"Necromancer’s Heart" contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult readers only. The story includes elements of romance, sexuality, necromancy, dark fantasy, and potentially disturbing imagery and situations. Reader discretion is advised.
Scene 1: Viktor and Friends
“Viktor!” Someone shouted my name, pulling me abruptly from sleep.
I rolled over, staring groggily at the canvas ceiling above. The canvas protected me from the relentless sun and rain, providing the only decent sleep I could manage between shifts as a night guard for the caravan. Had I dreamt someone calling me? Then, a second urgent shout and a loud banging on the wagon's wooden side dispelled any doubt.
“Viktor!”
“I'm awake!” I yelled back, irritation edging into my voice.
Something important must have happened—it was clearly midday, hours before my scheduled night watch. Sitting up, I ran a hand through my hair, stark white now thanks to my profession and chosen craft. Stubble of the same pale shade scratched my hand as I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. I brushed dust off my tailored white shirt, now far less pristine after weeks on the road.
I winced briefly as I rose, feeling the familiar sting beneath my shirt—a subtle reminder of the curse etched deeply into my skin.
Grabbing my long gray leather coat, marked with intricate black runes, I slung it casually over my shoulder and stepped out of the wagon. Squinting into the bright sunlight, I sighed. It had to be noon.
The person doing the shouting was Frederick, the caravan master's son and his second-in-command. Frederick and I had quickly become friends, largely due to our shared love for bad puns—I always had plenty to spare. He also enjoyed hearing tales of my homeland, though I suspected he doubted its existence, especially when I described its powerful and captivating inhabitants.
As I pulled my coat fully on, I gave him a smile, though privately I had never quite liked the term 'monster girls.' They weren't truly monsters, nor were they girls in any human, elven, or dwarven sense. 'Monster women' sounded equally inadequate. And besides, there was a fair share of 'monster boys' out there, though admittedly fewer, as humanoid men generally had less sense than humanoid women when it came to thinking with their labido's. This observation, however truthful, had not kept me from doing the same as other males and getting me into trouble more times than I cared to admit.
"Viktor," Frederick continued urgently, pulling me from my thoughts, "the scouts report trouble ahead. Some bandits felled trees across the road and are demanding a toll."
He attempted to meet my eyes but, as usual, struggled with it. My left eye, red and glimmering subtly with magic, often unsettled people, while my right, a calm deep blue, did little to ease their discomfort. Frederick’s gaze shifted back and forth until he surrendered, looking off to the side as he spoke.
"We’re gathering the guards to go clear those pieces of shit out," he said, trying to sound confident.
I yawned, bringing the back of my hand lazily to my mouth. "How long will that take? I only came off the night shift a few hours ago."
Frederick scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "C’mon, Viktor, trouble's brewing again. You know it's bad when they start waking up night guards."
"Yes, yes," I sighed. Who would've thought I'd trade crypts and midnight rituals for caravan guard duty? Still, contemplation was better company than an angry mob. Truth be told, it was usually a monotonous occupation—few dared to threaten a heavily guarded caravan. But boredom had a way of eroding common sense, and I was very, very bored. Frederick’s company was about the best I could find, but he was hardly an intellectual giant. And right now, all I wanted was to return to bed.
And right now, all I wanted was to return to bed.
“Look,” I said firmly, meeting Frederick’s uncertain gaze. “If you're not going to judge, then just let me handle it.”
Frederick frowned slightly, confused. “What do you mean judge, Viktor? You're a good guard. It's your… profession, I guess, that seems unusual to me.”
I nodded patiently, understanding his hesitation. “Frederick, what I do for a living can be unsettling. It can be gruesome and quite dangerous. I'm going to walk over to that ridge and call on some friends of mine to deal with this issue. But you need to promise me that no one's going to give me trouble once the problem is solved.”
“All right, Viktor,” Frederick laughed nervously. “Go ahead, take a look. I'll gather the other guards. But be careful—I’d hate to lose you. You're one of the best we have.”
I gave him a reassuring nod and started toward the hilltop. The road stretched ahead, a rough ribbon of hard-packed earth occasionally marred by stubborn puddles reflecting a dull sky. I grimaced, dreading the thought of dirtying my boots again, though it meant I'd return to my sleep sooner. Unless an entire army of bandits awaited beyond the hill, I knew my friends would handle this swiftly. As I crested the hill, I couldn't help but smile. Rohan would relish the chance to deal with these bandits—he had little patience for petty thieves. He considered them dishonorable scum—nothing like the proud raiders from his own clan. It would be good to speak with him again.
My current caravan journey wasn't coincidental—I was heading to Pillohame, specifically the Velvet Rain Guild, to seek an artifact that might cure a troubling problem. While searching for transportation or quick work to fund my journey, I'd stumbled upon the guild's notice pinned to an adventurer's board. Its elegant red and gold filigree had instantly captivated me. Beside it, a small box held neatly printed pamphlets, reminiscent of the professional materials from my academy days. One such pamphlet now rested in my pocket, a constant companion since my journey began. I felt strongly that the silver threads of fate were guiding me toward Pillohame and this guild; a direction I found reassuring and welcome.
Adventures of every kind—well, if there was truth in advertising, this was the perfect place for someone like me. You see, I'm a necromancer. Yes, you heard correctly, a necromancer. Now, before you jump to conclusions, please set aside all those tired stereotypes. I'm tall and fit, not thin and gaunt. I don't wear ominous black robes—though I admit I do carry around a single skull, but certainly not an entire collection. To avoid mystery and confusion, you might call me a Silver Necromancer. It's a title I prefer, and frankly, it sounds much cooler. It also means I make many interesting friends, though admittedly, they're usually among the undead. Still, they're pretty great company—at least, I thought so.
So, I was traveling to the Velvet Rain Guild hoping their promise of welcoming every kind of adventurer held true—because finding acceptance meant finally confronting the past I'd long avoided. I'd obtained my temporary guild card from a friendly man staffing a modest Velvet Rain booth in a distant city. Showing this card, I'd easily signed on with the caravan heading toward Pillowhame.
Now, I was bored and exhausted—not the best combination for me—I climbed the hill, cresting it to view the valley below. Several felled trees blocked the road, with shadowy figures lurking behind them. Sighing, I took out the waterskin filled with ale, always at my side for occasions such as this, and poured it deliberately in a circle upon the ground. Spreading my fingers wide, palms facing downward, I began murmuring practiced arcane incantations, culminating in calling the name, "Rohan."
Rohan
Silvery-gray magic sparkled forth from my palms, flowing gracefully into the ale-drenched circle. Rising majestically from the circle stood a towering frost giant skeleton, its height equivalent to about three stacked caravan wagons. Rohan emerged towering above me. Seeing his familiar form brought back the icy caverns where I'd first freed him—a strange friendship forged in solitude. I had discovered him frozen in ice, he had retained a single rolling eye, now fixed upon me. Rusted armor and tattered furs draped loosely over his skeletal frame. I'd thawed him out and conversed with him, learning that he'd been buried by an avalanche while searching for giant cave slugs—apparently a delicacy craved by pregnant frost giant women.
Being the compassionate soul I was, I'd offered him a place among my company, promising to help locate his wife and unborn child. However, uncertainty lingered about how long he'd been trapped, as he couldn't provide an exact date. When we'd eventually found his village, it was reduced to ruins, leaving me uneasy at the possibility of encountering his distant descendants rather than his wife or child. It saddened me deeply, imagining he might never reunite with his loved ones.
You see, part of being a Silver Necromancer is that the silver threads of fate pull you along, connecting you with your friends—your dead friends, if I'm being completely honest. These threads guide us until we find resolution.
“Vik,” Rohan's gravelly voice boomed, drawing my attention back to him. "The ale was good, but I'll need more."
“We're traveling right now, so I can't manage the big cask,” I explained. “We should be in a town pretty soon, though.”
"Alright," he rumbled impatiently, "what needs doing?"
"Well, down there on the road, there's a group of bandits—"
"Bandits!" he interrupted with a loud growl. "I despise those bottom-feeding scum! They prey upon good, honest people without honor. They don't build villages properly, like my people do. Taxes, indeed—just take everything if you're going to steal, I say. Utterly useless!"
Rohan looked around, spotted a large boulder—so massive that three of me, arms fully stretched, couldn't have wrapped around it—and effortlessly picked it up, tossing it lightly in one hand as if it were a child's ball. Satisfied, he selected another boulder, tested its weight similarly, and nodded with determination. "Let's go."
I glanced over my shoulder toward the caravan. Frederick had assembled the guards, all staring wide-eyed at Rohan and me. Behind them, the caravan was quickly locking down, shutters and doors closing tight. As expected, they were judging us, wary of what was about to happen. I absently touched the intricate runes beneath my shirt—the enchantment prickled slightly, as if sensing the turmoil of my thoughts. I pushed it away.
"They better not have locked down my favorite sleeping wagon," I muttered smiling.
We got within arrow range, and I called out casually, "Hey, how can we help you?"
"Help us? Just pay the tax—half your goods and half your gold—and we won't have to kill you," shouted a nervous-looking man from behind the barricade of trees. He was clearly focused on Rohan rather than me.
Before I could politely warn them off, a massive boulder smashed through the center of the felled trees, rolling several lengths beyond. "Scum!" Rohan roared furiously. "You get nothing from these people but death!"
The bandits immediately began screaming and scattering, abandoning any pretense of resistance. They grabbed horses, possessions, and each other, fleeing swiftly into the woods. I could have turned back to the caravan then, but honestly, I was finally having some fun. More of my friends should join in.
I stepped forward, uttering several arcane words, and silver flames surged forth, rapidly consuming the barricade. From within my coat, I carefully withdrew a black raven feather tipped in polished metal and planted it firmly into the earth. Closing my eyes, I began reciting a complex, powerful incantation, much longer and intricate than those I'd used to summon Rohan. The sky darkened briefly as a bolt of lightning struck the ground directly before me.
Kneeling amidst the lingering glow was Vaelyssa Lashborne, Saint of the Unholy Sigh—Val, my first friend among the spirits I had befriended. Clad in shadowy, divine armor, her presence commanded immediate attention. Dark wings stretched from her shoulders, feathers sleek and glossy black. A corrupted halo hovered just above her raven-black hair, signifying her descent from celestial grace. Despite her fall, she retained an undeniable elegance and an aura of unwavering authority.
Vaelyssa Lashborne, Saint of the Unholy Sigh
"Vik," she said warmly, rising gracefully to embrace me. I winced, pain flaring sharply in my chest. The closer the connection, the deeper the pain. Val had been with me from the beginning, my closest and dearest friend. The curse etched onto my chest—a cruel safeguard preventing me from emotional attachment or physical intimacy—reacted accordingly, stabbing like needles into my ribs.
"We are going to get that fixed? That is where we are going right?" She looked concerned
"That is why we will find the Soul Key." I said.
She quickly assessed the chaos around us. "Bandits? Looks like Rohan’s already giving them trouble."
"Sharp as always, Val," I chuckled. "Feel like stretching your wings? There might be something more threatening than bandits out there."
She extended her wings, flexing them as she tested the air with a powerful flap. "You bet your ass," she responded confidently. "Don't have too much fun without me."
With that, she soared into the sky, casting a fleeting shadow across the sun before disappearing into the distance. My earlier boredom was completely forgotten—I wasn't even remotely tired anymore.
Scene 2: Viktor Joins the Guild
After a long journey, I finally arrived at my destination—the Velvet Rain Guild Hall. Towering proudly above the bustling village of Pillowhame, its polished stone walls and timber beams gleamed warmly beneath gently fluttering crimson banners. Immense, ornately carved double doors stood invitingly open, the cheerful hum of laughter and camaraderie spilling from within.
From my pocket, I retrieved four worn items. The first was my temporary Velvet Rain guild card, obtained in a distant town, marking my initial commitment to this journey. Next came the guild ticket certifying my completed service as a caravan guardian—a passage marker proving my travels and obligations fulfilled along the winding path here. Third was a carefully folded page torn from an ancient book, bearing an intricate drawing of the Soul Key, an artifact capable of manipulating the very essence of the soul. It was a sobering token of my past, a stark reminder of the decisions and circumstances that had guided me toward this moment.
Finally, I unfolded a pamphlet from the Velvet Rain Guild Hall, its vibrant reds and golds perfectly mirroring the building ahead. My gaze lingered appreciatively on the meticulously illustrated image beneath words I'd circled and starred emphatically: "All Are Welcome." Inside, the pamphlet eloquently promised sanctuary, celebration, and acceptance for every adventurer, irrespective of class, race, or creed—a promise I deeply needed to be true.
The adventurers streaming in and out of the guild hall passed by a captivating moth woman who stood poised gracefully behind the reception desk. Dressed impeccably in the guild's distinctive uniform—a red and gold vest over a crisp white blouse complemented by sleek black pants with delicate gold filigree. Her ensemble was crowned by a playful red beret perched stylishly atop her voluminous gray hair, from which fluffy moth antennae elegantly emerged. Four shimmering moth wings in shades of soft gray and vibrant red spread gently behind her. Her six arms moved fluidly, each capable of independent gestures—offering directions, handing out placards from the multiple pockets lining her bandolier, and engaging in friendly conversations simultaneously. Perhaps her remarkable multitasking skills explained her placement at this busy spot, where she greeted passing adventurers with a welcoming smile.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted politely as I approached, offering a respectful bow.
“Good afternoon,” she replied warmly, her voice a harmonious blend of a gentle purr and melodic trill. She returned my bow gracefully, releasing a soft shimmer of silvery-white dust from her shoulders. Her expressive silver eyes studied me with evident curiosity. “How may I help you, adventurer?”
“I have a temporary guild card and a finished quest ticket,” I explained. “I’d like to register officially with the guild.”
“A newbie,” she noted playfully, her large eyes appraising me openly and without hesitation. Such scrutiny wasn’t unusual—I was accustomed to it from both monster women and monster men alike. Being tall for a human, and a necromancer whose magic had turned my hair and stubble stark white, often invited curious glances. The contrast of my mismatched eyes—one crimson and glimmering with magic, the other a steady, calm blue—only heightened such attention. Still, I maintained my physique from frequent excursions into tombs, catacombs, and mausoleums, activities that made running from undead admirers somewhat of a routine occurrence.
I offered her my friendliest smile.
She met my gaze with a cheerful nod, handing me a numbered placard from her bandolier. “Here you are, number 42. Please wait for your name to be called by the analyst for new adventurers; they'll assist you with your registration. In the meantime,” she indicated another section of the expansive reception desk, “you'll want to check in your quest ticket over there. The analyst for finished adventures will assist you further.”
you'll want to check in your quest ticket over there.
Just as I turned to follow her direction, my path was momentarily blocked by the towering form of a minotaur. I hoped briefly there was indeed just one analyst for finished adventures.
Stepping past, warm aromas of spiced ale and roasting meat mixed invitingly with the lively chatter and laughter echoing within the guild hall. I could clearly see the Quest board behind glass, the high-ranked missions securely locked away from casual eyes. There, prominently displayed, was an illustration of the Soul Key—the very artifact depicted on the folded page resting in my breast pocket. Confirming its presence here in the Embrace of the Lost—a vast, somber expanse known for its grand monuments, imposing mausoleums, and intricate tombs—I felt a surge of hope. Finally, I was on the path to true freedom.
"Thank you very much," I said with a nod, strolling in the indicated direction. Upon reaching the area, I paused by the desk, scanning for the analyst for Adventures' End. Near a cart overflowing with books stood an elaborately crafted golem meticulously organizing and shelving volumes. Its form was breathtakingly exquisite, fashioned from pristine white porcelain accentuating every graceful articulation.
She turned slightly, long, flowing red hair cascading from beneath the guild's hat, framing an undeniably beautiful face. Striking red eyebrows matched her hair, accentuating eyes lined with red eyeshadow, full lips painted in vivid red lipstick, and deep silver eyes that held a captivating, if unsettling, expressionless calm reminiscent of a living doll. Her elegant figure filled out the guild analyst's uniform of red, gold, and black, with tightly fitted pants revealing an unmistakable indication that she was fully functional—a remarkable detail affirming her unique nature as a futanari.
I found it charmingly endearing. -- The Meet Cute
Her head tilted curiously, twisting in an unnatural manner that might have startled anyone else, yet I found it charmingly endearing. Blinking my red eye, I could see the exquisite golden soul intricately woven into this extraordinary being. Whoever had created her must have been a genius, crafting a truly singular entity whose existence was both rare and magnificent.
She straightened her neck smoothly, body pivoting gracefully toward me. Approaching with quiet steps, her silver eyes met mine directly, compelling me to regain my composure. Quickly bowing out of respect, I stated, "I'm looking for the analyst of Adventure's End."
"That would be me," she responded softly, her voice delicate and bell-like. "I'm Analyst Seraphina Lacrimose. How may I help you?"
"First, I must apologize for staring," I admitted earnestly. "It was rude of me. You’re fascinatingly unique."
Her serene, doll-like face shifted slightly, adopting a curious yet skeptical expression. "Really? And I suppose I'm extraordinarily beautiful," she remarked dryly. "Perhaps you'd like to invite me out to confirm I'm fully equipped?" Clearly, she'd heard similar approaches before, assuming I was another enamored admirer captivated solely by her form.
"Well, that's certainly an added bonus," I said earnestly. "Your articulation, your graceful movements, and especially that subtle tilt of your head earlier—it’s remarkable craftsmanship. The way your soul is intricately woven into your matrix is genuinely genius and stunning. The craftsmanship of your eyes alone must have taken years. Analyst Lacrimose, in my professional assessment, you're uniquely extraordinary. Forgive me for being so forward, but meeting someone like you gives me hope that the Velvet Rain Guild truly does mean it when they say all are welcome."
She appeared momentarily taken aback, her porcelain cheeks coloring faintly as a small smile formed on her lips. "My soul?" she murmured, covering herself slightly with her hands as though feeling exposed. "I'm suddenly feeling rather vulnerable, Mr.—"
"Oh, forgive my manners," I quickly interjected. "Lord Friedrich Viktor Todmacher. Though the title means nothing here in Pillohame. Viktor Todmacher is fine, or simply Viktor, if you'd prefer. But I must confess, despite my admiration, I cannot ask you out—it wouldn't end well."
"That is very forward of you," she remarked softly, a hint of amusement in her delicate tone. Leaning slightly closer across the counter, she added curiously, "Tell me more about my soul, Viktor. How exactly can you perceive it? And why can't you ask me out?"
As Seraphina's eyes met mine, a sudden chill ran down my spine, the enchantment tightening invisibly around my heart.
"Oh," I replied lightly, placing the completed quest ticket and my temporary guild card on the counter, "Golem engineering was my second major at the academy."
She nodded slowly, picking up my documents and examining them closely, her silver eyes widening slightly upon reading my class designation. "I see," she said thoughtfully.
"Indeed, my primary profession is a bit more unconventional," I admitted openly. "As for your soul, it’s woven intricately from the finest golden threads—like pure silk upon a Sylvan loom, coursing gracefully throughout your entire being. Your heart must be incredibly pure, and the intricate weave leading into your cognitive matrix suggests remarkable intelligence. Truly, I'd find it fascinating to spend hours in conversation with you. Intelligence like yours is profoundly sex—” I caught myself sharply, realizing I’d overstepped.
Yet to my surprise, she completed the thought with a charmingly playful smile. "Sexy?" she teased gently, clearly amused by my candid slip. Yet, beneath her playful façade, a subtle tension lingered, both thrilling and unsettling.
"It seems everything is in perfect order here," she continued cheerfully, handing me a numbered placard. "When your number is called, your payment will be ready. I'll handle your temporary guild card personally and ensure your information remains confidential."
"Thank you," I said appreciatively, regaining my composure. "The nature of my class is, after all, quite the grave matter."
Her serene expression broke into an endearing little snort and giggle, instantly easing the tension and warming the space between us.
"Do you like puns?" I asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.
"No," she replied immediately, though the amused sparkle in her eyes betrayed her true feelings.
"People think my jokes are dead on arrival—but that's exactly the point."
Seraphina laughed aloud, a delightful sound - Romance 1
Seraphina laughed aloud, a delightful sound that drew the curious attention of those around us. Several throats cleared pointedly behind me, prompting me to realize that a considerable line had formed to see Analyst Lacrimose, the analyst for Adventures' End.
"Call me Seraphina," she said warmly. "Would you like to have dinner?"
I hesitated. My earlier flirting had been reckless, dangerously close to triggering the curse etched painfully onto my chest. Yet, there was something irresistibly intriguing about her, compelling me to take risks I usually avoided.
"My apologies, Analyst Lacrimose," I responded gently, regret evident in my voice. "I can't."
For a brief moment, she appeared genuinely stunned.
"Why?" she asked softly, clearly sensing the deep connection forming between us, just as I had.
My expression must have revealed the sadness weighing heavily on me.
"Because we would both die," I said quietly, the painful truth hanging between us.
"42!" someone shouted impatiently from nearby.
She hesitated, her silver eyes filled with questions, but finally waved weakly as I turned away to complete my registration. As her gaze lingered on me, the enchantment tightened faintly, reminding me that every longing glance came with a hidden price.
Scene 3: Guild Tests
I approached the registration desk just as the analyst called out my number again.
"42!" came a cheerful voice. I looked up to see an analyst hovering gently above the desk, her delicate butterfly wings shimmering softly in vibrant hues of red and purple as she scanned her clipboard. She adjusted her tilted red beret, decorated with golden details, and gave me a welcoming, playful smile. "Viktor Todmacher?"
"Viktor Todmacher," I announced politely.
She looked up from her clipboard, pen poised. "Do you prefer Viktor Todmacher, or simply Viktor?"
"Viktor," I replied.
"Noted," she said briskly, offering a warm, reassuring smile. "It says here you had a temporary guild card and have already completed an E-level quest. Excellent." She handed me a neatly bound binder. "Please fill out these forms carefully. Keep in mind, the binders are enchanted—if you lie, the ink will turn red. It's best not to answer if you cannot be truthful, though that may reflect negatively on your guild application."
"Yes, Analyst...?"
"Fizz," she responded cheerfully.
"Thank you, Analyst Fizz," I said, accepting the binder. I could sense the subtle arcane energy embedded within its pages—a testament to the guild's meticulous craftsmanship in their enchantments.
I carried the binder to a nearby standing desk, took up ink and quill, and began writing. I detailed everything truthfully: my past, the enchantment etched onto my chest, its origins, and its purpose. I was determined to hide nothing from the Velvet Rain Guild. My hand paused mid-stroke, heart racing. Revealing such truths had led to disaster before—townsfolk screaming for my blood, forced flights from angry mobs. Would this be another painful mistake?
Occasionally, as I considered the more sensitive questions, I glanced toward Seraphina’s desk nervously, uncertain whether my earlier directness had been too forward or inappropriate. Most times she was busy assisting adventurers concluding their quests, but occasionally our eyes would meet. Each time, I hesitated briefly before offering a tentative smile and an awkward wave. To my relief, she always responded warmly, her gentle smile and reassuring nod easing my anxiety and letting me know that no offense had been taken.
In a few minutes, I completed and double-checked the forms, picked up my numbered placard, and returned to Analyst Fizz.
The guild bustled with activity—minotaurs, goblins, humans, dwarves, lamias—all types of adventurers came and went, checking quest boards or consulting analysts for new or completed adventures. The room itself was thoughtfully designed, accommodating members of all shapes and sizes. Wide passageways allowed even the largest guild members to move comfortably, while textured flooring ensured stability for those who slithered or crawled. Such careful consideration lifted my spirits slightly.
Placing my portfolio on the counter, I prepared myself for the guild’s verdict, fully aware of the potential consequences. Memories flashed briefly through my mind of townsfolk screaming for a necromancer’s blood, with Rohan scooping me up as we fled for our lives. The enchantment on my chest prickled sharply, responding to these painful memories.
It felt like a bee had stung me in the chest. Looking up, I found Seraphina watching me intently. Her desk was clear, and I wondered how long she'd been observing. She offered a bright, supportive smile. I smiled in return, picked up my portfolio, and handed it to Analyst Fizz.
"All set," I announced.
Analyst Fizz, no longer holding her clipboard, took my portfolio. "I'm sure everything will be in order," she said reassuringly. "You’ll start at E-rank and progress from there. Quest postings are available over there," she gestured toward the wall. "Remember, the Embrace of the Lost requires at least C-rank, the Lewd Lands at least B-rank, and expeditions to The Pinnacle are reserved for A or S-rank adventurers. I'll perform a quick review, and you can await your card."
She began scanning my papers swiftly, but suddenly paused, her brows furrowing as she traced a finger over my writing. Flipping pages urgently, she eventually glanced up at me, her expression filled with surprise and discomfort. As I stood before Analyst Fizz, my palms grew damp, and my heart thumped erratically. Each passing second stretched endlessly, amplifying the tightening in my chest.
"Don't move," she instructed, returning to carefully reread each page, some multiple times. When another analyst approached with a question, she waved them off, remaining deeply engrossed in my documents.
she waved them off, remaining deeply engrossed in my documents.
Finally, she looked up again. "All of this is true?"
"Did any of it turn red?" I asked calmly.
"No," she admitted, still clearly unsettled. "But it's very...unusual, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Todmacher?"
"Please, call me Viktor," I said. "And yes, even I sometimes struggle to believe my own experiences."
"But adventuring?" she questioned, skepticism evident.
"The Velvet Rain Guild accepts all kinds," I reminded her quietly.
This seemed to bring clarity to her confusion. "You're right," she admitted, clearly conflicted yet attempting to mask her unease. "I'll...arrange your E-rank card promptly."
As she began to move away, anxiety tightened in my chest, compelling me to speak up hastily. "Analyst Fizz, I'm sorry to add to your paperwork, but I'd like to attempt the guild advancement exams."
She halted mid-step, turning back to eye me with curiosity and mild skepticism. "Those exams are permitted only twice annually, Viktor, and most adventurers spend months, sometimes years, preparing."
My throat felt dry, but determination steadied my voice. "I fully understand," I assured her quietly. "But I'd like to attempt both the D and C-rank exams today."
My heart quickened as the gravity of the situation settled over me. These exams weren't merely about guild status—they represented survival, opportunity, and a desperate chance to reclaim my life. Achieving a C-rank was critical; it would grant me entry to the Embrace of the Lost, and access to the Soul Key that could break Skellia's curse. Failure now would mean delays measured in months or even years, and every passing day heightened the risk that Skellia might begin seeking me out in earnest, especially if she sensed I was close to lifting her enchantment.
After a brief consideration, Analyst Fizz nodded. "Very well. Follow me to the exam room. You can complete the written portion today."
"As long as I receive a temporary C-rank card afterward, I’m satisfied," I confirmed.
Two hours later, I stood anxiously by the desk, exchanging tense nods and awkward waves with passing analysts, each gesture triggering another uncomfortable sting from the enchantment etched onto my chest. A senior elf analyst methodically reviewed my results, her skeptical glances sending jolts of anxiety through me with each lingering pause. I shifted nervously, fingers twitching slightly as my heart pounded, each moment dragging painfully.
Finally, Analyst Fizz emerged confidently from the senior director's office, her wings shimmering brilliantly under the lighting. "It's all legitimate," she announced firmly, offering me a reassuring smile.
A wave of relief washed through me, easing the tension that had knotted tightly in my chest. The risk had been enormous—they could have demanded further review, delayed the process, or even questioned my eligibility—but now the path ahead was clear. Despite the guild's examinations not comparing to the rigorous tests of the Obsidian Rose Academy, passing meant immediate access to the Embrace of the Lost, the critical next step toward retrieving the Soul Key and finally freeing myself from Skellia’s enchantment.
Analyst Fizz smiled brightly, her golden eyes twinkling with genuine delight as she extended a small hand in congratulations. Her wings fluttered gently, reflecting the ambient light in enchanting shades of red and purple. "Congratulations, Viktor. Welcome to the Velvet Rain Guild. We're excited to see your potential unfold."
Warm applause and genuine congratulations filled the air from surrounding analysts. Despite the painful stings in my chest, their genuine warmth felt incredible. Glancing toward Seraphina, our eyes met once more. She silently mouthed, "Good job."
"Thank you," I mouthed back, retrieving my documents. I turned down the hall, ascended the stairs, and continued onward.
I stepped onto the quiet platform and noticed the Analyst of Advancement seated at a large desk, her striking snow-white skin illuminated by the soft glow of nearby lamps. She lifted her crimson eyes slowly from the papers she was studying, long white hair cascading gracefully around her poised shoulders, partially braided in intricate patterns. Her guild uniform was immaculate, reflecting her commanding presence clearly as she addressed me. "Can I help you?
"Viktor Todmacher, I am here for my C-Rank advancement." I introduced myself. I stood on my tip toes and pushed my portfolio on to her desk and stepped back.
Without comment she flipped through the pages, she replied calmly, "Very well, Viktor. I believe I have everything I need here. Please hand me your guild card, and we’ll update your rank to C." Finally lifting her gaze from her notes, she caught me staring and raised an eyebrow. "Why are you staring?" she asked with mild amusement. "Congratulations, by the way."
I hesitated briefly, gathering my nerve. "Is your last name Snowpeak by any chance?"
Her expression shifted slightly, cautious curiosity entering her eyes. "Yes, it is—Analyst Snowpeak. Why do you ask?"
I took a steadying breath. "Your mother was Haelgra Snowpeak and your father…" My throat tightened, but I pressed on, "Rohan Snowpeak."
She straightened abruptly, her features a mix of surprise and suspicion. "Yes, how do you know this?"
A dull pounding began at my temples as the realization took hold. The silver threads hadn’t guided me here simply to find the Soul Key; they'd brought me here for Rohan. On the verge of my most critical journey, I was faced with losing one of my strongest allies—more painfully, a dear friend. Yet it was selfish to dwell on my loss. Rohan would finally find peace, and Analyst Snowpeak would have the closure she'd long deserved. Still, the timing felt cruelly ironic.
I looked up and met her gaze sincerely. "This is going to be difficult," I began carefully, "and even harder to understand. I'm asking for your patience and understanding."
Her gaze hardened, wary and defensive. "What exactly are you trying to say?"
"I know your father," I replied gently.
She scowled, her voice tightening with restrained anger. "What kind of twisted necromancer joke is this? My father's been dead—he died before I was born."
"I know," I reassured her earnestly. "He left one day to gather giant cave slugs—a delicacy to pickle for his pregnant wife—and he never returned."
She rose swiftly, towering over me, her face twitching between grief, anger, and confusion. Her voice shook slightly as she issued her threat, "You’d better explain yourself clearly—or I’ll crush you to pieces."
"Like I said, this is difficult," I continued calmly, maintaining a steady tone. "It's easier if I show you rather than explain, but not here—not inside the guild. You've read my profile; you know I'm not malicious. I'd never disrespect or hurt the memories of your loved ones. We should meet somewhere private."
"There's a stable behind the guild, walled off and secluded. If this is some kind of trick," she warned, her voice breaking slightly, "They'll be pouring what's left of you into a box."
"Understood," I responded softly. "I'd feel exactly the same in your place."
She inhaled deeply, regaining her composure. "Keep your portfolio with you," she instructed sternly. "Go down the stairs, turn left, walk to the back of the hall. There's a door leading outside. Go outside. Wait there—I’ll meet you."
She stepped away briskly, moving out of my line of sight. I stood slowly, then hurried down the stairs, uncertainty making each step heavier. There was no sense in delaying what had to be done. Rohan had been my companion and friend for five years—it was time for me to honor a promise.
Opening the door, I found Seraphina passing by.
"Congratulations, Viktor," she said warmly. Despite my instinct to walk past quickly, I stopped politely.
"Thank you," I replied quietly. "I appreciate it."
She clicked her tongue softly, an awkward silence lingering between us before she spoke again.
"The dinner invitation is still open, you know," she offered gently. "We could celebrate your advancement. If you're uncomfortable being alone, some of my sister analysts could join us."
"I genuinely appreciate that," I began, shifting uneasily, "but being around you—and a group of kind-hearted people—would make things even harder."
Her expression turned to frustration. "Simply saying we'll die isn't explaining anything, Viktor. Were you lying about my soul and everything else you said? Or are you backing away because I'm more than just a woman?"
"No!" I blurted out immediately, feeling a sharp pain stab through the runes on my chest. "That makes you even more attractive!" Another jolt of pain forced a grimace from me.
Her eyes filled with genuine concern. "Are you alright?"
Her worry intensified the discomfort in my chest. "I need to meet Analyst Snowpeak by the stables," I said hastily, starting to move towards the location I'd been given. "You mentioned sister analysts—are you close to Analyst Snowpeak?"
"Yes, Jorvann and I are very close," she replied, concern still on her face.
I quickened my pace. "She'll need you, probably all her sisters."
I followed the directions into the backyard. There stood a stable painted in the guild's familiar colors, alongside a small smithy with smoke gently rising from its chimney, a cold storehouse, and an empty paddock. I assumed the sheep were grazing elsewhere.
her towering stature emphasized by the tense posture she held
The frost giantess stood rigidly by the stable, her towering stature emphasized by the tense posture she held, her white skin glistening faintly in the waning daylight. Her striking crimson eyes regarded me with cautious suspicion, long white hair framing features taut with barely restrained emotion as she demanded answers about her father.
I approached carefully, Seraphina at my side.
"This is going to be very personal, Analyst Snowpeak," I began cautiously.
"Jorvann, what's happening?" Seraphina asked.
"Very well," Analyst Snowpeak responded quietly, clearly tense.
"Would you prefer Seraphina stay? I must be here, but I can step away to a respectful distance if needed." I said.
Before Jorvann could respond, Seraphina spoke firmly, stepping forward slightly. "I will stay."
Seraphina looked at her guild sister with deep concern.
"Alright then," I said gently. I took the two remaining skins of ale from my bag and carefully poured their contents in a large circle upon the ground. Stepping back, I began chanting the familiar arcane and necromantic incantations, weaving grief, love, and pain into my words. Silver and gray energy flowed gracefully from my fingertips, filling the ale-soaked circle. Silver and gray energy pulsed rhythmically, filling the air with a tangible thrum of power. Slowly, methodically, skeletal fingers gripped the circle’s edge, each moment stretching painfully until Rohan stood fully revealed.
The towering frost giant skeleton stood upright, his single remaining eye rolling around before finally focusing upon me. Before he could speak, I stepped forward.
"Rohan Snowpeak," I said solemnly, "meet Jorvann Snowpeak, daughter of Haelgra and Rohan."
Rohan immediately dropped to one knee, his eye swiftly shifting its gaze to the young frost giantess standing nearby. Even now, Jorvann was impressively tall—she would rival Rohan's height at her full maturity; the guild would likely need a whole new wing to accommodate her comfortably. His eye studied her closely, his dry, rasping voice trembling as he spoke. "Yes, yes...you look so much like your mother."
"Your name?" he asked softly.
"Jorvann," she replied, her voice heavy with emotion.
"Jorvann," Rohan repeated, a faint warmth resonating in his hollow voice. "Your mother's choice. It suits you well."
I always felt sorrow for the dead; deprived of tears, they had no way to release their grief. Some higher-order beings—vampires cried blood—liches could weep with arcane energy--wights shed silver tears. I briefly wondered if the woman I left behind had cried. Now his massive skeletal frame trembled, the only sign of his silent sobs.
"Father," Jorvann whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Recognizing their need for privacy, I quietly turned away, stepping toward a nearby bench. Seraphina joined me, silently sitting beside me as I stretched my arms behind my head and gazed up at the clear sky above.
"Her father disappeared before she was born," Seraphina murmured thoughtfully. "How did you come to know him?"
I sighed softly. "It's a long story, Seraphina. One I'm not ready to share just yet."
She nodded understandingly. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry."
"It's alright," I reassured her gently. "What I can tell you is this—I have friends, and sometimes I guide them where they're meant to be. It's rarely intentional; the silver threads of fate simply pull me along the path I need to take. Today, a father gets to meet and say goodbye to his daughter, and a daughter meets and bids farewell to her father. I've lost a friend...a small consequence compared to their reunion."
I held back tears, staring blankly at the sky, feeling the weight of the moment pressing upon me. Time stretched until Seraphina's gentle face filled my vision, she was standing on the bench next me leaning over to block my view of the sky. Her expression intentionally stiff and doll-like. She tilted her head sharply, angling it humorously as if broken.
I chuckled softly, shaking my head as I straightened. Seraphina gracefully stepped down from the bench she'd been perched upon, standing close beside me.
"You're adorable," I murmured fondly. "Ow."
Seraphina’s playful expression faltered briefly, replaced by genuine worry, as if sensing a deeper, unspoken pain behind my hesitant smile.
"That's a wonderful thing to do for her, Viktor," she said. "But you've lost a friend."
"It doesn't matter," I tried dismissively, my voice barely above a whisper.
"It does matter," she countered firmly, her eyes filled with compassion.
"Vik," boomed Rohan's voice suddenly, drawing our attention back to the giants.
Seraphina reached out, slipping her delicate hand into mine reassuringly. "Come on," she urged gently, squeezing my fingers in support. "Your friend needs you."
Nodding gratefully, we walked hand-in-hand toward Rohan and his daughter, Jorvann. Tears streamed down her face as she carefully supported her father's massive skeletal frame.
"Vik," Rohan said, his voice heavy with emotion and acceptance. "It's time for me to go. I want to say goodbye and thank you. It was an honor to fight beside you."
Seraphina wrapped her arms around Jorvann’s waist comfortingly, silver tears filling her own eyes.
"The honor was all mine, Rohan," I replied, my voice trembling with sincerity. "King Rohan Snowpeak, last of the Great Jarls, Monarch of Frozen Delights."
He extended one large skeletal finger toward me as if to shake my hand. Suddenly, his massive form began to disintegrate into shimmering silver dust, swirling gently on the wind. With his remaining hand, he placed a tender farewell on Jorvann’s shoulder before it, too, faded into nothingness.
Through tears and laughter, Seraphina embraced her giant friend. "You're a princess now, Jorvann," she teased affectionately.
Jorvann managed a soft laugh despite her sorrow. "I suppose I am," she agreed quietly.
"Take care of yourself," I said softly.
Suddenly, Jorvann pulled me into a heartfelt, crushing embrace, pressing me warmly against her giant bosom. The mark on my chest flared painfully, but I didn't mind—it felt insignificant in this moment of genuine affection. "Thank you, Viktor," she whispered sincerely, her voice thick with emotion. "No one has ever done anything so kind for me."
She gently set me down, and I stepped back, turning to leave.
Before I could walk away, Seraphina gently grasped my hand and placed a folded piece of paper into it.
"It's the name of a restaurant," she explained, her silver eyes searching mine. "The guild closes at sundown. I'll meet you there shortly after the sun has fully set. If you decide not to come, I promise I won't ask again."
Anxiety twisted in my chest, battling with a deeper longing. Part of me wanted to hand it back immediately, yet another part desperately wanted to join her right then. Neither option felt entirely safe or wise.
"Alright," I finally said, forcing calm into my voice. "You're an analyst here at the guild—read my portfolio first." I handed her the portfolio carefully. "If you still want to see me after reading it, I'll be there."
I stepped back respectfully, giving the true friends space to sit, comfort each other, and share their cherished memories.
Scene 4: Firsts
The bulk of my gold had been spent gaining access to the Velvet Rain Guildhall's extensive library. Time was scarce, and my friends and I had quickly and efficiently researched exactly where we needed to go and what needed to be done to find the Soul Key. It was astonishing that no one else had discovered this information yet.
As the guild was closing for the evening, I quickly registered a C-rank quest that would get me access to the Embrace of the Lost. I used the last of my guild quest money to clean and prepare my clothes. Catching my reflection briefly in a nearby window, I adjusted my dark coat and simple white shirt, checking that my black trousers were free of wrinkles. My mismatched eyes—one crimson, one blue—glowed faintly under the street lamps, and I combed fingers through my neatly styled white hair one last time before stepping forward.
Catching my reflection briefly in a nearby window
Arriving nearby, I found myself frozen in uncertainty. Anxiety gnawed at my confidence, and I stood at a distance, hesitating whether to enter or not. Convinced that she wouldn't appear, I finally decided to turn away, heading toward the gates of Pillowhame, resigned to sleeping beneath the stars once more.
"Hello, Viktor," came Seraphina's voice from behind, perfectly neutral, almost doll-like. As I turned, I took in the sight of her flowing white dress paired elegantly with a puffy blue blouse, her red hair gleaming softly in the evening light, cascading gently down her back. She blushed slightly, catching my lingering gaze, clutching her small green purse as she spoke again. "You're staring."
"Hello, Viktor," - Romance 2
"You read it and still came?" I asked, somewhat astonished.
She rolled her eyes gently, breaking her doll-like demeanor slightly. "Obviously," she replied, "we're meeting precisely where we agreed to."
"And...you're alright with it?"
"That topic is definitely not restaurant material," she stated evenly. "I have questions."
"Where should we go, then?" I admitted, somewhat embarrassed. "I don't know this town at all—I'd need you to guide me."
"I don't eat," she reminded me gently. "Are you hungry?"
I paused thoughtfully, realizing the oversight. Living dolls didn't require food. "Why a restaurant, then?"
"Humanoids typically go to restaurants for first dates," she explained, a touch of amusement flickering in her silver eyes.
"My first date was in a graveyard," I said, smiling slightly.
She tilted her head with genuine interest. "I definitely want to hear more about that later. There's a park nearby where we can talk. You're staring again."
"Sorry," I murmured quietly, "I just can't quite believe you're here—that we're actually talking."
She offered a gentle smile, and together we walked toward the park. Seraphina kept a careful distance, likely cautious from what she'd read in my file. Arriving at a secluded bench beneath the soft glow of lanterns, she took a seat on one side, while I sat on the other, respecting the space between us.
Seraphina’s expression grew serious, her silver eyes meeting mine directly.
"So you're married," she stated evenly.
"Yes," I admitted, feeling a twinge of discomfort.
"To an S-Class monster woman," she continued thoughtfully, her tone carefully neutral. "The lich, Skellia Darkmount, Bone Queen of the Afterglow—she who mounts in the dark and rides till dawn."
A faint smile tugged at my lips despite the tension. "She’s rather proud of that title; she made it up herself."
A small smile broke through Seraphina's serious facade. "Does she now?"
"Absolutely," I confirmed, a touch of warmth in my voice. "I'm also apprenticed to her."
"Indeed," she said, her eyes reflecting curiosity and amusement. "And you're under a sex curse due to an enchantment bound to your wedding vows. Viktor, it's like something straight out of an adult fairy tale. I know it’s true; otherwise, your file would have turned red."
"And yet, you still came," I said cautiously, my heart pounding slightly in my chest. "Why?"
"Curiosity," she replied gently. "I had to understand why a man would willingly endure pain to flirt with me, and whether he'd risk even greater suffering just to have dinner. You must have known I'd do my research—I know your history, where you've studied, the orders you've joined, and your prestigious accomplishments, Lord Viktor Todmacher. Adventurers can spend entire lifetimes seeking out S-Class monsters. You've encountered two, even marrying one. Yet here you are, far from her domain. Does she even know you're here?"
I didn't interrupt. It was clear Skellia didn't know.
Seraphina continued thoughtfully, her voice soft yet firm. "I considered two possibilities: either you're an exceptionally charming man who flirts casually with everyone, or you're genuinely so smitten with me that you'd willingly endure excruciating pain just to share dinner together. Any woman would feel flattered by such devotion—and I certainly am."
She leaned in slightly closer, eyes sparkling with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. "I'm here to discover whether you're all talk. To find out if beneath your charm you're actually an arrogant jerk whom I'd prefer never to see again. But if you're genuine, Viktor—if you're truly the person you've presented yourself to be—there's a particular kind of time I'd like to spend with you."
Warmth bloomed in my chest, not from the enchantment's sting this time, but purely from her presence, making my heart race in a way I'd rarely experienced before.
"Full honesty?" I asked cautiously, glancing at her with genuine vulnerability. "From both of us?"
She nodded slowly, her gaze intent and encouraging.
"Skellia categorizes males in two ways," I began quietly. "Either experiments or potential husbands. As for my qualifications, well—I’m exceptional husband material." I offered a small, self-deprecating smile. "I am a silver necromancer, highly accredited in my field, skilled in golem engineering, and—if we're being fully honest—rather good-looking."
Seraphina laughed warmly, her silver eyes brightening with amusement causing my chest to burn faintly—Skellia’s enchantment subtly reminding me of the dangerous line we tread."And humble," she teased lightly. "Though, I certainly can't disagree with that last part."
"As you can imagine, spending years as the husband of a lich wasn't simple. When a lich does something, they never do it halfway. They're not fond of risks or leaving anything to chance. The moment we married, Skellia branded an enchantment onto my chest, preventing me from falling in love or having sex without her consent. It also poses severe risks to my partner during intimate interactions—especially during sex."
Her eyes softened with sympathy before sparkling playfully again. 'So, it's essentially a 'no-bone zone'?' she teased, breaking the tension gently.
"It's as grave as it sounds," I replied, allowing myself a playful grin. "And honestly, I'm dead tired from it."
Her laughter bubbled with a cheerful snort. We laughed together, sharing the humor to ease the heaviness of the truth between us.
Her brow furrowed thoughtfully after a moment. "There must be something here that can break the curse."
"Exactly," I confirmed, unfolding the paper carefully to reveal the image of the Soul Key—intricately designed with gold and silver interwoven threads, rubies embedded along its length, and a prominent diamond centered at the tail. "Because Skellia tied the enchantment directly to my soul, this key might unlock and remove it."
Seraphina examined the illustration closely. "The Soul Key," she murmured, nodding understandingly. "It's a highly ranked quest. You'll need to work diligently, rise through the guild ranks, and avoid getting killed or seduced by other monsters to attain it. And even then, there's no guarantee someone else won't get it first."
"I'm willing to take that risk," I lied smoothly. Truthfully, I had another plan in mind—a shortcut. All I needed was permission to enter the massive graveyard, the Embrace of the Lost, several days' journey from Pillowhame.
"That's a long time to wait, Viktor," she said teasingly. ""You know, Viktor, charm alone can't hold someone forever—especially with such high stakes.? You must think highly of yourself."
"Perhaps that's just wishful thinking," I replied softly, smiling. "But everything I said about me is true for you—highly desirable, exceptionally attractive, exceedingly qualified. I'd add supremely intelligent." She blushed slightly, eyes bright. "Why would someone like you wait for me, especially knowing I might die trying?"
"Am I worth it?" I asked earnestly, holding her gaze.
For a brief, blissful moment, it felt as if the world had paused - Roamance 3
She moved closer on the bench, gently placing a hand on the back of my head, pulling me into a deep, passionate kiss. For a brief, blissful moment, it felt as if the world had paused just for us—until the enchantment violently asserted itself. Sparks ignited between our lips, causing searing pain and burning smoke. Seraphina quickly released me, touching her lips with surprise and amusement. A faint crack had appeared on her lower lip.
"I had to see if your fairy-tale curse was real, or if you were merely teasing me," she said, touching her lip again thoughtfully. "I'll keep this for a while, I think."
My heart yearned desperately for Seraphina’s warmth, yet a chilling dread remained. Each moment of happiness came with a shadow of fear, knowing Skellia’s enchantment would inevitably exact its price.
Seraphina attempted to lighten the mood. "So, your first date was in a graveyard?"
"Yes, and my first love," I replied, memories bringing a distant sadness to my voice. "She was a beautiful zombie named Calliope Gravekiss. The story of a young necromancer and a zombie girl madly in love," I sighed wistfully.
"A zombie? What happened to her?" Seraphina asked gently.
I grimaced slightly, the pain still fresh despite the passing years. "A group of reckless adventurers killed her during a quest. They cut her into so many pieces I could barely find enough to give her a proper burial." I took a breath, redirecting the conversation gently. "What about you? Your first love?"
She smiled faintly, her gaze distant as she recalled the past. "A tall, handsome adventurer with platinum-blonde hair," she began, a hint of amusement coloring her tone. "Unfortunately, he had no staying power, neither in relationships nor in the bedroom."
I smirked playfully. "Tall, handsome adventurer? You certainly have a type."
"And what about you, Bone King? Do I fit your type?" she teased, eyes twinkling mischievously.
Her expression quickly shifted, seriousness returning. "I genuinely hate waiting, Viktor. Please be careful on your quests."
"I’d better get started, then," I sighed, standing and draping my coat casually over my shoulder. Seraphina rose as well, stepping closer than perhaps she should have.
"I'm going to walk away now," I said with a playful grin. "Feel free to watch."
Her smile mirrored mine, mischievous and inviting. "Funny, I was just about to say the same thing."
Scene 5: Graves
I awoke outside the Embrace of the Lost, morning dew soaking into my clothes as the sun barely began to crest the horizon.
"Do you really think we can do this?" Val asked, her voice tinged with quiet uncertainty as she stood watch nearby.
"We have to," I replied, rising slowly and brushing damp grass from my cloak. My gaze drifted across the endless rows of tombstones stretching into the distance. "They deserve closure, Val. Spirits aren't tools or servants—they’re companions who’ve given us everything they had. It's our duty to help them find peace."
Val nodded thoughtfully, her gaze softening slightly. "That's why I stay with you, Viktor. You truly believe they're more than just echoes."
"Exactly," I confirmed, managing a faint smile as we prepared for the journey ahead.
Over the years, several groups of spirits had joined me, becoming close friends along the way. Among them was Val, the dark Valkyrie. I vividly remembered discovering her, broken and chained in a cell deep within Skellia's grim laboratory. Val's arrogant assumption of superiority had resulted in her harsh captivity at the lich's hands—a severe lesson learned. Forming a pact with her, we'd escaped together and remained steadfast allies since.
The day before, I'd accepted a C-rank quest granting me access to the graveyard known as the Embrace of the Lost. I took the quest posting from the wall, registered it promptly with the analyst at the adventurers beginning desk. A remebered my meeting with Seraphina after grabbing the quest, the kiss and then I began my journey.
After a few days of travel, the immense necropolis loomed into view, sprawling across the slopes of an isolated mountain in the midst of vast plains. Tens of thousands of graves, tombs, mausoleums, and sepulchers—built by various cultures across the Eastern continent—created an intricate labyrinth that challenged even the most skilled adventurers. After the fall of Lusthaven, to the undead, the citizens of neighboring countries took action. Lusthaven was now a notoriously bawdy and thriving undead city-state. To prevent it happeniong again, other regions recognized the need to consolidate the numerous undead monster women within these hallowed grounds. Doing so helped prevent countless reckless adventurers of all races both men and women, from being seduced, consumed, or forcibly married.
At the gate, I showed my pass to the guards, entered the complex, and consulted my map to navigate the labyrinthine graveyard. Once deep inside, I released my companions to join me. Val, the dark Valkyrie, strode forth confidently, her dark wings folded elegantly behind her. I took out a bridal veil from my pack, wrapped it carefully around my hand, and began chanting the intricate arcane and necromantic incantations that would summon my final companion.
Izzy—Ysoria Crythorn, known hauntingly as "The Song that Breaks Men"—was a tragic figure I'd first encountered haunting a graveyard in a distant village. Her sorrowful presence had prevented townsfolk from properly burying their dead, trapped as she was in anguish over betrayal. On what was to be her wedding day, her fiancé had cruelly murdered her, hidden her body behind a coffin in a mausoleum, and fled with her fortune. Bound by heartbreak and a thirst for vengeance, Izzy's spirit lingered, trapped in eternal sorrow. I'd promised her justice, and together we sought to achieve it.
Izzy—Ysoria Crythorn, known hauntingly as "The Song that Breaks Men"
Izzy, Val, Rohan, and I had traveled many paths together, though now only Izzy and Val remained at my side, risking everything to secure my freedom. Many might have found it unsettling—sitting around campfires, sharing stories, laughter, and even drinks with the spirits of the deceased—but I'd long since learned that the dead were just like any of us, good souls deserving a chance at peace and friendship.
“What do you think our chances are?” Val asked, staying vigilant as we walked.
"It all depends on the accuracy of the information we've gathered," I responded thoughtfully, keeping my voice low. "Research isn't everything," I said quietly, eyes fixed on the shadowy crypts ahead. "But if I'm right—and pray that I am—the Queen of the Nethergrave Dominion holds the Soul Key."
“You're not worried your constant fraternizing with the undead will warp your mind?” Val teased sharply.
I smiled, shaking my head. “The dead are usually far less twisted than the living, Val. They tell better stories, and oddly enough, have more heart.”
Val hesitated, her voice low with concern, “We’re facing another S-class undead queen. Aren’t you afraid she’ll manipulate your beliefs against you, just like Skellia tried?”
“She might try,” I conceded, “but I’ve learned something important from every spirit we’ve met—dead or alive, everyone deserves the chance to prove their intentions. Gorethea may be dangerous, but beneath that crown and power, she's still a soul with her own regrets.”
I met her gaze reassuringly. "From what I've gathered, wights tend to be quite social, unlike liches who prefer solitude. Queen Gorethea governs an entire undead kingdom, suggesting diplomacy might be possible. I'm not seeking to possess the key outright, merely to negotiate its temporary use or at least secure terms for its future accessibility."
Val shook her head, her expression wary. "I hope your optimism pays off, and you don't end up as the queen wight's thrall. This isn't just any wight we're talking about, Viktor—it's a queen, complete with a court full of eager followers who'd probably love nothing more than to bind you up and fuck you in every way imaginable." Val's bluntness was characteristically stark.
"You truly have a way with words," I chuckled softly, appreciating Val's bluntness despite her noble bearing. Izzy, raised in a conservative environment, seemed especially invigorated by Val's candid speech. Her once reserved demeanor had evolved during our travels, gradually giving way to a spirited openness. She was a 'free spirit' in many ways. A playful thought crossed my mind about sharing that pun with Seraphina someday. My amusement faded slightly as more pressing concerns surfaced—I wondered how long Val would continue by my side before she felt her purpose was fulfilled, and when we'd finally confront Izzy’s treacherous fiancé to bring her the justice she deserved.
Together, Izzy, Val, and I made our way deeper into the most perilous parts of the graveyard. Eventually, the Whispershade Mausoleum loomed before us—a majestic structure cloaked in somber elegance, adorned with ivy-covered walls and intricate carvings depicting scenes of eternal rest and noble lineages. Its grandeur was a stark contrast to the purpose it concealed.
"Izzy, can you find a way inside?" I whispered.
"Yes, yes," her voice floated back softly, eager and ethereal, as she passed effortlessly through the mausoleum's wall.
I whispered to Val, “When I first met Izzy, she was bound by grief, unable to move forward. People feared her, yet all she wanted was justice.”
“Is that why you do it?” Val asked quietly. “Spend so much time among the dead?”
“They aren’t monsters,” I replied gently. “They're souls seeking closure, just like us. They deserve someone to listen.”
Moments later, Izzy reappeared, guiding us, her spectral fingers indicating precise points to press to bypass hidden traps.
Following her guidance, I carefully pressed the designated stones. A concealed stone slab silently slid aside, revealing an elegantly adorned interior, a façade of tranquility and reverence. Beautiful marble statues stood in eternal watch, their delicate craftsmanship obscuring the mausoleum's true, purpose an entrance to the Nethergrave Dominion. We continued cautiously down several flights of hidden stairs and winding hallways, eventually reaching a grand sarcophagus embedded into the stone floor. Its lid depicted the serene visage of a noblewoman, real or imagined. After some exploration, we discovered the mechanism to open it, revealing yet another staircase descending further into the mountain's heart.
The passage we now traversed stretched on seemingly forever, eventually opening into a colossal spiral ramp descending endlessly downward, clearly designed to transport goods or vehicles. The cavernous highway below was punctuated by safety barriers—likely to prevent runaway carts from reaching dangerous speeds, though part of me considered that ride might have been exhilarating.
A distant echo—a mournful, ghostly wail—sent shivers down my spine. Izzy’s translucent form stiffened momentarily, her gaze meeting mine with unspoken urgency
"Well, we had better get moving," I sighed reluctantly, eyeing the daunting descent.
"Fuck that," Val interjected firmly, scooping me effortlessly into her arms. Her wings unfurled dramatically.
"Val, no—oh, by the gods!" I exclaimed as she launched us off the ledge, plunging fearlessly into the abyss. Izzy materialized beside us, her delighted laughter echoing off the cavernous walls. My heart raced wildly, the enchantment flaring painfully as my arms tightened instinctively around Val’s neck. The dizzying speed blurred my vision as we dove through the endless spiraling ramps into the heart of darkness.
After what felt like an eternity, we emerged onto an expansive underground highway, stretching off into a vast, shadowed expanse. A sprawling subterranean city unfolded before us, with homes and structures intricately woven into stalactites, culminating in a magnificent palace perched upon an immense central formation—the unmistakable seat of Queen Gorethea Thrillgrave's power.
"Time to get to work," I breathed, regaining my composure.
"Izzy, scout ahead and keep watch," I instructed gently. She immediately turned invisible, rising silently into the gloom above.
A pang of nostalgia gripped me briefly, longing for Rohan’s reassuring presence. Gathering my resolve, I donned the formal robes and hood of the Obsidian Rose Academy silver on black with silver runed hood. I carefully adjusted the ceremonial markings identifying me as a member of the Black Rose Society—dedicated advocates for intelligent undead rights. It was a cause I deeply believed in, despite the prejudice and fear that black necromancy had spread among the living.
I donned the formal robes and hood of the Obsidian Rose Academy
When I was finished donning my robes, I helped Val put on her ceremonial armor. The armor gleamed with dark metals, intricately etched with golden patterns that shimmer gently under the ethereal glow of street lanterns. Her midnight-black wings are elegantly folded behind her, their sleek feathers catching subtle highlights from the twilight ambiance.
I helped Val put on her ceremonial armor.
I’d learned hard lessons about negotiation, especially from Skellia. Rather than running when confronted, I had mistakenly stayed to reason with her, only to end up pinned atop a casket. We negotiated for hours. Skellia trying to use her hips to negotiate me straight through the casket lid. Then me bending her over the casket and trying to drive her through the side of it. Her relentless demands met with equally passionate resistance. That union culminated in a wedding ceremony I scarcely remembered, only the searing pain of her enchantment branded permanently into my chest.
This time, I knew better—I knew when to run, when talking ceased to be an option.
Continuing down the main thoroughfare, I stepped into a thriving city bustling with undead inhabitants—a metropolis specifically designed to accommodate the unique needs of the undead. Humans mingled freely among them, often arm-in-arm with undead spouses. Curious residents approached me occasionally, their initial caution quickly giving way to gratitude upon noticing my emblem of the Black Rose Society. They thanked me earnestly for my organization's relentless efforts in fostering peace, breaking down stereotypes, and improving the lives of intelligent undead.
Eventually, we reached the gates of the royal palace. Towering in front of us stood two colossal bone golems—creatures of formidable strength and intricate magic, created solely for defense. At their feet stood two keepers, guardians no less formidable in appearance. Approaching casually would not grant me entry, regardless of my status within the Black Rose Society. I presented my credentials clearly, and after a brief moment of magical communication, one of the golems lumbered forward and effortlessly swung open the massive gates, revealing a long causeway stretching above an eerily dark lake towards the palace perched atop a colossal stalagmite.
A skeletal attendant clad in refined formal attire awaited me, guiding me silently through the palace's opulent corridors. Around us moved ethereal figures—wights of varying status and gender, each exuding a quiet elegance, undoubtedly esteemed members of Queen Gorethea Thrillgrave's court. The attendant led me directly into the throne room, a space of mesmerizing splendor and intricate craftsmanship. At its heart stood a magnificent throne, of meticulously carved ebony wood and covered in quilted blue silk. Large stained glass windows lined the walls, gently illuminated from behind, casting vibrant cascades of color throughout the hall—a surprisingly bright touch for wights typically averse to intense illumination. Strategically placed candles added warmth, softening the shadows and enhancing the room's grandeur. One stained glass window depicted Queen Gorethea in regal attire, while another portrayed an another royal figure—possibly a past monarch—whose visage bore an unsettling familiarity, stirring an inexplicable unease within me.
Seated regally upon the throne was Queen Gorethea herself, clad in a stunning dark blue gown complemented by a delicate silver crown embedded with shimmering blue sapphires. Her silver hair, gradually transitioning into striking blonde, framed an alluring face that radiated both authority and allure.
Queen Gorethea herself, clad in a stunning dark blue gown
The skeletal attendant announced my presence formally, and the queen's advisor gracefully welcomed me into her majesty's court.
Queen Gorethea lounged comfortably, her gown gracefully revealing her elegantly crossed ankles, exuding an air of effortless allure. Her intense gaze carried an undeniable magnetism, sending sparks of raw attraction through me. Despite the overwhelming pull, memories of long red hair and silver eyes held me steady, and I respectfully bowed, awaiting permission to approach.
Drawing closer to the throne, and knelt. The queen's intoxicating presence intensified—a palpable aura of seduction that filled the air thickly, challenging my resolve. Yet, having endured the seductive might of an S-Class monster bride, I steeled myself, standing firm where lesser men would have eagerly fallen at her feet. Eager to put their head under her dress.
She raised a delicate hand, signaling me to rise. Her voice resonated elegantly as she spoke, "A silver necromancer—a rare sight indeed, and such a distinguished member of the Black Rose Society. My kind and I have greatly benefited from your efforts. I thank you, Lord Todmacher. Yet, I must admit, your restraint intrigues me greatly. Such a tantalizing essence within you, I would imagine you have oceans of essence to supply. You risk all simply to be in my prescense and avoid my chambers. Tell me, why have you come?"
"If I may," I said calmly, slowly unbuttoning my shirt.
Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned forward slightly, her tongue briefly moistening her lips. "Please, remove whatever you wish."
As I revealed the large, ominous brand on my chest, her playful demeanor vanished instantly. "Skellia Darkmount," she whispered, her expression shifting to guarded boredom. She straightened in her seat, no longer teasing or alluring, but watchful and calculating. "So, you are Skellia’s husband. What does she want from me?"
"I'm not here on Skellia's behalf," I stated firmly, stepping closer. My gaze settled on an alcove where the Soul Key hovered gently above a pedestal of gold and silver, slowly rotating in the air. "I'm here for myself—for that. I've fled Skellia’s grasp, and I believe that key can free me from her enchantment."
Her eyes lit with a spark of amusement and intrigue. "Oh, this could indeed be entertaining. Skellia and I share a friendly rivalry spanning many years. Freeing her husband would undoubtedly irritate her—a delightful bonus. The Soul Key could indeed unlock that binding curse, but unfortunately, it is currently nonfunctional."
My heart seized painfully, breath escaping me as dizziness clouded my mind. "What?"
"The diamond at the Soul Key’s tail was removed by an adventurer, rendering it incomplete and unusable. The key senses its missing piece is nearby, likely in the possession of another adventurer. Recovering it would be essential before I can unlock your soul."
My hands trembled at my sides as despair surged within me. After traveling so far and risking so much, freedom remained frustratingly out of reach. Back in Pillohame, the beautiful woman with red hair and silver eyes waited patiently for a release that now seemed further away than ever.
She smiled enticingly, leaning back comfortably upon her throne, her gaze captivating. "Oh, I'm not going to unlock it for free. No, my dear Viktor, once you're free, we'll share an unforgettable 48 hours together. You'll be entirely mine, and my aim is to ensure thoughts of Skellia fade completely. After all, you'd be a valuable addition to my court." She slowly traced her hand along her thigh before delicately resting it against her chest, her eyes dancing with anticipation. "I'm confident you'll find my charms impossible to resist.""
Her voice dripped with erotic promise, "When I say 48 hours, I mean precisely that. Should you pass out after just three hours—the longest anyone has lasted in my embrace, mind you—I fully expect you to shatter that record. And don't worry; if you collapse in exhaustion and need to sleep or recover, the clock pauses. It will only tick forward when my body and soul are passionately wrapped around yours, or when you're returning the favor."
"Are these terms acceptable, Lord Todmacher of the Black Rose Society?" Her voice softened slightly, hearing urgent calls echoing faintly in the hall beyond, clearly indicating her other royal duties beckoning.
Memories of Skellia surged back, the searing pain of her enchantment fresh again. Yet freedom lay tantalizingly close—worth any risk, any price. "Twenty-four hours," I countered hesitantly.
"Forty-eight," she purred assertively, her gaze unwavering, "no more, no less."
"And anything goes?" I clarified, feeling a thrill surge through my veins.
Her lips curled into a wicked smile, showing her pointed teeth, eyes gleaming with lustful intent. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Retrieve the diamond, and a solid, well-timed 48 hours with you," I conceded, heart racing. Skellia's visage flashed vividly before me—days and nights lost in relentless passion, intertwined with chilling experiments meant to reshape me into something unrecognizable. Her love, twisted by obsession, pushing me toward the dark allure of forbidden black magic, tempting me relentlessly with promises of immortality as a lich, forever bound in her embrace.
"I believe that's more than fair."
Val whispered urgently, her voice strained, "Are you certain, Viktor? Last time you negotiated terms like these, you ended up married to Skellia. Are we destined to be trapped here beneath the earth with the Wight Queen?"
The seneschal approached solemnly, carrying forth a heated, glowing seal atop a silver tray. Just as the queen rose, preparing to brand our agreement upon my flesh—mirroring the cursed enchantment I'd received from Skellia—the chamber doors suddenly burst open.
Turning slowly, my breath caught in disbelief.
A voice called my name—hauntingly familiar yet utterly impossible. My heart faltered as I turned. There stood Calliope Gravekiss, no longer broken or dismembered, but reborn as a breathtaking and stunningly seductive wight.
There stood Calliope Gravekiss
END Part one
Full set of Necromancer's Heart Part 1 images plus a few honarable mentions. https://civitai.com/posts/18621662
This story was inspired by The Velvet Rain Guild https://civitai.com/articles/15747/ and the bounty for the Velvet Rain Guild https://civitai.com/bounties/8592 created by @average_cute_girl_enjoyer. Thank-you for this inspiration. Necromancer’s Heart became a much longer piece that I will enjoy finishing.
Below are the stats and the quests for the bounty.
Viktor Todbacher - Necromancer - Victor wears his school emblem, an obsidian rose on a necklace. It gives +3 to constitution rolls.
Necromancer:
STR: 1
MAG: 8
CHA: 3
DEX: 2
CON: 8
The Quests are
Guard the Merchant Caravan
Required Attribute: Strength, Constitution
"The roads are quiet—but quiet can mean waiting eyes in the trees."
Roll Constitution +11
Retrieve the Soul Key
Required Attribute: Dexterity, Magic
"It’s in a crypt that’s not on any map, guarded by those who forgot how to die."
Roll Magic +11
Romance (Seduction) of Seraphina Lacrimose
Roll Constitution +11