Boris was starting to reconsider his life choices significantly, which led him to become a necromancer for the Barrow Legion.
It seemed easy enough, following Lyle's orders, which were, in reality, Fredericka's orders to secure the outer reach of Artois, namely by sacking and pillaging the grail chapels throughout the duchy's many forests.
And oh, how he hated the forests. He was sure that his fellow necromancers that came with him had grown to hate the woods as well…if they were still alive, that was.
As he thought previously, it was supposed to be easy. The Dukedom's army was broken. Shattered. There were not even any knights to impede their siege. Whatever had caused that, Boris wasn't going to question. It was rare for their order to be so fortunate, so why question it? He probably should have if he knew matters would get so horrid.
He and two of his fellow brethren followed him into the western forests of Artois. With them, they brought an assortment of around 300 zombies and skeletons to bat aside any foolish up jumped peasants that would get in their way.
On the first day of their trip, all was well. Or so they thought. Hubert noticed that a few of their zombies were missing, but both himself and Elias just shook him off, figuring he either miscounted or that it wasn't something worth troubling themselves with.
On the second day of their trip, they did notice something amiss with their small mishmash of a horde. Some of their limbs had been broken, while others had arrows that ruined limbs and other appendages, rendering them useless unless repairs were made. Alas, they didn't bring a corpse cart with them so such maintenance wouldn't have been doable without material.
Then the forest itself displayed its wrath towards them in a blatant show of manipulating the wind of magic Ghyran, roots from the earth and branches from the trees themselves snapped and crushed several skeletons and zombies in short order, but that wasn't the worst part, oh no. Hubert had died. His neck snapped when an errant root ensnared itself around his neck and squeezed, crushing him without even giving him a chance to scream.
Now he was running because it continued to go from bad to worse for himself and Elias.
At this point, he had all but abandoned Elias and whatever undead they had left. It was the fifth day, and Elias had bullishly suggested they press on even with their poor fortune this week. He should have damned the consequences then and there for that stubborn fool and saved his thin skin while he had the chance.
After all, at this point, they had no chance, not after what he had seen earlier today. Not after they had finally made it to the first grail chapel, which they were supposed to sack.
As Boris lamented this change of fortunes, his eyes were focused, trying to keep an eye out for any moving forms of nature. He wouldn't allow him to become victim to it like so many of their undead and Hubert had.
His heart was pumping. Sweat was pouring down his brow. Dread filled his gut. He could practically still hear his undead puppets get cut down one by one, feeling the tethers Dhar had allowed him to control them with severed. He could quickly notice these tethers being severed now, unlike earlier, because there were so few of them left! Why didn't he ju-
Then he saw a possible way out. A woman, possibly a peasant-yes! It had to be a peasant! Sure she was wearing a long flowing and, dare he say, gorgeous green flowing dress, but she had all manner of leaves and twigs in her long flowing blond hair. Plus, she wasn't even wearing any shoes! If that wasn't a sign of peasantry, Boris didn't know what was!
Brandishing a dagger that he kept on him, Boris used the last bit of energy he had left to close the distance to this foolish peasant girl who turned her back toward him.
Much to his relief. He managed to grab the woman by her shoulder, snaking his arm around and pointing his knife right at his jugular, turning her and himself around to face his pursuer.
"You'll stay right still unless you want to meet your lady soon, peasant." Boris panted, trying to get his breath while sounding intimidating. The girl gave no response, so the necromancer just assumed she was shocked and scared of her situation, which suited him perfectly. Even though she was a mere peasant girl, Boris knew that he didn't have much to talk about in the strength department, and he had expended himself magically just trying to escape from hi-
Damn it all! How can someone so old be so swift? Even with the power of the grail in them?
Indeed, it turns out that his pursuer, who seemed to be nothing more than a weathered older man with wrinkles lining his face and long matted snow-white hair reaching his shoulders. A man wearing a simple cloth cloak, pants, and boots while also wielding a sword and shield. A blade that was glowing with a golden flame.
Of course, we expected a godsdamned hermit knight to be there. But, everything else that led up to him? We didn't stand a chance!
"If you wish for a fair trial for your crimes, you'll release the fair maiden heretic." The old man said easily, looking none too concerned at this change of circumstances.
"And if you want your fair maiden to still be breathing, I'll bypass that trial altogether, whitebeard."
"Oaths and common courtesy won't allow me to have that boy."
"Then her blood will be on your hand, you long-bearded fossil!"
The hermit knight smirked knowingly. "A long-bearded fossil that's put many of your slaves permanently to rest, as they should be."
"Come closer, and you'll both replace them! Now go back to your Lady-damned chapel and stay there fossil!"
The old man snorted. "You came to the chapel, not the other way around…it is you who has trespassed on the lady's sacred ground and much more if what I've heard is correct."
"You'll know the full force of the legion if you don't…don't..."
Boris hadn't noticed it at first, but now that he was beginning to calm down and trick himself into thinking that he had some form of control over the situation, he began to feel the winds of magic moving around him.
No…it was too close for comfort. He had figured some sort of life wizard was utilizing the winds of magic to manipulate nature itself. How could he not when the trees had become an enemy itself? It certainly wasn't the tree spirits of Athel Loren. No, he and his fellow necromancers would have noticed it by now. Kemmler made doubly sure that all his acolytes could at least do that since their own debacle at that so-called sacred forest.
The trouble was that even if they knew that a life wizard was causing such havoc amongst their ranks, Boris had never been able to find them! It was as if the damnable bastard was close yet far enough to escape their ability to pinpoint their exact location. As if they had fully immersed themselves with the nature of Ghyran magic that…
…The necromancer then looked again at the hair of the woman he was holding…more specifically at the twigs and leaves within.
Before he could act upon this possible revelation, Boris found himself short of breath as a thorny and firm root suddenly wrapped itself around his neck, with several others suddenly lashing around his limbs, pulling him off the woman with such force, he wound up dropping his knife, being held up and choking in mid-air. His eyes bulged, and he coughed for air. He felt his joints scream in protest as they continued to tighten and tighten to the point where he was sure he was turning blue in the face.
He should have left the moment Kemmler died. He should have made off with as many valuables and fled to Mousillon like he heard so many do. By the gods, Boris would have deserted to Sylvania if that's what it took! Now he would die because of the foolhardy decisions of some up jumped girl and bleeding hearted meathead of a leader!
Then, just when he felt he was about to pass out, Boris heard the old man's voice turn kindly. "If it's not too much trouble, m'lady, could you postpone his death for now? He still has a way to serve The Lady herself, even if he has fallen to the path of darkness and despoiling."
He thought for sure she would ignore him, yet to his relief and worry, the necromancer found himself able to breathe again, the vice around his neck loosened.
"It pains me to put off the judgment of this man's ilk." The woman…no… damsel's voice was youthful yet forceful. "But, I believe I understand why Ser Sylvain." She then turned disdainfully toward Boris, a wicked smile on her face. "If I feel even the faintest spell being created by you, I'll snap your neck, heretic. Consequences be damned. At least then your corpse can be used to fertilize the lady's forest. Clear?"
"Clear!" The necromancer squeaked. "I-I'll tell you whatever you desire!"
"Then you'll tell us where Kemmler's forces are going next necromancer."
"H-he's dead! S-someone new commands the Barrow Legion!"
Sylvain looked unimpressed. "I don't know why you would lie about such a blatant-
"I don't believe he's lying, Ser Sylvain." The damsel countered, surprising the man. "I'd heard the necromancers talking as I watched them throughout the forest…they did mention offhandedly about some new head necromancer running this horror-fest, so to speak."
Sylvain looked in disbelief. "So he truly is dead then…I hadn't heard because…well-
"Because of your oath to stay here…living up to Hermit knight title quite faithfully, I see!" The damsel giggled to herself.
The knight couldn't help but smile a tad at her mirth. "Much how you live up to the element of where your magic lies, lady Yasmine." He then returned his focus to the necromancer. "Tell me then, slave of Naggash. How is it that the Lich Master perished?"
"W-we don't know! H-he just died in his sleep, it seems. From what we could tell, there was no foul play but…, but we're not even sure!...in fact, even fewer care. All that mattered was that we followed the word of our new master!"
The damsel and hermit knight both looked toward one another meaningfully, while Boris continued to sweat at record paces, hoping and praying to whatever God hadn't forsaken him that he could give something interesting enough information-wise to barter his life just a little bit longer.
Finally, Damsel Yasmine smiled wickedly once more. "Tell us more about this…new master of yours and where he's planning on going next. And do try to keep from stuttering and sputtering. You'll find yourself not wanting to keep THIS servant of The Lady waiting for long."
…
"So let me get this straight." Nalga said, trying to maintain her composure in the face of this…this zombie that was somehow speaking to her usually utop her balcony overseeing Karak Ziflin with her two retainers, standing wearily by her side. "You said that my people will be spared by you and your Uzkul kin so long as my father goes along with…whatever demands are made of him?"
The zombie gave a deep bow, and though she would never admit it aloud, it unnerved how life-like this zombie was, especially from the moment it spoke normally and wished to negotiate on these Umgis' behalf. "Quite. Therefore I behoove you to convince your guards to kindly open the gates to your rather spacious abode and allow this to end bloodlessly. If my master were here in person, he would no doubt lament that enough of it had been spilled as it was."
Gunbar snorted. "And why is it that your Uzkul master couldn't negotiate in-person zombie? Not too scared of women and children hidin' within, is he?"
"You must forgive him of that. He's simply taking the necessary precautions to ensure that a second assassination attempt threatens his life during a tense negotiation."
"So what? Not going to show his face at all?"
"He will convene with you once I have ensured that his safety is not endangered and when your father comes to negotiate himself. Then we can truly negotiate for the release of you and your people properly."
"And what guarantees do I have of your Dhar slingin' kind that not a hair nor beard will be harmed until my father arrives?"
The zombie raised a wrinkled and scabby eyebrow in response. "It's no coincidence that we arrived when those beasts did. Thusly, I can promise you that my Master Lyle Spoletta, Duke of Artois and Master of the Barrow Legion, has more than enough ways to slay what's left of you, your people, and make them of my ilk. It is only through his kindness that you breathe, both from his butchery of the beastmen and through the staying of his magic."
The zombie did not speak angrily, vilely, or with insidious intent. In fact, he was speaking with prim and proper form, which clashed heavily with someone of a norscan accent. It further unnerved Nalga that a zombie such as this could act with so much agency, which only further cemented her belief of just how powerful this…Lyle was. No. The more she thought about it, the more she realized it couldn't be a coincidence that he arrived and 'saved' them when he did.
It was pure opportunistic nature, coupled with a cunning that she was loathed to be confronted with. If there was anything she and her father agreed on, even if there wasn't much of it as of late, it was the underhanded cunning of humans when it came to the deals they made for trade deals and given Karak Zifflin's location between the Empire and Brettonia. It made for a profitable trade…but also the target of many envious eyes.
She began to wonder if maybe this was the result of that. "What exactly does your Umgi Master want, zombie?"
"That would be reserved for your father…and yet…I can't help but feel as though my master would want you to know."
Batgrig looked confused. "You…you feel?"
"Indeed. I feel. I feel he would…yes he would most definitely want you to know. Do you recall a deal your father reneged on concerning your father and a man named Alberto?"
Nalga, fate her jaw open despite herself, while Gunbar groaned audibly, his eyes screwing shut. "Your tellin' me that's what this is all about? That damned deal my father went back on?"
"Knew that would come back to bite us…always happens when a dwarf does." Gunbar sighed.
"Alberto apparently was quite cross with what your father. He was disappointed that Rorek Granitehand didn't live up to your people's vaunted honor. So he commissioned master Lyle's assistance in preserving your lives and preserving a chance for compensation to be made. Ironically, however, it would seem that's exactly what saved you from your demise…yes, quite ironic indeed, as well as fortunate."
"Wouldn't exactly call it fortune with so many dead." Nalga nearly growled, fuming at how events had turned out.
The zombie shrugged. "I must admit, death can be rather tiring, but I'm quickly learning that under Master Lyle, it's also quite fulfilling. I would recommend trying it, but I'm doubly aware of how stubborn you dwarfs are to new experiences."
Gunbar frowned, proving his point. "If you want your Uzkul tongue to keep flappin' its prim and proper words, you'll keep such offers to yourself."
"Duly noted, dwarf…now then, will you open the inner gate, or must my master pointlessly expend resources and time?"
Nalga most definitely wanted to tell this rotting carcass of a fancy speaking zombie to crawl back to whatever crypt it had been raised out of. Still, she was learning at a fast rate that the world honestly didn't care what she wanted…or what the dwarf people desired as a whole to have fallen this low.
She knew that even if she delayed the inevitable, Nalga knew that this story the zombie spun sounded too elaborate and too in-depth for it to be a falsehood. No. Even though she was indeed fortunate to have been saved due to her father's unwillingness to uphold a deal her father made, it changed nothing about the fact that they were now at the mercy of a necromantic lord who wanted something in turn.
Regardless, she would do what was best for her people no matter what. By her ancestors, she would kneel before this truly damned master of this zombie if that's what it took!
Inhaling deeply, she steeled herself for a decision Nalga knew she had to take, but she hopefully wouldn't regret it.
She could now only imagine what horrifying…palid, and vicious shell of a man this necromancer would be that she was meeting. She'd never met one personally, but she'd seen all kinds of damage they can do, what with Blackstone Post being so close to Karak Zifflin. They were a blight on her people, without a doubt. It only made her wonder more what horrid monster would be in charge of this undead horde that could fell a Cygor and beastmen herd with such ease.
…
"Damn. Not gonna lie, but you put the dwarfs back home to shame with the gains you guys have…you all on a workout regimen or somethin'?" Lyle Spoletta remarked, looking genuinely impressed at the build of the three dwarfs in front, even more so with Nalga, given what he knew about the biology of males and females.
Nalga, on the other hand, along with Batgrig and especially Gunbar, were more perplexed seeing this…supposed necromancer, as they stood near the entrance and broken main gate of Karak Ziflin, the bodies of many beastmen and…many of her guards littering the ground.
The necromancers that stood a ways to the side, not far from Lyle, most definitely fit what her father told her about his encountered necromancers. Pale. Sickly-looking and with a heavy and appalling stench that wreaked of both magic and the dead.
Lyle, however…it was strange to say it, but he looked nothing like his fellow necromancers.
"Plus, I didn't realize you women dwarfs would be…so fine lookin' if you don't mind me sayin'."
Nalga only rose an eyebrow. Her father most definitely didn't mention anything about them being so forward. "Sorry, Umgi. Your face is lookin' a bit too bare for my tastes."
To her confusion, he only smiled further. "That can be arranged, sweetheart. I used to have a fancy stache and beard combo back in my football days."
"I thought this was a negotiation." Gunbar grumbled. "Not a courting session with a long-limbed gangly Umgi!"
"Hey, now I'm just giving the lady her compliments, my man!" Lyle said, grin still apparent. "I mean what I say, she's a fine lookin' woman. And once all this nasty mess has blown over, maybe we can chat over a drink."
This time Nalga couldn't help it. She barked out a laugh. "An Umgi drinkin' with a dwarf. You thinkin' you can outdrink one long-limb?"
"Nobody on my football team could. I've got a hell of a tolerance level, babe."
It made Nalga wonder what this football team was…an unholy covenant he used to be a part of?
"Were any of your…football team members dwarves then, Umgi?"
"...no?"
"Then you sure as shite aren't goin' to be able to outdrink a dwarf then long-limb."
"Careful with your tongue, dwarf whore." Schmitz growled viciously from the side. "You'll do well to-
"Ooohhh!" Lyle suddenly yelled out, cutting the bald necromancer short. "Schmitz! What's with that kinda talk!?"
"She insulted yo-
"We're just fuckin' with each other, my man! Relax! Read the room, and take it easy. No need for things to be violent…anymore than they already have, that is." He said, gesturing to the myriad of corpses around him. "Now, just stay cool."
"But, master Lyl-
"Schmitz…what did I just say?"
The old man grumbled, his face going slightly red in frustration. "...cool…"
"Say it…"
"Be cool…Master Lyle."
"Good man!"
Is this umgi right in the head? Nalga genuinely couldn't get a proper read on this necromancer. He was nothing like she expected him to be. His loose and free way of speaking was clashing greatly with the level of carnage he had wreaked on these beastmen…especially with that cygor lying in the middle of their street.
Batgrig thankfully brought matters back to the core of why they were meeting in the first place. "You mentioned that we would be negotiating?"
To her relief, Lyle nodded amicably. "Yeah, so long as your dad comes here and plays nice. Heard from a runner that he's going to be here soon, actually! Apparently, Alberto managed to get a hold of him real quick!"
"Alberto…so he truly is the mastermind of all this." Gunbar simmered. "We've indeed brought about our doom with our dishonor."
Batgrig looked a tad shame-faced. "Technically, it was King Granitehand's dishonor."
Gunbar shook his head. "And his dishonor is ours, Batgrig…we are his people, and we must live through his highs and lows…even with such high cost."
The daughter of said King wisely kept such thoughts on such a concept to herself, her anger flaring up at just how much her father had cost them…all just because her brother wanted to…
She couldn't think about that now. She had to focus on this…bizarre necromancer."
"So what is it that Alberto will be asking of my people and me? Gold?"
"Dunno, actually. He never mentioned…Ey, Wendel, did he mention what he wanted?"
The blonde, one-eyed necromancer shook his head. "No, master Lyle, he didn't mention-speak anything about that…besides a valued artifact, I think. He seemed to value-want it quite a bit, though."
Gunbar suddenly widened his eyes in realization and then quickly pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, by Valaya, don't tell me it was for that damned thing!"
"What damned thing?" Lyle asked curiously?
"The Umgak-damned thing that he asked for initially! Th-
"-Dragonbane Gem!" The familiar and booming voice of Alberto broke through the conversation. All eyes swiveled near the broken gates of the entrance to Karak Zifflin, and low and behold, there he was, standing near a squadron of dwarfs with one particular dwarf standing out amongst the rest with the elaborate armor, horned helmet, and bushy white beard. This dwarf was clearly Rorek Granitehand, and if the smoldering look in his eyes were anything to go by, he was far from pleased, making a sharp contrast to the very pleased-looking Alberto. "A gem found in the gullet of an infamous drake named Helorgandrax! It choked mid-flight from the gem itself and crashed into a halfling feasting hall. A gem that grants its wearer a great deal of fire protection, making it an invaluable commodity!"
Lyle blinked owlishly at the tale. "Huh. That gem sounds like it's been through the wringer. Kinda like a diamond in the rough." He tried to make himself sound as conversationally as possible to hide his discomfort in being around the southerner.
"Quite an apt description Lord Lyle! Well done!" The man said joyously as he turned to the sour-looking King of Karak Ziflin. "You see, King Rorek! Your daughter is safe and sound in your city…well, it could look worse if I say so myself! Are all the civilians intact Lord Lyle?"
"They're more intact than the guards…and the beastmen. From what it's worth, this fine lookin' gal here told me that the civvies managed to make it into the inner workings of the settlement."
"Most excellent-
"What did you call my daughter, you Uzkul-damned Umgi?" Rorek, grumbled, speaking up fiercely.
"I don't mean no disrespect now-
"Then do well to keep my daughter out of your gaze and any words you might have about her in your Uzkul damned j-
"Father! Enough!" Nalga cut in bitingly. "Do you not understand our situation?"
"He's insultin' your hon-
"I can take care of myself, just fine! This isn't some suitor that we're fendin' off. Do you have any idea how vulnerable we are?"
Nalga felt embarrassed that it was coming to this, but she felt they had no choice with so many eyes on them. Gunbar and Batgrig looked incredibly uncomfortable with a typical conversation between father and daughter when courtiers back in the throne room weren't present. It was a shame to admit, but Nalga found conversations often devolving like this when she grew to marriageable age…and even more so when her brother took the slayer oath.
However, her oh-so-proud father wasn't so willing to let it go. "Me and my clan have already suffered enough indignities as of late…I won't allow this damned umgi to run his mouth as so many of his kind do! Especially if he's insultin' you!"
"Insultin' me or your honor?"
"Watch your tongue, lass! I'm not startin' this again!"
Nalga nearly snarled. "You're the one who started it like always!"
"Your highness." Gunbar started diplomatically. "The Umgi… they're watching."
Rorek was starting to huff and puff just from the argument he was having with Nalga alone, and it was clear to Lyle that the mere fact that he was even here, holding down his home, was grating on the King. Oh, he's definitely not gonna like what I do next then. Instead of digging into what was a sore spot, Lyle decided to get the conversation back to the heart of the matter, if nothing else, but to spare the father and daughter more embarrassment.
"So, has he given you this gem you wanted, Alberto?"
"Not yet…he wanted to see his daughter hale and hearty before anything else and now he has! Right, King Rorek?"
Still fuming, the King looked as though he wanted to say something else but instead swallowed his words, furrowing his bushy beard in brow in consternation before Nalga spoke again.
"Father… it's just a gem."
Rorek sneered. "Your brother said the same thing, lass."
Nalga's sneer suddenly at that moment mirrored her father's, showing the family resemblance.
Regardless her father continued. "Tell me…Alberto. I asked you this before when you pronounced around my halls in your foppish Umgak clothes and what have you and demanded I honor an agreement my son made. An agreement was made in bad faith. Why should I stomach such dishonor and clear ransom of my people? Tell me!"
"An excellent question, Rorek! For that, I leave the answer to the vaunted and so far-proven reliable Lord Lyle! Master of the Barrow Legion!"
At that info drop, Rorek seemed, for a beat, taken aback. "Wh-what? Has Kemmler suddenly dropped dead?"
"Apparently, he did…in his bed, that is." Lyle shrugged. "I'm the new guy in charge, so-to-speak. And lemme tell you, King Rorek, if you don't play ball with Al, then I personally have no reason to leave your home anytime soon."
Rorek, to his credit, was quick to rebound from this bombshell of info and put on a face of confidence. "I have my entire throng at my back, ready to put you lot to a siege! If you think I'll let you walk out of thi-
"Your 'throng' which got savaged pretty badly by the beastmen that I took out with ease, right?" Lyle countered. "Not only that, but you putting us to a siege is laughable, my man. I dunno if you noticed, but I have everything I need to outlast your sorry stunted asses. I'm sure you've got food in your hall, and in case you need some glasses to check around you, we're necromancers. We have an undead army. An undead army we don't need to feed in any way, shape or form. My army's built to last. Can you say the same thing about yours?"
Rorek had suddenly grown quiet, his face becoming still as stone with Alberto looking on genuinely impressed. Even Schmitz, Wendel, and Fredericka looked taken aback yet impressed at this breakdown of information. Nalga, on the other hand, only felt nervous and uneasy, hoping that the pride that her father was infamous for wouldn't stop him from being confronted by the facts before him.
Regardless, Lyle continued. "I mean hell. My boys and gals don't even have to wait for you guys to starve. I'm pretty sure those Brettonians still got an ax to grind with you, what since you guys were still in the middle of pissin' contest before the beastmen came into rain on your parade…also if you don't play ball… I'll personally make it so that when you guys try to climb these walls… it's gonna be the corpses of the men who gave their lives here to save your people against those cloven hooved-assholes from earlier that greet you first."
Silence reigned in front of the gate. The King was swallowing the words, but his pride made it hard to digest them. His eyes flickered to his daughter, then to the too many dead around him. Rorek knew that at that moment, Lyle spoke true, and if push came to shove, matters could get disastrous for his people even more than they already were.
It was so simple from before. Iron out a grudge against Bohemond Beast Slayer's long-dead ancestor and possibly iron out a trade agreement in favor of his people. Then the beastmen showed up just as his forces were literally hammering away at the Bastonnian peasants and knights. Scores of the chaos-damned gors directly coming out of the woodwork of the forced a hasty retreat…which was an ugly one, to say the least, given the general speed of dwarfs.
Rorek Granitehand, King of Karak Ziflin, knew that he had no bargaining chip. He knew that he had no room to negotiate. And he knew that if his people perished because of his stubbornness, the amount of shame he put into his son for making that deal with Alberto would pale in comparison to a King who lost his people due to hubris.
So it was with great reluctance that Rorek dug into one of the many pockets in his belt, grumbling all the while and eventually fishing out a dark ruby gem that almost resembled a smoldering ember in terms of color.
Without hesitation, Alberto plucked the gem and admired it with an infectious smile. "I would normally lament how long and convoluted this was on account of your stubbornness King Rorek, but truly I must thank you! If not for stubbornness, I wouldn't have likely met a new client in the form of Lord Lyle here, whose proven to be most interesting in my estimates! Truly a bounty your stubbornness has afforded me!"
Rorek said nothing, not even wanting to look at the southerner. What could he say in this position? Truly? In what position was he to make demands of anything.
Well. That wasn't entirely true. Rorek had one more demand to make. "You've got your damned gem, Alberto. Now tell this wretched Uzkul loving Umgi to get out of my hold!"
A beat of silence passed over the area when Alberto, still smiling, tilted his head. "And do pray tell…why would I want to do this?"
Rorek's eyes widened in rage, along with many of his bodyguards. "Why? WHY!? You made a promise-
"I promised that no harm would come to your people if you allowed our previous deal to be amended as agreed upon by your son. I made no such promises about Lord Lyle giving up control over Karak Ziflin, which he fought and expended resources for."
"Y-you cannot be serious!" Nalga suddenly cried out. "Th-then what is to happen to the rest of us? Of our people? All the women and children inside the hold!?"
"I will kindly request Lord Lyle to release them, of course! From there, I suppose you could make the trip to one of the many different Karak's in the surrounding area. Given how many mountains are nearby, it shouldn't take too long."
Rorek was apoplectic. "So you would have us run with our beards between our legs like refugees? You ancestors-damned, two-faced southerner!?"
"I would, as a matter of fact! I'm honestly surprised that you didn't consider this, considering the very precarious situation you're now i-
"Yeah hold on a moment Al, I hate to interrupt but…is that a gun you got there?" Lyle suddenly cut in. "You…eh, dwarf with the bandana on your head…you have a gun on your back yeah?"
Batgrig looked surprised at attention now being drawn to him, causing the dwarven engineer to turn and look back at the rifle strapped behind him. "Erm…yes?...built it myself."
"Mind if I see it?"
The dwarf hesitated for a moment, clearly not comfortable with parting from his only weapon to this meeting, but eventually relented, unslinging the bronze-colored rifle and handing it to Lyle, who grabbed and observed the gun closely.
"Bolt action or breach loaded?"
"I-I'm sorry?"
"Actually…never-mind. It doesn't matter." Lyle replied.
Many were utterly confused as Lyle continued to admire this weapon, with Fredericka and Nalga being the most confused. Fredericka herself thought this was the first time Lyle ever saw a gun up close, given his curiosity, but the way he handled it professionally with such ease only made her more confused. Nalga herself was confused, but more for a different reason. Why would a necromancer interrupt a deal favorable to him only to look at a gun? Moreover, what use would a necromancer have for one?...then again, she was quickly learning that this Lyle Spoletta most definitely didn't act like normal necromancers.
"So Rorek Granitehand…you don't wanna lose your home, right?"
"Who in ancestor's name would ever want to lose their home, Uzkul!?"
"Well, in that case… I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse."
The King paused for a moment, his brow furrowing further if such a thing were possible. "Speak plainly, Uzkul!"
"I'll make you a deal. You guys can keep your home, so long as you make yourselves a client state to us while kicking us a portion of your income…and also make the Barrow Legion a constant supply of rifles."
"WHAT!?" Roared Rorek.
"WHAT!?" Cried, Schmitz.
Alberto only stroked his chin with interest. "Oh, now this is truly entertaining!"
Lyle shrugged. "Hey, you can 'What' me all you want. That's my offer. You can take it or leave it…and I mean literally leave in this case, cause if we don't have a deal. You don't have a home.'
"Unacceptable! You think I would give you Uzkul Dawi-forged firearms for the sake of my home!? You're either drunk or mad to think I would stoop so low! I'd sooner drown myself in Umgak beer before I do that!"
Lyle was about to retort before an idea suddenly came to him. In truth, he half expected Rorek to turn down the idea due to how obtuse and stubborn he was in general. From the moment the man spoke, he seemed both incredibly prideful and persistent, and he may as well have been talking through a mountain.
Thankfully, in his mind, he already had another option. "What about you, Nalga? You game for the deal?"
"M-me?"
"HER!?"
Alberto's amusement showed blatantly on his face. "I should have brought a five-course meal for this negotiation."
"Shut your damn mouth, southerner!" Rorek roared, his mighty lungs bellowing in anger. "You dare to assume my daughter to become a…a pawn in your dark schemes!"
Nalga, on the other hand, looked incredibly pensive. She seemed torn on the words being spoken, with many in attendance still reeling from the announcement. Schmitz especially seemed cross and looked to talk, only to receive an elbow from Fredericka, who shook her head subtly, calming the aging necromancer.
Finally, the female dwarf spoke. "...you swear not to lay a finger upon a hair nor beard among any of my people?"
The King of Karak Ziflin's eyes bulged damn-near out of his skull. "Nalga!?"
"I'll swear it on whatever deity you want, hon. For you especially!" Lyle smiled suggestively.
"My people swear upon our ancestors human. If you can do that-
"Nalga! Has this…has this Uzkul cast some kind of spell upon you, lass? What are you saying!?"
"I'm trying to protect our home, father!"
"We can get it back! We can get the support of other holds to-
"To what!? To what end? Like how many said we would get back all of the World's Edge Mountains? Like Belegar always swore to get back Karak Eight Peaks? How much more must our people give up!?"
Rorek was openly gnashing his teeth, which was an impressive sight, given the business of his enormous beard. "You're determined to go on this path, are ye? Want to follow your brother that ba-
"Don't you dare bring him into this!"
"Why bloody not!? You always bring him up!"
"And you know why now, don't you!?" Nalga's fury matched her father in every step, her rage as palpable as his.
"He made his choice! He swore his oath!"
"You made the choice for him as his father, damn yo-
"Okay, I feel like we're getting a little off track here." Lyle interrupted. "The way I see it, your opinion doesn't matter here, King Rorek. If your daughter is game, I'm game."
Alberto raised a hand, interrupting the proceedings. "If you desire, Lord Lyle, with me being a manufacturer of trades and agreements for…various purposes, I can oversee this deal to ensure the legality of it."
"Sounds good to me."
"I should have split your head open with my az when I met you, southerner!"
"Done that, and I'm afraid that not even your family would have lived to curse your name, I'm afraid!" The confidence in which Alberto said that unnerved Lyle, which only made him want to get the man's good side even more. "Now, if you don't mind, if lady Nalga is willing to forge an agreement with Lord Lyle, I'll be content to draft a piece of-
"Already covered." A familiar lethargic voice sounded, surprising everyone as the zombie from earlier made its presence felt once more, carrying a piece of recently signed and detailed parchment with Thing riding upon his shoulder, with a bit of charcoal between its middle and ring finger. "I felt that this would be necessary, Master Lyle, so I drafted an agreement for this deal with the assistance of Thing here. I sincerely hope that you don't mind my forwardness."
"Oh, yeah! You're the zombie from earlier that saved our asses!" Lyle pointed out with a smile. "I never did get your na-…wait, you already knew I'd need a deal written out?...but I never told you?"
"You need not have told me. Your will is made clear through the life that you have granted me." The eyeball-less zombie mentioned as if that explained everything. He then held out the parchment to a very interested-looking Alberto. "I believe that you'll find this up to order."
"I must admit…a zombie that can write legibly is a first for me." The trader admitted aloud as he looked at the written deal with riveting attention.
All the while, the necromancers observing these proceedings looked at this zombie and Lyle as if both had grown a second head, with Fredericka and Schmitz staring with their mouths slightly open.
The latter leaned slightly towards the former. His voice a hushed whisper. "We'll discuss this later I trust?"
"Quite…"
"I have to say this all looks quite expertly written! You have fantastic penmanship for a rotting corpse!...no offense." Alberto praised. "Your master Lyle must have quite an amount of skill to create a fine specimen such as yourself!"
The zombie nodded, with Thing giving a thumbs up. "Skill that only grows by the day."
"Growth I'll be interested in seeing as our partnership deepens...speaking of which, this now only requires your signature at the bottom to be completed, Lady Nalga."
Rorek, however, was predictably having none of it. "Nalga…I swear upon my beard…if you sign that gods-rotting document, I'll treat you no better than how I treated your brother!"
Even Gunbar seemed hesitant. "My lady. If you sign that document…you can go back. A dwarf is only as good as their word and-
"-you don't need to tell me what I already know, Gunbar…my father tells me it enough." The female dwarf seemed to be on the verge of asking for a writing instrument until the zombie approached once more, holding out his hand, which held Thing, offering the charcoal for writing. Not sure what to say at this creepy exchange, the dwarf decided to just wordlessly grab the charcoal after grabbing the parchment.
Her arms shook for a moment because Nalga knew there was no going back from this. Yet, at that moment, her will was resolute. Her mind made up and…
"Wait a moment…" She said suddenly, squinting her eyes on the document. "It says here that…that I also owe…I owe the master of the Barrow Legion…a drink and a date!?"
Lyle blushed mildly, looking surprised. "Say what now?"
Alberto couldn't hold back his laughter this time. Rorek looked like he wanted nothing more than to reach for his ax and his squad of bodyguards. The necromancers looked both confused and utterly at a loss.
The zombie only shrugged. "I merely included what you would have wanted, my Master."
"Dude, are you reading my mind or something cause I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified!"
"I merely know your intent and magnificent ideals. Nothing more, nothing less, and I'm more than willing to do whatever I can to help you execute your goals."
"Erm…sounds great, my man, can you just uhh…talk to me about this first? I mean, don't get me wrong, I approve! I'm more than happy to take this lovely lookin' short stack on a date, and I'd just appreciate a heads up next time!"
"Noted, Master Lyle. I will keep this in mind for any other attempts you wish to execute when fornicating with others."
Nalga looked like she wanted to protest. She well and truly did. But eventually, she just sighed and looked resigned. "Oh, sod it. I've already sacrificed much for my people. What is my chastity in comparison at this point?"
She knew that if she postponed any longer, no matter how outrageous the demands, she would be putting off the inevitable. Seems like in a way, you and I have both forsaken our family brother. And so it was with a quick flourish of her wrist that Nalga signed her name on the dotted line below.
She had made herself and her home the vassal of a necromancer.
While she didn't have any regrets over keeping her home, she couldn't help but feel the shame well up within.
She looked to see what her father would say, only to be disappointed. He had already turned his back on her, leaving only to stop next to Lyle Spolleta. His gaze was hard as iron.
"When I return… I'll return with the throngs of many dwarven clans looking to tear you down Uzkul…Remember this, Lyle Spolleta. Remember the day that I, Rorek Granitehand, King of Karak Ziflin, marked your name in the book of grudges. It will be a price that I swear to make sure you pay before your wretched soul leaves this earth. Remember it well when I and my kin end your miserable carcass-filled horde once and for all."
Usually, after such an insult, Lyle would have responded with a witty quip or quote. However, he was momentarily caught off-guard by the sheer level of the cool-spite field declaration that this dwarf had made.
It seemed that he hadn't given Fredericka's words enough stock. Dwarves indeed do hold grudges.
To Nalga's growing pit of shame, Gunbar left her side, following in her father's footsteps, looking back shame-faced at the young female dwarf. "I'm sorry, lass…I…I can't break an oath I swore to your father-
"Just go, Gunbar… I'll never hold it against you." The lady said, hoping she kept any quivering out of her voice.
Gunbar nodded slowly, turning to Batgrig. "Watch over her will ye, Batgrig."
"...And watch over our king, Gunbar."
The thane only gave a steady nod before he quickly turned his head, following in the footsteps of his King as the group of armored dwarfs made their way out of the Karak.
Once they were deemed a safe enough distance away, Alberto bowed to Lyle. "My thanks for not going the way of many of my different clients, Lord Lyle. Other partners I've associated with have a nasty habit of killing those I conduct business with to…tie up loose ends, so to speak."
"Kinda surprised you didn't ask me to kill him, given' you're the only one he could hate more than me at this point."
"Better he stays alive, Lord Lyle. The consequences that King Rorek suffered here will be sung throughout the lands, which will allow everyone to know the hefty price one must pay to cross me and the magnanimous deals I toil to create."
Nalga openly spat, displaying her disgust. "You're a vile man to work with the 'ilk' you associate yourself with. Honorless is what you are."
"Oh, I have so much I can say about your family on that front, but for the sake of business…I shall mercifully hold my tongue for you, lady Nalga."
"And since I like any deals I start off, I'll make sure that kinda talk doesn't go any further." Lyle said amiably as he then swaggered up near Nalga. "So…Lady Nalga. About those guns I want…and that date."
Nalga sighed once more. What in Valaya's name had she literally signed up for?
A/N: What I like most about this chapter is how it sets up the really interesting content that's going to happen in the next few chapters or so. Besides that, please continue to let me know what you guys think in the reviews below, and thank you to all those who have stuck with my story for this long and are recently coming along for the ride!
Also, on a side note check out my profile about another piece of work I've started if you want to support me. I would greatly appreciate it, as it allows me to stave off the monetary crisis that we're all enduring thanks to soaring gas prices. I'll say this much. If you're into vampires and are unsatisfied with how little I've included them in this story you'll love it. If not, I won't hold it against you.