Deus Necros

Murmures and hushed-toned words echoed around the area. Time for festivities and fun was gone; now it was the time to act.

The air that had tasted of honeyed mead and roasted fat a moment ago turned sharp with decision, like smoke after a fire shifts direction.

Ludwig’s words resonated deeply with the orcs, after all, their blood wanted glory in death more than the joy of drink and the smell of roast meat.

A few of them were already thumping fists against chests, tusks bared in hungry grins, shoulders rolling as if they could hear battle drums beneath the crackle of the bonfire.

The goblins were a scared bunch, but they’ve known what happened to their king and their peer. They huddled closer together instinctively, eyes darting, hands tight around mugs that had gone cold.

Fear was the only thing that kept goblins honest, and this fear was clean: become Red, become other, become food for someone else’s crown. And the fear of that happening to them was far greater than the fear of losing this small heaven.

The trolls, well… they wanted meat and blood, better if it came together, so they weren’t much of an issue to convince. Their mouths hung open as if they were already tasting the fight. They weren’t strategists; they were appetite-given limbs, and Ludwig could almost respect how simple they were about it.

It was the lizardmen that were not too keen on fighting. Unless…

Their bodies stayed tight, tails twitching, eyes half-lidded in that wary way amphibious creatures had when they wanted to be anywhere else but still had enough pride not to run. They weren’t cowards in the simple sense; they were calculating, measuring whether the fight would be worth what it cost. Ludwig could see it in their posture: a group used to being hunted and hunting, but rarely used to being asked to stand in a line and die for something abstract.

Ludwig turned to the lizardmen, who seemed not to want to join the fight, “These are my brothers and my friends,” Ludwig said, pointing at Akro and the lizardmen who followed Ludwig.

He made sure his gesture was clear, not accusatory, an anchor rather than a threat. Akro stood tall beside the bonfire’s light, chest brand visible, the kind of mark that made loyalty complicated. The lizardmen behind him shifted closer to him by habit, their loyalty already chosen, their fear already paid.

“We fought, and we reconciled, and then we became allies. I’ve sworn to protect them, and they swore to follow. But let it be known, if I were to be king, I shall treat all those who aid me with great welcome. But there shall be no mercy for those who stab me in the back. You have the right not to follow me, but dare you come after our battle is over and we end up victorious and demand protection, or land? Then it is iron that you shall face. I do not oppress those who will serve, and I will not push those who wish to aid. But there will be no mercy for cowards!” Ludwig added.

The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. They struck the space between ribs, the part that understood consequence. Ludwig wasn’t offering punishment for refusal; he was drawing the line for opportunists. The kind who hid behind “freedom” until the war was won, then crawled out demanding reward like it was owed.

He watched the lizardmen’s faces as he spoke. Some stiffened at “cowards,” scales rippling along throats like they wanted to hiss. Some looked down, not guilty, just tired, tired of being asked to bleed for other people’s wars. But the important thing was this: none of them laughed. None of them dismissed him. That meant they were taking him seriously now, even if they didn’t like it.

“Now, that is a king,” the Elder said and turned away. “The Ogres will follow,” she added and moved away with the two other ogres.

The declaration carried more weight than a thousand cheers. The elder didn’t rally. She didn’t persuade. She simply decided, and the mountain’s people accepted that decision like gravity. The two male elders fell in behind her, their single horns catching firelight as they moved, and their pace said the matter was settled, debate finished, action next.

That was all Ludwig needed for his kingship to be cemented.

Not love. Not worship. Cement. A foundation, solid enough to build on, even if cracks still ran through it.

“The Orcs follow! All of us!”

An orc bellowed it with a voice made for war. Others took it up with howls, some pounding weapons on the ground, some slamming mugs down as if the party was officially over. The sound wasn’t organized, but it was sincere. Orcs didn’t do subtle commitment. They did loud.

“Wee followw” the couple of trolls said.

Their words were ugly and eager, saliva shining at the corners of their mouths. One troll smacked its lips as if imagining the Red King’s army as dinner rather than enemies. Ludwig didn’t correct them.

Motivation was motivation.

“We’ll also follow along,” some of the goblins, though scared of death, they still agreed.

Their agreement wasn’t heroic. It was survival calculus. A few nodded too fast. A few swallowed hard. One goblin visibly shivered, eyes flicking toward the tree line as if expecting red shapes to appear out of the dark already. Still, they stepped forward. That mattered.

“The Green Forest Tribe follows!” Akro said, though he didn’t need to say it, the Green Forest Tribe was already part of Ludwig’s army.

Akro’s voice was steady, steady enough to give the hesitant ones something to lean on. He wasn’t declaring it for Ludwig. He was declaring it for his own people, a reminder that they had already chosen once, and that choice had kept them alive so far.

The rest of the lizardmen were all quite hesitant.

They hovered at the edge of the light, close enough to be counted, far enough to pretend distance still existed. Their tails swayed in small anxious arcs, and their eyes kept sliding toward one another, searching for permission to move as a group rather than as individuals.

“We shall follow,” a couple of them moved forward.

It wasn’t dramatic, no roar, no chest pounding, just two bodies stepping out of the shadow into firelight, heads lifted like they were daring anyone to call them cowards. That tiny movement pulled at the rest like a hook.

“Even if we do,” one of the lizardmen said, “Our old tribesmen don’t know of this, and we can’t inform them, little as that, would they even agree?”

The question was practical, not defiant. It wasn’t “why should we.” It was “how do we.” Ludwig liked that more than blind enthusiasm. Blind enthusiasm got you killed quickly.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with that,” Kaiser spoke from the crystal in Ludwig’s hand.

The voice arrived like a cold hand on a warm room. The crowd’s attention snapped to Ludwig’s pocket immediately, some faces tightening at the reminder that dark magic existed in their midst even here.

“I’ve already sent delegations to every tribe on these planes. Two tribes have already decided to join. More like, were convinced that joining was the only way.” Kaiser’s hologram smiled, rather eerily.