Topic: The Study of a Lich

Raithmoore

Date: 2009-05-09 10:57 EST
In massive, spiraling tower that was Citadel Raithmoore, there were hidden, many secrets. These secrets were revered things to some dark scholars, who forever attempted to gain access to Raithmoore?s vast reserves of knowledge.

Amidst these secrets and test chambers, these experiments, was a chamber. A black door wrought of stone and iron, inscribed with various runes of power, all designed to seal whatever was in that chamber, in.

Inside that dark chamber, was a pentacle of immense power, also designed for the purpose of sealing something within its invisible bounds. In the middle of that magic circle, stood a corpse clad in what were once fine and rich robes, with a long since tarnished crown atop his head, and a weathered and rotted old wooden staff in his hand.

The corpse at first glance, seemed to be a dead thing, old and emaciated, rotting away with the passage of time. Yet, there was a faint crimson light within the depths of its hollowed out eye sockets, and something crackled in the air near it, a power that few had managed to obtain.

The corpse was none other than King Alintor Eulephyretes III of Altimair, a once proud and noble kingdom, which had fallen under the control of the evil lich, and through that, Raithmoore himself.

Infuscation

Date: 2009-06-24 02:01 EST
It was about damn time Darcel got around to visiting the lich. Notebook in hand, Summer attire on frame, the young necromancer let himself pause before the rune-covered door. It had seemed like ages to him, someone with very little memory, and thus very little time reference. He could only hope that he hadn't kept the ancient king waiting. But at the same time, he felt the familiar lull of apathy reminding him that he didn't really care. Still, he wondered vaguely why he had allowed himself to lolly gag about for that long before finally facing this lich who he had no reason to fear.

It seemed he was so detached, he couldn't find a definite answer in his emotionless brain.

Yet here he was now, because whatever the hell that kept him away for so long wasn't doing its job very well now. Perhaps his boredom of walking the streets night after night had finally struck a chord in him. Perhaps the blazing Summer sun had deterred him to find more indoor activities. Whatever the hell it was, it didn't matter now.

A hand - his hand, but for a brief second it felt foreign - clenched at the notebook at his side. He wasn't wearing the cloth that chronically kept his palms covered. Another indicator that he wanted to move forward with his life, maybe even live. Darcel went inside.

The room looked just like it had the first day Anatar showed it to him. Barren, desolate, save for the magic circle, the phylactery, and the lich himself. He also couldn't help but think that the room was a tad on the small side.

"Hello, King Eulephyretes." He had made sure to learn the lich's name before entering the room. Darcel was a bit of a stickler on names. He also prayed that the lich still remembered how to speak. "I apologize for my absence the last few months."

Raithmoore

Date: 2009-07-11 01:59 EST
The lich did not react to the young necromancer?s greeting immediately. Perhaps the unholy creature had been in its own sense of slumbering, for the sounds that came from it were vaguely akin to those of a heavy, steady breath. Finally, cracking, brittle bones shifted, dust stirring as the lich turned toward Darcel its hollow eyes alit with the faintest of pale glows.

?You have kept me waiting, boy,? the undead creature, replied, its voice but a hollow whisper of what it had once been. ?Raithmoore should do away with you, procrastinators are useless, if I were in power you would be dead already.?

It shifted, skeletal hands lifting toward the upstart necromancer, reaching forward as if attempting to grasp him. Sparks flew as the pentacle that surrounded the lich light up, causing the foul creature to hiss as its hand was withdrawn, smoke trailing upward from its charred fingertips.

?Come, boy, Raithmoore?s wards hold, ask your questions and leave me be,? said Eulephyretes. ?Children?he?s letting children in now,? the lich went on; muttering under its breath as hollowed out eyes studied the young Darcel.

Infuscation

Date: 2009-07-11 04:07 EST
There was a brow raised, and a smile cracked. Darcel sure was an odd one, choosing now of all times to expose his milky teeth to the world. Something about the lich gave him an exhilarated feeling, and who was he to keep that from the other? After all, he had kept him waiting for so long. He had to keep his manners about him.

However, the smile was crushed almost a second later, and his face returned to its usual blank self. He shouldn't be happy. The king had made it quite clear that he did not like Darcel. As it was, Darcel made sure to thank whatever forces were out there that Anatar was a more patient man than the king, or at least that Anatar didn't care enough to do anything about the situation. It was a bit funny, though, that he did, because the more Darcel thought about it, the more he realized that he wouldn't mind his life ending.

Apathy had its tight hold on the boy, and it wasn't letting go any time soon.

Children? Darcel had never considered himself a child before, but perhaps the physical age his body appeared to be was something less than an adult? He would have to look into that, now that his curiosity was sparked.

The young necromancer approached the lich, stopping just beyond the wards Anatar had set up. Almost as a taunt, although Darcel wasn't much in the way of humor. Again, curiosity was sparked. "What kind of people has Anatar let in before me?" His notebook was held in front of him, and the magical quill he had purchased just earlier hovered above it in his left hand. "And do you enjoy their company?" The second one didn't matter as much, but he was curious to see where he stood in terms of visitors.

Raithmoore

Date: 2009-07-11 13:10 EST
"Necromancers," the lich answered. "Stronger and older than you, wiser and deadlier," a brittle hand lifted in an attempt to brush the ever present layer of dust that coated the undead creature's shoulder.

If the lich had a brow, it would have arched it at Darcel. "Like them? Heh, all of you mortal creatures are but bothersome pests to me, not worth my time yet I find myself wasting it with you."

What might have been a sigh layered with dust and cobwebs escaped the lich's dried throat as its shoulders slumped. "But hurry, boy. Ask what you need to know and leave me in peace. I have better ways to spend my time than by holding some would be necromancer child's hand."

It leveled a less than pleased gaze on Darcel, peering with open dislike and even hate at the boy. Even trapped as the lich was, its gaze was an intimidating thing due to the power that lurked elsewhere in its being, not even wards could truly hold some of its gifts at bay.

Infuscation

Date: 2009-07-11 17:31 EST
Darcel had never considered himself deadly or wise. With just a few months' experiences under his belt, he could easily admit that he was a beginner at this thing called life. Seemed the lich had no respect for the fact that everyone had to be begin somewhere. Perhaps he had even forgotten that he, himself, was mortal once upon a time.

Fear wasn't there, even with that intimidating gaze boring into him. Darcel stared back with his icy azure eyes that seemed - probably to the discomfort of the lich - at peace and content with the situation. The young necromancer had no intention of doing this quickly and hastily. It just wasn't him.

"How did you come to think that mortals are pests?" It was true that the questions he was asking weren't what he had prepared to ask the lich, but he felt the sudden curiosity to understand what it would be like to be a once great king trapped in a room for the rest of eternity. After all, freedom was plentiful in Rhy'Din, or so it seemed. To meet someone who physically wasn't free, it was interesting.

He certainly hadn't felt that the lich was holding his hand. Instead, the metaphor would be more like: a hand, plump with youth, reaches up to what would appear to be a grandfather figure. The hand is left hanging there, and all the child was given as compensation was a few cynical, hurtful words, as well as, very grudgingly and obviously chided by his spouse to do something for the kid, a finger to hold. The child replies with a beaming smile, and almost seems to take the hurtful words and finger better than he would a full hand.

Of course, Darcel wasn't beaming. Darcel hadn't beamed once in his life, or at least of what he could recall from it. He certainly wasn't going to break that record today.

"Better ways? What exactly would be better than answering my questions?" There didn't seem to be anything for the lich to do in the room besides rest and contemplate the meaning of unlife.

Raithmoore

Date: 2009-08-09 19:03 EST
An airy sigh escaped the lich's lipless mouth as he shook his head at the boy.

"Mortals are too impatient, unwilling to wait the amount of time it takes to make a truly marvelous plan come into fruition. Because of their short live spans they are more difficult to work with, too stubborn for their own good," he wheezed with annoyance.

"And I can think of a million and one things that I'd rather be doing than answering some boy's questions," the lich explained further, waving him off dismissively.

"If you're finished, go. I'm done answering these pointless questions, this is not what I agreed to do for Raithmoore."