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Never Die Twice 3: Dungeon Management
🕑 Added 2020-04-10 16:47:55 +0000 UTCThis is the third chapter of the new story "Never Die Twice," currently in pre-access for all patrons. Here's the link for the first chapter: (https://www.patreon.com/posts/never-die-twice-35605518), and the second ( https://www.patreon.com/posts/never-die-twice-35709116). Enjoy.
Story commissioned by Kyle Reese.
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Upon death, souls had only three places where to go.
Those who truly dedicated themselves to one fickle god joined their master in Asgard, to serve in death as they did in life.
A few, whose devotion was found lacking, but who proved their worth as warriors, would be collected by the valkyries to rest in Valhalla. They would train surrounded by luxury, bolstering the armies of Odin when Ragnarok started.
Everyone else went to Helheim.
That dreary, cold world ruled by that cursed, fickle queen Hel, where shades wandered in the dark forever. The mere fear of ending up there forced the mortals to worship the gods for protection, or to become warriors worthy of a valkyrie’s attention.
Midgard’s afterlife was a divine protection racket. One that only brave, selfless necromancers like Tye tried to shatter.
Of course, the gods justified their system with the fear of Ragnarok, the apocalypse when the Five Calamities escape their bindings, as the barriers between worlds crumbled. Midgard regularly suffered from Convergences where the Nine Realms aligned, allowing monsters to cross from one to the other, and they would only increase in severity over time. According to the prophecies, nothing could be done to stop the end.
The gods, to avert their fate, had even started summoning heroes from that tenth realm called Earth, hoping that they could defy the prophecy by destroying the Five Calamities. With luck, one of them could perhaps slay the Fire King Surtr, or the Fell God Loki. So far none succeeded, but Tye admitted that maybe they had a shot.
But even if they won, the system wouldn’t change. It was broken from the start.
It was on these thoughts that Tye studied Narbon's grimoire, searching for spells to add to his considerable repertoire.
Rite of the Bloody Chalice
Type: Ritual
Focus required: Black Grail, desecrated altar of Hel.
Tier: X.
Cost: Three sacrifices, 100 SP per daily prayer.
To undo what the gods did, to give back the darkness its forbidden power, one must offer blood and sweat. On each day, at midnight, offer a prayer to the Black Grail, for it is the source and end of all life.
Sacrifice, on the longest day, the blood of the virgin maiden, so that the chalice’s hunger be awakened.
Sacrifice, on the day where dark and light are equal, the blood of the holy, so that the gods may know that their rule is challenged.
Sacrifice, on the longest night, the blood of the kings, to show that all are equal before the will of the darkness.
Once its hunger is satiated by the three bloods and its pride renewed by the vows of the blackhearted, the Black Grail will reward the wicked with the gift of life eternal.
“Hagen.”
“Yes, chief?” the Dullahan said, having dutifully kept watch over his superior.
“Why are the gods and dark arts obsessed with virginity?” Tye asked, closing the book in disappointment. “I have yet to see any mystical value in something so easy to lose.”
“I dunno, chief. I am but a knight. You are the spellcaster.”
The sorcerer laid back in his chair, putting the grimoire next to a shelf full of forbidden texts which he had saved from pyres. Truth to be told, the book did contain many powerful spells and secrets; but most of them were so highly tiered, that only the most powerful of archwizards could use them. Neither could the immortality ritual, the main reason he purchased it, be easily replicated.
The necromancer wanted to mass produce a cure for death, not a one-party trick.
The Yggdrasil System which administered the world classified magic in various specializations. [Songs], [Necromancy], [Prayer]... one needed levels in specific classes to learn one, and no class combination allowed someone to master them all. Spells were separated by Tier, from I to XII, which themselves needed specific class Perks to learn and cast.
Over his undeath, Tye had optimized his build to master sorcery itself, eventually promoting his original [Necromancer] and [Alchemist] classes into stronger variants. Through his thirty [Deathlord] levels, eighteen [Infernal Alchemist] ones, and his five [Ankou] racial levels, he had learned to access six specializations: [Necromancy], [Alchemy] and its [Forbidden] subschool, [Occultism], [Dark Arts], [Diabolism], [Blood Magic], and [Rituals]. He could cast spells up to Tier VII, which was beyond what most spellcasters could achieve… but not enough.
Well, he had all the time in the world to catch up.
For the glorious purpose of human advancement, nothing was forbidden.
The Ankou left his study to wander his lair, Hagen following him as his dutiful retainer. He was very proud of his laboratory. It had once been a hidden part of the dungeon, some kind of hidden tomb for the ancient civilization who built the ruins below until Tye reconverted it. The sight of vats containing half-formed artificial humans, dissected demon carcasses, or monstrous test subjects soothed his heart. Crude [Flesh Golems], towering constructs built from dozens of gathered bodies, cleaned the ground under the watchful eye of [Infernal Fire Elementals], horned figures made of flames providing the area with light.
Over time, Tye had divided the laboratory into sections, the book study where he stockpiled forbidden grimoires with his own research being in one of them. He spent most of his time in the cauldron’s room, named as such because he stockpiled and mixed potions there; a technomagical, heart-shaped device called the [Athanor] mixed the various beverages he gathered into a single substance. Most went to the shop above, but the rest… wouldn’t be safe to sell. This area served as the laboratory’s hub and could be accessed directly from the shop or dungeon through tunnels.
To that room’s left, Tye’s minions gathered corpses for him to dissect, so he could understand how life and death worked. While most of the remains on his operation table belonged to monsters, he had also opened up those of dead adventurers. While frowned upon by most, especially those who favored healing magic, this activity had helped him design new medicine way beyond his time. He extracted the parts useful for magical research and animated the rest. No meat wasted.
Finally, isolated from all other areas, was the summoning alcove. It was the smallest room, a mere chamber with a pentagram drawn on the ground and surrounded by candelabras. As per the name, Tye used the area to summon otherworldly creatures to recruit or exchange with. He had found demons to be the most useful source of information and good servants if cowed into obedience.
They usually wised up, once they saw their kindred chained to one of the walls.
Once, the demon Beli had been a towering engine of fire and destruction, and the ruler of the dungeon before Tye unseated him; repeated lifedraining sessions had turned him into an emaciated shell. Far from the humanoid, winged fiery terror, he had once been, the fiend had become a cindered husk glaring at his captor with snakelike eyes.
“Who is a cute demon?” The fiend hissed in response at Tye’s mockery. “It is you! Yes, it’s you!”
“You will pay for this." Even in his weakened state, the fiend still clung to his delusions of revenge. “One day, these bindings will weaken, and when they do… I will repay your torments tenfold.”
“Yada yada, eternal fire, blablabla,” Tye replied, having heard it all. “You have preyed on mortalkind for many eons. Consider this community service.”
The Ankou put a hand on the fiend’s head, even as it vainly tried to escape his touch. “[Lifedrain],” Tye spoke, his fingers draining the fiend’s lifespan. The sensation didn’t fill the necromancer, who had dined on this meal for two years, but it was passable.
As an Ankou, a rare form of undead born of... unique circumstances... Tye fed on the time of others, needing to roughly steal a year to be fed for a day. Once he exhausted his supply, he reverted to his natural, predatory state, with all the associated complications.
While he had at first preyed on whoever he could get his hands on, he eventually found this fiend a much more convenient, renewable source of energy. What were a few centuries of stolen life, to a timeless fiend? So long as Tye avoided overfeeding and killing him, Beli would sustain him for decades.
One day, once he had completed his work, the Ankou would no longer suffer from this frailty. But alas, until that day, the captive fiend would fuel his unlife.
Tye wondered what would happen if he were to consume other kinds of immortals, such as valkyries. Maybe he could even devour a god, under the right circumstances. Food for thought, he mused after leaving the drained fiend to continue his tour of the lab.
He found his zombie draugr workers at the hub, bringing him the night’s bounty: a small pouch full of a crimson, vibrant crystal radiating heat and life. Alkahest.
“That’s less than last time,” Tye told Hagen, disappointed.
“New troublemakers wandered off through an entry we didn’t identify,” the Dullahan said. “Duke took care of them.”
Even then, extracting this material was the main reason Tye had set up shop in that dungeon in particular. Alkahest, once properly treated, could serve as a universal solvent… and a key ingredient in the creation of a [Philosopher’s Stone]. Other [Alchemists] had designed one, using it to create potions that could extend one’s lifespan indefinitely.
Of course, Tye intended to surpass his predecessors, synthesize an elixir that could not only bring eternal life but also fuel the magical revival of the dead; and one which he could mass produce. However, the necromancer would never achieve that without Alkahest; and if he had to fend off countless more adventurers to protect his bottom line, then he would.
“[Ghost Mirror],” Tye cast a spell, a purple specter appearing in front of him, carrying a mirror of ectoplasm. “Show me.”
The mirror’s surface shifted to reflect the dungeon’s “Level One,” a complex network of tunnels and partially flooded caverns where the dead wandered alongside whatever monsters Tye had allowed to make their nest there. Below them was the exploited mine, “Level Two,” where most of the necromancer’s undying children worked to extract the materials he needed for his research.
The third level, the underground ruins which adventurers fought their way down to explore, Tye had mostly ignored. The mine held plenty of Alkahest already, and the deeper levels held many dangers. However, the crystal was growing scarcer, and the adventurers bolder.
Duke, a [Zombie Lord] whose noble, tattered clothes had turned crimson from the blood of his victims, had slain three humans at his usual ambush site in Level One, a cavern covered with stalactites. The vicious undead loved to hide above the ceiling among them, only to fall on his prey with his rapier. Tye needed a notebook to keep track of all his victims.
“Which tunnel did they take?” Tye asked.
“They didn’t use a tunnel,” Hagen said. “They fought their way up.”
The necromancer frowned. “They went through the ruins?”
“One of our draugr found that the altar in the underground chapel could teleport him to the forest of Brocéliande,” Hagen said. “They probably wandered there by accident, looted the area, only to have their exit blocked by our patrols. I had soldiers secure the other end, but…”
“But there is no guarantee that this is the only entry we missed,” Tye guessed. Damn, he would have to fortify the deeper levels too. Curse the unholy architects who built the ruins...
The purple specter Ghostring phased through a wall, Tye and Hagen glancing at him. “Chief,” it rattled. “The knight you wanted me to follow...”
“Yes?”
“He has entered the dungeon,” the ghost said. “Patrolling with his squire and fresh meat.”
Ah. He must have been trying to scout the area so the princess’ visit would happen without any trouble. A perfect opportunity.
“Shall we pay the knight a visit, chief?” Hagen asked, hungry for blood.
“His very last.”
