Raithmoore stood in his new home; the citadel he had previously resided in was destroyed, and abandoned. His new lair, his new headquarters, if you will, was located deep underground, hidden away from the eyes of men. It seems the Raith had taken an old abandoned series of catacombs and subterranean tunnels. The walls were obviously man made, for the most part, with narrow but tall passages at some points that opened to wide, underground, cavernous chambers. The smell of rot and decay permeated the underground lair of the Raith, to be expected of course, with all the bodies that were buried there.
No light found its way into the underground lair, the entirety of it was pitch black, like the very void itself, darker than the abyss even. The air was stifled and heavy, hot and sticky with a powerful musty scent that mingled rather awfully with the scent of the long dead corpses that lined the inside of the catacomb's walls. The Raith could smell this, but it did little to bother him, the lack of light was just fine to his keen eyes. A drow in life, a lich in death, light, or lack of, was of no hindrance to him.
As Raith wandered the tenebrous halls of his subterranean lair, he carried something in his arms; a small bundled up cloth by the looks of it, vague and indistinctly shaped. Whatever he held seemed to writhe and jerk around from time to time, as if in agonizing pain. Upon closer inspection, the cloth would be revealed to actually be skin; the form was vaguely humanoid in shape. Small arms and legs protruded from its body, the top of it was rounded off in a faintly done rendition of a head. There seemed to be a strip of this 'head' that would open and reveal a dark crevice, or fissure, that opened and widened as if screaming in pain while the body convulsed. But no sound was uttered by the odd lump of flesh held in the Raith's arms, just silent screams, shakes, and tremors.
Oddly enough, Raithmoore cooed to this misshapen lump he held in his arms, like one would to an infant, with a voice that was far too soothing to belong to the dark man. ?Victor,? he whispered delicately, ?Victor, hush Victor, all will be well child.? Victor, the lump of flesh, Khest and Shal?s son, laid in his arms, and with Raithmoore?s words, the child went still, stopped its writhing and taciturn screams. ?Good Victor, remember, all will be well, I will protect you.? Raithmoore continued to sooth the child, the lump of dead and marred flesh that he had breathed life into.
He neared a structure in the catacombs; one built himself that served as his actual personal home and place of study. This tall and dark edifice, had engravings of death all along it, skulls, bones, violent battles against the undead and demons, the symbols of Nerrul, Vecna, and Wee-Jas were emblazoned all along its tall and dark spires. ?Welcome home Victor,? he cooed to the child as he walked through the large obsidian doors.
The structure?s entrance hall had a raised dais, with the center of it cut out into a bowl of sorts, a cauldron perhaps. In this crevice, there was a liquid, a blue substance that glowed faintly in the pitch-black of the room, bathing the room in a gloomy and eerie light.
Raithmoore approached the dais, intoning an incantation nigh inaudibly. The light of the substance intensified, and in an instant, flames erupted from the surface, raging and whipping about in a frenzied array of sporadic motions. Raithmoore approached the flames, stepped up onto the dais, then lowered the lump of flesh that was Victor into its depths, and released it?
No light found its way into the underground lair, the entirety of it was pitch black, like the very void itself, darker than the abyss even. The air was stifled and heavy, hot and sticky with a powerful musty scent that mingled rather awfully with the scent of the long dead corpses that lined the inside of the catacomb's walls. The Raith could smell this, but it did little to bother him, the lack of light was just fine to his keen eyes. A drow in life, a lich in death, light, or lack of, was of no hindrance to him.
As Raith wandered the tenebrous halls of his subterranean lair, he carried something in his arms; a small bundled up cloth by the looks of it, vague and indistinctly shaped. Whatever he held seemed to writhe and jerk around from time to time, as if in agonizing pain. Upon closer inspection, the cloth would be revealed to actually be skin; the form was vaguely humanoid in shape. Small arms and legs protruded from its body, the top of it was rounded off in a faintly done rendition of a head. There seemed to be a strip of this 'head' that would open and reveal a dark crevice, or fissure, that opened and widened as if screaming in pain while the body convulsed. But no sound was uttered by the odd lump of flesh held in the Raith's arms, just silent screams, shakes, and tremors.
Oddly enough, Raithmoore cooed to this misshapen lump he held in his arms, like one would to an infant, with a voice that was far too soothing to belong to the dark man. ?Victor,? he whispered delicately, ?Victor, hush Victor, all will be well child.? Victor, the lump of flesh, Khest and Shal?s son, laid in his arms, and with Raithmoore?s words, the child went still, stopped its writhing and taciturn screams. ?Good Victor, remember, all will be well, I will protect you.? Raithmoore continued to sooth the child, the lump of dead and marred flesh that he had breathed life into.
He neared a structure in the catacombs; one built himself that served as his actual personal home and place of study. This tall and dark edifice, had engravings of death all along it, skulls, bones, violent battles against the undead and demons, the symbols of Nerrul, Vecna, and Wee-Jas were emblazoned all along its tall and dark spires. ?Welcome home Victor,? he cooed to the child as he walked through the large obsidian doors.
The structure?s entrance hall had a raised dais, with the center of it cut out into a bowl of sorts, a cauldron perhaps. In this crevice, there was a liquid, a blue substance that glowed faintly in the pitch-black of the room, bathing the room in a gloomy and eerie light.
Raithmoore approached the dais, intoning an incantation nigh inaudibly. The light of the substance intensified, and in an instant, flames erupted from the surface, raging and whipping about in a frenzied array of sporadic motions. Raithmoore approached the flames, stepped up onto the dais, then lowered the lump of flesh that was Victor into its depths, and released it?