Deus Necros

“I don’t need you to believe in me,” Ludwig said. “I only want you to follow me and believe in your own strength, the strength that allowed you to power through and survive many cycles, and reach this place. You’re not obliged to move forward, you’re not obliged to climb, you can stay here, for all eternity if you wish, even I don’t have the right to take that away from you. And nor does the red King. Only…” Ludwig said.

He made a point of granting them permission to refuse. That sounded counterintuitive, but it was the only way to avoid sounding like the Red King himself. If he demanded loyalty, he would get obedience or rebellion, nothing in between. If he offered choice, he could turn the act of following into pride rather than submission.

“He cares not about rights and wrongs. He wants full submission, oppression, and removal of thought. He takes away the lives of those who oppose him, and then forces those who were made to follow to become part of his army. I’ve seen it,” Ludwig said as he looked at a nearby goblin. “I’ve seen his army kill an orc, rip out his heart, and then curses that very blood heart and feed it to a goblin, the goblin then became a red orc. A forced change of structure and race. To follow, forever. Without mind of your own, or will.” Ludwig said.

He didn’t embellish the violence. He didn’t need to. The image was already horrifying enough: your body becoming someone else’s weapon, your mind turned into a passenger. The goblin he looked at went still, fingers curling around the rim of its cup like it could squeeze the memory out of existence. A few goblins in the back exchanged panicked, sharp glances, survival instincts screaming.

Everyone turned to the elder again, and she nodded.

“No lies…”

The elder’s confirmation didn’t sound proud. It sounded grim, like she hated that the truth was true.

“I’ve seen your walls,” Ludwig said, “I’ve seen the tree line. And I’ve known of the myth of the ogres. The most powerful tribe.” He said, “And I’ve seen the Red King, and I’ve seen his army… Soothsayers? Binding vines? The mountain’s curse, or even the twisted tree line that surrounds it. All of it is nothing but a hurdle that, with the numbers under him, would take but mere moments to break.” Ludwig said as he walked forward.

He moved closer to the bonfire, letting the light climb his face so no one could accuse him of hiding. The heat pressed against his skin, and his living body wanted to flinch from it; he ignored the impulse. His boots thudded softly on packed earth. People shifted as he approached, some stepping back, others holding their ground out of pride.

He didn’t call their defenses useless to insult them. He called them useless to make the danger real. “Safe” only worked as long as the enemy accepted your definition of safe. Pride didn’t.

“You are unfortunately not safe here. And once he breaks through, once he defeats the Ogre tribe, who else is left to fight it? Lizardmen that believe they’re descendants of dragons yet fear combat? Goblins whose only goal in life is to survive instead of live? Orcs who kill more of their own in challenge and search for honor than in battle? Or Trolls who live to eat, and eat to live?”

The words cut, and Ludwig knew they would. He didn’t soften them. Softening would make them ignorable. Truth was only useful if it hurt enough to force action.

The audience seemed rather annoyed that Ludwig was speaking facts. Real facts, but they couldn’t deny any of it.

A few snarls rose in throats but died before becoming protest. Even Damra didn’t argue; he simply watched, eyes narrowed, because deep down he recognized the math. A refuge that couldn’t defend itself wasn’t a refuge; it was a waiting room.

“Together, we’re strong, separated, and we’re nothing but prey to the Red King, I know it,” Ludwig pointed at a goblin, the weakest of all races, “You know it. We all know it, yet refuse and remain satisfied with a life that is threatened and will soon end. Accept the call to arms, and fight for a chance to either keep living like this forever, in absolute freedom, or for a better chance to challenge oneself and grow. A chance to reach the real world outside this place.” Ludwig looked all around and said.

He didn’t say “fight for me.” He said, “Fight for yourselves.” He offered them two futures: keep the Safe Lands by defending them, or earn the right to leave them. Either way required blood. The difference was whether that blood bought anything besides another cycle of drinking.

“For those that would follow me… in battle, in war, against the red kin, I’ll offer you a place of my own outside these walls. In a kingdom ruled by a powerful emperor, in a land where all is mine. I’m not an orc, but a human in an orc’s skin, and I’m sure many of you have heard tales of climbers who came here before, from outside these walls. I’m one of them, and my goal is to defeat someone far mightier than this Red King. The very one that gave him his crown. This, for me, is but a hurdle; with or without you, I shall clear it. But join me, and be part of this, and have a right to live, not a wish to survive. What say you?!”

He let the last line ring. Not as a performance, but as an open door. He watched their faces the way he watched enemies: for the first crack, the first shift, the first sign that fear had finally decided action was less painful than waiting.

The bonfire snapped loudly, sending a spray of sparks upward like a brief constellation. In that light, Ludwig could see the settlement split into three kinds of people: the ones already leaning forward, hungry for war; the ones frozen, terrified of losing their comfort; and the ones calculating which side would keep them alive the longest.

And Ludwig knew the hardest part wasn’t defeating the Red King.

It was getting these people to stand up before the Red King arrives and forces them to crawl.