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Underland 10: Friends of the Light
🕑 Added 2021-10-09 08:05:46 +0000 UTCThe ecto-catcher hummed as the shadow of Valdemar’s grandfather returned from the dead.
The workshop’s walls trembled as technology and magic merged into a single force. The ring of blood around the machine ondulated as a tired Valdemar fueled it. With his slashed right hand, he gave his life force to call his grandfather’s remaining psychic energies back to the world of the living; and with the left, he tried to guide them towards the portrait on the nearest wall.
Doing one of these tasks was already difficult, and the two at once even more so… but this time, no knight would kick down his door.
“Continue,” Hermann encouraged his friend as he provided assistance. While Valdemar’s blood was the ritual’s key ingredient, the reptilian pictomancer had added his own to the mix. His pale body fluids formed a second ring around his colleague’s, stabilizing the ritual. “We are… almost done…”
Green ectoplasm was rising from the journal inside the ecto-catcher, coalescing into the shape of a human skull. At first glance, it seemed the experiment would go almost exactly like the first time Valdemar tried it.
But when only half of the skull manifested, the necromancer realized the problem.
“Damn it!” Valdemar cursed. “Curse the Knights, there’s not enough psychic energy for a full echo!”
By interrupting the ritual the first time, the inquisitors had depleted most of the emotional energies left in the journal. Less than half of it remained!
Hermann, however, remained optimistic. “We must… press on. Take everything… into the portrait. You won’t have… a third chance.”
Grinding his teeth in frustration, Valdemar gathered every ounce of emotion, every forgotten memory soaking the journal’s pages. He then directed the ectoplasmic construct towards his grandfather’s portrait, letting the ghostly echo fuse with the enchanted pigments.
The ecto-catcher fell silent as the canvas gained a life of its own. Valdemar watched with amazement as the colors in his grandfather’s portrait started to shift. The painted eyes closed and opened again, while his chair rocked by a few millimeters. For a brief moment, Valdemar thought his grandfather had returned from the dead.
But the painting’s movements were slow and stiff, like those of a doll rather than a human being. The eyes of Valdemar’s grandfather moved from his grandson to Hermann, but though he seemed to detect them, his gaze was without warmth or life.
The portrait was animated, but lifeless.
Valdemar applied a healing spell to close his wounded palm, while the circles of blood on the floor dried up. “Grandfather?” He addressed the portrait, praying for an answer as his hand’s skin stitched itself back to normal. “Grandfather? Can you hear me?”
The portrait’s eyes moved to Valdemar, but his grandfather didn’t answer. The necromancer refused to give up so soon. “Grandpa?” he asked the portrait, his eyes peering into his grandsire. “It’s me. Valdemar. Don’t you remember?”
The portrait observed him in silence for a moment, but the lips arched right as Valdemar thought he had failed.
“Valdemar?” The voice was nothing but a faint whisper, but a familiar one. Valdemar hadn’t heard this tongue spoken in many years. “Are you off playing outside again? Don’t wander too far, or your mother will worry.”
Valdemar let out a breath of relief, suppressing tears in his eyes. How good it felt to hear that wise voice again after so long. Half the reason the necromancer ran this ritual was to return his family to him, beyond his research.
And he had succeeded.
“I do not… understand the language,” Hermann said while using magic to close his own wounds.
“I do,” Valdemar replied in Azlantean, before switching back to French to address his dead relative. “It’s alright, Grandfather. I can’t wander away from this place, even if I wanted to.”
The portrait smiled, but didn’t answer.
This reaction spooked Valdemar, who suddenly realized his grandfather had asked for his mother when he had outlived her. There were holes in the echo’s memories.
The necromancer grabbed the journal and presented it to the portrait. “Grandpa, do you recognize this?” Valdemar asked, as he flipped the pages.
“Valdemar, did you look into my books again?” the portrait asked with a familiar frown of disapproval.
“I’m sorry, Grandpa.” Valdemar couldn’t help but apologize, as he pointed at a passage written in the indecipherable language. “I didn’t understand that passage. What tongue is it?”
His painted grandfather’s eyes looked at the text, reading it. “It’s English,” he whispered. “John the British, he taught it to me.”
The British? Valdemar thought. What was that? A troglodyte tribe?
“We talked. We drank mud and breathed gas together in Picardy…” His grandfather scowled, the pigments turning white from fear and horror. His voice shook when he spoke. “Oh, our poor lands, what did the Germans make of you? You were so beautiful once…”
“Grandfather?”
But Valdemar’s words fell on deaf ears.
“Where is the grass?” his grandfather muttered, his painted visage looking left and right as if surrounded by invisible foes. “I can only see the shrapnel. Paul, where are you? I can’t see anyone… it’s all dark out there...”
The pigments shifted again, and his grandfather returned to his original position. His painted cheeks regained colors, and his horror turned to confusion.
“Grandfather?” Valdemar asked, his throat dry. “Grandfather?”
The portrait looked at him, as if suddenly noticing his presence. “Valdemar, did you look into my books again?”
Valdemar sighed in defeat. “I went off to read outside,” he said, dreading the next words.
“Don’t wander too far, or your mother will worry,” his grandfather advised with paternal warmth.
“She won’t. I swear.” Valdemar closed the journal, his fingers trembling in silent frustration.
Hermann, who had observed the interaction in silence, looked at his colleague with concern in his eyes. “Is something… wrong?” he asked Valdemar. “You look… distraught.”
“It’s not him,” the necromancer lamented in Azlantean, as his grandfather’s eyes wandered around the room. “When the picture answered me, I thought he was back. But as I feared, this replica is incomplete. Broken.”
“You knew that… it would be an echo. Echoes cannot think.”
“Yes, but…” Valdemar shook his head in sadness. “I hoped for more than that.”
A reminder of his family was better than none, but it still broke his heart to see his grandfather like this. If only the ritual had worked the first time, maybe the painting would have become so lifelike that Valdemar wouldn’t have noticed the difference with the real deal.
Hermann put a scaled hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I am... sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, but the Knights’.” Though Valdemar believed vengeance was a sucker’s game, if he ever crossed paths with the squad that interrupted his ritual... “At least he recognizes the language, so I can translate the missing parts over time.”
“Be gentle...” Hermann advised, as his scaled hands brushed against the portrait. Valdemar’s grandfather didn’t seem to notice the troglodyte. “This painting’s ego is fragile… it will only answer to you… its creator… and it cannot handle strong emotions.”
“Do you mean it might break?”
“No, but… it will revert to its prior state… like a thought coming to a complete stop.” The troglodyte observed his colleague carefully. “You should take a rest… before interrogating him.”
“Do I look that tired?” If anything, Valdemar wanted nothing less than to fall on his bed and close his eyes. “Honestly, I almost suggested that we delay the ritual.”
“I would not have… blamed you for it,” Hermann replied, his tail wagging behind him. “Is it… the eyes?”
“No.” Though Valdemar hadn’t emerged from the Institute’s lower floors since he drank that damn potion. He was afraid of what the rest of the world might look like. “I suffer from nightmares, and tonight was more intense than usual.”
“Dreams are a… dialogue with ourselves,” Hermann said while clearing his throat. He struggled to find the right words. “Perhaps your mind is… trying to tell you something? What did you… dream of?”
“It was strange,” Valdemar admitted. “I was trapped at the bottom of a well I couldn’t escape from, and then Marianne looked at me from above.”
“Marianne… Reynard?”
“Yes.” It was the first time Valdemar dreamed of her. “I heard a woman’s voice, and then gunshots. But when I tried to climb the well to escape and look for myself, a pile of rocks buried me alive. I don’t know what to think of it.”
“It is quite natural for… mammalian males to… dream of female company.” Hermann scratched his left cheek with his claw. “Maybe you simply feel… sexually frustrated?”
Valdemar remained silent for a moment out of sheer disbelief. “No,” he said.
But to his horror, Hermann remained adamant about pitching Valdemar his theory. “The well collapsing… before you can reach her… the sound of bullets firing… the imagery...”
“She had clothes.”
“Oh,” Hermann replied in disappointment.
An awkward silence followed, made worse by the confused gaze of his grandfather in the background. Valdemar felt blood rushing to his cheeks. “Hermann, if you say a word of this conversation to Liliane, I won’t talk to you for a month.”
“Her friend Frigga… is an oneiromancer.” Though Hermann had changed the subject, Valdemar could tell that he still believed in his crass theory. “If you have nightmares… She can help.”
Valdemar considered the proposal for a moment. And why not? he thought. I wanted to consult a specialist for a while. “She’s good?”
“The best…” Hermann appeared a bit embarrassed all of a sudden. “But selfish.”
“I’ll have to pay her?”
The troglodyte nodded in confirmation. “Not with gold though… she will ask for a favor.”
Service for service? Valdemar could live with it. “Fine, I’ll consult her after we summon the Collector.”
“About that… I have done research… on the Qlippoths. Are you sure… blood will remain behind once we kill it?”
“Qlippoths may be spiritual creatures, but if allowed to manifest, their bodies become real enough,” Valdemar reassured him. As psychic entities from the extradimensional realm of madness called the Outer Darkness, Qlippoths needed to either create a body of ectoplasm or possess a living creature to manifest on the material plane. ”We’ll need gold coins for my method, as greed pervades it.”
“So it’s true…” Hermann nodded to himself. “I read that Qlippoths… are manifestations of mortals’ sins. The greater the sin… the stronger the beast.”
“Where did you read that? In a Church’s book?” Valdemar snorted. “It’s more complicated than that. There is debate about whether the Outer Darkness is fueled by emotions or causing them, although all ten species of Qlippoths do draw their power from a particular thought. Collectors are associated with greed and ownership.”
The more complex and powerful the emotion, the stronger the beast. At the bottom were gluttonous Gnawers and the envious Facethiefs, who tried to mimic humanity by stealing others’ identities. At the top of the Qlippoth hierarchy stood the creative Nahemoths, mad demigods whose vile wishes their Lilith handmaidens immediately fulfilled. Collectors were in the middle, too powerful to serve as common summoning fodder, but weak enough to be bound.
“So when will we proceed with the summoning ritual?” Valdemar asked.
“Soon,” Hermann answered. “I asked my Master Loctis… to rent the Hall of Rituals for our purpose. He wishes… to be present.”
Valdemar winced. The Hall of Rituals could only be entered from the Institute’s ground floor above. “Can’t we do it in my workshop?” he pleaded. “I mean, it’s small but I summoned Qlippoths in far worse conditions.”
“Summoning is only authorized… only possible… in the Hall of Rituals…” Hermann pointed out. “And you should go outside… for your health.”
“I know.” Valdemar hadn’t left his workshop in days. Liliane delivered him the day’s meal each morning. “I know.”
“I… I researched ways to help you… forget,” Hermann admitted. “But… once the body has taken the Elixir of True Sight…”
“You can’t close your eyes.”
Nor ignore those outside.
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After a short, peaceful rest, Valdemar found the courage to leave the Institute’s basement and explore the outside world.
The eyes were waiting for him.
They infested the cavern’s ceiling like mushroom growth. Some were so small that Valdemar could barely see them, but others were larger than the Institute itself. The stone’s surface was blistered with crystal cysts and metallic fibers. The dark and foreboding ceiling had transformed into an alien tapestry, with none the wiser.
And yet, in spite of all its terrible eldritch grandeur, Valdemar couldn’t help but see the beauty in this spectacle. Strange tangles of fibers linking the eyes together glittered like a web of light. Weird, lurid colors danced on a metallic skin stretching as far as the eye could see. Strange entities floated beneath these alien auroras, from formless shadows to simmering masses of colored dust and gemstones.
Valdemar had flayed the false skin of the world to see the truth underneath, dreadful and beautiful in equal measure.
His True Sight also allowed him to see the wards and protections around the Institute. Fiery glyphs and arcane symbols formed a vast sphere around the fortress’ walls, preventing the shadows outside from crossing its perimeter. The design was so complex that looking at it gave Valdemar a headache; how many sorcerers have woven spell after spell to raise such a perfect barrier?
Valdemar wandered the Institute’s ground, before making his way to the local Cathedral of the Light. The temple was almost deserted, but the necromancer noticed the red aura around the gargoyles on the walls. The statues had been animated with magic, and would defend the building from attackers if needed. Valdemar crossed the gates anyway, looking for the light beyond the threshold.
He didn’t know what brought him here. Valdemar had never been religious, and his experience with the Church had been mostly limited to avoiding its inquisitors… but the building and its fires felt reassuringly familiar compared to the alien ceiling outside.
The cathedral’s hall was almost deserted when he arrived, with barely a few Knights of the Tome sitting on the benches in silent contemplation. A hooded priestess chanted deep songs dedicated to the light behind the central fiery altar, feeding a brasero with wood and paper letters. The congregation had written their sins and dark thoughts on them, so the flames could purify them.
Valdemar silently sat a few rows behind them, taking a look at the area and basking in its warmth. The ceiling was made of thousands of scintillating scales surrounding a crystal shaped like the mythical sun. When Valdemar paid more attention to them, he noticed scenes carved on them: a scene of the ancient humans worshipping the sun on the surface; the Whitemoon’s appearance in the skies; the age of darkness and frost that followed; mankind’s descent into Underland; the wars against the troglodytes, the Derros, and the dark elves; the pact between the first Enlightened One and the Dark Lords, that made the Church of the Light the empire’s official religion; and the glorious future when the Light would shine again on a world free of sin.
Valdemar’s inquisitive eyes then wandered to another part of the architecture, a towering pillar of chiseled purple crystal. Pictures of skulls had been carved on the surface, shining with otherworldly light. The structure reached more than ten meters in height, pushing towards the ceiling and the scintillating false sun above.
A Reliquary.
“Impressive, eh?” Valdemar turned his head at the speaker, and blinked in surprise. A golem no taller than a human stood near his bench. Made of wood and purple soulstones, the creature was clad in tattered robes, heavy scarves, and a pointed hat obscuring most of its face. Valdemar could only see darkness beneath, and the glow of two yellow crystal eyes. “I made it myself.”
A handsome old woman in her late fifties followed the creature, her skin brown, and her eyes darker. Valdemar had rarely seen that coloration before, and wondered if she came from a faraway cavern. Her black hair was tied into a disheveled bun, and her black robes reminded the summoner of a bat’s fur. She gave Valdemar a sharp look as if he were some kind of savage beast.
“You stink,” the woman said to Valdemar with the bluntness of a mace, her wrinkles creasing. “Wash yourself.”
“I took a shower thirty minutes ago,” Valdemar protested.
“It wasn’t enough,” she replied. “Your stench frightens the animals.”
"Amie, please,” the golem said, before pointing at the bench. “Can we sit with you? You look like better company than the Knights.”
Valdemar answered with a nod. “I never saw a Reliquary so large before,” he admitted, as the strange golem and his companion sat with him. “How many souls does it contain?”
“By my latest count, two thousand eight hundred and fifty-three,” the golem replied. “It’s not much, I’ll agree. The Church of the Light’s Reliquary in Saklas contains hundreds of thousands.”
It didn’t surprise Valdemar. Reliquaries were larger versions of the soulstones used by nobles and rich individuals to catch their souls after death, allowing them to be revived as sentient undead. Unlike individual soulstones, Reliquaries didn’t immediately capture souls at the moment of death, but could hold more than one at once. As such, poor individuals could ask to have their spirit transferred into it while alive if they couldn’t afford a soulstone and sensed their death approaching.
There was a catch, however. Souls inside a Reliquary fused together and lost their individuality. Their knowledge and memories melded together into a single pool of information, allowing the collective to give advice and guidance to the living.
“I’ll choose quality over quantity anytime though,” the golem argued, though he whispered lowly enough not to disturb the religious ceremony. “This Reliquary contains the souls of esteemed scholars and researchers who either failed to achieve immortality or grew tired of it. Their collective pool of knowledge rivals even our own.”
Valdemar made a note to question the Reliquary in the future. Lord Och’s tutelage was already a lot to deal with, but he was interested in what this undead library had to say.
“Name’s Edwin by the way,” the golem introduced himself and his friend. “Edwin Crowborn. And this is Amie Malherbe.”
“Valdemar.” The summoner squinted. “Master Amie?”
The woman answered with a nod, although her eyes focused on the fiery altar. While Edwin looked more interested in chatting, his female colleague had come to come to pray and nothing else. “Hermann told you about me, I suppose?”
“How did you guess?”
“All the bats and half the rats in our walls report to her,” Edwin explained. He sounded vexed that Valdemar had heard of his colleague, but not him. “We’re both Masters at the Institute. I’m specialized in soulcraft, while Amie teaches biomancy and animacy.”
Soulcraft? Valdemar quickly put the two and two together. “So the golems around the Institute—”
“They’re my handiwork.” Edwin nodded with pride. “The gargoyles outside too. I imbued them with life and purpose.”
All Masters needed to achieve immortality. Valdemar assumed that Edwin’s method involved binding his soul to an immortal golem body, though he wondered what his colleague did. Amie Malherbe reeked of magic, but she neither looked undead nor young.
“I tried to make a sentient golem once,” Valdemar admitted. “My plan was to put somebody’s brain in it and to have their mind animate it.”
“Like the Derros?” Edwin asked. “What went wrong?”
“I experimented with rat brains, but I couldn’t translate the brain’s electrical signals into psychic or magical pulses,” Valdemar admitted. That failure was why he eventually started working on the ecto-catcher. “Since I couldn’t make a golem work with something as simple as an animal, a human would have been beyond my grasp. That, and the original soul had long departed anyway.”
“Your efforts were doomed from the first day,” Amie said with firmness. “Even Derros transfer the brain while the subject is alive. Once the soul is gone, only knowledge and memories remain. The emotions are gone.”
“I thought you had success with giving life to flesh golems without the need of a soulstone?” Edwin asked his colleague.
“It was another soul that took over the vessel, like a newborn. The brain’s original occupant did not return, and though the new one kept the memories, he didn’t feel any connection to them.”
Valdemar immediately thought of his grandfather, his eyes lighting up in hope. “Could I see this golem?” he immediately asked.
“No,” Amie replied bluntly. “Not unless Lord Och orders me.”
“What?” Valdemar refused to give up. “Why's that?”
The Master looked at him with disgust. “Your stench disturbs my friends.”
What kind of scientist refused to share their knowledge over hygiene? “If I put on a perfume—”
“Still no.”
Valdemar sulked, causing Edwin to cackle. A knight on the front row looked at the group with disapproval, making the golem lower his tone.
“So you’re Och’s new protégée,” Edwin whispered before examining Valdemar closely. “Well, it was nice knowing you.”
Valdemar shuddered upon remembering his ‘initiation.’ “I survived so far.”
“So far,” Edwin replied while rolling his shoulders. “But I would invest in a soulstone if I were you. Och kills as easily as he breathes… well, as when he breathed.”
He had to be close to the Dark Lord, to call him by his first name.
The ceremony ended a few minutes later, and the Knights of the Tome dispersed to return to their posts. Her prayers finished, the priestess walked away from the burning altar and removed her hood, revealing a well-groomed mane of red hair and sharp amber eyes. She was exceptionally graceful, her beauty further enhanced by an emerald diadem and a soulstone necklace. Valdemar noticed pouches of ingredients and a belt stacked with potions beneath her cloak, alongside spells woven in her clothes.
“Greetings, child,” she addressed Valdemar with a warm smile that reminded him of Liliane. “It is the first time I’ve seen you here.”
“I’m not religious,” Valdemar admitted.
“But you seek spiritual guidance. I can see it in your eyes.” The redhead joined her hands together. “Liliane informed me of your predicament.”
This confirmed Valdemar’s suspicions. “You’re Mathilde de Valnoir. Liliane’s teacher, and the creator of the elixir of youth.”
“I am a humble servant of the Light, nothing more.”
Valdemar would have normally considered her words false humility, but Mathilde of Valnoir sounded quite sincere. Nor did she sound like these ‘holier-than-thou’ type of inquisitors he had grown to despise.
“And the world’s best alchemist too,” Edwin flattered the priestess, while Amie rose from the bench and left without a word. She struck Valdemar as preferring solitude over social activities. “Forever young like an eternal flower.”
“Thank you, Edwin,” Lady Mathilde replied politely. “Though I hope you did not come to my evening prayer just to flatter me.”
“And why not?” The golem chuckled. “We barely see each other unless Lord Och calls us to a meeting nowadays. I enjoy toiling in my lab as much as anyone, but eternal life isn’t all about research. Besides, it’s not like you get many followers. Shouldn’t you try to convert me?”
“The Institute is not fertile ground for worship,” the priestess admitted. “But I am not a missionary. I offer comfort and guidance to those who fear the dark, regardless of whether they believe or not.”
Valdemar shifted on the bench. “Yet you hoard the secret of immortality, condemning people to death.”
To his surprise, Lady Mathilde’s expression shifted into one of sadness. “You cannot fathom how many times I’ve regretted my decision to keep my elixir of life a secret, young man. Alas, it is for the greater good. My elixir’s preparation is extremely complex and dangerous. Very few alchemists could reproduce it. The others would create poison disguised as a cure, their botched potions spreading cancers and illnesses.”
Valdemar remained skeptical. “I thought no knowledge was forbidden within these walls?”
“More knowledge is always good, but there is a right moment for all things. Just as releasing information about the Strangers to the unwary spread their influence, sharing my formula as it is will do more harm than good. However, ‘not now’ doesn’t mean ‘never.’ I am looking into ways to simplify my recipe into something every alchemist could create safely.”
“Even your adorable apprentice?” Edwin mused.
Lady Mathilde smiled warmly. “Liliane is a sweet and talented girl. If I ever share the original formula with anyone, it will be with her.”
Valdemar couldn’t argue with that part. Though he did question Mathilde’s decision to keep her elixir of youth a secret, as the more people aware of the formula the greater the odds of someone improving it, he could understand her reasons. If there was a dangerous component to his own ecto-catcher, he would try to patch out the flaws too before releasing the schematics into the wild.
“I heard of your troubles with inquisitors, Valdemar,” Mathilde said. “So I admit that I didn’t expect to see you knock on my doorstep.”
“Honestly, neither did I,” Valdemar confessed. “I don’t know what I was looking for here.”
“Comfort about what the Elixir of True Sight revealed to you, I suppose?” the priestess guessed. “I am afraid that what you have seen is the truth.”
Valdemar already knew that, but to have it confirmed made him shiver. “The world is alive, and we are in its bowels.”
No wonder the Domains were so large.
To his surprise though, Lady Mathilde shook her head. “No one understands yet if Underland itself is alive, or if the ecosystem you see outside is an entity spreading through the tunnels. Perhaps it is simply no different than moss.”
Somehow, Valdemar doubted the truth would be so comforting. “Did you know all along?”
“You mean the Church? Of course we know, though my superiors will deny it. In many cases, it is easier to suppress the truth than to accept it.” The priestess let out a sigh. “I understand how traumatizing it is, to see the truth for the first time. My own revelation shook my faith too... which is why I begged Lord Och to reconsider when Liliane informed me of his plans. I said you were too young, that you needed a few more years. ‘The younger the better,’ he replied.”
“If it were up to Och, no sorcerer would learn magic without taking an Elixir of Insight,” Edwin said. “If you couldn’t accept the truth, then you weren't fit to master sorcery in the first place. He follows a survival of the fittest mentality as far as the arcane arts are concerned.”
“You all took the Elixir too?” Valdemar asked.
“It is one of the required steps to become a Master,” Lady Mathilde confirmed. “Lord Och has long-term plans that require special awareness of magic. If he asked for you to take the Elixir, it means you factor into them.”
Valdemar wasn’t certain if he should take it as a compliment or a warning. Maybe both.
“But we can discuss that around a cup of tea, if you want,” Lady Mathilde said with a motherly smile. “I can tell you have a lot on your mind, and as a priest, it is my duty to ease your burden. Liliane will be here as well.”
“That… that’s kind of you, but I’ll pass,” Valdemar replied. Though seeing the truth of the world and his failed attempt to fully copy his grandfather’s soul weighed on his shoulders, he didn’t feel good about sharing his fears with a servant of the Light. Lady Mathilde remained a member of the organization that forced him to go on the run, even if she seemed to have a kind heart.
His reaction amused the priestess. “Are you afraid of a warm drink? But it’s alright, I won’t force you. Liliane will be disappointed though.”
“She already guilt-tripped me once,” Valdemar replied. “It won’t work again.”
Lady Mathilde chuckled. “Valdemar, while I believe in the Light, I do not condemn others for following their own path and I do not look down on yours. Besides, our journeys share the same destination. We seek to bring back the Light to the people of Azlant, whether in this world or another. Though I do question your decision to summon Qlippoths to reach your end.”
I can keep a secret, Liliane had said. But she forgot to say: but not from everyone else! “I know how to deal with Qlippoths.”
“All summoners think that, until they call something they cannot put down,” Lady Mathilde replied with skepticism. “One day, you will learn that to your sorrow.”
“Summoned monsters are just inferior golems,” Edwin declared. “Make your own protector.”
“However, I will happily take you and Hermann with us to the Domain of Alogi to look for this plant of yours,” Lady Mathilde said. “Although I must warn you that it might be a dangerous journey. Have you talked to Lord Och about leaving the Institute for a research trip?”
“Not yet,” Valdemar admitted. The lich hadn’t contacted him since he drank the Elixir of True Sight. “And I thought Alogi was the safest Domain?”
The priestess chuckled. “That’s what the local Dark Lord says to bring visitors and tourists, but some islands are still half-untamed… including those where your flower grows.”
“All I know of combat magic is summoning allies and telekinetic thrusts,” Valdemar admitted. “I don’t think you will like me calling a Qlippoth for help.”
“If that is the root of the problem, I will teach you some combat spells.” Lady Mathilde winked at Valdemar. “It is alright to ask for help, but even better to rely on your own strength.”
“Oh, if you want I am testing a new variant of combat golem,” Edwin said with excitement. “If you want to practice, I can bring them out of storage. Don’t worry, my lab has its own infirmary.”
Somehow, Valdemar didn’t think it was a good thing.
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A/N: the Perfect Run's audiobook is now available for pre-order! Release date in November ;)
Comments
Enzo Elacqua
Maybe he did, though to be fair for a man condemned to live in the bowels of darkness with undead and Eldritch beings as companions it’s kid of hard to believe that there is a supreme beneficent being in the world
Technobread
Strange how his grandpa never told valdemer about his religion from looking like his time period was ww1 or 2 and was probably prevalent during that time
Mrbuttface
Thx for the chap
