A Life Well Raised - Chapter 1

Livia never meant to become a Dark Lady.

Livia never meant to become a Dark Lady.

She just wanted to protect her home from those so-called adventurers.

She thought they were more like pesky rats.

But explain that to the Hero's Party outside her front gate.

Instead of worrying about that, she was busy reading through the reports about the Western fields on Laborer’s Day.

"Good harvest, sounds like the bugs are now gone...." A loud boom shook dust from the ceiling rafters. Livia looked up, frowned at the interruption, and returned to her papers. She sat in her study, just down the hall from what everyone insisted on calling the 'throne room.' She began reading again when another loud explosion occurred. She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, sighing.

Would Maggard take care of that ruckus! She thought, irritably.

As if summoning him with the thought alone, the office door rocked off the opposite wall and Maggard the Relentless—still wearing his faded nameplate even after three years—was at her desk.

"My lady, the heroes have breached the outer gate. Our forces are holding, but they're pushing through," Maggard reported urgently.

Livia looked confused as she slowly tried to focus on what Maggard was saying instead of the status of her new experimental manure on her tomatoes.

"Heroes? What heroes?"

"The ones who've been marching toward us for the past week. The ones I've been telling you about," Maggard responded, agitated.

"Oh. Those. Can't we just talk to them?" Livia asked, already starting to return to the reports.

"They're not here to talk! They're here to—" He paused as sounds of another bone rattling crash rang out. He peered out her small window and reported, "they just destroyed the east tower."

"The east tower?" Now Livia was upset. "But that's where we store the winter wheat!"

Maggard looked at her, exasperated. "They're trying to kill you, and you're worried about the wheat?"

"That wheat took 11 months to grow! Do you know how hard it is to get the moisture content right for winter storage? And now it's probably on fire!"

"YOU might be on fire if we don't—"

Another explosion, closer this time. The window rattled. She sighed. "Fine. Gather Captain Rhobesa and you two try to resolve this."

With some cajoling, threats, and finally physically standing between her and her reports, Maggard managed to herd Livia toward the War Room.

"I'm bringing the harvest reports," Livia insisted, tucking the papers under her arm.

"My lady, there is a siege—"

"Which will be over soon, and then I'll have lost my place." She was already walking, but kept glancing back at her desk like a child leaving a meal half-finished.

The War Room was just a few doors down the hall—close enough that she could hear another explosion rattle the windows in her study. Stone dust caught in the light from the hall windows. .

The entire time, Livia griped internally. This is Sky’s Bounty, one of the busiest months of a farmer’s life! This interruption is messing with my reports time. I'll be behind schedule by at least a day, which means the planting schedule gets delayed, which means the harvest timing is off, which means... She mentally catalogued the cascade of disruptions. All because these 'heroes' couldn't send a messenger like civilized people.

The War Room was already crowded when they entered. Her inner circle had gathered:

Captain Rhobesa towered near the tactical table, her half-orc features set in grim determination. Fresh dents marred her armor from the fighting, and ichor—the telltale remnant of undead combat—was splattered across her gauntlets. A split lip oozed blood where she'd taken a hit. She stood with her arms crossed, green-tinted skin catching the light from the windows.

Albazehar perched on his customary stool beside the table, the gnome's short stature requiring the boost to properly see the maps. His magnificent beard, shot through with grey from his nearly two centuries of life, twitched as he stroked it in concern. His robes, slightly too long even when tailored, pooled around the stool's base.

Maggard moved to join them, his tall elven frame still carrying an echo of the grace he'd possessed in life. Three years of undeath had left him pale and gaunt, but Livia's maintenance kept him well-preserved—elegant, even, in a macabre way. His faded nameplate glinted as he took his position.

Several other advisors, both living and dead, filled the remaining space around the room's perimeter.

Maps covered every wall—tactical positions, supply routes, and farmland yields all carefully marked. But the room's centerpiece dominated: the massive table that bore a detailed three-dimensional model of the castle and the acreage surrounding it, complete with miniature representations of walls, towers, fields, and defensive positions. Tiny markers indicated troop placements and current breach points.

Through the tall windows, she could see her forces engaged with the attackers. Thousands of undead in organized formations held the walls. And there, cutting through them like a scythe through wheat—five figures. Just five.

"Five?" Livia asked, incredulous. "Just five people are doing all this damage?"

Rhobesa nodded grimly. "Professional adventurers. Hero-quality. They know what they're doing."

Livia watched one of them—a warrior in shining armor—cleave through three of her skeleton guards in a single swing. The warrior didn't even slow down, already moving toward the next group.

"Those were perfectly good guards. They just learned their patrol routes last month." She watched in horror as the next group received the same treatment.

Albazehar closed his eyes. "Livia..."

"What? Training takes time! Now I'll have to raise new ones and start over."

"That's not the point—" The floor rumbled ominously as another explosion cut him off.

"They've breached the second wall," someone reported.

Maggard stepped forward. "My lady, we need to organize a defense. The inner circle can hold them, but we need your orders to proceed."

Livia looked out the window again, watching her carefully organized undead forces being systematically destroyed. All that work. All that training. And for what? Because some “heroes” decided she needed to be stopped?

She hadn't even done anything to them. All she had done was take care of her farm. Granted it's grown a lot since then but... Her thoughts were interrupted by an exasperated grunt from Albazehar.

"They think you are an evil blight upon the land." He stated it plainly, holding her gaze, trying to convey his seriousness. "Honestly, I doubt we can reason with them or fight them off easily. I suggest that you leave this situation to Maggard, Captain Rhobesa, and me while you wait in the safe room."

Livia, lost in her thoughts, was ready to return her attention to her reports. She waved her hand in some vague gesture of agreement and left the War Room, tucking the harvest records more securely under her arm as she walked.

The door closed behind her.

Maggard and Rhobesa exchanged a look.

"She's taking the reports with her," Rhobesa observed with quiet fascination.

"Of course she is," Albazehar said wearily from his stool.

Maggard turned back to the tactical model, his pale elven fingers adjusting the markers to show the heroes' advance. "Right. Let's save her castle so she has somewhere to read them."



Albazehar and Rhobesa headed for the castle walls while Maggard went to check on Livia in the safe room.

She wasn't there.

Frantically, he searched until he found the wayward necromancer: back in her study, surrounded by even more reports than before.

"My lady, you were supposed to go to the safe room, not the study!" Maggard exclaimed in mounting panic..

"I was there, but I needed more reports. I needed to cross-reference the south field's yield with the current crop experiments and—" Livia began trying to explain when Maggard grabbed the reports from her hands and began dragging her toward the door.

"You can bring the reports with you, but you will go to the safe room and STAY there!" He emphasized each word while steering her into the hallway. "The safe room is hidden in the throne room. No one can find it if you stay still and quiet. This is the reason we built it—to keep you safe!"

They had just turned the corner when Maggard came to a sudden stop, almost causing Livia to lose her grip on her notes.

Rhobesa staggered toward them down the corridor, half-carrying, half-dragging an exhausted Albazehar. Blood streamed from a deep gash across the Captain's shoulder. The gnome's face was pale and clammy, his robes singed and smoking.

"What's going on?" Maggard's voice went flat with dread.

Rhobesa, breathing hard, forced the words out. "The hero's party... right behind us... couldn't stop them..." She pushed forward doggedly, her eyes fixed on the throne room entrance just ahead.

Livia's expression changed. For the first time since the siege began, she seemed to grasp the actual danger. "Rhobesa, you're hurt—"

"Move!" The half-orc shouldered past them, still carrying Albazehar.

They staggered into the throne room together. Rhobesa made it three more steps before her legs gave out. She collapsed, and Albazehar tumbled from her grip with a pained grunt.

Livia immediately dropped to her knees beside them, her hands already glowing with the pale green light of necromantic healing. Not the gentle kind. No, it was the forceful kind that knit flesh and stopped bleeding through sheer magical will. "Hold still, I can—"

The keepdoors blew inward, sending splinters of ancient oak skittering across the floor.

Through the smoke and debris, five figures stepped into the throne room.

The warrior came first—a man in shining plate armor, his sword still dripping ichor. His breastplate bore a symbol: a pair of hands holding a healer's staff. The mark of Ramses, the Lifegiver.

Behind him strode a battle-mage, hands crackled with residual lightning.

A rogue melted out of the shadows to his left.

A cleric in white robes moved to his right, her holy symbol glowing softly—a crown impaled on a downward-pointing sword. Valda's mark.

And finally, a ranger, bow drawn and ready.

They looked like heroes from a storybook. Battered. Exhausted.

But victorious.

They seemed a bit surprised at the scene before them: an undead elf standing protectively over a woman kneeling beside two fallen warriors. The woman's hands glowed with sickly green magic.

Maggard stepped in front of Livia, slightly to her right, pale eyes fixed on the heroes. "Stop there. You're in our sanctum. We've set traps that will unleash our deadliest weapon the moment you advance. You've lost this battle." His voice was quiet and certain. "Leave. While you still can."

The hero's party looked at each other, unsure for a moment. The rogue surreptitiously examining the walls searching for traps, when warrior raised his sword and leveled it at Livia.

"Dark Lady!" His voice boomed across the chamber. "Your reign of terror ends today! Step away from your servants and face justice!"

Livia, still kneeling, hands pressed to Rhobesa's wound, stared up at him in genuine confusion.

"I'm sorry, what?"

The warrior took a step forward, his armor gleaming despite the soot and ichor. "We've come to stop you! To free the people you've enslaved! To end your undead scourge!"

"Enslaved?" Livia stood slowly, brushing off her work dress. "I haven't enslaved anyone."

Maggard, standing protectively beside her, muttered quietly, "Technically, you've enslaved all of us."

Livia shot him a look. "That's different. You're... employees."

"Dead employees who can't quit."

The warrior pointed his sword at Maggard. " Silence, foul creature!" Then turned back to Livia. "Do you deny commanding an army of the undead?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Do you deny conquering peaceful towns and forcing them to submit to your dark will?"

"I didn't conquer them! I helped them with their problems and they—"

"Do you deny slaying countless innocents and raising them as your unholy servants?"

"They weren't innocent! They were trying to steal my—" Livia paused. "Wait, countless?"

Maggard sighed. "It's been roughly fifteen years, my lady. The number is significant."

"But they attacked me first!"

"Lies!" The warrior's voice rang through the chamber. "We know the truth, Dark Lady! We've heard the stories! The towns living in fear! The undead armies! The defeated Dark Lords!"

"Okay, the Dark Lord thing happened, but he started it!"

The woman in white robes—the party's cleric—stepped forward, her holy symbol blazing with righteous light. Her voice cut through the chaos like a blade as she pointed to Maggard, "ENOUGH!"

The word echoed with divine power, silencing everyone. In the ringing quiet that followed, she pointed directly at Livia.

"Bad enough you created this abomination — and you still dare defend yourself? You stand accused by both the Iron Empress and the Lifegiver.." Her voice was formal, ritualistic. "Dark Lady of Summerswind, you are charged with the following crimes against the natural order and the realm."

She began counting on her fingers.

"Necromancy—the raising and commanding of the dead in violation of natural law. Murder—the slaying of travelers, adventurers, and residents of this region. Desecration—the binding of souls to rotting corpses against their will. Conquest—the forcible subjugation of six towns and their peoples. Corruption—the twisting of the living to serve your dark purposes. Destruction—the defeat and absorption of rival powers. And finally, the sin of existing as a blight upon this land, spreading death and terror wherever your influence reaches."

The cleric's eyes blazed. "What say you to these charges?"

Livia opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked at Maggard, who could only shrug his gaunt shoulders. She glanced at Albazehar, still sitting pale and exhausted on the floor, who stroked his beard nervously. Finally she looked at Rhobesa, who just closed her eyes.

"I... well, technically yes to all of those, but—"

"Then you confess!" The warrior—Aldric—raised his sword again.

"No!" Livia threw up her hands. "I mean, yes, I did those things, but not like you're making it sound! You're making it sound evil, and it wasn't—I wasn't—" She looked around frantically , at her throne room, at her advisors (living and dead), at the heroes who'd fought their way through her castle. Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "How did this happen?"

The warrior raised his sword. "Your evil—"

"I'm not talking to you." Livia's voice was quiet but firm. "I'm talking to myself." She sat down heavily on the throne room steps—not on the throne itself, she'd never felt right sitting there—and put her head in her hands. "How did I become this?"

The battlefield energy in the room shifted. The heroes exchanged confused glances. Even Maggard looked uncertain.

Livia finally straightened , hands falling to her lap. "I just wanted to grow tomatoes. And protect my land. When did protecting my land become... this?" She gestured vaguely at everything—the throne room, the castle, the armies beyond.

The warrior—still ready, still suspicious—frowned. "Is this a trick?"

"No." Maggard's voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "I believe she genuinely doesn't understand how she became what you call the Dark Lady."

A leather-clad man—the party's rogue—lowered his daggers slightly. "That's... actually kind of sad?"

"Don't fall for it, Eddard!" the cleric snapped. "Evil always lies!"

Livia looked at the warrior properly for the first time, really seeing him instead of just reacting. "What's your name?"

The question seemed to surprise him. He straightened. "I am Sir Aldric, Champion of the Lifegiver, Sworn to—"

"Just Aldric is fine." Livia's voice was tired. "Aldric, have you ever killed someone who was trying to steal from you?"

"That's not the same—"

"Have you ever defended your home from people who wanted to destroy it?"

Aldric hesitated. "Yes, but—"

"Then you understand. That's all I did. Over and over. And somehow..." She looked around the throne room, at the grandeur she'd never wanted. "...somehow this happened."

Silence fell.

The heroes stood uncertain, weapons still ready but no longer quite so eager. Behind them, through the shattered doors, the sounds of battle had faded. The castle was eerily quiet.

Annalise, the cleric, sneered and stepped closer brandishing her holy symbol, readying herself to smite Livia. “You are a liar and truly are without any saving grace from the Iron Empress. You pervert the will of those that cannot consent. You raise the dead without any thought to their own feelings. This is against everything the Iron Empress teaches—that a life well lived, with glory and honor, earns its final rest.”

The momentum shifted. Aldric paused, his still raised, and glanced at his party.

Suddenly, Albazehar hobbled to Livia’s side, his voice gentle, coaxing. "Perhaps, my lady, you should tell them. Tell them how it actually happened."

"Would they even believe me?" She asked, as if the heroes were not standing there.

Aldric studied her for a long moment—this woman in a plain work dress, overly large boots covered in dirt, sitting on steps instead of a throne. Her blue eyes peek from under her unkept brown hair, looking more lost than evil. Finally, he lowered his sword slightly.

"Try us. Annalise, watch her closely and keep your holy symbol out. Denilius, don't let your eyes off of the fallen. If they move, shoot them. Belthazar, cover him. "

Livia took a shuddering breath, then another. She gazed up at Maggard, who nodded encouragingly. At Rhobesa, who had propped herself up on one elbow to listen. At Albazehar, still pale and exhausted but watching intently.

"Fine." She settled more comfortably on the steps, like she was about to tell a folk story rather than defend her right to live.. "But you're not going to like it. Because the truth is... I never meant for any of this."

"Then how—" Aldric started.

Livia held up a hand, cutting him off. "It started with a rabbit. When I was five years old..."

The ranger, Denilius, who had been silent until now, shifted to see Rhobesa and Albazehar. His bow was lowered, but arrow still nocked. The mage, Belthazar, extinguished the magic crackling around his hands. Even the cleric's holy symbol dimmed slightly, though Annalise's expression remained disapproving.

They were still ready to fight.

But they were listening.