A Lich Returns...

[Tom_Whiteman 949]

 

 

 

 

“The shackles broke.”

“I felt myself ascend.”

“I saw the light.”

“It didn't last long…”

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m ready to die,” the Lich would think, chains tethering him to the sea floor whilst his magenta eyes dimly glow to peer off into the distance… A striking pain was felt, his frame hunching as his skeleton becomes weakly limp. Kraal was truly deceased, his soul now ascending to the seven skies. However, fate came into his life once more; fate, the thing he truly despised. Fate, it was the one that murdered his parents. Fate, it was the one that gave him chance to escape Asulon. Fate, it was the one that brought him to Kalameet. Fate, it was the one who tainted his mind, his soul. Fate… It was the one who will bring him back.

A wiry net would float past the deceased Lich, grasping ahold of his frame. With a tug, the chains would loosely slip from his ankles… Brought to the deck of a boat, sailors would peer down at him with fear, yet awe. After moments of staring, they’d nudge the limp skeleton. With no reaction, the sailors would hoist Kraal up, bringing him to the depths of the ship to observe him closely. Cleaning his bones, they’d find dark inscriptions etched into his frame; unreadable to the common, the group would shrug this off.

The crew comes ashore, a chest of riches, barrels of fresh catch, and a skeleton in a burlap sack. Their wives are proud of their catches, however, the skeleton scares them. Paranoia falls about the small fishing-town, word spreads of the skeleton holding a curse and will feast on all the children of the town. Tension is high, the crew and their families are eager to discard the skeleton, however many dare to go near it.

Saved by the bell, the town is visited by a travelling merchant- eager to sell his wares to the townsfolk. A burly fisher would wrap the skeleton in a burlap sack, cautiously

bringing it to the merchant, asking to sell it to him for merely ten mina. The merchant looks over the skeleton, deeming it an artifact from the ancient ages as he peers upon the dark inscriptions etched into the Lich’s bones. Purchasing the Lich, the merchant would make way across Athera, soon travelling to Vailor. He attempts to sell the ‘artifact’, however many held no interest in the skeleton. Becoming sickened of the skeleton’s presence, and its lack of success in selling, the merchant decided to finally discard the skeleton to the side of a narrow, secluded road. He left Kraal hunched over against the tree, head craning downwards. Abandoned, alone, forgotten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fate has won; a young, pale traveller by the name of Asher would pass by the familiar Lich. Ears perking up, the elf would hum to himself in confusion upon sight of the skeleton. Approaching the hunched over husk, he’d kneel beside it, lightly tracing his thumb over the inscribed bones.

 

“Kraal”

 

“No…” He’d murmur, arms going to wrap around the Lich in disbelief. He’d hoist the skeleton up, glancing over it gently as he wanders further down the secluded path. In the distance, a mountain range would be seen… Asher’s intentions were set… Arriving before the halls of Umbridge, Kraal would be lain outside in the snow, his frame laid out before an obelisk. The weaver gives a curt bow to the corpse before retreating inside the mountain…

Soon, a mime, a high elf, and an ebony-armoured champion would exit the mountain. Little words would be spoken, the mountain wind carrying what sound there is away in a blizzard. Huddling near the obelisk, the three would emit a blackened smog. It would envelope the golden pillar, sapping it of what rich life force it holds. The blackened tethers would adjust course, leading downwards into the skeletal frame of kraal, fuelling him with a raw surge of life force before a conglomerate of mist begins to form into an unstable sphere. The sphere would uneasily ascend, growing smaller and smaller before it condenses into a fine, purple gem with a blackened taint swirling inside of its walls.

 

Kraal’s eye sockets would begin to fill with an unidentified elixir, being completely black. It would begin to stir randomly, a pinkish colour being taken as the Lich’s frame jolts heavily. All would be silent but for the mountain breeze passing by the four… Soon, the Lich’s jaw would lower like that of a draw-bridge. Aimlessly staring at the sky, Kraal would remain silent. His curved, razor-sharp digits sprawl outwards, violent claws exposing themselves. A rasp voice would sound from the Lich’s maw…

 

“Death.”

 

Fate hath won.

[Geo 1415]

Chrodraeos and Kraal had spoken at length after his resurrection.  The old, frail wizard stares with tired eyes as the ancient Lich glides down the sacred halls of the temple, out into the snow, to go south to find civilisation.  "Fear the Old Dark, brother."

[Travista 1361]

Shreck'Lak misses his old comrade, Zogrocka'Rax.

[Guest]

"Death no longer," the ebony-armored Dralazar commented idly as he watched the Lich depart.

[HurferDurfer1 2978]

A crabby old man would be happy.

[ImCookiie 1950]

 

"Fear the Old Dark."

 

[Angmarzku 1251]

An old and hunched ghoul in chainmail clad armour tilts its head slowly with a crack-like sound, wheezing quietly as it releases a few hollow words. "Fear...the old..dark"

[KBR 2046]

"We Fear the old dark."  The high elf would mutter as he walked away, leaving The Me, and The Lich to their conversation.

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.