In the pits of the Sarcoma Keep, sat a drow. Yibin M?elzar waited and waited, his legs crossed beneath him, hands on his knees, and burgundy eyes closed tight as he meditated over the incantation he would soon be voicing. All throughout his pitiful life, he?d been a lowly male and a mediocre mage. The city barely recognized his existence, his house only kept him alive due to his foresight and impressive analytical thinking, specifically when discussing inner-house wars.

But he was tired of living on the dagger?s edge, tired of being a hair?s breadth away from being expendable. He?d spent most of his life learning these rituals, memorizing the incantations, acquiring the materials, and preparing for this moment. Multiple pentacles had been drawn on the ground around him with a thick chalk. Candles were set around him as well as skulls and bones from past arch-mages and other drow spell-casters of old and prominent reputation. They too, were marred by the touch of chalk and smaller pentacles and runes, each having a meaning.

Before him, on an alter of dark marble, draped in the finest of silks and adorned with the bones of only the greatest of the deceased in Erelhei-Cinlu, sat a mithril chain with a simple, onyx pendant hanging from it. A single, black candle was set behind the necklace, and behind that, was an open tome with an ancient script inside, revealing many secrets of the necromantic arts.

His lips began to move once the meditation came to its end, forming nearly silent words as Yibin voiced his incantations. He prayed to the dark goddess. Not to Lolth, but to an entity greater, darker, and ultimately more malicious than the infamous Spider Queen. He voiced the incantations, the words of power, which had the runes around him flaring to life with the pulsing aura of magics darker than him.

The air grew thicker, whipping around him in suddenly violent currents. The candles died from the intense gale, the bones around him were swept aside like twigs and leaves in an autumn wind. Yibin called upon the souls of the dead, of the mages lost to the treachery of their species, of the liches vanquished by those who banded together in fear of their power, and drew them inward.

The teachings of his dark goddess gave him more knowledge than most would have when performing this particular ritual. As a result, he was able to draw on more than another spell-caster would. The magics surrounding him were drawn inward, piercing his chest with a sharp pain that made him bow over. The next few seconds seemed like an eternity to Yibin, as the same magics were used to wrench his soul from his body. The agonizing pain that wracked his senses had his stomach twisting in knots. He became nauseous, and momentarily contemplated halting the spell and giving up on the task.

But the promises of power were too tempting to resist. He swallowed hard and concentrated on the incantation, muttering it breathlessly in spite of the pain that had him shaking and sweating profusely. It was akin to having a thousand needles stabbing into his body; with hooks ripping through his ribcage and tearing it open to get into the core of his being. And then all at once, the pain was gone. He looked up at the orb of light that hovered in the air before him, connected by a thousand tiny tendrils to his chest.

Looking down, he was met with the sight of a large, gaping hole in his chest, completely blank and devoid of any detail. The tendrils were stemming from it, connecting his soul to his person still. The next few moments, he knew, were crucial. Failure could end in his soul being severed entirely from his body and result in his death.

The skulls he?d marked with runes were aglow, light shining from the sockets of their eyes. They lifted, some missing jawbones, others opening their mouths wide to let the souls of the trapped and deceased mages hover from the markers and head toward the light suspended in front of the wizard. When the multiple entities all connected, a light flared and had Yibin tearing up with the intensity of it, for it burned his eyes so.

Then, just as suddenly as the end of his pain, the light abruptly vanished. He was met with empty space for the longest time, pure darkness that not even his drow eyes could see through. There was no heat, no cold, no wind, no feeling whatsoever. Yibin reached out, his hands attempting to feel the floor beneath him, something, needing to hold onto anything. But there was nothing.

Whispers began to fill his head, countless voices speaking to him, telling him their secrets, their power, teaching him numerous incantations. The speed of it was so rapid; he feared that in the end, he?d fail to remember it all. What felt like hours upon hours of constant instruction from the numerous voices in truth, only took a few minutes to complete.

Once the voices had fallen silent, the world came crashing down around him. Yibin lurched forward, his hands moving outward to hold him up from the ground. His chest heaved, drawing in ragged breaths. Slowly, the wizard looked up at the altar, at the pendant waiting for him. It shimmered faintly, the light around it barely aglow. Were it not for the complete darkness of Erelhei-Cinlu, he might not have even noticed the glow.

With a shaky arm, Yibin reached out for the necklace, fingers curling around the chain to tug it from the altar. It was cold, that was the first thing he noticed. Not the cold from lack of use, from being set aside for so long, but an icy chill, as though it had been buried under several layers of snow and frost. He felt the connection to the pendant; the telltale pull that said his ritual had been successful, that he was no longer living in the most literal sense.

The newly formed lich stood, testing the truth of his undeath when he stopped attempting to breath, and merely waited. Half an hour passed, and he only stood there, not drawing in a breath. Satisfied, Yibin donned the necklace and began the task of cleaning the area of the chalk, of the signs that he?d even been there.

Black fell over him again, an infinite darkness that filled him with a sense of dread. His dark goddess was calling to him.