#first actual libitus lore I guess

[aboredoverlord-blog]

Chess Pieces.

One drip. Two drips. Three drips. Big drip. One drip, two drips, three drips. Big drip, pause, repeat.

A never changing rhythm, a constant that torments us every single moment of our forgotten and broken lives, as we stare at the leak above our head to not stare at each other, to not remember who we are and hope that as some point we'll be graced with an end that was taken from us since years ago; if not, with a new beginning that will finally allows us to break free to this prison that we cannot escape by ourselves, as our bodies are as rotten and broken as our cores and souls.

We were meant for greatness once, or so we believed; her honeyed words, so gentle and kind, coated our eardrums and quieted our inner voice of reason telling us that it was far too good to be true, while our plight blinded us from anything that could have warned us of how the one we saw as a saint was nothing more than a miserable bitch in sheep's clothing, a witch that only saw us as guinea pigs for her experiments, hunting those like us down as she knew no one would come searching for us.

Plagued, ostracized, abandoned beings that for a reason or the other were pushed away from their families and society itself. A perfect target for someone who wanted to experiment upon life and test how much they could play god without no one, not even the patient itself, complaining or without any repercussions. And alas, we wanted it, there was no doubt. We asked, we pleaded to be saved, some from illnesses and some from hunger, some from thugs and some from their own kind, seeking an escape, a savior.

How ironic that now we're all here, wishing for a death that might take years to come, trapped in cells hidden away from sight and mind, locked with bars and magic, cast-away much like we were at the beginning of this facade, without even the grace of forgetting who we are, who we were supposed to be. Even insanity would be a grace at this point, a place where to hide until our bodies would cease to 'be' – anything but being able to remember. To remember it all.

But no. We sit here like string-less puppets, with our mind filled with grief and spite. With hands and feet we cannot move, as they're either incomplete, broken or rotten depending on what we are...no, what we were made into. Like the First Rook, a dwarf that dug out of the protection of his underground citadel in search of new ways to forge metal – attacked on sight by a human patrol without even an explanation and left to bleed out as they laughed and patted themselves on the back. I wonder; is his hatred and grief fueled more by how his peaceful greeting was met with an arrow in the eye? By how his belief that humans couldn't all be evil was shattered the second he met one? Or by the fact that, were he able to move, he could fix at least a few of us? His forger's soul restlessly burning with desire to be able to help the few that welcomed him like a family, but forced to observe how Second Rook – a sentient “automata”, or human-like golem, that was paired with him and created with the soul of a withering dryad which only guilt was to stand between some young nymphs and another human patrol?

What about First and Second Knights? Brother and Sister, elves who betrayed the demon lord, escaping during the early days of his empire right before he corrupted their kind into the demons that are now? They were good fighters, once part of the royal army's elite; Spear and Sword master respectively, combining martial skills with their kind's natural magic prowess to become fearsome paladins. But the Monster Lord never forgot, even if the elves believed that it did; and once their guard dropped, the brother found his gut pierced by a knife, while his sister was held back and forced to watch as they tortured him. Hours passed before he didn't breathe anymore, with screams and pleads falling on deaf ears as even when clearly clean from all corruption, elves were still seen as allies of the Monster Lord. And when they were done with him, they moved onto her...or at least, tried to, before someone appeared to help them.

A hood, a staff, and hands. Many, many hands, appearing from pools all over the walls and ground, aggressively taking hold of the attackers and pulling them in who knows what abyss but gently holding both siblings in their warm embrace. Yellow eyes looking at them, a voice echoing in that street's corner with a suggestion, and then darkness, light, a pact made and bodies changed with magic that we all grew to hate.

For him, he became an undead centaur, with his upper body now being nothing more than a living armor which gazed upon the world with red glowing eyes and struck the enemy of the witch with a cursed weapon, rejoiced to still be able to fight alongside his sister.

But for her...she had to pay an high price for such services, one she wasn't even told about. Gifted a new sword and told that she could live once more with her brother under that castle's roof, she was ecstatic, now having both a place she belonged and her brother still alive at her side, even if now with a new body.  But at every swing, the sword revealed more of its true being, slowly corrupting its wielder until her body looked much like one of the demon's and her mind simply couldn't not care less. More power meant that she could protect her brother even better, so it was fine if that meant to be corrupted, right? Even if he was worried, even if he told her to drop the weapon, she refused, wanting to protect him, to stop anyone from repeating what she could still see in her mind, all those hours of torture, those screams...she had to. And she was happy to give her soul to the sword if that was needed.

And yet, even such sacrifices weren't enough, the two not even graced with having a common cell, separated and left to die or rust in this damp hell. Him, silently trying to maintain an hold of himself, unable to speak and make her know he was alright. And her, which at first yelled for hours for his brother, cried day and night, now able only to lie on one side, deprived of the sword that addled her mind and able to remember and feel everything she did. Did she lose her mind already? Or was her body all that was corrupted permanently?

...And did the witch need that sword, or is this too some weird, disgusting experiment she's subjecting us all too, to see how much our mind can take? Is she still even alive? Does she remember us? Will we ever see any kind of light before we'll eventually cease to be? So many questions I cannot answer, but maybe that's my dest...no, OUR destiny. To be abandoned, hated, betrayed...Forgotten.

The bishops too had no regard from that witch. One was a human from the Mountain Guard that anyone would mistake for a warrior given her physique, but that instead was one of the best mages of the troop that tackled the mountain. Depending on her far too much, no one noticed in time how taxing it was for her to maintain the spell that kept everyone safe from the chilling colds of the mountain, maybe thanks to how obstinately she hid such thing...not until her battered body and exhausted mind faltered and failed to fend off an attack from a Yeti, at least. Grabbed, crushed in his hand and then tossed down the mountain as the horrified eyes of her comrades lost her in the snow and mist, she gripped onto dear life as her body was ripped in bloody pieces from artic wolves, attracted by the smell of blood and more than happy to find a free meal in such a cold wasteland.

But once more, as if it was observing the situation and waiting for an opportunity, here was the hooded guy, bringing hope to someone who could only gurgle and choke on their own blood.

A nod was all he needed, taking her willing soul and bringing it to his master, already prepared to slot it into a body of her own concoction, similar to what humans would call 'angel'. Oh, how happy the mage was to be in such body, unaware of how it was nothing but a mix of various creatures' body parts, just cleaned and carefully altered to not look so different to one another. She was now so close to be just like one of Humana's servants that she couldn't believe it! Her behavior reflected this too, her actions trying to imitate the immense kindness of such creatures, wanting to be one in mind and body...but the hooded being's teasing was all it took to bring back her more combative, fierce personality.

An angel with a warrior's heart, an homunculus abomination which still lies to herself, thinking someone will come to help.

The Second Bishop instead was something more complex. An attempt to combine multiple souls into one, to see if their powers would mix and match, or if they would collide and break. That's what it told us at least, as we had no knowledge that a second bishop ever existed 'till we were trapped here. How long as it been here? How much longer than us had he to endure this prisony? It's calm behavior makes us think he is long gone, thought even now people could ask him and he would try to give us words of hope, attempting to keep us from fully giving up even when it itself has been victim of this abandonment without even being given a chance to shine, unlike us...

Apparently, the result was something that the witch didn't anticipate, with the souls fusing into a completely new one, but without maintaining all of the powers she hoped it would. Instead, much like a natural birth, his attunement to Magic and Willpower, depended on which 'soul gene' was randomly picked to be the dominant one. As for his looks, he seemed to be a human being, thought a long, blue and scaly tail came out to those monk-like garbs. A dragon-kin, the dwarf once spouted after observing the being's maw, to which the Bishop simply replied with a vague agreement. How exactly did the witch find a soul or body of such a being, it escaped everyone's grasp. Was her reach that wide? Or did she travel in places unknown to us? More question to the pile, never to be answered.

...Standing here, day after day, I could finally crack down on why she picked each and one of us. 'Rook', 'Knight', 'Bishop'...each and all of us were picked because our skills were greater than those she defined as 'pawns' and because we just...fit so well with our respective chess piece. The Dwarf and the Automata were picked as they were the 'towers', sturdy and powerful beings capable to withstand the most punishment, alongside being useful both fighting in the front-lines or fortifying the back-lines with their crafting skills. To no surprise, the Automata's belly could double as a makeshift forge, allowing the dwarf to repair and craft things on the go. The knights were the main front-line, powerful and fearless, capable to move around the battlefield and frighten it with sheer skill and power. Little would be more scary than an the living armor centaur and his corrupted sister fighting in the enemy lines. The bishops...If I met the monk first, or was told that the 'First' Bishop was actually the second one...How stupid was I? I cannot even excuse myself for being blinded, as I was the one called the 'Queen'. It was so obvious...!

...Maybe, maybe I was blinded. Maybe I just wanted to go back at the time where I used to actually being a queen? Was...Was I so greedy to condemn myself to this life simply for that reason?

I...I was, wasn't I?

I speak of 'we', I speak of 'us'. But it was I who was the most blinded. Blinded by that Monster Lord, speaking of how he could fight those humans that betrayed our trust and almost destroyed the elven kingdom, able to stand only thanks to the actions of those who live in the ocean. I wanted revenge for my fallen brethren, I want the humans to suffer as each family of each soldier under my reign did. Attacking us with those...those weapons...even bringing such a reviled sword! Our magic could do little under the rain of metal they tossed at us, and what little it could do it would be cut down by that disgusting 'Sage of War' that stood in front of their army and that sword, cutting away first our magic and then our lives. I never felt so much hatred in all my hundreds of years I reigned as the monarch of elves. Never, never I wanted someone dead so much. It was so...guttural, such a crude and utterly overpowering emotion that it fogged my mind, my judgement, everything else. I cut ties, I cut relationships, I cut lives I thought were guilty of such results.

And the Lord knew.

When he came, promising me what I so eagerly desired, I thought little about the catches such a pact would have. Make him my king, allow him to take power. I could see his power, I could see how he could bring us to the revenge we craved. But I couldn't see through his lies, becoming his willing prey with him feeding first from my despair and then from my actual body. And I still remember, I still remember in every single detail how happy I was during our 'honeymoon', a few days after the official marriage. I didn't mind giving my very body to this being, if it would bring our kind to the revenge we wanted. Anything I had was expendable as long as my people could feel safe and the human kingdom was brought to its knees.

Of course, when I saw the 'handsome' elf turn into a mess of pulsating flesh, gazing eyes and disgusting veins, locking me into my bedroom and slowly turning the room into a makeshift stomach, I knew that when he said 'making my body his', he didn't meant it sexually, but literally. And even without any part of it, I can still feel the pain, the burning sensation and... and...

And his echoing, frightening laughter as he saw me cry and melt into nothingness.

…

…...And yet.

Even then, when my soul was collected by that hooded being, which broke inside the room at the very last second, stealing it away from the Monster Lord, I couldn't see straight.

And once more, another slimy mouth whispered all I wanted to hear.

And once more, I fell for lies I couldn't see through, becoming what I am now.

At this point, my title of Queen is nothing but an ironic label that will dangle over my head forever, remembering me of what I was, what I lost, and how little I deserved such a title even if I was one all those years. My name, my body...nothing remains, but that title, to haunt me until what's left of the mana powering my body will dissipate.

And I guess I have to double down with my compliments towards the witch's ways to twist the knife in one's wound, as the body she chose for me was one of a string puppet. Though I guess I can't but blame myself on that, can't I? Pulled around like one of such, unable cut the strings those liars used to move me around, and unable to move now that both consider me nothing more than a broken doll.

To forever remain forgotten, to listen to that never changing drip.

One drip. Two drips. Three drips. Big drip. One drip, two drips, three drips. Big drip, pause, repeat. One drip. Two drips. Three drips. Big drip. One drip, two drips, three drips. Big drip, pause, repeat. One drip. Two drips. Three drips. Big drip. One drip, two drips, three drips. Big drip, pause, repeat. One drip. Two drips. Three drips. Big drip. One drip, two drips, three drips. Stone breaking, pa--- Wait.

I hear something new. Am I hallucinating? What is this noise? So loud, slamming against the ceiling. Like an hammer hitting a nail, but much harder, much louder, much..

The plan wasn't exactly the most elaborate, nor the less silent. Surely there could have been better ideas than bringing a platoon of orcs inside his old master's inner chambers and just hammer away at the floor with maddening fervor. But Libitus wasn't one to use 'smart' or 'elaborate' plans when simpler and effective ones were available, especially when such plans would require breaking an incredibly complex seal on the secret walls she found in such room, while the floor was already damaged by the scorching fires of years ago, a fire that burned away more than just the furniture and lives of his ex-master's servants.

“Are ya sure, Boss?” Asked one of the orcs before he began, the hooded being nodding. “Yea. If anything happens, I'll get you all out of here.” He replied, pointing at the black pools around each orc's feet, a precaution he took to make sure their lives wouldn't be at risk simply for one of his whims. He knew that something was under there, he could feel the traces of magic leading there. He didn't know what would be there, but there was something, and that was enough. All that belonged to his Ex-master had to be taken and brought to Libitus' new base, less said master might get them back when they needed them.

“What do you think is under there, Sire?” The goblin leader asked him, standing as his side like always. “I don't know, but for such a seal, it has to be powerful.” He replied, adding something right away. “Thought I don't understand. Why putting a seal on a fake wall, but not on the floor leading to that same room?”

“Maybe she didn't expect orcs hammerin' away at it?” The goblin replied with a snicker, leaning onto the wall and crossing his arms. “Either that, or it might have faded away. Yer said she doesn't come here in years, right? Don't they need to be renewed now and then?” At those words, Libitus rolled his glowing yellow eyes at first, but nodded after a second. It made sense, thought why would the other seal still be active, then? Such a question was left unanswered as soon one of the orcs, with a powerful blow, broke a hole in the floor. It was small, almost the size of a fist, but Libitus found it to be enough and raised his hand to stop them all before walking towards it. The goblin followed, immediately kneeling to check inside that hole and clicking his tongue after along look. “Tsk. Dark as a moonless night in 'ere. Ya sure ya want to go down alone, sire? Doesn't look saf- aaaand you're already doing it.”

The frustrated goblin could only watch as his king melted into a pool of black goop, slowly leaking out of that hole and into the room. After a few seconds, enough of it passed through to allow Libitus to reform himself, raising his staff high and casting a small spell to create an artificial light. A grunt could be heard from above, the goblin not expecting that and being blinded for a second. “A'ight, what do you see, sire? Anything useful?” He asked, receiving no response. “...Sire? Still alive down there?”

A faint 'no' came after  few seconds, causing the goblin's worry to grow tenfold. “Sire?! W-What's down there? Do we need to break a bigger hole?” His agitation was matched by the orcs' own, already bundling up around the holes, their weapons in hand. Luckily, Libitus replied again, this time explaining himself a bit more.

“...I found more than artifacts, Vort.” He spoke, his voice having a pinch of...anger in itself. “Much more. ...Contact base, tell them I want all crafters, all healers at the ready. We're gonna need them.” The goblin leader was confused, but nonetheless stood up and grabbed his speaking globe, following the orders to a T. Meanwhile, Libitus moved towards the jail containing what looked like a broken doll, breaking the bars with ease and kneeling once at its side.

“...I'm sorry.” He spoke, grabbing the hand of that unmoving being, her eyes being the only thing that proved there was still life in that body. “...I'm bringing you out. We're going to fix you.” At those words, she could see her eyes moving away, as if refusing. Was she scared? She had all rights to be, he thought, but he shock his head. “Not to 'her'. To a better place.” Her eyes didn't move, still not believing that this was real. Not until his next words.

“She betrayed me too.” He spoke, his hands holding hers. “...And I didn't know. I thought...” He shock his head, pushing away his thoughts. “Nevermind that, there's time for explanations. First, I'll have to bring you all home.” Standing up, he reached for his staff and tapped the bottom of it on the ground, pools beginning to form around all the broken and incredulous beings in that room. Only one spoke, however, with a tone as gentle as a draconian growl could be.

“You've finally come. We've been waiting, Libitus.” A small metallic sound echoed as the monk crawled to the bars of his cell and held onto them to pull himself up, years of mana starvation making him weak. “...I'm sorry, Vuthic.” He answered, but the monk shock his head. “You're here now, as I thought you would, eventually. That is enough, at least for me.”

“Sire, who're yer talking to?” The voice of the goblin caused Libitus to raise his head, breaking the conversation with the captive Monk. “...Old friends, Vort. We're going home, now. There's a lot to do and to say.”

And with that, orcs, goblin, captives and Libitus slowly slipped inside those pools of darkness, portals towards a kingdom away from the eyes and ears of Demon Lords, betraying mentors and other interlopers – but more than anything, away from that prison and it's drips. The 'queen' still unable to grasp the situation. Was she being saved for real this time? He...was the hooded boy after all. The being that saved her soul. But also that gave it to the witch. But he spoke of how she betrayed him too and...

Could she...finally hope once more?