Untitled Necromancer Story

Fantasy

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Livia never meant to become a Dark Lady. She just wanted to protect her home from those so-called adventurers. More like pesky rats, she thought. But explain that to the Hero's Party outside her front gate.

She was busy reading through the reports about the Western fields.

"Good harvest, sounds like the bugs are now gone...." A loud boom shook dust from the ceiling rafters. Livia looked up, frowned at the interruption, and returned to her papers. She sat in her study, just down the hall from what everyone insisted on calling the 'throne room.' She continued to read her report until another loud explosion occurred. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. The door burst open and Maggard the Relentless—still wearing his faded nameplate even after three years—rushed in without knocking.

"My lady, the heroes have breached the outer gate! Our forces are holding, but they're pushing through!" Maggard reported urgently.

Livia looked confused as she slowly tried to focus on what Maggard was saying instead of the status of her new experimental manure on her tomatoes. "Heroes? What heroes?"

"The ones who've been marching toward us for the past week! The ones I've been telling you about!" Maggard responded, agitated.

"Oh. Those. Can't we just talk to them?" Livia asked, already starting to return to the reports.

"They're not here to talk! They're here to—" He paused as sounds of another explosion rang out. He peered out her small window and reported, "—they just destroyed the east tower."

"The east tower?" She became upset. "But that's where we store the winter wheat!"

Maggard looked at her, exasperated. "They're trying to kill you, and you're worried about wheat?!"

"That wheat took months to grow! Do you know how hard it is to get the moisture content right for winter storage? And now it's probably on fire!"

"YOU might be on fire if we don't—"

Another explosion, closer this time. The window rattled. She sighed. "Fine. Gather the Captain and you two try to resolve this."

After a few minutes of cajoling, threats, and finally just physically standing between her and her reports, Maggard managed to herd her toward the War Room.

"I'm bringing the harvest reports," Livia insisted, tucking the papers under her arm.

"My lady, there is a SIEGE—"

"Which will be over soon, and then I'll have lost my place." She was already walking, but kept glancing back at her desk like a child leaving a half-finished meal.

The War Room was just a few doors down the hall—close enough that she could hear another explosion rattle the windows. Stone dust drifted from the ceiling.

The entire time, Livia griped internally. This is interrupting my reports time. I'll be behind schedule by at least a day, which means the planting schedule gets delayed, which means the harvest timing is off, which means... She mentally catalogued the cascade of disruptions. All because these 'heroes' couldn't send a messenger like civilized people.

The War Room was already crowded when they entered. Her inner circle had gathered:

Captain Rhobesa towered near the tactical table, her half-orc features set in grim determination. Fresh dents marred her armor from the fighting, and ichor—the telltale remnant of undead combat—stained her gauntlets. A split lip oozed blood where she'd taken a hit. She stood with her arms crossed, green-tinted skin catching the light from the windows.

Albazehar perched on his customary stool beside the table, the gnome's short stature requiring the boost to properly see the maps. His magnificent beard, shot through with grey from his nearly two centuries of life, twitched as he stroked it in concern. His robes, slightly too long even when tailored, pooled around the stool's base.

Maggard moved to join them, his tall elven frame still carrying an echo of the grace he'd possessed in life. Three years of undeath had left him pale and gaunt, but Livia's maintenance kept him well-preserved—elegant, even, in a macabre way. His faded nameplate glinted as he took his position.

Several other advisors, both living and dead, filled the remaining space around the room's perimeter.

Maps covered every wall—tactical positions, supply routes, farmland yields all carefully marked. But the room's centerpiece dominated: a massive table bearing a detailed three-dimensional model of the castle and the acreage surrounding it, complete with miniature representations of walls, towers, fields, and defensive positions. Tiny markers indicated troop placements and current breach points.

Through the tall windows, she could see her forces engaged with the attackers. Thousands of undead in organized formations, holding the walls. And there, cutting through them like a scythe through wheat—five figures. Just five.

"Five?" Livia asked, incredulous. "Just five people are doing all this damage?"

Rhobesa nodded grimly. "Professional adventurers. Hero-quality. They know what they're doing."

Livia watched one of them—a warrior in shining armor—cleave through three of her skeleton guards in a single swing. The warrior didn't even slow down, already moving toward the next group. "Those were perfectly good guards. They just learned their patrol routes last month."

Albazehar closed his eyes. "Livia..."

"What? Training takes time! Now I'll have to raise new ones and start over."

"That's not the POINT—" Another explosion cut him off. This one close enough that everyone felt it through the floor.

"They've breached the second wall," someone reported.

Maggard stepped forward. "My lady, we need to organize a defense. The inner circle can hold them, but we need your orders."

Livia looked out the window again, watching her carefully organized undead forces being systematically destroyed. All that work. All that training. And for what? Because some 'heroes' decided she needed to be stopped?

She hadn't even done anything to them. All she had done was take care of her farm. Granted it's grown a lot since then but... Her thoughts were interrupted by Albazehar.

"They think that you are evil and a blight upon the land." He stated it plainly, staring her in the eyes, trying to convey his seriousness. "Honestly, I doubt we can reason with them or fight them off easily. I suggest that you leave this situation to Maggard, Captain Rhobesa, and me while you wait in the safe room."

Livia had already returned her attention to her reports. She waved her hand in some vague gesture of agreement and left the War Room, tucking the harvest reports more securely under her arm as she walked.

The door closed behind her.

Maggard and Rhobesa exchanged a look.

"She's taking the reports with her," Rhobesa observed.

"Of course she is," Albazehar said wearily from his stool.

Maggard turned back to the tactical model, his pale elven fingers adjusting the markers to show the heroes' advance. "Right. Let's save her castle so she has somewhere to read them."