats and how he failed to research them. In his mind he knew, that whatever Zarek was doing, he was in his region – and that Zarek was looking for him. Almost a year had passed and Ronard could only speculate what dark plots he had devised. In the end he was sure of one thing. He let himself loathe Zarek for all he cared – but Zarek would not tear the Kingdom apart. Ronard woke up to reality again, as the general’s question was still unanswered.

”Yes… I know him and I tell you. He is no warlord, he is a healer. He just – accidentally came across with a new form of magic – that being the re-animation of dead… Necromancy… and now he has obviously got some – unnecessary ideas”, Ronard answered.

”What do you want me to do, arch-magister?”

”Send a call to every possible fortress in this region. If your description is accurate, then we must use a surpreme force. What comes to Zarek, I want him caught and put on trial for high treason.”
”I will get to it right away”, general said and prepared to leave
”Oh, and one more thing…”
”Sir?”
”Tell your sub-ordinates to enhance their weapons with fire.”



The general hired as many couriers and other horsemen from Dunroth as possible. They were paid well, for their task was going to be long and important one. Farthest strongholds were even weeks away.

IIn just a matter of hours the nearest strongholds begun a fierce training – a preparation for war.

It was night. An undead army had been marching almost continuously for a week, but with each occupied village their numbers had grown shorter. Zarek’s force was about a half of what it was at the end of the defeat of Fort Wyron. A risky option, but the only way to get at least a sort of foothold over the region and a possibility for a safe fallback, should anything go wrong. A group of villagers and captured peasants were under constant guard of the skeletal warriors. Zarek wanted to train them to the ways of necromancy, because he couldn’t count on finding crypts full of corpses. Every night he and Mirrok forced them, taught them, bent them – it was brain-washing and some of them had begun to see things by Zarek’s way. Only very few accepted the ”White Summoner” as a savior. They became voluntary apprentices of his teachings and with each new adept the prisoners seemed a bit more open to Zarek’s teachings. After all, the adepts got a slightly better treating.

They were about a dozen miles northeast from Dunroth. He sat in a caravan, looking ahead to the gloomy night. Forest cleared out in front of them, turning to distinctive meadows. He looked up to the stars.

”Zarek, your eyes are glowing again”, Mirrok noted.
”There are a lot of rogue spirits here”, Zarek answered.
”How could it be? I don’t remember any battles being fought here.”
”No – they’re not fighting. They’re… just moving…”

What Zarek saw was like sunshine, except that it was midnight. Dozens, if not hundreds of spirits, so bright, yet somehow so cold, were just floating in the air, all moving to the same direction behind a cliff. Zarek couldn’t help his feet. It was mesmerizing – he had to follow them. He climbed on the cliff and slowly moved to see, what was on the other side. All the spirits seemed to just remain swirling around in the air, as if guardians of something, that was nothing else but trouble to Zarek. On a large field there was a temporary camp of a royal legion. The undead had almost walked into a trap.

Mirrok climbed up, too. He didn’t want to be left in the dark. When he saw the tents, he looked like his eyes were just going to bump off his sockets.

”They’re here for a reason. Either they’re tracking us down, or then the Kingdom has started a war with someone, we don’t know about. I bet my head on the first one…”, Mirrok said.

Someone was running. It came behind them. Zarek turned to see, what was it about and he saw a peasant running towards the hill, being pursued by skeletal warriors. With the interruption he had saw a desperate window of opportunity to make a run for it. As he stumbled over the hill, he saw the camp. He couldn’t believe his luck. What he didn’t see was the swirling lump of ice flying towards his head as he started screaming for help. He froze still, but then a moan of a horn filled the air, echoing from the forest and the mountains. Previously so sleepy camp suddenly woke up.

Wyron’s success had pumped Zarek full of confidence and he ordered the undead to prepare for battle. Down in the camp the soldiers marched out in perfect rows, heading towards the cliff. Slowly both sides set their formations up. As the warhorn was sounded from the legion’s side, so did Zarek yelled an order to attack. In the dark, two black clouds moved quickly towards eachother. A storm was coming.

The dead were watching. They flew silently in the air, as the two armies clashed. Though the skeletons carved red holes to the legion’s ranks, they weren’t prepared to the maces and flails of the heavier footsoldiers. Zarek stood on the hill, trying to orchestrate a symphony of chaos. They had been victorious for an entire week, but in a way of a falling apple, even an undefeatable triumph must come to a stop at some point. Although the legion was superior in numbers, the undead had the advantage of infectious zombies and the skeletons’ near invulnerability to blades. Being evenly matched, the battle lasted for hours, slowly dividing from one large front to scattered skirmishes – a commander’s nightmare. Then the legion brought in fire and the tide of battle changed.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, a morning sun shined again. The rays cleared off the spirits from the sky. Fear rapidly catched Zarek’s minions of flesh and bone and with more sunlight their will – if they had one – degraded from a fearless warrior to that of a trapped mouse. He ordered a retreat and without a slightest bit of hesitation the undead soldiers begun to fall back, fighting for their unlifes, while the royal legion pushed forth as a sign of courage. They attacked with a hellish yell, throwing insults and curses at them, chanted by flaming arrows and swinging flails, that cut holes into the ranks of their long-dead ancestors. They scattered, like clouds after a raging storm and ran wherever there was even a slightest shade to protect them from the burning sensation of the sun.

He had to get the books so that the Kingdom couldn’t get into his secrets. They were in a carriage, that was carrying food supplies. Zarek got to them and catched a steed in front of the carriage and begun riding to the opposite direction from the royal forces. Someone was catching up with him. It was Mirrok, who rode next to Zarek.

”Well – that didn’t go so well”, Mirrok said.
”This is Ronard’s fault! He’s the only one who could’ve known fire is their weakness!”, Zarek yelled.
”No, Zarek. It’s actually your fault. Afterall you tipped Ronard yourself about your presence.”

Zarek felt a sting on his conscience. Mirrok was right and a failed combat was the only way to make him see it. He cursed to himself in his head.

”We can’t worry about it now. Let us save our own butts first, then fall back to the occupied villages – and regroup. As long as we exist, all is not lost”, Mirrok comforted. Zarek nodded and kicked his horse to a greater speed. He wasn’t a real master on horseback and with all the shaking Zarek lost the hold of his books. He was about to turn back, when Mirrok stopped to collect them.

”Don’t worry about them! Just go! Your forces needs you! I head this direction and give them a slight distraction!”, Mirrok yelled, waving his hand as if trying to push Zarek away, while he rode the other way.

He rode into the forest and his movement got more difficult, as he tried to navigate through the trees and keep up his speed at the same time. He had shaked off the pursuers. Now he just had to regroup with the others. Once again he wandered aimlessly, only fate being his guide. And if you let fate be your guide, it will certainly give you directions. Zarek was provided with a signpost, that had taken a form of a treebranch, just a bit too low for comfort. At first his eyes saw only bark, then it was night again.


XII: Trials


Zarek woke up and his world was shaking and rattling. His head was hurting, as if he would’ve just resurrected an entire nation at once. He looked around and noticed that he was inside a caravan. He saw the royal legionnaires and realized, that he had been captured. His guards looked at him like something a dog had just dragged in. A pale and skinny man wearing a dirty, grey hood and gown. It was revolting and a thought, that he had managed to eradicate Fort Wyron was even more revolting to them. As much as they wished to end his suffering, they had orders to drag him before Ronard.

They fulfilled their orders and first time in months Zarek and Ronard were face to face. Zarek stood with his hands tied up with guards around him, while Ronard sat on his big and comfortable chair, behind a large desk full of books, parchments and other stuff. Ronard’s expression was no different from the guards. Zarek glared at him in mad anger. After all the work, he was so close – but yet so far.

”You had that same robe, when we last met in Elwyra?”, Ronard asked, but there was no answer. He grinned, shaking his head.
”Look at yourself. You are a mess. I mean – you were a mess back then, but now… Is this, what your art does? Turns a man into – a shade.”
”You on the other hand haven’t changed at all. You still look like a donkey’s rear to me”, Zarek said. One of the guards was going to punch him, but Ronard ordered him to stay still.
”At least you’ve got that sharp tongue of yours still there. You might have a point – but donkey’s rears rarely start a full-scale war. What was in your mind?!”
”I was looking for you, Ronard. Every minute is permanently burned into my head.”
”Ahh, yes – A quest for vengeange… Truly, I cannot understand, how something can drive a person to attack their own country. You could’ve just searched for me – Instead you have slayed hundreds of innocent lives. Think, Zarek – What would she think?”
”Don’t you dare to ask such a question, Ronard! A lousy scoundrel like you couldn’t possibly understand, what I went through back then!”, Zarek yelled.
”The problem is, you don’t know how to let go. You are just too proud and trust me, I would very much like to end your life to where you stand”, Ronard said. They glared deeply at eachother and if gazing people would kill, their gazes would’ve destroyed the city.

”As ironic as it sounds, I can only thank you for standing here as an arch-magister and due to that, I am a man of law now. You will be put on trial for your actions, just as the law orders, however I’d like to propose an arrangement.”
”What sort of an arrangement?”
”You’ve managed to make quite a bloody mess. Most reports tell about an increasing rioting in areas, that used to be peaceful. Rumors of walking dead are slowly spreading and people are – afraid. It’s clear, that you couldn’t have achieved this on your own, so I want the names and descriptions of all the other necromancers. Along with that I want also the secrets of necromancy themselves.”
”And what would you give in return?”, Zarek groaned.
”In return I could pull a few strings, so that you avoid death penalty and be exiled instead – Not to the Backlands, no… but there are nice and comfortable islands on the Eastern Coast – and some people just die for an ocean view.”

Zarek rubbed his chin. Ronard had laid his cards on the table and the offer sounded tempting. He was silent for minutes and Ronard had to ask him for an answer for several times.
”I might give the names of my followers – but I will not let go of my secrets”, Zarek answered finally.
”Think reasonably, Zarek. Denying could cost your life. You could also do a major service to Kingdom, a nation you had war against. Zarek – you wanted me. Leave the rest out of this. Even at this moment your followers spread the plague of the undead around – with your knowledge we could stop it.”
”No, Ronard… I will not let go of them. Find yourself another necromancer, for my lips are sealed.”

Ronard raised up from his chair, being very disappointed about Zarek’s lack of cooperation. He shook his head and shrudded.

”Very well then, it’s everything or nothing. I hope, that a prison cell changes your point of view. Drag him away.”

It was a matter of principle. If there was a person in the world, Zarek did not want to teach, it was Ronard. He wasn’t worthy to learn the art of reanimating the dead, not to mention that he considered his entire art too dangerous for the Kingdom. For the first weeks he just sat in his dungeon, waiting for his brethren to come and let them out. He was questioned every day, Ronard demanded the information – but Zarek refused.

Marshal Gryward was the judge in Zarek’s trial. It would’ve been Ronard, but due to his personal ties to Zarek, he regarded himself hindered – he was a man of law and he wanted the trial to be fair. Gryward was a just man and whatever was told about Zarek did not affect his justice – he regarded every criminal before him innocent until stated otherwise… And Zarek’s trial was not an easy one, for there weren’t many witnesses to tell about Fort Wyron’s events. Kingdom’s officials were turning every stone and searching every forest to search witnesses, while the undead chaos continued it’s unstoppable spreading.

The trial carried on for months and the road between the courthouse and the dungeon had become familiar to him, just like the testimonies he gave almost every day. When not in the court, Zarek waited in his prison, but he slowly started to realize, that he had been abandoned by his own kind and creation. His only companion were the guards and his own deeds. He had dreams about Gwenyth, about all his resurrections. His retribution screamed in his head, being trapped by Zarek’s powerlessnes. All, he could do, was to wait for the final verdict – or for a miracle.

”Defiant until the bitter end?”, Ronard asked. Zarek woke up from the floor. There were loud cracks, as he stretched his joints back to their place.
”Today’s the judgement. The arrangement still stands, there is still time for me to give my opinion about ít.”

Zarek walked out of the cell, his mouth shut as always. Ronard could only wonder his determination. They walked the same corridor, same stairs, same halls – but for the first time in months Zarek noticed a certain painting on one wall and when he did, he stopped, his gaze nailed to the portrait. It was about a young man, sitting on a horse with his bow. He was elegantly dressed, in a way of an aristocrat. He had a short, brown hair and something, that tried to look like a moustache. His hair was shorter and he looked much cleaner, but the original painter had managed to immortalise his all-penetrating stare.

”What is Mirrok doing in that portrait?”, Zarek groaned. Ronard was confused.

XIII: Baptism by Fire

On the way to the courthouse, Zarek opened his mind like a book and he told Ronard everything about his followers. The names and the descriptions. Somehow seeing Mirrok’s portrait changed something in Zarek and a long waiting was bashing out as a huge, uncontrollable flood of information. He thought, that by giving them in he could express his disaffection towards them, who did not come for him. He also told about some of the weaknesses of the undead, he had discovered – but about the art itself he didn’t utter a word. Regardless of that, Ronard’s smile was bright as the sun itself. While Zarek hadn’t told him everything, Ronard still promised to do everything in his power as a reward. Zarek had no idea, why, and he did ask – but at that moment it was Ronard’s turn to not tell.

The court gathered for the final session. Ronard came with Marshal Gryward and they were having the last phrases of their intense discussion. Gryward sat down and called silence to the court hall. He looked at his papers, then Zarek, then his papers again.

”Zarek the Necromancer. This is the last day of this session. Is there anything, you’d like to say for your defense, before the verdict?”

Zarek stood up with his attorney, who had been defending him furiously for past months. He thought about something witty, but decided to stay in the basics. For the first time in his life he truly relied on Ronard.

”No, your honor. I think – everything worth of telling has been told”, he answered.
”In that case I shall now give the verdict…”, Gryward said, clearing his throat.

”Although the evidence are few, they are still decisive. The investigation has been going on for three months and during that nothing was found to prove, that you didn’t participate in Fort Wyron’s massacre. Though I have been informed, that you’re showing signs of cooperation with the Kingdom, I still think your sudden change of mind came a bit too late to be considered sincere. Therefore I can reach only one conclusion. Zarek the Necromancer. For conspiracy against the Throne and the Kingdom, the massacre of Fort Wyron and other invaded towns you are found – guilty. The penalty for this is death by fire.”

Once Gryward had said the word ’guilty’ the audience bursted up to screaming applauses and it was difficult for the guards to silence him. Zarek fell back to his chair. He looked at Ronard, who shook his head. He was clearly disappointed – Gryward’s mind wasn’t changed at all and now Zarek would face the one, he overcame ages ago. It was intimidating.

Back in his cell, he heard celebrations outside. A small victory during those ages of mourn. He thought about where Mirrok would be. Why was he abandoned there? The day turned to the night, his last night on that world. Whatever was to be expected, he would learn out once the sun of tomorrow reaches it’s peak on the sky.

Death by fire – He had been burning for ages from the inside and now he would burn for real. He closed his eyes and once again he saw the glyph along with everyone, he had resurrected on it. But that time he saw it differently… as if it was the first time, he fully understood it and from within it’s parts he discovered a very faint and insignificant possibility. It was like back in his healing days – he could heal with his bare hands. Why not with necromancy? In the end it was just – magic used for a different purpose. On that night he didn’t sleep at all, for he studied in his head. He imagined himself back to his tower, where he did his experiements…

”It is time, prisoner”, the guard said. Zarek was weary, but sleeplessness was not uncommon for him… but it didn’t matter either. Weary or not, he’d still die. For the last time he gave a look to his cell, to his home, but in his head there was a peace. He grinned to the guard.
”Then let’s get this over with.”

The town square was crowded. A stand was prepared for him. There was a large pole sticking out of it, from within all the firewood and other trash, that would certainly burn. People stared at him, booed and whistled at him and threw him with carefully selected fruits and vegetables – all comfortably mouldy. The guards pushed him on despite the fact, that Zarek didn’t fight back at all. When they reached the stand, Zarek was chained to the pole. The crowd carried on with their yells, but Marshal Gryward’s appereance brought silence among them.

”Zarek the Necromancer, any final words before this punishment is committed?”, he asked. Zarek looked at Gryward, at Ronard, who was standing next to the marshal, then at the crowd. He thought his every word, shaped his sentence to make it count.

”I have done many crimes, I understand it. I did it all just to get you, Ronard. I am still angry at you, I still yearn for venge… and I will come through fire and war to get you.”

Everyone, who was there, laughed. All, but Ronard, for he knew Zarek’s capabilities, and Gryward, who was dead serious just because of the dead seriousness of the matter. Gryward raised his hand and when it fell, the guard proceeded to light the pyre beneath Zarek’s feet. It spread quickly from one log to another and Zarek felt it’s warmth. He closed his eyes and brought an image of a glyph to his mind – only it was slightly different. The runes on it were different. Silently he begun to whisper a new mantra, he had invented. He had only one shot.

The flames spread and begun to devour his worn-out robe. The pulsating agony soon reached his feet and it felt like thousands of blades were trying to cut his legs off. He gathered all of his strength and concentrated to the glyph, that was starting to glow faint, purple light. He mumbled – and mumbled, but the pain grew too strong. And he screamed, screamed for his life. He cursed everyone, that had caused him to run to that point and he cursed himself and his all-consuming wrath. He tried to push the fire away, but it was of no effort. Gathering his last shards of concentration, he saw as the purple glow in the glyph grew more intense, each word making it shine more and more… and when the circle was complete, his concentration shattered and the pain depleted his strength.

Zarek was dead.

Continue to Part III, Chapter XIV: Crossroads
Last edited by Jarkko on April 8th, 2010, 1:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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King_Elendil
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 11 - 13 are out now)

Post by King_Elendil »

:shock: Wow :shock:
Somehow, you managed to keep me glued to my screen for much longer than my normal attention-span. Aside from the few typo's that should be expected, considering English is not your first language, you are an amazing author- at least in my opinion.
I'm finally admitting that this will be a very long (if not permanent) Wesbreak. Thank y'all for the great times, and may Wesnoth rise to become one of the most popular games on the planet.
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 11 - 13 are out now)

Post by Frogger5 »

I personally think it's lacking slightly compared to your previous chapters. But Fixing such a thing is not easy.
Good work anyhow. Great story going on here. :D
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 11 - 13 are out now)

Post by sur.nhm »

King_Elendil wrote::shock: Wow :shock:
Somehow, you managed to keep me glued to my screen for much longer than my normal attention-span. Aside from the few typo's that should be expected, considering English is not your first language, you are an amazing author- at least in my opinion.
:shock: WOW :shock:
Incredible. I second King Elendil wholeheartedly. I can't wait to read the next chapters!
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 11 - 13 are out now)

Post by artisticdude »

Very impressive. :D
Frogger5 wrote:I personally think it's lacking slightly compared to your previous chapters. But Fixing such a thing is not easy.
Well, every story is gonna have weaker parts and stronger parts, it's just finding the right balance so that the weaker parts are less obvious. :)
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 11 - 13 are out now)

Post by Frogger5 »

Quite true. It's no fault in Jarkko's skill, I just thought it'd be better to point out the weak parts so he knows.
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 11 - 13 are out now)

Post by Captain_Wrathbow »

I seemed to notice a bit more typos than in other sections, but you are still certainly doing a great job! Congrats! :D
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 11 - 13 are out now)

Post by revenant »

Awesome! The plot line is so enthralling that you can't stop reading. At some point you should consider making a full-length campaign for it.
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 11 - 13 are out now)

Post by Zerovirus »

...If even the bones are burnt to ashes, what is left to revive in lichdom? I await this new development, as I previously understood that a lich was simply the previous body animated with one's own soul, and allowed to rot naturally.
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapters 11 - 13 are out now)

Post by Jarkko »

Author's Note:
What is this? A petty one chapter? Frankly all the elements of disaster have been gathered and after thinking about several possible alternatives of conclusions, I've noticed, that the risk of wrecking this story is gradually increasing. I must tread carefully ;)


Part III: Lich

XIV: Crossroads

He felt intoxicated, as if he was drifting through liquid reality, absorbing it in it’s purest of essence. He could only faintly hear someone saying: ”The monster is dead”. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered. All, there was left, was complete tranquility. Eternal silence in the boundless ocean of time, the sense of which he had already lost. The existence talked to him, revealed him it’s dirty secrets, only dead should knew – but he didn’t understand it’s words. He had joined the majority and only the breeze of air would determine his direction. There was a glint somewhere in front of him. It wasn’t bright, it more like struggled to live. He slowly glided towards it and the glimmer grew - and grew - until he could see something inside it. An otherworldly land, the place of eternal dream and joy, where everyone would once go. The Land of the Dead. He could see all the spirits inside it, watching him – waiting for him. Someone was in front of them all – A woman, he should’ve reckognized.

”Gwenyth…?”

Something attacked him. It slowly wrapped around his arms, his feet, his neck. Purple, glowing tentacles of cold magic. They tightened their hold around his spirit and merged together, sealing him into a glowing cocoon. He couldn’t move at all under it’s grip. Helplessly he watched, as Gwenyth pressed her head down in grief. A dark shadow was standing next to her, trying to confort her…

The Land of the Dead vanished from his sight. All, he could do, was to wait something to happen. Then darkness happened - and he had gotten used to it. During that darkness, noon in Dunroth turned to dusk. People left the market square to mind their own mortal businesses. When sun was setting, they had forgotten the existence of the White Summoner.

Darkness surrounded him even after he had waken up. The fire had consumed everything. His eyes, his ears – all that remained was a black, charred skeleton. He waved his hands around, but couldn’t see, hear nor feel anything. He was trapped within his own bodily remains.

”This was a bad idea”, he thought. Thought! He was alive and he had at least a thought as his only weapon. He could gather the magical energies with his pure thoughts… Without wasting another thought to it, he let his consciousness contact with magic, unsure about what he was doing. Soon he saw a blue light, that slowly begun to form into reckognizable objects. A wall, a coffin, a doorway… He heard humming, as some of the magic within him formed him an ears of sort. Ears of pure energy. With his brand new senses, the origin of which he didn’t know or understand, he explored the surroundings. He had been just thrown into some cave… a crypt. Just like the Maulsons. How foolish of them – or then it was intentional, he thought.

He tried to move himself, noting that he had been folded into a posture, not even the most agile mortal could ever achieve. It took him a while to sort out his rattling bones and crack them back to their place. Zarek rised up, but he started wobbling immediately – like a drunkard. His legs failed and he crashed down. He felt fragile and weak, as if he was an old man. A tiny squeal felt like a thunderstorm in his head. A small rat had appeared to gnaw his leg hoping, that it was something edible. Zarek had gotten enough of rats. He furiously grabbed it, willing to throw it to the opposite wall – but something else happened. Suddenly the rat screeched loudly, trembling in his hand like a maniac. Then it became flabby. Dead. Zarek’s vision and hearing clarified. He had just drained the very lifeforce out of that creature. It was a temporary relief, though. There wasn’t much juice in that single rat. He needed more – and luckily there were plenty in that crypt.

After feasting at his leisure, he felt much better and he allowed himself to study the surroundings more carefully. The place was no different from any other over-crowded crypt. Bodies and more bodies, side by side, waiting for an awakening. His eyesockets lighted up to blue flames, as he looked around to see the spirits of that place. There were many corpses, that had died a cruel and painful death, for their souls were hovering around their remainings. The rest were in the Land of the Dead. Zarek cleared his head, focusing to an imaginary glyph. He couldn’t draw it on the ground… but if it worked on him, it should work on any other spirit. His hands glowed and purple flashes of lightning emerged from his hands, entangling stray spirits and binding them to their corpses…

The heavy crypt doors were sealed shut and and outside there was an entire fortress guarding it. For months, couriers had been bringing messages to Dunroth about the unstoppable spreading of war and hostilities in the south, where also the majority of Kingdom’s forces were. The nearest occurence of the undead was, when Zarek was captured a dozen miles to the west – but after that not a single undead had been sighted. The main force had most likely regrouped and grown somewhere in the west, circled around Dunroth and went to spread havoc to the south, where Two River pass is – a natural gateway to the Felham Province.

Ronard wasn’t a fool. Dunroth served as a crossroads to every direction. Knowing, that the arrival of the undead was only a matter of time, he had ordered the building of extra fortifications around the grounds of Dunroth. Since Zarek’s capture the military power had slowly increased, because for each undead, that crossed the border of Western and Southern Kingdom, there was one undead less for Ronard to worry about and one more for the nightmares of the arch-magister of south. Although they threathened the very capitol of the Kingdom itself, the situation allowed him to regroup soldiers and focus on the defenses – but when the doors of the crypt froze thoroughly and smashed to tiny fragments of ice, those fortifications were far from complete.

The Kingdom hadn’t had any great wars for years and that had lulled the legion to a false sense of security. That’s why the most of the forts had a defense strategy of an egg. Once you penetrate through the hard surface, you can just glide through the rest. The ancient dead glided out of the crypt, attacking the unwary legionnaires like a swarm of bees. Warhorns moaned in the night, warning people that the havoc had arrived.

Battle, struggle, bloodshed and carnage. The siege took days and the green meadows turned red. Zarek had his hands full with constant resurrection of the dead, but it didn’t wear him down anymore. The walls of Dunroth raised farther away. During his imprisonment, Zarek had not realized just how big the city really was. He made a rough estimate about it being twice the size of Fort Wyron. It would mean twice as many followers… and there were a lot of potential marching at them from almost every direction. The battle itself - it was more like an orchestra, where each instrument played a completely different song. A symphony of disorder. It wasn’t a siege, it was a series of small, simultaneous skirmishes.

At first there was no conclusion from either side. Both armies pushed from one side to another, only falling back to where they started. There were moments, when the undead had to fall back to the occupied crypt fortress, but especially during nights they seemed to reign somewhat surpreme. The Legion fought like even the weakest of them had born a hero, but after they had been fighting for days, they were about to face the most formidable enemy of any army. Battle fatigue. The soldiers were tired and at the brink of losing all of their hope. No reinforcements, no mysterious salvation. Only their deceased comrades, that joined the enemy one by one. When the night was at hand once, the deafening rumble meant the new rampage of the undead.

On the following day Zarek took his entire force towards the gates of Dunroth. He had a faint idea about how Mirrok had proceeded so far on his front. The Legion was weak. Unprepared, though war had been going on for a year or so. As he approached the gates, they were opened before him. Inside was the entire city of Dunroth – dead silent. Zarek prepared to face a massive counter-attack – but out rode a single horseman under the flag of surrendering. The horseman moved directly in front of Zarek and he had but one message with him: ”The commander wishes an audience with the invaders. Which one of you creatures is the leader?”
”That would be me”, Zarek said, directing his words right into the rider’s mind through magic – after all, he had nothing else to speak with. He glanced at the bare skeleton, who was no different from the armored ones, except that it was completely burned.
”Very well then. If you would follow me to the arch-magister’s chambers.”

Surrounded by skeletal guardians, they left towards the chambers. The pathway had been opened to them and along the road stood the citizens. They looked at the bare skeleton and their feelings were mixed with confusion and fear. That figure would dictate their future? How could that be stronger, than the legendary Royal Legion? Zarek, on the other hand, wondered about that new turn of events. He saw masses of town guards, that could’ve kept him busy for nights to come. He smelled a possible trap, but he kept going on regardless.

Ronard’s estate. A bit too posh for his taste, but apparently it was one of the many perks of the trade. He had been there many times during his imprisonment. At the entrance hall Ronard’s face greeted him with a gloat, full of his self-important superiority, that yearned for a firm kick right into the area, one must not speak about – except that it was a lifesize painting of him… and the artist had painted the nose all wrong. The odds were, that he’d be taken to Ronard’s study again. On the long way up Zarek refreshed all the witty lines, he was going to throw at Ronard’s face after his defeat. Stairs up… hallway… more stairs… more hallway, except at that one point, where you had to go through a large dining hall, because they were yet still renovating that one hallway. The map of Ronard’s house was burned to his mind. He counted the steps and it was still exactly 1427 steps from the frontdoor to the door of the study. The doors were opened to him and he walked in front of the arch-magister’s huge desk. He glared at the person standing in the window with his arms folded, like Ronard usually did. But when he turned to see Zarek – it wasn’t Ronard afterall. It was someone, he should’ve known. He had seen him many times with Ronard, near him or at least a yell away – but at the moment he couldn’t catch, who he actually was…

”Guards, you can leave us now”, the man said. The human guards looked at themselves, then the skeletons. They were clearly hesitating, but they finally left the room.
”And your guards…?”, the man asked Zarek, pointing at the skeletons.
”They will stay”, Zarek answered. The man was startled, as he heard the voice right inside his head. Nevertheless he grinned at him. After the guards had closed the doors, he sat on Ronard’s chair, feeling it’s leathery softness. He twiddled around with some papers, not saying a word.

”I apologize, but at first I must – confirm your identity. You are – Zarek, hometown Elwyra, Western Kingdom. A… healer, a self-educated magician and an inventor of sorts. You were condemned to death by fire a couple of days ago… for treason. Am I right?”, he asked him with a dry voice of a civil servant, as he went through Zarek’s papers.
”And yet here I stand, while most of your army is either dead or in my ranks. Where is Ronard?”
”All in good time”, the man answered, leaning back in the chair, ”Let’s just say, that both the Arch-Magister and good Marshal Gryward are tied up with some very urgent matters. In such rare cases the command is passed to the First Official… and that is me. My name is Wayn.”

”Why did you summon me?”, Zarek interrupted. He had an eternity to spend, but he felt uncomfortable about the situation – being in the middle of an enemy city during daylight.
”Well – to make the long story short, I have been commanding Dunroth’s defenses during your siege and whether it’s my personal ambiguity or – or the fact, that the Legion is clearly outnumbered, I have reached a conclusion, that Dunroth should plead - for truce”, Wayn said with an unusual grin on his face.

”You… give up. With those reserves…?”, Zarek mumbled. It made the weird official’s smile even wider. Wayn coughed, drank some water, made his position more comfy, as if they were enjoying a normal afternoon tea. He turned his chair to face the window again.
”Off the book, I can say that – I don’t agree with the direction, this kingdom is heading. While our noble king, Rudorf IV is an heir of the powerful Dagnar dynasty… He doesn’t quite possess the wisdom of his fathers. The time has been ripe for revolution for decades – but with the illusion of the invincibility of our legion… well – nobody has dared to raise a sword against the Throne…”
”You want to masquerade a treason as a truce?”
”Yes… Treason seems to be a word of the day… and now that you’ve shattered the illusion, it is only a matter of time, when this nation shatters along with it. In fact, I wouldn’t call this a treason. You know the old saying ’If you can’t beat them, join them’?”, he said. Zarek didn’t answer.

So – You will get the support of the remaining ’reserves’, and all the lifes and crypts in Western Kingdom will be at your disposal. I will also tell you, where arch-magister Ronard is and why.”
”In exchange of…?”
”Immortality.”
”Figures…”, Zarek muttered, ”The first person ever to ask me the secrets of necromancy destroyed my entire life. The second one abandoned me and left me to the dungeons to rot – and the third one… was the first one.”
”I can assure you, that fourth time makes the charm. I took the libery of aquiring some – objects, that seemed to be your – symbols of trade… as a gesture of my good will”, the man said, walking over to a cabinet. He opened it and inside was a fresh, unused white robe and a staff. Zarek’s staff.
”Help me to Felham – and Ronard is yours for all, I care”, Wayn demanded.

He didn’t feel the robe on him, but he recalled the sensation of warmth and softness. Comfort. He felt himself again. He took the staff. The orb glowed a faint, purple light. Zarek turned to see Wayn again, who looked clearly hopeful – in fact, it looked like he could’ve started dancing in joy at any moment.
”So – I assume, we have a deal?”, Wayn finally asked.

A wave of hand and suddenly the bodyguards of bone ran forth towards Wayn. They pushed him to the wall. One of them pressed an aged, rusty blade against his throat. He yelled in terror, as Zarek slowly shambled to him. He raised his hand – purple smoke surrounded it.

”What is the meaning of this? What are you doing?!”, Wayn yelled.
”If only I knew…”, Zarek mumbled, pressing his hand on Wayn’s forehead.

All muscles in Wayn’s face retracted and the veins popped up. A hellish, inward groan. He tried to gasp his breath, but couldn’t. He started to feel weary and fragile. But then the tides turned and instead of feeling like drained, he felt as if someone was stuffing something to his head. It burned and he yelled again…

”I have given you as much knowledge and understanding as your mind accepted. The rest is up to you – but remember this. It’s a long way from a petty conjurer to a lich.”

Just moments after that Wayn and a lich in white robe appeared on Ronard’s balcony to tell the anxious people, that Dunroth had surrendered – and just like in Fort Wyron, the people were gathered and Zarek presented them two options. Life or unlife under his servitude.

Continue to Chapter 15: Cost of Immortality
Last edited by Jarkko on May 6th, 2010, 12:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
| My Art Corner | The White Lich (Fan Fic) |
Translating Wesnoth into finnish
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King_Elendil
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by King_Elendil »

Still absolutely amazing.
I'm finally admitting that this will be a very long (if not permanent) Wesbreak. Thank y'all for the great times, and may Wesnoth rise to become one of the most popular games on the planet.
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Frogger5
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by Frogger5 »

Defiantly an improvement from your last one. Well done :D.
My spritework can be seen here.

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Captain_Wrathbow
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by Captain_Wrathbow »

Yes!
I have to admit I was disappointed with the last set of chapters, but this one more than makes up for them! :mrgreen:
Congratulations! :D
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sur.nhm
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by sur.nhm »

Impressive! Can't wait to read the next chapter...
It's really well written, aside from a few spelling errors, but that's fine.
I'm not really around any more, but you can find me in TvTropes.
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