Deus Necros

Ludwig, along with the group of adventurers from earlier, joined Joana and Kassandra. Snow squeaked under their boots and breath hung like small ghosts between them. The newcomers carried the tired look of men who had followed a rumor up a slope and found more than they expected. Their cloaks were rimed with frost, their weapons still bearing the faint crust of ice from the duel. Ludwig moved through them with the easy gait of someone who had spent too many nights outdoors to be surprised by wind. He glanced at Joana, then let his gaze settle on the circle of faces.

“Tell me,” he said, “how’s master Van Dijk doing?”

The question was casual on the surface, but it held a dozen things underneath. Ludwig wanted a measure, a sense of where allies and enemies alike had shifted since his absence. Joana’s hand tightened for a flicker on her sword before she answered.

“Well since you asked, he’s been quite miffed about everything… not the best mood to be honest,” Joana said.

Her voice carried a crispness like breaking ice; it was informative but laced with a personal color. She had seen Van Dijk’s temper and his moods left impression in the circles they traveled. Her eyes narrowed in the direction of the road they were to follow as if measuring how much trouble might lie in plain sight.

“Figures, after all, with the Treacherous Fanged Werewolf escaping him that day, he’d be quite the prissy person.”

Ludwig’s tone was dry, the kind of flippancy born from time spent near authority figures who were less than gracious. He shrugged with a small smile, but the remark carried the sound of someone who had been abandoned and was still sorting that memory into jokes.

“Yeah, more like a self-destructive mage, he even went head to head with the emperor…”

Joana’s observation was sharper than the words. She remembered the clash, the kind of collision between pride and order that leaves more than bruises. The implication that Van Dijk had matched wits and will with an emperor made the valley seem smaller and the stakes larger.

“Wow, that much, damn…” ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ nοvelfire.net

One of the adventurers murmured. He shifted his pack, and the sound of straps against leather punctuated the cold air. Silent questions rode the hush that followed the sentence. Power plays between great men never stayed private for long.

“Also, are you fine stating the fact that you’re his disciple?” Joana said low.

Her voice dropped to something near confidential. The question pulled at political threads. If Ludwig openly claimed Van Dijk as master it would attract attention from the Sacrosanctum and the Order. Joana watched him carefully, the angle of her head revealing that she was gauging not only truth but consequence.

“And why not? It’s not like I have anything to hide?” Ludwig smiled.

He said it lightly, as if branding himself were no cost at all. There was an ease to the answer that suggested confidence, but Joana read it as calculation. With Ludwig now seen as living and breathing, the Church’s suspicions might falter. He could claim humanity and, at least outwardly, pass their tests. His larger secret of being Undead was no more but the smaller one of a Dark Mage…was a risk he could not yet parade in daylight. For the moment, the shield of ordinary flesh would do.

The world had rules, and it was wise to take advantage of their blind spots. She kept her gaze level. And didn’t add more to what didn’t need explaining.

“Wait, you’re Van Dijk’s student?” Sigurd asked, her hearing sharper than the others’, picking up tones they might have missed.

Sigurd’s question carried the blunt curiosity of someone more used to blades than politicking. She scanned Ludwig with the kind of assessment a fighter uses to read an opponent, hands, stance, twitch. The silence that followed hinted at the implications.

“Yeah, something like that,” Ludwig said.

He did not clarify, and that small ambiguity settled for a moment like dust. The adventurers shuffled a step closer, their interest grown from rumor to immediate concern.

“But…” Sigurd began, then stopped as if the rest of the sentence would only scratch at a healing scab. She let the thought fall unfinished.

Ludwig turned. “What?”

The question was simple and drew the cleric forward. Old habits never died; someone always tried to patch the gaps.

The cleric spoke up, his voice low. “We heard some… nonsensical rumors. It seems that whoever started those rumors wanted to get you on the bad side of the church.”

The warning was careful, the word “nonsensical” softening what might otherwise have been an accusation. Rumors had teeth when thrown in the right market. An accusation from the right mouth could pull an inquisitor to their door.

“I haven’t seen a good side of that establishment since I met their members yet, well, besides Titania, she’s cool, I’m good with that…” Ludwig said.

He shrugged as he said her name, the small smile returning. Even his grievances were delivered with a measure of humor. Titania’s name landed like a talisman that softened him in Joana’s mind. It suggested loyalties complicated by gratitude and frustration.

“You met that monster?” Joana frowned.

Her tone sharpened. Titania’s power and reputation preceded her, and Joana’s use of the word “monster” hinted at unease more than contempt. The politics and personalities of prominent figures rarely left anyone untouched. But she as in Titania was different, a different breed, a Holy Maiden that made the word Maiden and Holy have different meaning. A brutish berserking force of nature compiled and condensed into human form.

“Yeah, back before the whole Tulmud thing grew out of proportions, she was my traveling companion for a bit,” Ludwig said as he drew a token and turned it in his fingers. The small trinket caught light, reflecting a familiar sigil. “I even still have her token with me.”

The token was a small thing, but in that world small things could be loud. Joana’s face shifted: surprise, then a considered restraint. The token testified to a history that walked close to power.