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heart-of-vecna · 5 years ago

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Necrovember 3 - Trust

[Mahrzeleel confesses his infatuation with Soleryn, and the poor paladin has to figure out what to make of this]

Soleryn nervously eyed the dark halls in front of her. She knew she shouldn’t be off exploring on her own, but she couldn’t sit still. The rest of her party had left her since she’d lost her sword a few days prior. Lost her sword in the lich, of all places.

‘Oh Sol, you’d be safer if you stayed behind until we got you a new sword, or found your old one! Wordslayer is almost a part of you! You just don’t fight as well without it!’

Alcred’s demeaning words made Soleryn’s face sour. He treated it like he just wanted to protect her, but she didn’t need protecting. Even if Wordslayer was the sword she’d rather be using, she wasn’t useless without it. A normal claymore would be fine - but Alcred, as the party leader, didn’t think so. So off they went, leaving Soleryn alone to sit in the tavern until they came back from finding wherever this bandit caravan had taken some noble’s daughter.

Well, the claymore would work just fine, but it didn’t feel right in her hands. The wrong weight, the wrong shape. It wasn’t Wordslayer. Soleryn prayed there would be some way to get her sword back, but she had no reason to believe she would. The last time she’d seen it, she’d plunged it through Mahrzeleel the Ash Sculptor’s rotten chest a fraction of a second before he’d teleported - and apparently her grip on the blade’s hilt had been weaker then where it’d become wedged in his chest, because when the lich blinked out of existence Wordslayer had gone with him. And gods knew that gods forsaken monster had no reason to give it back to her. If anything, she expected for him to try to destroy it. The holy blade was made to slay the undead - destroying it would be in his best intention. It probably wouldn't even be worth holding as ‘hostage’ either.

Soleryn sighed, using the end of the regular iron sword to open up a rotten door. The sword had been a gift from her mentor, and was a holy artifact of her church - aside from the pain of just losing a sword that meant so much to her personally, it would be a blight on her in the eyes of her church. The shame of that made her sick. But there was nothing she could do about that right now. The tavern owner had at least been kind enough to give her something to do while her party was gone - the locals had grown jumpy about an abandoned house at the edge of town, as it was common it seemed, so Soleryn had agreed to go check it out and clear it of anything that could be considered ‘problematic’. So far, it’d been empty - just creepy and dilapidated. Some rich noble’s mansion that had been abandoned some years ago when he’d rather suddenly disappeared. The tavern owner had gone on and on about whatever history the house had, but Soleryn hadn’t honestly been listening. And she was finding it wasn’t relevant. Nothing stood out, and nothing seemed to have actually been there any time recently besides maybe a few beggars and whatever rodents were now living in the overturned furniture.

So when Soleryn saw a dim blue light around the edge of the door ahead, she paused. Nothing had implied that there was anything in this house prior to now. No signs of ghosts, or any other undead. No signs of people living there recently. No creature that seemed unusual or particularly dangerous. But there was definitely something in the next room. Soleryn slowed, tightening her grip nervously on the hilt of her sword. Taking a deep breath, she pulled on the magic of her deity.

A undead. Just one.

Soleryn’s face paled. Only one undead in a place like this was usually a bad sign. This wasn’t some stray zombie or skeleton. For a moment, Soleryn wondered if she should go back and wait for the rest of the group to return - but she’d come out there to prove she’d be fine, to both herself and to the rest of her team. She could handle this on her own. It was only one undead, and if anyone was able to handle them alone it was her - with or without Wordslayer.

Taking a deep breath, Soleryn quietly crept forward, thankful the door was already open. It was a study of some sort from what Soleryn could vaguely make out in the blue light. A old globe, some desks and tables, and a broken display cabinet that had been looted of anything obviously valuable. The ceiling still held, keeping the room secure from the worst of the outdoors, but all of the curtains seemed to be drawn over the windows if there were any. Soleryn edged closer to the edge of the door, cautiously peering around to try to find the source of the blue light around the edge. A dark silhouette, lit awkwardly by the three floating spheres of light that helped to illuminate the ceiling-high bookshelf they stood in front of. It only took Soleryn a moment to realize, with a streak of dread, that the figure was Mahrzeleel.

Mahrzeleel eyed the badly-beaten books in the shelf, dancing his thin fingers across the rotting spines. No, no, no. None of these were the books he’d been looking for. It’d been a long stretch, but there was a chance the old necromancer had kept something of interest before he’d fled his mansion a few decades back. If it had been there, someone who better kept up with the times had already taken it. It wasn’t unusual enough to keep somewhere strange, but many of the copies hadn’t survived recent purges of people who knew what they were looking for. He hummed to himself, pulling another book out to investigate.

Soleryn remained still. He hadn’t noticed her yet. Soleryn knew she should try to stop him from finding whatever was in these shelves that he might be looking for, but…

Her trail of thought was interrupted as Mahrzeleel shifted, the light shifting just enough for her to catch the metallic flash of something in the shadows against the shelf.

Wordslayer.

She could recognize her sword anywhere. But why Mahrzeleel had it with him now… She stiffened. Had he known she was here? Had he been expecting her? Her brow furrowed. The blade was sitting in a large bag, and she could make out a few books that looked as battered as the ones in the shelf, so he had at least been planning to take things back with him. Was he looking for a way to destroy the sword…?

Soleryn’s eyes darted back and forth between Wordslayer and Mahrzeleel, shifting her weight between her feet. Run? Or retrieve her sword? Run was the only reasonable answer. She could fend for herself, but Mahrzeleel… he was not someone she could face on her own. The team had chased him for five years, and as a group they’d failed to kill him. And if their research was correct, hundreds of adventurers had tried to slay him and had failed. There was no way that she was going to succeed.

Mahrzeleel put the book back, hooking the next book by its spine before pulling it forward. Instead of catching a good grip on the book, some of the cover and spine had separated, and the bulk of the book fell to the ground. Mahrzeleel cursed under his breath, taking a step back before leaning over to pick it up.

The very edge of Soleryn’s helmet caught the glow of the lights floating around him, and Mahrzeleel spun. Before Soleryn could pull back, an invisible force yanked her forward by her chestplate, dragging her into the center of the room before the rotting door slammed closed behind her. Soleryn stared at the lich with wide-eyes through the grating of her helmet, sword still clutched in one hand while the other was stretched out to keep her balance while she’d been pulled forward.

For a moment, the two of them stared at each other.

“Soleryn Dawnforge,” Mahrzeleel reveled, slowly stepping forward to the railing that separated the elevated shelving and the base floor below. “Now, what might you be doing around in a place like this, hm?” He glanced towards the door, drumming his fingers against the wood railing before glancing back, his blue eyes burning in the darkness as the lights cast him in an eerie silhouette. “Alone, no less. Curious. Out here looking for trouble, my dear?”

Soleryn’s lips drew into a thin line, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t back out now. She took a step back to make sure she was free of Mahrzeleel’s spell, before she took a deep breath and raised her sword. “I want my blade back, monster,” she demanded steadily, tilting her chin up.

Mahrzeleel tilted his head. “I would imagine so. You seem out of your depth with that one - or uncomfortable, at least. Like a fish out of water,” he mused, waving his hand idly at the simple blade she was straining to hold up in one hand. He pulled it back and forth with his magic with ease, no longer deterred from messing with it without the copious amount of protection Wordslayer had.

Soleryn kept the blade tightly in her grasp, struggling to keep it fairly centered and in one hand while he toyed with her. “You have it with you. So surely, you must have been expecting me, or why else would you have it with you?”

The tattered corner of the lich’s mouth twitched, and the fires in his socket contracted to tiny, vivid points of light.

He had had it with him because he’d been trying to figure out how to give it back to her without making it… suspicious. He’d been hoping to set some convoluted plot up involving the house in hopes that it might seem like the blade had been stolen from him by… oh, who knew, maybe a would-be necromancer or something. But apparently, that wasn’t going to be how this went.

And Soleryn being here had caught him fully unprepared and fully off guard.

The lich pulled back stiffly, turning with the billow of his robes as he strode towards the bag. Soleryn watched in tense anticipation as he grabbed a length of black cloth out of his cloak and grabbed the sword by the handle, removing it from the bag before standing in front of the railing again. The lich turned the blade over in the dim ghostfire, looking rather thoughtful as the blessed silver reflected the light back over his sullen features. He cocked his head to the side, a few strands of white hair falling out of his hood. “I dare say you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth, Miss Dawnforge. Truth is stranger than fiction so I’ve heard.” He shifted the blade, tossing it up only briefly so he could catch it with the cloth by the blade. In a very fluid motion, he slid his grip along the ridiculous length of the sword until he was holding it by the tip, handle extended out to Soleryn. The lich folded his other arm behind him, staring down expectantly at Soleryn. He said nothing more, simply wiggling the blade for her to retrieve it.

Soleryn looked between the sword’s hilt and the lich’s face. There was no readable expression on the undead - just a very intense stare. She gritted her teeth. There was no way this wasn’t a trap. Mahrzeleel had no reason to offer the blade back, no matter what he said - there was no reason for her to simply believe that. She took a step forward cautiously, but the lich didn’t move. Instead, he stood statue still, not even swayed by the usual subtle movements of breathing and life. Cold, and still. Soleryn cautiously looked at the pommel. It looked like her blade, but there was a chance it wasn’t. The realization that this could be a trick to get her to accept a cursed blade or something was seeming more and more like a likely option. After a moment of staring at the blade, she took a step back.

“And how to I know this is my blade?”

Mahrzeelel seemed mildly taken aback. The lich tucked his chin in for a moment, before mimicking an exaggerated sigh. “Do you not know your own weapon? Why else do you think I would go through the lengths not to touch this wretched piece of metal?” Mahrzeleel scoffed, sweeping his free hand over the enchanted length of fabric he was struggling to clutch the blade with. If he hadn’t been undead, he was sure that his hand would be cramping by now - but even if it wasn’t, he could feel the blade slowly slip in the velvet texture of the cloth. If Soleryn didn’t take her damn sword back soon, he was going to drop it, and he was going to look like an idiot.

Soleryn narrowed her eyes, thrusting her lower lip forward. “Do you think me a fool?” She snapped. “You’ve made a duplicate and you’ve cursed it,” she insisted, throwing her free hand up as she took another step back.

Mahrzeleel’s brow furrowed slightly. “I have not!” he snapped rather quickly, which had clearly caught Soleryn by surprise. Biting his own tongue, he straightened his back out and adjusted the sword again, making sure he had a good grip on it before he extended his hand. Silently, he cursed himself before he reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of the blade. His skin immediately hissed, causing him to yank his hand back as metaphysical pain jolted through his body. Curling his damaged fingers tightly into his fist, he hid his hand back behind his body again before extending the sword back to Soleryn. “See? Is that enough proof for you?” he huffed, trying to hide his discomfort. As much as he hated to admit it, the blessing on the blade hurt. Even the small knicks it gave him burned far more than almost any other artifact he’d been hit with before.

Soleryn watched in surprise. If Mahrzeleel was faking the damage, he was doing a very convincing job. She doubted it was just acid on the edge of the blade - it seemed genuinely like holy damage. But if it really was Wordslayer… why was he giving it back to her?

Deciding to bite the bullet, she leaned forward again, yanking the blade out of his hand before quickly stepping away from him. She almost pulled him over the edge of the balcony with the sudden movement, and Mahrzeleel had to catch himself on the railing. Scoffing, he pulled back, shaking the cloth out before tucking it back into his robe and turning to face the shelves again. “Now, I’ve done you a favor by returning your sword. If you would be so kind to return it by leaving me to my-”

Soleryn sprinted towards the small rise, using a small desk to jump up before she used the sturdiest stretch of railing to pull herself up onto the rise. The railing snapped under the force, but it was enough to get her onto the platform, and before Mahrzeleel could finish his sentence Soleryn was upon him. She shoved him back into the bookshelf, Wordslayer raised to press into his chest as she pinned him against the moldering books. The lich stared at her in shock, eyes tiny pinpoints as his jaw hung slightly open in both surprise and a sharp snarl. A hiss left him as the blade pressed into his neck, burning into his skin. Soleryn gave him a firm, determined look under her helmet.

But to her surprise, he looked… Scared? Genuinely surprised? The look on what remained of his face was not what she’d been expecting. Soleryn hesitated, adjusting herself to keep the lich pinned under her heavy plate armor. Mahrzeleel tried to tilted his head away in discomfort, one of his hands reaching out to grip her gloved hand to try to push the sword back.

“Having second thoughts?” He chuckled, though the strain in his voice betrayed his frayed nerves. “You won’t really destroy me if you slay me now. You know that - it wouldn’t be the first time, after all.”

Soleryn furrowed her brow, scanning Mahrzeleel’s features. Was he… smiling? Closing her eyes for a moment, she released one hand from the sword, reaching up to pull her helmet off before dropping it next to her. The lich watched as she pushed her wavy blond hair out of her face before she returned to gripping the sword, hazel eyes glinting in the blue light. “Why did you have my sword?”

Mahrzeleel’s head pulled back a bit into the books, doing his best to tilt his head with what little room Soleryn was giving him to maneuver. A long pause fell between the two. He could feel Soleryn’s body shift against his dead still one, trying to keep him pinned while clearly trying to keep her courage to face him alone like this. There had been plenty of times he could have gotten out of her grip, and he figured she knew that - but the fact that he hadn’t had, perhaps, only made her more unnerved. Soleryn wasn’t a fool - she knew he was playing at something, and it had her on edge.

Finally the lich forced a hollow, pointless sigh. “Do you really want to know?” he questioned, giving her a rather deadpan and defeated look.

The response had Soleryn pulling her head back a bit in confusion, face scrunching. “Yes. I do,” she replied hesitantly, tightening her grip on her sword.

It wasn’t like she was going to believe him anyways, and she already knew full well what he had been saying was bullshit. The lich decided to roll the dice. What was the point of being immortal, he supposed, if you didn’t take a risk every once in awhile? Even if you were playing with your heart?

“I’m infatuated by you.”

Soleryn stared, before blinking. She turned her head in a questioning movement like she wanted him to elaborate.

Sighing again to get the point across, Mahrzeleel idly tried to turn his face away noncommittally as he tried not to stare directly at the very rather confused and judgemental eyes of the woman he was attracted to, who no doubt was currently wondering what she’d done to bring such a curse as the attraction of her lich enemy.

“I was trying to find a way to return your sword to you. I was making some way to trick you into coming out here to find it in some way that didn’t look like I was giving it back to you,” he scoffed, trying to shrug it off even if it was making him feel anxious to say that.

“What?” Soleryn almost hissed, only looking more confused.

Mahrzeleel uncomfortably tried to shift again, gritting his teeth as Wordslayer dug deeper into his neck from his movement and what was likely Soleryn unintentionally leaning into him more. “I’m attracted to you! For the past… oh, what has it been for you… three years, perhaps…? Everything I’ve been doing involving you and the rest of the Brightscars has been a hoax. I’ve just been looking for excuses to see you. There hasn’t been any ‘grand plan to rule the kingdom’ or anything. I’ve just…” the lich shrunk in slightly on himself, “...I’ve just been finding excuses to see you. That’s it.”

Frankly, Mahrzeleel was surprised she hadn’t just severed his head from his shoulders at that point, but the look she had on her face was largely what he expected - a look of shock and confusion. Wide eyes, mouth ajar, maybe the subtle look of disgust. Why wouldn’t she? She had every right to. A lovely, righteous paladin like herself who’d spent her entire life learning to hate the undead should probably be mortified by the idea of an evil necromancer and lich being attracted to her. He readied himself for the next part - the look of anger, some slew of insults and maybe talk about righteousness, maybe her finally disencorperating him again so he could get out of this situation and return to his lair where he could skulk about this and wonder where he’d let his life fall to.

But she didn’t.

For a moment, she began to lower the blade before immediately bringing it up again. The look of confusion and internal realization broke away to determination again. “You’re lying,” she spat, the anger now taking over his face. But it wasn’t quite the sort of anger he’d been anticipating.

“I told you that you wouldn’t believe me,” he replied simply, giving her a feeble shrug.

Soleryen looked around, before awkwardly adjusting how she was holding Wordslayer and how she was pinning him. The lich watched as she fumbled for something in the front of her armor, before she removed the holy symbol from around her neck. He pulled his head back in mild surprise, before trying to shrink back more as she tried to push the symbol towards him. “Swear it. Tell me that again, Neryn and all the gods above, be my guides and tell me of this foul beast’s lies.”

The symbol glowed as she pressed it up against his cheek, relieved at least that it wasn’t burning him as she held him under duress. “Soleryn Dawnforge, I, Mahrzeleel the Ash Sculptor, truly and honestly have interest in you. All of my plans as of recent have just been to indulge my infatuation with you, because I know full well you have no earthly reason to entertain this old lich’s interests,” Mahrzeleel said almost bitterly, knowing how rather foolish he was sounding. But it was true, and the light around the holy symbol did not change. After a moment, it disappeared, and with a stiff movement Soleryn pulled it away - along with the sword, and the rest of her body. She stared at him in perhaps more shock than when he’d first said it, backing into the railing where she stopped.

Mahrzeleel straightened himself out, rubbing his neck where the sword had been pressed. He turned, moving to grab his bag off the ground with a stiff movement.

The look Mahrzeleel gave her made her insides turn. Was it… humiliation? Soleryn finally snapped her mouth shut, gripping her holy symbol and its chain to her chest as she watched the lich grab a few of his things, clearly intending to leave.

What he had said was truth. He was apparently in love with her. And suddenly, that changed a lot of things. And suddenly, a lot of things made sense. His plans. His actions. Their battles and every interaction… Seeing it through the light of infatuation, it made a different kind of sense.

And Mahrzeleel, unlike many others she’d encountered, at least seemed like he understood how she should react to that. Mortified. Rejecting. And she should.

But instead of trying to attack him, or letting him leave, she reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his robe.

Mahrzeleel stiffened, not fully turning his head to look at her. She could catch the very edge of the ghostly light in his sockets, but she didn’t try to tug him further. An uncomfortable, tense silence fell as Soleryn whetted her lips and looked at the ground, trying to find the right words, the right feelings. She didn’t know how to feel about this. She didn’t know what she wanted to do about this. But she did know one thing.

She did not feel disgusted, and she did not feel angry.

Slowly, Soleryn took a deep breath, her eyes looking back to him. “Please… give me a few days,” she said carefully, her voice low. “I need… time to think. It’s… it’s a lot. All of this.” Mahrzeleel said nothing, statue still as always. Soleryn at least accepted that as a sign to continue. “The rest won’t be back for a few days anyways, even though i’m sure you know that,” she managed, giving a weak chuckle. “So… I’ll think about it. And maybe we could… talk… about this again. If you… if you’re being truthful.” Slowly, she let go of his sleeve.

Mahrzeleel turned to fully look at her. He looked surprised. She hadn’t… rejected him? She was… potentially open to his advances? A very rather foreign emotion swelled in his empty chest as he looked at Soleryn’s surprisingly timid look. The woman nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gaze cast to the ground as she gripped Wordslayer in her other hand, resting the point against the ground. Slowly, the lich nodded. “...A few days then,” he repeated, a tinge of hope in his quiet voice. “I will send you a message with a place to meet. Until then…” He hesitated, before giving her a sweeping bow. “...I do hope you enjoy your sword again. Do remind your companions that you are fully capable with it. Besides, how else could you have gotten it back from the necromancer living here?” Mahrzeleel questioned, the hint of a smile on his thin features.

Soleryn looked at him in mild confusion, before he snapped his fingers. A few things shuffled further in the library, causing her to spin. Undead. Mahrzeleel must have set them up before she’d arrived. But instead of shambling to attack, they all simply collapsed, the energy leaving them. She spun to look back at the lich, but he was gone. Soleryn stared at where he’d been standing, her heart pounding in her chest.

For the first time, Soleryn wondered if she’d actually be excited to see him again.

#this. may just be chapter 1 for this fic if I ever actually go anywhere. it basically is what I wanted to write for it #necrovember2019 #lich #undead #stupid lich/paladin #mahrzeleel the ash sculptor #soleryn dawnforge

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