There were many possibilities, many different paths forward, and they all span endlessly through Tyron’s head as he examined the sigils around him. Every glowing symbol represented a choice he had made, ti he had spent and energy he had exerted in trying to beco stronger, trying to learn and grow as a Necromancer. They also represented the single-minded drive, the obsession and focus he had endlessly poured into his vengeance.
Which were the strongest? Which combination would yield the greatest result? How could he best use them as fuel to ignite his future?
Minion creation and crafting had been taken care of, but that wasn’t all that he had beco, it was simply the foundation of his Necromantic arts. To be victorious in future, he would need to lead his horde against his enemies, to crush them into the ground under the heel of his skeletons and magick.
He would dedicate his second crest to his mastery as the leader of the horde.
After all, having powerful minions was only valuable if he was able to utilise them in battle. Leading them against the armies of the Empire would be his second task, after creating them.
But which of his abilities would be best suited to slot into this crest? To create a speciality that would empower his abilities as a commander?
Several options selected themselves.
The newly acquired Imperator Mastery was perfect. A high level Skill with an even higher cap, an ability that enhanced his control over his undead to incredible heights.
Tyron didn’t hesitate to reach out and take hold of the sigil. In his hand, it felt like an invisible sphere, as if made of the finest glass imaginable. Within hovered the sigil that represented Imperator Mastery, a collection of lines and symbols ford of pure energy that read as clearly to him as the writing on his status sheet.
He reached down and slotted it into the second crest.
Grand Undead Imperator was next. This ritual had co with his gold ranked Class and was mighty indeed, empowering his minions and enhancing his control over them. He’d invested a great deal of ti and effort into mastering it, even investing a feat to improve its strength.
He took hold of it, placing the ability in the second slot, right along the first.
Having made his first two choices, Tyron leaned back and considered. From here, things were a little more muddled. He had many abilities that he used in the heat of battle now. Many spells and skills that were applicable.
Should he place his favoured curses here, such as the Shivering Curse? It was powerful, very powerful, when used against the living, but was completely useless to him in the Realm of the Dead. Perhaps Concentrated Death Blades? It was an extrely useful spell that enhanced his minions’ weapons with Death Magick,making them far deadlier. Was it worth placing it in the crest?
Cursed Miasma, the cloud of darkness he spread across his minions that enhanced the power of his curses. Was that sothing worth placing into the crest, or should he leave it behind, since he relied on constructs to create it more than he himself did?
Perhaps he should place the Boundless Eye of the Imperator into the crest? The spell allowed him to interact and see through the eyes of his minions at a great distance, which had proven extrely useful as they fought in the wasteland while he remained in the city.
Field of Death. Flesh to Bone. Mantle of the Imperator. Death Becos Life. Blessing of Bone. Even the newly acquired Spirit Shields and Grave Moon were eligible to be placed into the crest.
Tyron weighed the possible combinations and options, considering the usefulness of the abilities, their level and strength. Ultimately, he decided against placing too many of his new selections into the crest. Without levels, the sigils lacked power, and he suspected that would lead to reduced strength in his eventual speciality.
At the sa ti, he acknowledged so risks would be worth it.
Reaching out, he took hold of the Grave Moon sigil and slotted it into the third position on the crest. This was one of the final options his gold ranked Class had offered him. He knew it would be strong.
Alongside it, he placed abilities in which he had invested more of himself.
Concentrated Death Blades went into the fourth slot, alongside the Field of Death.
Neither would be powerful against his foes in the Realm of the Dead, but they weren’t his true enemy. Losing focus on bringing down the Empire would be a mistake.
The third and final crest awaited, and into this Tyron decided he would pour his mastery of bone-related magick. He had specialised himself through his feats and choices as a bone magick specialist, and he should have a crest that reflected that. In addition, he had a number of high level abilities that would fit such a speciality.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Considering his options, Tyron couldn’t help but admire the design of the Unseen. By providing options, allowing people to choose for themselves, every individual was able to shape their own path, their own build. When they ascended to Platinum and it was ti to choose their specialities, naturally there would be favoured abilities that suggested themselves.
Even now, the Unseen was allowing Tyron to design his own way forward. Would it be strong or not? He felt as if that would ultimately be up to him. Through his will, through his effort and determination, he would make it work, regardless of the limits the Unseen tried to place on him. He had broken through those walls before and he would do it again.
Tyron arranged his offensive, bone-related magick around himself and considered his options. Ossified Bone Armour was a high level ability and one that he depended on to protect himself. He had no hesitation in slotting it in the first position.
Piercing Bone Lance was one of his fundantal offensive spells and perhaps the one he depended on the most. He considered a mont, then placed it into the second slot.
Calcification, the final Skill he had earned in his Death Mage sub-class, was placed into the third slot.
Two left.
He reached out his hand, then hesitated as another ability caught his eye.
Summon the Ossuary.
The Necromancer stared at it, studying the glittering sigil and pondering his options. It felt wrong to leave this ritual behind. He didn’t know what would happen to the abilities he didn’t select here and now, though he doubted he would lose them. Yet the Ossuary had beco a fundantal part of Tyron’s strength. Leaving it out of his specialities entirely felt… wrong.
Acting on instinct, he took hold of the sigil and weighed it in his hand. There was power there, and potential, he didn’t doubt it.
It settled into the fourth slot, and Tyron sat back to consider his final selection.
Rising Spear, Bone Pillar, Flesh to Bone… all were viable options. The first was offensive, the second was largely defensive, and the third was healing for his skeletal minions, at the cost of his own lifeforce.
After consideration, he ultimately selected Flesh to Bone. Tyron was willing to sacrifice for his skeletons, and that should be reflected in his eventual speciality.
With care, he took hold of the sigil and placed it into the crest. With a click, it settled into place.
On the ground before the seated Necromancer, the three crests each sat, filled with five sigils. Tyron had made his choices. Only ti would tell if he had chosen wisely.
He waited a mont, then another. When he began to suspect that he had done sothing incorrectly, there was finally a change. Each of the sigils still hovering around him vanished, leaving only the crests behind. These began to hum with energy, growing brighter and brighter as the sigils fused into the crest itself, rging and becoming a single entity.
After flashing so bright he was forced to avert his gaze, Tyron turned back to find each crest was now engraved with a single symbol, all sign of the sigils gone. This was the language of the Unseen, he realised, it was the only explanation, otherwise how else would he be able to interpret such complex, arcane imagery that he had never seen before?
He looked at each of the three crests in turn, still resting on the ground before him.
The first read: Skeletal Artisan
The second read: Necromancer Overlord
The third read: Ossium Mastery
Examining each in turn, Tyron felt satisfied with what he felt from them. They described his path to power well, and he would remain faithful to it.
Again, the crests began to glow, but more softly this ti. Energy rose from each, spiralling through the air, wrapping around each other before combining at the level of his eyes.
Tyron waited patiently as the power continued to erge and combine. He could see sothing was being created, ford from the specialities he had created, and he was keen to see what it could be.
The flow of energy from the crests began to slow until finally it ceased, the last of the power joining the floating mass before him. Swirling around itself, the dense ball of energy eventually collapsed in on itself in a flash. What erged were three new sigils.
His potential Classes.
Looking at each, it was clear to see the Unseen had offered a Class for each of his crests. It would be up to him to choose which he wanted to emphasise. Again, he studied each in turn from left to right.
Ascended Skeleton Artifex
Ascended Undead Imperial
Ascended Ossium Magi
Sitting back, Tyron considered what he wanted. What he needed. As soon as he did so, he felt himself pulled in different directions.
He needed power, rightnow if he was going to survive long enough to enact his vengeance. With an army of gold ranked soldiers descending on him, it would be a miracle if he were to fight them to a draw, let alone win.
If he wanted imdiate impact, the Ascended Ossium Magi would doubtlessly give his offensive magick a significant boost, turning his bone-related spells into a viable battlefield nace.
Yet he instinctively rejected this path. He was not an offensive archmage and it was far too late to start pretending he was. Even if this Class boosted the power of his spells threefold, it wouldn’t be enough, and would cut off his path in areas that mattered far more to a Nercomancer.
Ascended Undead Imperial. This Class spoke to the general, the arcane master of a horde who wielded them in battle against their foes. This Class promised to empower his undead on the battlefield, to make them fight harder, to increase his control over them and the power of his rituals to strengthen them.
It was a tempting choice, and one that would benefit him in the short term. He did, after all, have a battle to fight.
And yet.
Tyron was inevitably drawn to the first Class.
If nothing else, his exposure to the Realm of the Dead had shown him that his minions were sadly lacking. There were things he could do to make them stronger, he knew that, avenues of study and research that he had only just begun to explore.
And yet.
In his magickally pulsing heart, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. A qualitative difference between his skeletons and the undead that had confronted him there existed… and Tyron couldn’t stand it.
Despite the fact it would provide the smallest benefit in the short term, Tyron chose the Ascended Skeleton Artifex.
He opened his eyes.
Once again, he found himself in his ho realm, a sheet of paper covered in his own blood resting on the grass in front of him.
The final lines stated his attributes would rise by eighty for reaching platinum rank, and that his mysteries were now allowed to progress another stage.
Tyron ended the ritual.
User Comments
0 comments from readers