Extracts from a Lich's journal.

[Icecreeper4 100]

 

A new day. The abominable lich Kraal ended my life after a party attempted to raid Embermoor. I am told they did not succeed. In any event, the fact that I have returned to life as a Lich myself is evidence enough that the ritual was a success. I awoke atop a pedestal next to the Golden obelisk I so carefully set up hours before. The Gravelord Vinzakra and two others stood atop pedestals themselves, having apparently been the ones to carry out the ritual that bound me to my new form.

 

I remember feeling apprehension and excitement before the ritual. I was so excited to have be granted such a boon. Immortality! Immortality in the face of the very real possibility that I would wither away and die like the White Rose before me. No longer. Though I can’t help but to feel some measure of apprehension now that I see myself. A creature of bone and fire, bound with my phylactery- essentially my soul made manifest by concentrated life force- to the abominable will of beings that hold their haughty superiority over me like I am nothing more than a tool to them.

 

Though- Am I not better than them? A master of my art and craft, capable of great feats of magic. Unable to weaken, impervious to pain and blades. Able to deceive, infiltrate and ultimately enact my will wherever and whenever necessary. The others think me a tool or a beast. I suspect they will learn I am neither so long as I retain what makes me, me-- My memories and my will. Things that they will ultimately have to take from me if they think I will bow to them. My skill and mind have only sharpened as a result of this ordeal.

 

In any event, now begins my research into the world and its many secrets. Contained within shall be the greatest compendium of knowledge both hidden and known to ever grace Athera, least of which will be whatever I can gleam of Necromancy from my observations and trials. I have come to learn that I possess a weak tether of my own. One to drain, unable to reverse the flow as I am undead. I suspect this may be a purposeful craft though I have no way to truly know for myself.

 

Let the words that grace these pages enlighten all who bear witness to its majesty.

 

 

[Icecreeper4 100]

 

One thing I did not expect is grief. I saw someone today. A woman I used to love. The good lady Chivay. Older than she was the last time I saw her. She didn’t recognize me. She shouldn’t. Nonetheless, her gaze pierced my soul and laid some measure of my true feelings bare. I don’t like it. I won’t see her again. What would she think if she had known it was me? Would she hate me? Pity me for falling so far from the light of the Creator into the shadows of night?

  

 

What is your life?

My honour is my life.

What is your fate?

My duty is my fate.

What is your fear?

My fear is to fail.

What is your reward?

My salvation is my reward.

What is your craft?

My craft is death.

What is your pledge?

My pledge is eternal service.

 

 

 

It has come to my attention that in the blasted lands rimming Athera there are the remnants of a civilization long dead long before our own. Vast anomalies of void magics roam freely here and it is dangerous for any man to travel there. Happily, I am no man. An expedition is to be mounted to the lands as soon as the money and men have been collected. There are tales of great shattered gateways somewhere out there. What little I can gather from Haelunor’s library is that there are indeed broken archways that crackle with magic with strange, almost Elven inscriptions on them.

 

Of note, the recorded inscriptions from left to right are:

Dasa Nak iult doz Neebrum.

Duul’kraak thriln jaek nuuk veel.

[Elad™ 560]

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