Deus Necros

The process had not been loud, but it had been absolute, dark magic that didn’t need flames or theatrics, only certainty. One by one, they had been forced forward, shoulders pinned, scales scraped clean of mud and blood where the mark would go, and then the seal pressed into place with a cold pressure that made bodies jerk even when pride tried to stay still.

Kaiser finished branding the whole camp in about an hour, when the sun was finally up and the lizardmen were all looking at each other uncomfortably.

Now, in full daylight, they kept glancing at each other’s torsos with that same uneasy awareness people had when they realized a private shame had become public. The brandings were all placed on their upper centric chest areas, a clear stigma of slavery and servitude. Not hidden. Not subtle. A message meant to be seen from across a fight, from across a campfire, from across a lifetime.

“Good,” Kaiser said as he pushed his hands off the Queen, the last to be enslaved.

The broodmother’s chest rose and fell shallowly beneath the mark, her unconscious face slack with lingering sickness and bruises from Grath’s “capture.” Kaiser’s posture loosened after the final seal, like a craftsman finishing a batch of work and finally allowing his shoulders to drop.

“Now, with all the lizardmen under you, what are you planning?” he asked Ludwig.

“First things first,” Ludwig said as he was silent during the whole ordeal. “We need information. Enemy Numbers, locations, troops, foes, potential allies, and finally terrain.” Ludwig looked at the Lizardmen, “Whoever brings the most useful information regarding these subjects will be permitted to skip one battle of their choosing.” He delivered it like a contract clause, not a kindness, clear, measurable, and immediately attractive to anyone who understood what “five battles” could mean for survival.

The Lizardmen all looked at Ludwig like he was some sort of divine entity, to enslave and still give them choice to not fight. No tyrant ever did that. Even the champions, proud, scarred, used to hierarchy, hesitated as if trying to decide whether this was a trick. Ludwig didn’t soften his expression. He let their confusion work in his favor. Confusion made people talk.

“I know,” a slim looking lizardman who had finally had his bowls assorted and no longer was he clearing both ends spoke up.

He stepped forward with caution, eyes flicking once toward Kaiser’s hands, then toward Gale, then back to Ludwig’s face. His breathing was steadier than most; he looked like someone who had survived the worst of the poisoning and now wanted to ensure he survived the aftermath too.

“Tell me all you know then.”

“There are about five races in these planes.” He said.

“Tell me something I don’t know…” Ludwig looked frustrated. The impatience was deliberate. He wanted them to understand quickly that vague answers would earn them nothing.

“Yes, euh, yes, orcs, so far there are four orc tribes.”

“Three,” Grath said.

The lizardman was confused.

“One of them died to the Red Tusks yesterday.” Ludwig explained.

“Then three Orc tribes. The Red Tusk is the strongest. And the second strongest are the Boar Tribe.”

“Used to be, they died,” Grath interjected.

“Yes, that leaves Yellow Mountain, and… well you.”

The “well you” carried a hesitant edge, like the lizardman wasn’t sure how to categorize a tribe that had just been conquered by twenty orcs and a “shaman” who branded souls. Ludwig let it pass. Names weren’t important yet. Numbers and threats were.

“How strong is yellow mountain? Compared to us.” Ludwig asked.

“Twice the number at least… I don’t know about tactics, but they have two shamans. We avoid fighting them, in fact we only chased the War Tribe because they are weakest…” The Lizardman said.

Ludwig looked at Grath disappointedly and sighed, “Fine. What about other races.”

“Trolls are the second scariest, they’re very vicious and hide in forest, they’re lacking numbers, but not even the Red Tusk would take them on directly.”

The mention of trolls sharpened Ludwig’s attention. Vicious. Forest. Low numbers. That meant ambush predators, territory control, and fights that turned into bleeding from places you didn’t realize you’d been cut.

“What about the scariest?” Ludwig asked.

“Ogres, they’re very vicious, and they’ll fight tooth and nail to the last one of them. They’re as big as trolls, though they don’t have the same regenerative ability, they are far more agile and stronger. A deadly race that is not divided but kingless still.”

Ludwig thought for a moment. He pictured ogres not as dumb brutes but as disciplined killers, the kind of enemy that didn’t scatter just because you hit them hard. “Kingless but not divided” was a contradiction that usually meant there was an internal rule keeping them unified, culture stronger than politics.

“What are the conditions to be king?”

“Each tribe has their own rules. The goblins, the greediest and most cunning. For us, the one chosen by the three Lizardmen Queens. For the Orcs, the strongest warrior. The Trolls, the one that brings back the most meat during hunt season. And the Ogres…” he remained quiet there for a second.

The pause wasn’t theatrical. It was fear. Ludwig saw it in the way the lizardman’s throat worked, in how his eyes flicked away as if naming the rule might invite attention from something distant.

“Speak up?”

“The horns, we don’t know much, but all I know is, the only one to ever become an Ogre king had two horns.”

“I see,” Ludwig thought for a second about the implications. And if he could even use that information to his advantage. After all, he too can grow horns. The thought was not hope, it was calculation, an exploit waiting to be tested. He filed it away and said, “Numbers, locations,”

“I know a bit more about that,” A champion spoke.

He looked like a veteran. With old injuries to match. Ludwig felt like this champion had seen a lot of battle so he could be useful. One eye was clouded. A scar crossed his jawline and disappeared beneath his throat scales. His stance was steadier than the others despite the brand, and he spoke with the tone of someone who had survived long enough to respect practicality.

“The Orcs number the two hundred in total give or take. The goblins are the most numerous, quite frankly we believe they are in the thousands. The lizardmen come next in terms of numbers. A hundred and eighty members of our Green Scale tribe, and two hundred of the Blue Scale tribe. And only sixty of the Dragon Kin Tribe. They think they’re the strongest since they have a slightly bigger build and come from dragon lineage.”

“Aren’t all Lizardmen the same?”

“Yes, but they believe they’re the chosen ones,” the champion shrugged.

The shrug said more than the words: pride made tribes invent superiority even when biology didn’t support it. Pride was useful. Pride made people overextend.

“Then comes the trolls, we believe they number fifty or so, they usually are divided in groups never in tribes. The ogres are about a hundred in total, and they’re the most worrisome in direct confrontation. Though…” he said.

“Though?”

“It’s been years since they were last seen, and no one is foolish enough to go to their territory.”

“Hmm, do you know the location of the Red Tusks then?”

“They’re a roaming tribe, so pinpointing them is difficult, but from what you said that the Boar tribe had died yesterday… we can assume that they’ll be heading toward the Yellow Mountain tribe. Or they might have already gotten there by now…”

Ludwig turned to Kaiser who said, “If what they’re saying is true, we’ll need to get the Red Tusk under control. if they absorb, no, from what we saw they don’t absorb other tribes… if they kill off the remaining orc tribe, then it’ll lower the troops you can lead.”

The point was simple and brutal. Becoming king required bodies. Losing orc tribes meant losing the easiest manpower pool. Even if Ludwig ruled lizardmen, the Tower’s “orc king” conditions might not care about that. This trial wasn’t a normal world; it was a scenario with requirements, and requirements were traps disguised as goals.

“You’re right, we’ll have to head there then. Where is Yellow mountain?” Ludwig asked.

“It’s a day’s march toward the setting sun,” one of the other Lizardmen said. He wanted to assist with information however he could.

“Good, we’ll set up a scouting force to see and check on the Yellow Mountain. The three of you who answered, you’re free to skip a battle of your choosing. As for the rest, I’ll choose of you lizardmen who are fast and agile. Assist in scouting and you too will be given a skip.”

The lizardmen looked at each other with joy that they were ’awarded’ for their information and the rest were rearing to participate in scouting. After all, it’s far safer than an outright war.