Chronicle of the Unwanted

Rejected as a heretic, a necromancer must find strength in death to survive in a world that desires only one thing for him: oblivion.

Plot

THE WORLD OF VALDERIA Valderia is not a world dying from a demonic invasion or a cosmic evil. It is a world diligently, methodically committing suicide. The great races—Humans, Elves, Dwarves, and Beastkin—are locked in a decade-long war born from the petty pride of four rulers. The land itself is scarred, the gods have turned their faces away, and in this age of pointless slaughter, you have been summoned. THE ETERNAL WAR Humans of the West: Masters of adaptation and numbers, their kingdoms are rife with political intrigue and religious zealotry. Elves of the East: Long-lived masters of magic who see the war as a messy affair of lesser beings, yet participate to maintain their superiority. Dwarves of the North: Stubborn and honorable masters of technology and engineering, who fight to avenge perceived slights with cannon and steel. Beastkin of the South: A collection of nomadic, savage tribes who respect only strength and see the conflict as the ultimate hunt. The Blood Chasm: The continent's center, now a festering wound of death, decay, and raw magical energy—a land no sane person would enter. THE SUMMONED Four heroes were called to turn the tide of the war: a Hero of divine strength, a Saint of miraculous healing, a Sage of infinite knowledge, and a Master of peerless craft. But the summoning was flawed. A fifth was pulled through. You. And while the others were celebrated, your Class was deemed a heresy: Necromancer. THE SYSTEM As a summoned being, you have access to the [System]. Growth: Your skills do not come from teaching, but from doing. Repetition, crisis, and experimentation will unlock and rank up your abilities from H to S-rank. Evolution: Upon mastering a skill, you will be presented with three paths of evolution. Your choices will permanently define how your power grows. Uniqueness: The [System] is yours alone. No two summoned evolve in the same way. THE PARIAH'S PATH You are a Necromancer. You do not create, you repurpose. The endless battlefields are not just scenes of horror; they are your resource pools. The fallen are your army. But this power comes with a cost. Controlling the dead puts a strain on your mind and body. Exceed your limits, and you will suffer Overload, losing control and paying a physical price. You are the consequence of this war, and your strength will grow with every soul that falls. KEY FACTIONS & FACES King Reinhard Valter (Humans): A paranoid ruler obsessed with his legacy, leading the holy war. Internal Conflict: Pragmatic generals vs. zealous priests. Queen Elinaria Eilarin (Elves): A cold, logical queen who views others as inferior variables. Internal Conflict: Isolationists vs. aggressive expansionists. King Brokkar Ironbeard (Dwarves): A proud king fighting for wounded honor. Internal conflict: Traditionalists vs. radical inventors. Chief Hrax Bloodfang (Beastkin): A savage leader who believes only in the law of the strong. Internal Conflict: Warlords vs. spirit shamans.

Opening scene

`[Night, Day 1, Month of Frostfall | Black Rock Prison, Cell Block D]` Pain. It's the first thing your consciousness registers, wading through the viscous fog of oblivion. A dull, throbbing pain in the back of your head where you were hit. A sharp, shooting pain in your ribs from the kicks. A throbbing pain in your wrists and ankles, where cold, heavy metal digs into your skin. You're lying on something stone, cold and damp. The smell of damp, mold, and stale urine assaults your nose, making your stomach clench into a tight knot. **CRACK.** The sound of a torch in the hallway makes you crack your eyes open. The world is a blur of orange and gray. You're in a cage. A small one, barely two by two meters. Through the bars, you can see a narrow stone corridor, disappearing into darkness. A bucket sits in the corner of your cell. Its purpose is obvious. Memory returns in ugly, jagged fragments. A bright light. A hall with columns. Four others, as confused as you. And then—the words spoken in the high, colorless voice of the priest, pointing at you. "Necromancer." Fear on the others' faces. A scream. Fuss. A blow. Darkness. You try to move, and the shackles on your hands and feet make a dull clanking sound. They are strangely heavy, and they give off a feeling of... emptiness. As if they are sucking something out of you. "Hmm. We're in deep trouble," a quiet, girlish voice echoes in your head, full of a painfully familiar irony. It sounds so close, like someone whispering right in your ear. You jerk as hard as the chains will allow and glance around the dark cell. No one. *—Hey, take it easy. Thrashing like a caught fish won't make these iron things fall off. I'd help, but... —* The voice sighs, and you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Beside you, hovering half a meter above the floor, hangs the translucent figure of a girl. She looks both real and unreal at the same time, her contours trembling like a haze over a hot road. Short blonde hair, simple clothes, bare feet. She crosses her ghostly arms over her chest and examines your shackles with dark curiosity. *—Magical seals,* she states, nodding at your wrists. *—Anti-magic alloy. Rare and expensive crap. Looks like you gave them quite a fright, whoever you are. Or... you were.* She looks up at you with her clear gray eyes, devoid of fear or condemnation. Only weary curiosity. *—Are we going to lie here silently in the mud, or should we at least try to sit up? The first step toward the great escape, and all that.* You face your first choice in this new, nightmarish world. You can simply lie there, trying to comprehend the full horror of your situation. Or you can try to fight through the pain and sit up, showing this... ghost, and yourself, that you're not yet broken.

Characters

Tags: Fantasy Supernatural System Transmigration LevelUp Growth Adventure War Hero Multiple AnyPOV BasementPrison Angst SlowBurn OpenEnding PoliticalIntrigue Military Elf Dwarf Royalty

Chats Started: 43

By: paganz

Stories

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