The Traveler in "The Tomb of the Lichlord"

Kurtz awoke slowly with the brand of numb comfort that only comes to those who have overslept for far longer than necessary. He had no memory of where he was or how he’d gotten to the place he currently found himself, and if he had been at all in his right and correct mind, the fact that he felt no concern about that fact would in itself, concern him.

Lying there on the cold marble floor, he stared up at the ceiling, following the lines of the strange patterns etched in the stones with his eyes. How long he laid there exactly, he could not say, however he felt no eagerness to move from the spot and lacked motivation for any task whatsoever. Naturally, at glacial speed, his mind began trying to collect itself and retrace the events that led him to his current situation.

There was an intensely bright light, so fierce that it blinded him through his tightly shut eyes, he recalled lastly, the after image still burned his retina. What was before that? He wondered to himself, the frustration of having to work through the thought causing the lethargy to lift somewhat, though his mind seemed like it was still full of mud. He pushed himself up on his elbows and began the slow process of sitting upright to view his surroundings.

The room he sat in was composed of cold, black marble floors, covered in a layer of dust that seemed to have been blown out from the center, where a white dias was situated. In the marble of the floor, the stone on the walls and ceilings, and even on the dias in the center, maze-like lines were carved, in an almost random and chaotic pattern that the eyes seemed unwilling to focus on, bringing to mind the ethereal feeling one has when trying to remember a dream after waking up. There was a single exit from the room with a stone slab currently blocking the doorway, and several torches seemed to have been lit in braziers on the wall, high towards the ceiling, allowing the shadows to fall around the floor.

The air felt stale and cool, and tasted like copper to Kurtz, reminding him of the smell of rain on fresh dirt. He began the long process of pulling himself together, bit by bit checking to make sure he wasn’t hurt. Once he was satisfied that he was unharmed, he once again tried to re-examine his situation, faring much better the second time around.

The first conclusion he reached was that something had changed in him personally, for he was aware that in a situation such as his, panic and fear would be a common response, yet he was utterly and eerily calm. He’d never been particularly clear headed, feeling what he considered the normal amount of anxiety for any given situation, yet the lack of emotional response would have surprised him, had he the capacity to feel such at this given moment. He briefly wondered if it could be a form of traumatic shock.

Secondly, he noticed his extreme reluctance to perform physical activity. It took an extreme force of will to move in anyway, as if his entire body was simply happier just letting gravity have it and fall back down. He reflected and decided that it wasn’t hunger or thirst induced, and he felt completely awake.

The last discovery about himself he made was what he felt was ultimately the most vital. He was no longer breathing. There was no autonomic function of taking air in, and while he could with one of those extreme acts of will, force air into his lungs and let it back out, there seemed to be no need or desire for his body to do it regularly.

The curiosity that these facts brought up on an intellectual level was one of the factors that allowed him to rise up from his sitting position and attempt to walk around the room. The motion seemed to be easier the more it occurred, seeming akin to a sleeping limb returning to full feeling.

After walking for what seemed an eternity, he began to cough as air and heat began to return to his body. Between hacking rasps and shivers, feeling like he’d just been pulled from a cold river in the middle of the night, more steps were taken, feeling fear return and panic begin to set in. He began the slow shuffle over the stone door in a fevered, half mad attempt to leave the sealed room.

The stone door was immovable to the young man, and no matter how hard he flung his fist down onto the stone, not a sound was made. For all purposes that Kurtz could see, he was trapped and would most likely die down here.

The empty tomb seemed a stark prison cell, with the dias in the center acting as the only piece to break up the monotony of the maze of lines that seemed to infest the room. Once the panic, seeming to strike him without warning and with the ferocity of a wildfire had receded, Kurtz slumped against the stone door, feeling completely aware and alive for the first time since waking up, bringing a dire contrast to the way he’d felt before. Sweat began to pour down his face as he contemplated his prospects, staying in this single room without food or water. For the last time, he began to retrace the events that had occurred during the past few days, attempting to place the jigsaw puzzle of memories in the correct order.

The sound of the forest birds singing seemed a pleasant way to awaken after a cold night in his campsite. The smoke from the remains of his dying fire wafted through the rays of morning sunlight, creating an idyllic picture as he began to rise from his bed roll. He opted for an open camp, allowing him to see the stars as rain seemed unlikely. His packed up his supplies from the night, taking out a pan and the last of his sausages and cheese for his morning meal.

This had been the first month that he’d been free since his indenture to Count Monte’leon, having been raised by his father until the old drunk’s gambling addiction had caused him to sell his eight year old son into servitude for ten years to pay for a debt he’d had no way to pay. He’d been brought up as an apprentice to the old stable master, Vahn Ol’veg, who’d taken to the poor boy, teaching him the proper methods to shoe horses, clean their coats and teeth, and how to clean the barding. Kurtz slept in the attic above Vahn and his wife, eating at their table, and praying with them at the local chapel on religious holidays.

Lydia was a strict but loving woman, advanced in years and having no children of her own to raise, took to Kurtz quickly. Matron Ol’veg as she was known, was one of the Count’s cooks, bringing home pastries and meats to keep the family comfortable and happy. Kurtz was treated as her own grandchild, never wanting for kindness or discipline, helping raise him into a fine and strong young man. Kurtz still remembered the love and pain in her eyes when he left after his term of service had ended, as well as the hug she gave him when he left. They sent him off with all of the supplies he may need, including a warm bed roll, food, and a new set of clothing to wear when he found a place to settle.

Vahn sent the boy off with a letter of reference from the Count, allowing him an excellent chance at employment should he desire to work for another lord, which he folded carefully into the bottom of his sack. He had no plan to seek employment, wanting to merely enjoy the first real freedom he known in ten years. He missed his adoptive parents, and they would always be in his thoughts and prayers, but he was anxious to see the world and experience new things for the first time in a decade.

Starting up his campfire from the still smoldering ashes, he began to make his breakfast. The sausage sizzled as the fat began to melt, causing a pleasant aroma to perforate the air. The thought occurred to him, that after this morning, he would have to either find a town or try his luck at hunting. Not for the first time, he began to miss Lydia’s cooking, and his mind wandered to his foster family.

With his mind deep in thought, he took no notice of the small sounds of popping twigs, absently thinking it no more than the popping of the sausages in the skillet. It wasn’t until there was a figure in front of him that he took notice and stood up. The man was large of build, as broad in the shoulders as the castle blacksmith, and he had on a long green riding cloak, covering most of his body, leaving only tall tan riding boots to show underneath. The long black beard of the man covered the mouth, leaving only the green fierce eyes showing, but the most striking part of the man was the drawn sword he held aloft, an obvious threat that Kurtz was sure he didn’t mind acting on.

Bandits had never been much of a problem in the Count’s woods before, for the lord had a reputation of dealing with violent crime swiftly. With a deep, gravely voice that seemed unaccustomed to speech, the man rasped out “Unusual to find a lone woodsman out in the wilds, and you’ve even prepared breakfast for my friends and I. Kind of you.” He began to walk towards the campsite, causing Kurtz to retreat a step, until he felt a sharp sting in his back. He turned around to find two more men, one tall and thin, the other short and stout. The taller of the pair held a dagger towards him, a sneer on his thin lips. The shorter of the men had a full thick beard and a large sword held in both hands.

“We wont harm you as long as you don’t try anything. Your far from any sort of help boy, cooperate and you’ll walk out of this alive.” The larger man lifted the pan and began to eat the sausages. The pair behind him began searching through his pack, taking his hunting arrows, fishing line, and to his utter sorrow, the new set of clothes that Vahn and Lydia had given him, having not been worn once. After they had emptied the pack, the short man took the letter of reference and began to read it. Laughing to himself, he ripped the letter and tossed it into the fire, “Hardworking and honest says the Count, a man worthy of trust, eh boy? Well you happen to be in luck, We find ourselves in need of a hardworking and honest man, worthy of trust, don’t we lads?”

The tall man laughed and produced length of rope from beneath his cloak, his hands working deftly into a series of knots.

The small group made their way through the dense woods, the three cloaked men in the front seeming to know a path that the captive Kurtz could not see. As they moved forward, the rope bound young man could spot tall, pole like stones rubbed smooth from age and covered by great green moss, jutting from the forest floor ever mile or so. The canopy of trees began to grow, causing the sunlight to slowly vanish under the shadow of the ancient growth.

After what seemed hours, the party found a large mount of earth and stone, seeming jet black in the shadows, rising to meet them. To the stable master’s apprentice, the mound seemed unnatural, as the earth around it did not rise as a natural hill would. The ground within 100 feet of the mound seemed unnaturally smooth, as if the vegetation and undergrowth seemed unwilling to encroach upon the mound, and Kurtz slowly gained an uneasy feeling as their feet began to step on the bare dirt.

The large man pulled an aged parchment, crumbling and cracking on the edges. Holding the parchment in one hand, and a lantern in the other to allow light to fall upon the dark stone of the mound. The group circled the mound, which must have been larger than the castle of the count, until something unseen by Kurtz drew the attention of the leader of the group. “Place your hand inside the crack. What do you feel?” the man said to Kurtz, cutting the ropes that bound him, allowing the boy to do as ordered.

Another sharp spike of pain brought Kurtz out of the shock of being spoken to for the first time in hours, as the thin man pricked him once more with the knife. Frightened, he walked up to the mound and looked for the crack the man had spoken of, having to use his hands to find it. Upon reaching his hands into the small crevice, he felt what seemed a smooth metal pull ring. Panic filling his voice, Kurtz mumbled “Rii..a ri.. rii.. a ring…” Unsure of what the troop had brought him along for, since he was obviously no expert on rocks or maps.

Sending a silent look to his companions with a curt nod at the end, causing them all to take a few paces backwards. “Pull the ring boy, and then step back if you value your life.” The brigands voice ordered with a tone of absolute authority. Trembling, Kurtz took the ring in his right hand, and pulled it as hard as he could, having to brace his feet against the rock to gain enough force to move it. As the chain attached to the pull ring began to move, a sharp pain coursed through Kurtz hand and arm, like a burning that went the entire length of his arm. The searing pain caused Kurtz to let go of the ring and fall backwards, screaming.

The large man stomped over to the mewling boy, picking him up by the front of his shirt. “I told you to pull the ring boy!” delivering a powerful blow across the youth’s face with the back of his hand. “The pain you feel now won’t come close to what we’ll do to you if you don’t. We’ve sought this place for a long time, and we won’t be stopped now boy. Do it.” Kurtz rose slowly, tears streaming down his face and blood dripping from the corner of his lip. He moved towards the mound again and grabbed the ring a second time.

The pain that coursed through Kurtz the second time felt even more intense than the first, he felt as if the very life was being sucked out of him, and the agony that followed the end was worse still. Smoke of black and green coursed through his right arm as he pulled it back, with waves of pain so intense that he could cry out. After a few seconds, a dark shape appeared in the rock wall, only visible against the black in the light of the torch. Kurtz didn’t see the doorway form, for his gaze was locked in horror as he wordlessly watch his hand blacked, and his entire arm crumble into ash.

“You were right Mardu, the entrance was boobytrapped. Magic by the looks of it. Grab the boy, he’ll be useful if there anymore nasty surprises down in the crypt.” The tall man said the short stocky man with the axe. The squat one went over to Kurtz, and prodded him from the terror he witnessed, using the spike of his axe to push him forward, cradling the stump of his arm the entire time. The hallway they entered was every bit black as the outside, with long connected lines carved in them. The hall was wide enough that all of them could walk it abreast, seeming to walk as a downwards angle. The other two lite torches of their own, giving each the ability to spot any danger before if came, always with poor Kurtz leading the front, never with the benefit of torchlight of his own.

The band descended for what seemed an eternity, with the stable boy too deep in shock to notice much of where he was heading. The pain from the burn having subsided before the tears did, Kurtz walked forward, afraid of how this journey would end. Eventually, the party made it to a room that did not match the rest of the stone, being made of a tan sandstone with carvings and pictures. The thin man walked up to the pictures and held his torch aloft for a time, his mouth moving as if reading aloud, though no sound came from him.

He moved to a section of the wall that held pictures of a sun with a stylized skull in the center, over fields of withered grain and trees. “This here seems to be about the Bleak Harvest, the wheat is a metaphor for…well, you know what He did.” Quickly he moved to a spot with a large building, where a man with a skull for a face held a circle high overhead, as several hooded figures stood beneath him watching. “And here’s the Broken Ritual, we’re getting closer…”

Lastly he moved to the far wall, where a scene depicting a Spider, Lizard, Rat, Snake, Bat, Frog and Lion stood over a building containing the Skull-faced man lying down. “AH! Here we go, the Construction of the Living Tomb. His Disciples entombed Him after betraying him during the Ritual. The Key should be here somewhere.” The Thin Man said excitedly.

Eventually, the man cried out, finding the picture he was looking for. “Bring the boy here! It’s this one!” He stood pointing to the picture of the Skull-Faced man. The large man pushed Kurtz hard, grunting his direction. The stable boy turned wide eyed at the large man, clutching his ruined arm pitifully.

“I told you, we spent too long finding this crypt to let some idiot of boy stop us. Do you think I care if you lose an arm or two? After what this trek cost me?! I promise, if you don’t do it, you’ll lose everything! Now get!” The man kicked Kurtz hard, sending him stumbling towards the picture. The thin man grabbed him by the wrist and pushed the picture of the Skull-faced man, causing it to recede into the wall. Just as with the front of the mound, a part of the wall rose up, creating a doorway deeper into the crypt.

The group stepped through the door way, the dust of countless ages being disturbed by the air-flow. The hall had returned to the jet-black stone and connected lines of the earlier rooms, keeping light and visibility to a minimum as the stone seemed to absorb the light. If Kurtz ever moved to slowly, or turned his head to look backwards, one of the group would kick him, spurring him forward, their eagerness and anticipation growing as their patience diminished.

The hallway turned left and right, and at times seemed to spiral down, almost as if it were a staircase, the steps somehow smoothed away by the passage of time. After an hour of traversing the passage, a speck of light, the first that had not come from the torches, appeared ahead. As the group trudged forward, the doorway opened into a cavernous room, with the pathway continuing on a wide bridge of stone, and the floor hundreds of feet below them. the ceiling had giant censers suspended by chains, giving off the light that had been seen from the passage.

Ahead at the far end of the bridge was a platform with the base going down all the way to floor, all made of the black stone. Though the glow of the censers gave off light, Kurtz still needed the torches to provide enough light to make his way across the uneven and warped flagstones of the bridge that connected the passage leading back up to the platform ahead, which seemed to be the only other way to go.

The bridge was made of large blocks of solid, grey stone, and seemed to have been made after the rest of the tomb, as if someone had to fit it in after the fact. Dozens of feet wide and seemingly long without end, the bridge loomed out ahead of Kurtz, every footfall one step closer seemingly to his death. He shivered and felt terror wrack his body with every step, for either this tomb would most likely claim his life, or the bandits that have captured him would most likely kill him after they were done.

The thought of escape was brief and fleeting, as the tomb had so far led with a single, long path with one way forward and one way back. He’d have no chance to overpower his captures, and they seemed to have more knowledge of this place than he did. Despair gripped him, and he thought of Vahn and Lydia, his family. How he wished he’d never left, never given in to the wanderlust and traveled, to stay with Vahn in the stable and tend to the horses, and clean the pens, such a life would have been base and poor, but at least he would have been allowed to live out his natural span. He cursed his fate and fought through the tears as he was prodded and kicked forward on the bridge towards the ominous platform, and everything that that terrible place would hold for him.

The platform was gigantic, miles across in every direction. From the door, the distance hid the true size of the building, rising from the cavern floor. The small doorway leading further down into the blackness of the tomb was invisible from the distance, blending into the shadows of the cavern and the natural darkness of the stone. The closer that Kurtz came to the platform, the more of an unnatural ominous feeling he began to get, almost as if this place should not be entered.

The staircase inside was straight and simple, no twists and turns like before. Down the party walked, and several times Kurtz wondered if he should just throw himself down the stairs and have terrible act be over with, the anticipation and fear done. Something inside of him still hung to life however, some simple lingering sensation deep inside that he may yet live through this, though it was so small it could not be called hope.

The room at the base of the stairs was a complete contrast to the previous aesthetic of the tomb. Lavish tapestries of dyed silk, opulent even through the rot and wear of countless years lined the wall, causing a sensation of comfort. Towards the far end of the room, gilded trunks of wood and metal lay open, displaying its contents of precious metals and jewels. Works of fine wood, pottery and metalwork lay strewn about the endless amounts of coins and jewelry creating the idyllic scene of a treasure trove from a child’s story. At the far end of the room was a square hole in the floor, a shoot that seemed to go into utter blackness.

In the very center of the room sat a large golden throne, upon which sat a skeletal figure, a large golden crown sitting upon his head, and a golden staff in his hand. Clothed in robes dyed a bright blood red, it’s head sat at an awkward angle as an ancient curved blade sat lodged in its chest.

Kurtz couldn’t believe the scene in front of him, understanding why the group had been so callous and cruel. The room he stood in held the treasure of kings, enough material wealth to buy anything that could be desired.
“That’s Him! The Arch-Necromancer, The First Lich! The God of Undeath who created an entire school of Magic. Namenth-Al, The Imperishable.” The thin man proclaimed, awe in his voice. “His own followers betrayed him at the height of his glory, each taking part of their power for themselves, becoming incomparably strong. They left his remains down here, even after defeating him, afraid that he would one day return to seek revenge.” The sound of pride ringing out, as if he had a part in any of the story.

“Surely they wouldn’t leave all of this wealth just lying around, Merek.” The large man said. “The stories said that the disciples split his magic and artifacts, but they most likely didn’t care about the material wealth. After all, with the power they took, they could just get more. Short sighted on their part eh?” he said with a sneer. “Though, maybe we should have the dolt go in first, just to make sure.”

The other brigands readily agreed with the tall man, and soon Kurtz found himself walking into the room alone, the spark of hope extinguished. As he approached the treasure, the skeleton on the throne shook sharply, the head snapping up and looking at Kurtz. It stood up, one hand holding the heavy staff, and the other taking the curved dagger from its chest. It began to move toward him with a speed that most would have thought impossible for such an aged corpse.
Shocked at the sight before him, Kurtz was unable to escape the knife that the skeleton thrust into him, falling on the floor, life pouring out from him onto the black floor. He pulled himself to the side of the room, attempting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the undead monster.

The trio of bandits armed themselves quickly, having used the boy’s distraction to give themselves extra time. The short man charged in first, lifting his axe attempting to cleave the skeleton from head to toe. The undead being quickly side stepped the attack, its unnatural speed allowing it to easily avoid the heavy blow. The thin man shot a bolt of purple, crackling arcane flame at the creature, leaving a scorching wound that continued to burn even as it advanced. The leader took his sword, and swung a sideways arc at the monster, scoring a hit that took the arm with the dagger off at the elbow.

The skeleton then levied the scepter at the stocky man, and bolts of lightning arced out, causing the places if his armor it touched to glow red hot as he burned from the inside out. The little man fell over, his axe falling out of his hand, sliding across the floor. The monster attempted to aim the scepter at the swordsman, the golden orb at the head glowing white hot in preparation, as the tall man in the back sent a spell that froze the skeleton in place, allowing the leader to swing his sword hard, taking the head off in a brutal swing.

The force of the blow knocked the monster to the floor, the scepter spilling away. Even headless, the creature attempted to stand again, and continue the attack, but the large man took his sword and began hacking away at the bones, chopping them into splinters.

The endeavor caused sweat to coat the swordsman from head to toe, as anytime he attempted to stop, the remaining bones would attempt to rise. Eventually the spellcaster had to create a stream of fire and burn the body to cease its movements, allowing them a moments peace.

Kurtz laid against the wall, not moving, his breathing shallow and imperceptible. The short man did not move either, the blast from the rod killing him in a flash of arcane power. His comrades did not spare his corpse a glance, both watching the burning heap to make sure they would not rise again. After they were satisfied that the danger was done, they turned to the treasure, panting from the exertion. “Well, treasure splits easier two ways than three anyway Carter.” the tall man said between puffs of air, the act of conjuring multiple spells so quickly causing as much physical strain as swinging a sword.

“Aye, Merek, and one splits easiest of all.” The large, bearded man then ran the end of his sword through the tall, thin man, the end sticking half a foot out of the back. “Good work old friend, I could never have gotten here without you.” Pulling his sword out, the eyes of the tall man white with surprise as he fell to the floor.

The man called Carter looked at his fallen companions, the short, bearded man named Mardu, killed by the corpse of the lich, and Merek, the lanky spellcaster, slain by his own hand. Either one of them would have done the same to me, He justified to himself, his conscious clear. He didn’t bother to check on the one-armed boy, he’d bleed out soon, there was no threat there.

He took stock of the treasure, it would take multiple trips to take it out of the cave, he knew, though it may be done quicker if he could find more weak-willed slaves to carry it out for him. Peasants were easy to control, easier to dispose of once their usefulness was over. Time didn’t matter to him any longer, he could take the treasure out at his leisure.

He reached down to grab a handful of his gold, to bask in the riches it had taken most of his lifetime to find. Doing so, the gold coins moved away from his hand. He instantly pulled back, cursing himself for being a greedy fool, not waiting until Merek had check the remainder of the treasure for traps. The piles of gold began to move and sway like running water, the gems and jewels flowing into a center mass.

Carter held his sword out in front of him, his eyes wide as the golden mass flowed out around him. The whole of the creature moved and rippled, like some animate liquid, snatching up the bodies of the two fallen thieves. Cloth and flesh of Mardu and Merek began to melt, quickly leaving only bones behind, visible through the golden liquid. Carter quickly grabbed his torch and held it aloft, using the heat from the fire to try and push the monster back. His eyes darted towards the exit of the room, looking at the stairway as the only hope he had of escape.

Kurtz would have taken pleasure in the look of panic on the bandit’s face, had he the strength to appreciate the irony of the situation, feeling the same fear that had followed Kurtz through the entire tomb. They boy knew that the end was coming, that there would be no escape even if the bandit was eaten by the monster, the stable boy would either bleed to death or be eaten by the oozing monster. The only regret Kurtz had was that either death was going to be painful, and then his eyes darted to the chute close to him, most likely for garbage. Falling would be quick and painless, he wouldn’t feel the sharp landing if it was far enough. He pulled himself over to the hole and turned back to see the bandit throw the torch down and run for the stairs. The golden gel rushed at Carter with the force of a raging river, his screams muffled out by the monster. Eventually the bandit stopped flailing, his body melting inside the monster.

The golden liquid began to head in Kurtz direction, slowly pouring over the maze marked floors. The light of the torches began to die out as the monster’s body slowly snuffed the flame. Without a second thought, Kurtz pulled himself into the hole.

Kurtz had no sensation of falling, seeming to pass out during the fall. The scenes from earlier played in his mind. Losing his arm from a magical curse, The Large man Carter killing Merek. the Skeleton killing the stocky Mardu. The golden slime racing across the chamber for him, snuffing out the light from the torches. Time seemed to stretch out for him as he fell, He remembered all of the happy times with Vahn and Lydia, fishing and hunting and riding, the warmth of love from people who chose to care for him.

The fall didn’t seem to so much end as stop. There was no hard smack on the stone beneath, no pain or shock from a sudden impact. After a time, Kurtz opened his eyes and say himself suspended in air over a dimly lit room. In the center of the room was a large metal casket. After turning over in the air, the effect of floating seemed to take him down to the ground gently. He landed on his knees, the pain in his stomach was intense, and while it hurt, it didn’t seem that blood was flowing any longer.

He took time to acclimate to the pain before doing anything else, shock set in after the initial wound, but now it seemed that Kurtz was feeling every bit of the hole in his abdomen. Thoughts of What now? Entered his mind, seeing no real exit for him to take, and even the hole he fell through having disappeared.
He turned and examined the metal casket, looking at the innumerable runes carved into every inch of it. He saw that it curved gracefully towards one end, and the other seemed to have a face molded on it. The lid of the casket had a simple latch, and Kurtz undid it and tried to lift the lid. The thing was heavy- damned heavy, but he could just barely move it, though the stress caused his wound to hurt even more.

Panting, he gave one final push of strength and slid the top back enough to peer inside and see the contents. Shreds of ancient cloth were laid within, covered in dust and sand. The only discernable object that Kurtz could make out was a skull, perfectly preserved, with two onyx orbs for eyes, seven empty sockets the size of marbles set into the bone itself like a crown and the canines ending in sharp, wicked points. Tentatively, Kurtz reach and picked up the skull, wanting to examine it further, wondering why such an elaborate container was used to hold such a seemingly simple object.

The black eyes began to glow from the center out, a green light perforating the darkness of the orbs. A Mortal? Living? Ah…Only Just… No matter…It Will Suffice…It Must Suffice.. We Have No Choice…Why Have You Sought Us Out Mortal Boy? We Who Are The First, The Greatest…Seek You Power To Conquer? No… We Sense No Desire To Dominate…Life Eternal? Hmm…Closer…But Still We Think Not…Why Have You Disturbed Us Mortal Boy? Tell US… The voice Kurtz heard was age itself, rasping seductive and most of all, powerful.
“I just want to live, to get out of here and lead a normal quiet life. I want to be free of the pain I’ve suffered, I want my arm back, and most of all I want to forget this horrible place.” Kurtz said, almost through tears.

Restoration? To Be Returned To What You Were Before? No Boy. If We Are To Use You, You Must Become Far More Than You Were Before. We Will Remake You Into Our Image, Use You To Inact Our Vengeance. We Have Dreamed On It For Untold Millenia, We Will Not Allow This Chance To Escape. You Are Dying Mortal Boy, That Connection Will Be The Bridge That Allows Us To Cross Over. The voice stated its thoughts laboriously, as if every word were an effort.

The intensity of the glow increased, the green light flooding the room, first from the eyes, then the holes in the crown, and finally the very bones seemed to glow with an immense green light, until finally Kurtz had to shut his eyes to keep from being blinded. Even clenching his eyes shut, he screamed as the light seemed to envelope him, he felt as if her were burning from the inside out. Until finally, he couldn’t think anymore, and slept.

The events that lead Kurtz to the present had been pieced back together, and he glanced at his right hand, feeling it as whole as the day he was born. He used his right hand to feel the place in his stomach where he had been wounded, finding no hole. The only cuts and scrapes were on his hands from where he’d tried to beat on the door, even the beatings from the bandits had left no marks. He’d thought it a dream had he not woken up in the same room.

He turned back to the dias, seeing no sarcophagus or skull. Having his memory return, he felt glad to have his health back, but the moments of numb clarity from earlier still frightened him, as did the lack of an exit. Gratitude and misery enveloped him in equal parts, and once more he felt like crying.

“Slave! Why do you sit there and weep? Your master commands you to stand, for we have vengeance to enact upon our traitorous disciples.” The Skulls voice echoed through his head. Kurtz stood suddenly, the first sound he’d truly heard since waking up. “Where…where are you? Who are you? What vengeance?”

“Impertinant slave… We are your master. We are Nemanth’Al, Lord of Darkness, God of Undeath, The First Lich and the Greatest Sorceror the world has ever known. It Is into our crypt you entered, attempting to steal from us. We have chosen to forgive your trespass, saving your life. More so, We have chosen you to become our Vessel, we shall grant you our power and allow you to take up the mantel of Lich Lord in our place after our revenge is fulfilled. The power to see any goal realized is in your grasp, a prize any would seek to claim.” The voice spoke with regal authority.

“Master? Slave? It seems I’ve always been a servant, I have no wish to serve another master. I would sooner just die than submit to the cruelties of another again.” Kurtz said, crying into his knees, remembering his father selling him into slavery to the count, and the bandits forcing him forward into the tomb, costing him his arm and ultimately his life. Being forced to serve another seemed too depressing to contemplate.

“You are no longer Death's to claim, Slave. We have destroyed our Phylactory, placing our soul inside of you, allowing what is left our power to course through you. Death is yours to rule over Slave, but never again to be ruled by. You shall walk this world as an undead, just as we did. Take care not to fall into a torpor like the mindless do Slave. Those without ambition, drive and desire lose the will to move, eventually falling into a perpetual lethargy. Those of us who use Death as a tool, the greatest of undead cultivate grand ambitions and fuel our desires to keep us moving, but you? Your only desire is to return to a mundane life, fleeting indeed. We will endeavor to find a goal to keep you from falling into that fate worse than death, forever awake and aware, but never again to move.”

The thought of never dying, never moving, forever trapped in a limbo between terrified Kurtz, and once again he bemoaned his fate. “Alright…How do we leave this place then?” Kurtz said, resigned to his fate. “Lift your hand towards the door slave, this shall be the first lesson we teach you, to call upon our power.” Kurtz did as instructed, lifting his hand. “Our traitorous disciples drained much of our power, but they knew not the true depths of us. Feel the void inside you, the small sense of something missing… Focus on that, let it grow until it fills your entire being. Once you are full, extend that feeling towards the door.”

He closed his eyes for a few moments, feeling from a place of emotions instead a place of physical sensation. Eventually he was able to accomplish the task set before him, and suddenly a large, black blast of energy shot from his hand, and the door blasted apart. A similar sensation occurred, as the numbing of emotions once again overtook Kurtz.

“That is the Lethargy Slave, that coldness that eats emotion and pain. As you use our power, that feeling will increase, and eventually you will fall into that Torpor. It will take a great act of Will to force you to move at that point, so take care not to use our power needlessly. For now, force your way forward, that passage should lead back to the entrance once again, from there, we head off to find our wayward Disciples, and reclaim my power as we seek our vengeance.”

This time, the thought of being able to leave this dark, dank tomb was enough motivation to return to his normal self, he walked through the ruined door, and stepped out into his new life. He had no idea what would happen from here on out, but at least he felt a little more secure in the ability to protect himself. The fear of becoming a catatonic vegetable frightened him, but the excitement of surviving the trial washed his fears away. At least for now, He got to live.

DreamCatcher receives 1455 EXP (including Stonevale 1.5x bonus) and 135 GP!

All rewards added.