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

[Frogger5]

Brilliant job as always. Only part i didn't like was the reference to the boogie man. The boogie man is a modern invention, it doesn't really fit.

[admiralspark]

As always, a pleasure to read. You have some serious talent, and this WOULD make into a good campaign were you ever inclined to make it so!

I wasn't TRYING to beg earlier, it just came out that way

[Gwynnedrion]

Huge fan here Keep it up!

[Captain_Wrathbow]

...wow...

[Archos]

Brilliant. I could see this becoming mainline if you made a campaign out of this. Just adding to the many voices who are saying that would be a good idea.

[Captain_Wrathbow]

I'm somewhat tempted to take that up myself and help create a campaign of it, but... no, I'm working on other things right now... maybe later....

[King_Elendil]

Hello fellow fans! Jarkko and I actually did start working on a campaign, but because he joined the army, RL took first priority for him and he handed the project over to me. I would love to continue to make this campaign, but I don't have enough experience to do it alone, so anyone interested in helping me get this show on the road (mainly coders and cartographers for now, but artists, writers and others are fine too!), please send me a PM. I would like to get a good team together so development can go fairly quickly.

Edit, I now have the help I need, now it's time to get down and dirty.

Edit again, Campaignizing (is that even a word?)TWL has been officially postponed until further notice.

[Dixie]

A ncie text indeed I'm curious to see how you will render the first 10 or so chapters, since they are mostly narration and little scenario-playing material. It'll be hard to deliver the bulk and depth of the story without it being overly heavy, long and boring. And adding skirmishes or stuff in those pars to help carry the game-part wouldn't really fit and do justice to the story-line...

Anyway, I'll be looking for the ending of this

[admiralspark]

I would think the back-story up to the point where the main character ends up in the woods (where he's discovered by his soon-to-be-apprentice) could be displayed in text, since animation would just slow the process down. When the two characters start to experiment with the magic, that can be the 'in-point' of the first action scenes, and the rest from there is history.

Viable or no? I know it would require alot of reading, but the story is interesting enough so that I don't think anyone would mind.

[Seddyrocky]

I just loooove this story.

[Jarkko]

Author's Note:
Thanks for the ongoing feedback on this topic. Now it's my time to exercise some Dark Art of the forum necromancy on this very topic... It kinda fits the theme..

--Jarkko


XVII: A Decision

”He said what?”, Wayn asked from Rocan. After the battle was done, he thought it was the best option to go to the Nearhold with all the others – afterall it was his idea and his grand price of sorts.
”The White Lich wishes to lead the minions to Wintermire through Felham Bay”, Rocan said with a slight disbelief in his voice, ”And not over it, but literally – through it. Under the surface, unseen by the possible frigates of the Royal Navy.”
”Has he completely lost his mind?”, Wayn hissed.
”What ’mind’?”, Rocan joked.

”The mind, that is in your minds. If you wish for eternal life, you shouldn’t questionize my wishes. Felham is crushed and all that remains is the ever-growing army of the undead."

The White Lich gently pushed his way through the skeletal minions, that stood there just waiting for his orders. Wayn, Rocan and other necromancers turned towards him, fearing for what may come.

”B-but Master…”, Rocan stuttered, ”You can make it underwater, for you don’t breathe. What about us, who are still alive?”
”There are two frigates in the dock. I think, you all will fit in there. When we’re underwater, I shall cast a beacon from my staff. Follow that beacon and you follow me.”
”Very waterproof…”, Wayn commented to himself, ”And what are the odds of finding actual sailors for the ships…? Especially now that they’re – quite – dead?”
”They aren’t dead – they are there. Hiding in the ships”, Zarek said. Where others saw only wooden planks, that made the frigate, the lich saw bright blips. The souls of the remaining survivors, that had run for cover as the first undead poured in.

”…You don’t understand. I am a necromancer and I demand to meet your master!”, an irritated yell was heard over the rattle of the skeletons. Someone was forcibly trying to push through the endless cloud of various resurrected minions, resulting in a lot of groans, hisses and curses. At some point two dark adepts, who had gotten slightly irritated, grabbed the intruder, dragging it all the way to the other end of the yeard, where Zarek and the necromancers were still negotiating – or debating – about the details of the trip. The lich turned around and saw the newcomer – A girl, about 20 years old. She was pale, as if she was dead, and her beauty had been scarred by many battles against the Royal Legion. Despite her young looks she looked a seasoned practicioner of re-animation. She was very angry, though in Zarek’s eyes she looked nothing more but a rampant kitten.

”Your minions are in a horrible disorder, master!”, she raged to Rocan, ”And where were you in the first place?! I’ve been waiting for you for a whole, bloody week! Just wait until Lord Mirrok gets the word about this – he’ll put you all back in order!”

Rocan stared at the sky, waving his head in disbelief. Zarek, equally irritated, bashed into her mind, saying in calm, cold voice: ”Is it a custom to yell at a fellow practicioner of the Art in these parts of the Kingdom? Especially if they have just saved your lifes?”

The fury on the girl’s face vanished in an instant. She had heard the voice clearly as if it had been said right next to her ear, but it wasn’t any of the strange necromancers.

”Who said that?”, she said in a slightly broken voice. Zarek pushed Rocan a bit aside and stepped right in front of the girl.
”It was me. But as you can see, there’s only little left from my body. That’s why I have to speak right into your head”, a voice said again, ”And now that the battle is concluded and we finally meet, I think that proper introductions are in place. I am called The White Lich.”

She was completely confused and her sight bounced from the skeleton to the other necromancers as if seeking for aid. Rarely had she been in a situation where she didn’t completely understand everything that was going on – That confrontation was one of them. Rocan pushed the lich aside to introduce himself a bit more properly.

”Rocan Omne from Wintermire, I am – a cut-throat, a swindler, a burglar, a murderer… and what not. Oh – but nowadays I’m a full-time necromancer”, he said, giving a deep bow, spiced with a grin.
”Barron, a bartender”, a rather large necromancer said, ”I’m really here because I have no choice… and well – this is certainly different from serving drinks for the drunken.”
”I am Wayn, previously a lowly official, a devoted necromancer nowadays – at your service, my lady”, Wayn spoke with his usual, calm tone of pretentious appealing.
”And – you are?”, Zarek asked the girl.

”I’m Lady Cladya. A necromancer of Lord Mirrok and...”, Cladya said, chuckling, ”When I was informed, that the reinforcements are lead by a skeleton – I thought the messenger was – insane. But yet – there you are.”

Cladya had started to circle him around like an aristrocat examining a sculpture. She thought and pondered, trying to solve something that was way above her level.

”I must admit, that I’m slightly surprised, seeing an – an intelligent skeleton… Well at least one thing is certain”, Cladya said finally, ”You can’t be one of ours. Lord Mirrok has tried to achieve immortality with little success… and now here’s one who actually has. So tell me, master Lich. What is actually going on?”

After getting over the confusing start, Cladya had completely recovered her determination, the same with which she pushed through the flocks of Zarek’s skeletons. The lich had to comply and he told her about what they were doing there and why they had gotten there in the first place. Cladya listened patiently, though he frequently questioned about how Zarek ended up what he was. As an answer the lich maneuvered to completely other subjects.

”The Archmagister of Western Kingdom? You’re after pretty small fishes, considering that Felham can be clearly seen in the horizon as a thick cloud smoke”, Cladya commented at the end of the rather lengthy briefing.
”Might be… but during my service under him I learned, that he’s rather efficient with fire, the same element we saw in the hammers of those elite legionnaires”, Wayn said, ”You might call him a ’small fish’ – but fire, for some odd reason, is more – lethal to an undead than any other thing. I’d call him, and those elites, a serious threat for our welfare.”
”Threat or not, my orders are to march North. And knowing that the true reinforcements are seemingly – somewhere else, help would be appreciated”, Cladya said in a rather imperative tone.
”Excuse me – Master, could I have a word with you in private?”

Wayn lead the lich a bit aside from the rest of the three. The skeletons moved out of their way as they walked farther away from the lady. They had a long conversation with eachother and sometimes Wayn seemed to even raise his voice to the White Lich, only to get a seemingly painful headache in return.

”How did he become like that?”, Cladya tried asking Rocan.
”I don’t know”, he said, shrugging briefly, ”When he was a human, he was executed in Dunroth – and three days later he just… conquered the city. He won’t teach us until he finds Ronard.”
”That’s what you after? Immortality?”, Cladya continued.
”Life is just too juicy to be wasted by dying”, Rocan laughed, ”And he is also a very persuasive personality. I mean… He just places his hand on your head – and suddenly the world opens to you. I just don’t want to resist it. But tell me, Lady Cladya – What’s happened in the south? We haven’t heard anything from there in months.”

”I’ve been with Lord Mirrok ever since he came from the north and invaded my hometown with a handful of corpses and skeletons. Mirrok gathers the population and forces them to the teachings of necromancy – and the most will subdue almost instantly after they learn the perks of the trade… But mostly it has been pretty straightforward. We proceed from town to town, attack, kill, convert and re-animate. After we’ve done with it, we leave the town and carry on.”
”Really? You – don’t care what happens to the people that are left behind?”, Rocan asked in astonishment.
”Mirrok doesn’t pay attention to such things – he only wanted to march towards Felham as quickly as possible. We follow, because most of us have no other choices. In Two-River Pass things got more difficult. The Legion actually retaliated and we were forced to build real defenses for ourselves. The cities and strongholds there, that were not destroyed, have been turned into massive fortresses of the undead. And as funny as it may sound, quite a large bunch of followers have even set up a ’steady life’ of sort”,Cladya told.

”Understandable”, Rocan commented ,”A living being can’t stand war forever… But in the end you broke through the Two-River Pass?”
”Oh yes, after two months. The conclusion was a very bloody one and a lot of great undead were lost. Then Mirrok ordered me to take an army and head towards north while he attacked Felham. He’d join my army up north.”

Cladya went silent. Everything worth telling had been told – and Wayn and the lich were still arguing about the details of the future. But it didn’t take long for them to reach a sort of agreement. Soon they walked back to the others.

”We’ve reached a conclusion”, the lich said.

To be continued...

[bigkahuna]

I've read the entire story up to date and have really enjoyed it so far You're a great writer. A couple of notes about the most recent chapter:

A. It didn't explain much. All it did was expound a bit on what was hinted in the last chapter. I guessed the plan immediately after finishing the 16th chapter, so this was rather a downfall as I was hoping for some dramatic near-conclusion.

B. It wasn't very exciting. In almost every other chapter, something or other was actually happening and really grabbed the reader's attention. This was just the equivalent of a "story scenario" to lengthily introduce a new character.

Grammar/spelling errors (Brace yourself):

Spoiler:

”Might be… but during my service under him I learned, that he’s rather efficient with fire, the same element we saw in the hammers of those elite legionnaires”, Wayn said, ”You might call him a ’small fish’ – but fire, for some odd reason, is more – lethal to an undead than any other thing. I’d call him, and those elites, a serious threat for our welfare.”

1. "under him" doesn't specify who he was under, who was efficient with fire, and Cladya wasn't even introduced to the legionnaires so would therefore have no idea what they were talking about.

2. "fire, for some off reason, is more - lethal" remove the dash.

3. "I'd call him, and those elites, a serious threat for our welfare."
It sounds better as: "I'd call him and those elites a serious threat to our welfare."

"He said what?”, Wayn asked from Rocan.

Should be: "Wayn asked Rocan."

...to the Nearhold with all the others – afterall it ...

There should be a space in between "after" and "all"

”The mind, that is in your minds. If you wish for eternal life, you shouldn’t questionize my wishes.

Should be: "The mind that is within your own minds" or something like that. Also, change "questionize" to "question"

There are two frigates in the dock. I think, you all will fit in there.

Remove the comma after "think"

Especially now that they’re – quite – dead?”

Remove the dashes. It makes it sound strange and intermittent.

Where others saw only wooden planks, that made the frigate, the lich saw bright blips. The souls of the remaining survivors, that had run for cover as the first undead poured in.

Should be: "Where others saw only the wooden planks that made up the frigate," and remove the comma after "survivors".

At some point two dark adepts, who had gotten slightly irritated, grabbed the intruder, dragging it all the way to the other end of the yeard, where Zarek and the necromancers were still negotiating – or debating – about the details of the trip

Should be more like this: "At some point, two dark adepts, who had gotten slightly irritated by the intruder's antics, grabbed and dragged it all the way to the other end of the yard where Zarek and the necromancers were still negotiating (or debating) about the details of the trip.

Despite her young looks she looked a seasoned practicioner of re-animation.

Should be a comma after "looks"

”Your minions are in a horrible disorder, master!”, she raged to Rocan

Why does Cladya call Rocan master?

Zarek, equally irritated, bashed into her mind, saying in calm, cold voice: ”Is it a custom to yell at a fellow practicioner of the Art in these parts of the Kingdom?

Should be: "saying in a calm, cold voice". Also, "Art" should be plural. And why do they already call it the "Arts" and assume there would be a custom relating to it if it was illegal and newly begun?

I am – a cut-throat, a swindler, a burglar, a murderer… and what not.

Should be: "I am a cut-throat, swindler, burglar, murderer, and what-not."

like an aristrocat examining a sculpture

Should be "aristocrat"

listened patiently, though he frequently questioned about how Zarek ended up what he was. As an answer the lich maneuvered to completely other subjects.

Should be: "...listened patiently, though she frequently questioned how Zarek ended up as he was. As an answer, the lich maneuvered to other completely unrelated subjects."

Wayn lead the lich a bit aside from the rest of the three. The skeletons moved out of their way as they walked farther away from the lady. They had a long conversation with eachother

Should be: "Wayn led", "The skeletons moved out of the way as Zarek and Wayn walked further from the lady."

[Sapient]

I enjoyed it as usual. Rocan has a great way of introducing himself... that was probably my favorite part of this one. The one thing that seemed odd to me though was why the sailors would just hide instead of sailing away? Maybe paralyzed with fear...

bigkahuna - yeah, he already said he's not a native English speaker so you will find a lot of little grammar corrections like that. If you want to post grammar corrections I suggest to put it in a spoiler tag so it doesn't distract or take up too much room in the thread. Also, you should make a distinction between incorrect grammar and stylistic choices. For example, the use of ellipsis in mid-sentence is an intentional stylistic choice.

[Jarkko]

XVIII: The Fall of the Mighty

Every time his left foot hit the paved ground, so did his staff. It chanted the pace out for the rest of the endless horde of the recently dead. The street was painfully straight and it went on and on. On both sides of the street were tall buildings, stuffed into spaces they couldn’t possibly fit in. Crates and barrels, abandoned carts, wastes of everyday human life – and an occasional corpse - littered the bloodied gobblestones. The doors and windows, some of them were wide open, as if abandoned, some of them were nailed shut. Someone cried faintly inside.

Above the tall buildings, smoke rised from the many fires, that had flamed up during the first days of the siege. Behold, the mighty Felham. The seat of power had been utterly destroyed and the formulator of that destruction had reached the end of the long street and looked over the wide, circular trench, that begun from and ended to the Felham Bay. On a small island, isolated from the rest of the continent, was the most magnificient manifestation of the Kingdom’s architecture and worksmanship. Castle Felham. The Throne. Mirrok leaned on the stone railing and smiled. He was finally there.

The bridges were heavily barricaded and from the other side of the trench, from almost every hole in the castle’s massive walls, arrows poured in. It was the old crowner tactic: should Felham be sieged – and that is, of course, a completely foolish and an impossible thing to be even imagined - everything that is outside the castle’s walls is regarded as an enemy. But for each arrow there were a dozen undead receiving them. The plague, that first spread on the streets of Fort Wyron, far away in the west, had cut through the entire southern nation. Hundreds had grown to thousands and thousands had grown to tens of thousands. The bridges literally vanished beneath the feet of the dead minions – and their infinite ranks extended far beyond the walls of the city – almost all the way to the desolate horizon. Mirrok hadn’t only brought victory in numbers. He had guaranteed his final victory with a spectacular overkill.

Dark Adepts bombarded the sturdy gates of stone and steel with a continuous flood of ice. They piled up to a blooming garden of sharp, cold roses of frost that gnawed their way through the metal. In the end, the masses merely bashed through the gates and immediately started to bring an end to the beauty of Felham’s crown jewel – and the legionnaires, while at it. One by one the most loyal of the Legion made an attempt to defend the remainings of their proud nation. Most of them made the wise choice of running away, granting them an additional minute to bid a silent farewell for their relatives and loved ones. Though most of them made the foolish choice of getting caught and brutally slain.

Mirrok walked through the hallways, accompanied by his most trusty skeletal warriors. His footsteps were rallied by the increasing rush of vengeange. Years of work had come into fruitition and the harvest moon was up. He ventured through the hallways of gold, marble, extravagant tapestries, dull historic artworks and mediocre warrior statues. After the last two guards were nailed with arrows to huge, oak doors, Mirrok pushed the doors open and marched in as if he was the ruler of the entire world.

Pillars surrounded the largest of the halls. It was large enough for at least five giants to stand on top of each other and still there had been enough room for them to jump around. Normally the sun would have shined through the several, small windows and the light casted to the center of the hall, where the Throne of gold and ivory was on a large, round pedestal. But it was midnight and the only light were the dancing flames of two candles on both sides of the throne, the deep, blue glare in the eyes of the skeletons – and the purple, translucent tentacles, that extended from the eyesockets of the elk skull on Mirrok’s staff. He marched forth – and sat on the empty throne. But did he bursted into wonderous cheers and victory roars? No. He leaned forth and pressed his cheek to his hand – and thought. He looked at the doors through which he came. The sounds of battle in the city and on castle’s corridors were merely distant and faint echoes. Mirrok’s eyes had that blue tint again.

”As much as attacking me from behind might seem like a great idea – it might not be a safe idea”, Mirrok said to the darkness. The shadows behind him moved and a dagger moved away from the reach of the candlelight. Someone walked quietly around the throne.
”The magic speaks to me. Among other things, it tells me where the living are”, Mirrok said again.
”Magic is a vicious thing – now that the world has sawn what you’ve done with it”, the voice said.
”Don’t blame magic. It’s a – servant, that blindly abides the commands of its host. It’s a tool – my liege.”

The figure moved before Mirrok. He was no-one else but the man with a control over everything in the nation. Everything from the great stream of the south and Garakhan’s Vein in the far west to the mighty mountain ranges of the north belonged to him. King Rudorf IV of the Dagnar dynasty. The king had put on his entire wardrobe for this occasion. A blue cape, a golden armor, enough rings to make one believe, he had more than ten fingers. All that magnificience was completed with the massive crown on his head. By looks, he was well prepared. But his only armament was the mere dagger, that vanished under the folds of the cape. He looked at Mirrok, who sat on his throne. He measured him with his eyes. The king, mighty in all aspects, met the scruffy, lowly hunter that had demolished his reign.

”Why did you do this? For power, just like every other traitor before you?”, the king asked.
”Power?”, Mirrok asked, laughing afterwards, ”No – not power. Power is merely something that came along with this conquest. My purpose here is a bit more… advanced than that.”
”Money? Women then?”, the king continued.
”You should know, my liege”, Mirrok said, giving him a playful look – He had that same look everytime he was ready to give a killing blow to his prey, ”You should know, what has made a man go through all this – trouble. Something more – painful, right? Something very wrong. You should know – because you were the one to start and end it.”

”I don’t understand your words, madman. How do you expect me, the king, know the history of every citizen in my vast nation?”, he said – and his previously bold, stern appereance started to get more fragile, step by step. Mirrok stood up from the throne, looked at the king – and sighed.

”You may now tell me where the king is”, he said.
”I AM the king”, king answered, pounding his fist to his chestplate.
”No – you’re one of his imitators. A clever cheat trying to delay me long enough to get the castle guard…”, Mirrok answered, stopping to listen to some distant sounds, ”…which are dead by now, right here to kill me.”

The imitator knew his cover was blown. Mirrok came slowly closer and closer until their noses met. He could hear the faint sizzle from the necromancer’s eyes.

”Where is the king?”, Mirrok murmured.
”I – in the royal quarters… He’s terribly ill – and weak…”, the imitator stuttered.
”Good – that wasn’t so hard, was it?”, Mirrok said, letting go from the false king. He turned towards the doors and started walking away.
”By the way”, he said while walking past his skeletons, ”You performed your role fairly well –I almost bowed before you.”

Having that said, his skeletons raised their bows towards the king. Eight arrows carved through him into the blood-stained throne.

”Don’t be afraid, father”, someone said, ”The – demon won’t get to you.”

On a colossal bed, fighting to the last breath against a crippling disease, lied the real King. He panted heavily. A sickness, the burden of age and latest events pressed heavily on his shoulders. The weight of the Crown. He was a miserable sight, indeed. Only a shade of might and power, he used to had. Another person was on his knees next to the bed, his arms lying on the blankets, staying awake on that troublesome night.

”You believe in the Crown Prince… father… You believe, that he could destroy the menace…”, the youngest of princes said, ”The magic is with him… But he is too weak to properly use it. He’s too weak to protect you – and this nation…”

The door knob was tried – and found locked. The prince stood up, taking his hand slowly to the handle of his sword.

”I have to… protect you – mys…”, the prince said. He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, for the door to the royal bedroom flew open – and there stood Mirrok. He marched in, looked at the king on the bed, who didn’t seem to react to the boom, that had shattered pieces of the doors into the air. Mirrok bowed before him, then looked at the prince, whose face was disfiguerd with fear, sorrow – and pure hatred.

”Prince Melvar Dagnar,a third heir to the throne”, Mirrok said with a slight, insulting grin on his face.
”Mirrok Dagnar, a renounced heir”, Melvar shot back, expecting to beat the power struggle of titles. Mirrok laughed back.
”Indeed”, he said, ”Humiliated, exiled – but now I’m here again.”
”You should’ve stayed away!”, Melvar groaned, ramming towards Mirrok. The necromancer casted a dark wave from his staff. The blackness swam across the air, distorting the area around it, bending it as if it was being looked through a bottom of a glass bottle. The wave grabbed the prince, flying him against a bookshelf.
”No…”, Mirrok replied, ”I figured out, that it would be a waste to leave the Kingdom for the bad apples like you and your elder brother.”
”Ha! Bad apples? Interesting words coming from the mouth of a harlot’s son!”, Melvar roared under the ’Geography of Northern Mountains’, under which he climbed up – rather quickly.

”Don’t insult my mother!”, Mirrok yelled, freezing half the bookshelf, so that Melvar had to force his boot off the ice. He evaded the staff’s sharp thorns just in time, but the dancing, purple light carved a burn to his cheek. After jumping forth, Melvar quickly turned around and casted a ball of fire. The flames hit a lump of flying ice, causing the ice melt and the fire to freeze at the same time before vanishing into the air.

They ran towards eachother and the prince’s sword was stopped to the necromancer’s staff.

”How ungrateful of you, pest”, the prince spat, ”After all what our great king did to you – you disobey his judgement – and destroy his nation.”
”Ungrateful, you say? Well – have you told him about your little conspiracy? Remember?”, Mirrok groaned. Melvar pulled the sword back and attempted to thrust it into his opponent. The blade carved a dent to the staff as it pushed the sword away again. Mirrok bashed the elk skull to Melvar’s head, causing a severe headache – and a few more burns.

”It must be tiresome to be the third heir. To be permanently in the shade of the Crown Prince?”, Mirrok taunted, ”Is that what caused you to to murder Banar, the second heir?! The knowledge, that you will always – be – nothing!”
”Quiet, pest! Sewer dogs don’t talk to me in that manner!”
”Guess what – I spent my entire life in the shades of you three. A son, not born from the Queen. A scapegoat, a mistake… a disaster! The only one, who ever treated me as a living person – lies on that bed…”

The sword sliced the air again and this time Mirrok had to duck down. He leaped forth, grabbing the legs of the prince, causing him to fall down.

”Like I cared”, Melvar whispered, ”They sentenced you for treachery and assassination…”
Melvar rolled away from the striking staff.
”…and as a result, father himself wiped you off the royal tree…”
He dodged the staff again.
”…and the Throne and the Kingdom forgot you. And that was too generous from father. You should've been executed!”

Mirrok reached down to the collar of Melvar and forced him on his feet.

”Generous or not, his blood is in your hands, Melvar. You can’t escape that”, Mirrok whispered. Prince Melvar soon noticed, that his feet were covered by thick lumps of ice. The necromancer backed off a step or two and pounded his staff to the floor. The flames in the skull bursted up to bright, purple light. Beyond the skies, a tiny spark appeared. It hovered between them silently. Then, as if someone had taken a quill, faint lines begun to extend from the spark, giving it a form. When the necessary powers had done their task, there stood a transparent reflection of what seemed to be Banar Dagnar, a second heir, brutally murdered five years back.

”Dead don’t forget”, Mirrok said, ”And because we’re both so – eager to deny the crime… then we have to ask Banar Dagnar himself. So, Banar, old crook – which one of us did really murder you?”

The spectre looked at Melvar, then Mirrok, and thought for a moment. In an eyeblink he was next to completely terrified and crying Melvar. In return, Banar started wailing, like a thousand people had talked to Melvar at the same time. The effects on the prince were – beyond all description – but it left behind two lumps of ice and Melvar’s painful scream, that slowly faded away.

Banar turned towards the bed and slowly glided to his father. The king had woken up at some point and apparently witnessed the most. His face was frozen to helplessly express feelings beyond all understanding. Banar’s empty gaze watched the old king. The king looked at Banar and Mirrok – and he reckognized them both. Banar opened his mouth and seemed to yawn… though average yawns don’t contain information, historians would kill for. In the end, the king understood, but it was too late for any ground-breaking changes.

They stood there for a while. Although it was a rather repulsive situation for Banar and Mirrok, they buried their personal grudges for the weak king. His majesty was – overwhelmed. Seeing a traitor and a dead person which were both his sons, he couldn’t make his mind about whether feel terror, anger or delightment. No-one uttered a word. Words weren’t necessary. Words were for the poor writers who would attempt to explain the chaotic madness after the majority of facts is forgotten.

Banar was ready to go – in fact he had to go, for Mirrok had skipped a word or two while summoning the dead prince. Therefore his unlife in the living world wasn’t persistent – and to express the end of his existence, the reflection vanished.

”He had to go, father”, Mirrok said, ”But don’t worry – he’s back where he is supposed to be.”

Mirrok turned towards the door.

”I – apologize for ruining your kingdom, father. But considering what might’ve been – it was for the best…”

The king’s gaze was easy to understand for the first time during their weird reunion. It said: Apology not accepted, but apparently it’s all I have. Let again, if I was still able to stand with my own feet, I’d give you such a spanking that you couldn’t be able to walk anymore. Damn you, son.

Mirrok grinned warmly. He felt bad for everything, but he couldn’t stop the inevitable, even if he wanted to. He bowed for one last time and left the room towards the remaining pawn on his chessboard of vengeange.

Though he had expected it, he didn’t witness a blue spark leaving the king’s body.

To be confinued...

[Sapient]

I love it when secrets are revealed. This is good! I didn't post a response because I was waiting until I thought of something interesting or insightful to say, but it never came to my mind. This latest chapter does reveal a lot about Mirrok's history, and it does make you think. I didn't see anything that needed to be changed or anything that stood out to me.

My favorite part was the reference you made to the purple tendrils of magic coming out of the staff skull: an obvious reference to the Wesnoth necromancer portrait. Little game tie-ins like that are a great bonus for the reader.