by Ian Rodgers
Dora’s glare faltered when she saw where the Dullahan had stopped. Before them was a hole. It didn’t even have the size or imposing shape to be called a cave. It was simply a misshapen opening wide and tall enough for a being the Dullahan’s size to step through. It wasn’t deep enough at first glance for a person to rest in, and the lack of eye-catching rock formations made the area forgettable. If not for the almost physical Miasma spewing forth from the wound in the canyon’s wall, Dora wouldn’t have given it another thought.
“This is where you live?” Dora asked incredulously.
“Yup!” Anette stated cheerfully.
The half-orc continued to look skeptical, but when the Dullahan entered the cavity and vanished after a few steps, seemingly phasing through the rock wall, Dora gasped. An illusion, or perhaps a ward, hidden behind the Miasma?
Anette pulled Dora forward. “Come on! I want to show you my room, and my dolls, and…!”
Dora smiled weakly at the girl’s enthusiasm and allowed herself to be dragged forward. Moments later the two stepped through the fake wall and appeared in a foyer. It was clean and bare of decorations and made of the same dark brown stone as the Gorge. Only a few torches with flickering purple flames lit up the area.
The Dullahan was waiting for them, standing next to a door in the far wall. This too was a simple piece of construction, made of a single slab of petrified wood inlaid with silver and brass, but its simplicity belied the fact that behind it lay a great and terrible evil. Dora could feel that beyond the door was the source of the Miasma for the Gorge, and she trembled slightly as she beheld the innocuous portal.
Anette sensed her fear and patted her comfortingly on the leg, stating she would be there to make sure grandpa played nice. The Dullahan snorted at that, the sound reminiscent of a metal bucket being kicked. Dora steeled her nerves and stood up straighter, squaring her shoulders for the confrontation.
“I’m ready,” she said, nodding at the headless Undead who nodded back and opened the door. Dora gagged a bit as the smell of rotten flesh assailed her, and it stank worse than the abattoir the Necromancer in Rahmal’Alram had made for his experiments.
Anette wrinkled her nose as well, pouting. “Oh, grandpa, that meanie! I hate it when he uses the stinkiness trick!”
The Healer’s eyes narrowed at the girl’s words. So, it was a test, huh? Wading through soup-like Miasma and navigating one of the more perilous places in Erafore wasn’t enough for her client, he now wanted to play games with her nose?
She strode resolutely through the open door, her face schooled to show nothing of her thoughts or emotions. She still held onto to Anette’s hand, though. The girl with mismatched eyes refused to let go.
“I’m here, just like you requested,” Dora stated loudly as she entered. She tried to look through the gloom of the room, but saw only shadows, and a vague outline of a robed figure sitting on throne. Oddly enough there was a strange, purple glow around both that seemed to make the shadows thicker, further reducing visibility. The Miasma was thick, obscuring everything. Her ability to sense mana was completely clouded in its presence. She couldn’t even feel her own powers as even her soul was completely overwhelmed by the Darkness before her.
She refused to bow to the intimidation and stared unflinchingly at the enthroned figure. “Are you done with these petty tests? Because if not, I’d like to get them out of the way now. I’m not interested in playing games with you.”
“You’ll still play with me, though, right?” Anette asked worriedly, tugging on Dora’s sleeve and completely ruining the solemn mood the half-orc had been trying to make.
“Don’t worry, I’ll still play a game or two with you,” Dora sighed, patting the young girl on the head.
‘Well, there goes my attempts at acting cool and aloof in front of my client,’ Dora mused to herself.
A deep, resonant chuckle echoed through the room, accompanied by a rattle of bones.
“I suppose I can call my tests a success, seeing as you made it here in one piece,” the man on the throne uttered, his voice monotone and ringing in Dora’s mind as well as her ears. She felt the words more than heard them and gasped in surprise as the Miasma that surrounded everything began to swirl and then surged inwards, sucked into the person on the throne like a whirlpool.
A powerful suction force struck Dora and she staggered towards the throne a few steps as all the Miasma in the room and beyond was dragged towards the throne and absorbed into the being sitting before her. Wind howled and whistled as more energy than she’d felt in her life, even more than when the Demon Lord the Queen Swathed in Vermillion had been summoned, tore at her skin and soul.
Anette and the Dullahan stood still, though, untroubled by the raging storm of magic before them. Even as the former’s hair twisted in the currents, and the latter’s smoky emanations were also dragged towards the vortex of Dark power, both looked bored, as if this was nothing to them. Just another day in the life of a girl and her Undead papa.
The roar of wind and tortured magic faded after a solid minute, as did the rancid stench of decayed flesh that had permeated the room. Dora would not know it until later, but every last scrap of Miasma that had bathed the regions of the Aldani Gorge she had ventured through was now gone, reabsorbed by its source.
“So, half-blooded Healer. Is that good enough for you?” the man on the throne inquired with a sneer in his tone.
Dora stood there gasping for air as she recovered from the display of overwhelming power. Her breath hitched when she got a good glimpse of the person who sat upon the throne of black obsidian.
A patch of blood red, scaled hide was draped over the figure’s shoulder like a crude cape, a belt of dried heartstrings tying it together around an impossibly thin waist. Hooks of rusted iron and grimy bronze hung from the cape and pierced the man’s body, holding the article of clothing to it.
There was no skin for the hooks to dig into, though. They looped around and scraped against fire-blacked bones. A whole skeleton’s worth, in fact. In his ribcage a phantasmal purple fireball took the shape of an anatomically correct heart, throbbing softly in time to a fake beat. Violet flames took the place of hair atop the darkened skull, flickering in a non-existent breeze. In the skull’s sockets two pinpricks of amethyst light stared down at Dora, observing her without a hint of emotion.
In the Undead being’s right hand was clutched a plain, unadorned staff of black ivory topped with a simple obsidian crescent moon.
No jewelry or shows of wealth decorated the being. What use did a creature who had surpassed death have of mortal displays of power? It had magic – a crushing tidal wave of magic, posed to sweep over the world and drown the land in death and darkness – and that power alone was enough to sway the minds of those who gazed upon it. The only reason the being kept its might frozen and held in place was because it had no reason to unleash it and shatter the world. Not yet.
Dora began to hyperventilate. She knew who this was. What this was. A legend the whole world knew. A monster that the dwarves had sworn a million and one vows of vengeance upon. A madman who had burned the forests of the Earth Elves and was known as single greatest evil the elves had ever conceived.
Vord the Lich, razer of Esmerelda, thief of the First Hammer and despoiler of Karz Thang, observed Dora, and amusement flickered in his eyes as watched her realize who he was.
Vord the Undying, who in his youth had been burned by dragon fire yet survived and bent the flames to his will, laughed as the half-orc Healer passed out in front of him, her mind and soul unable to take the abuse that his revelation and the rest of the day’s hardships had inflicted upon her.
Vord of the Shadowspell Alliance continued to laugh even as the young mortal he had taken in as his latest apprentice berated him and petulantly kicked his leg bones for scaring her new friend.
Vord laughed as he watched the skeins of fate shift, and divine essence in the shape of a lily settle protectively over the form of the green-skinn
ed young woman. He laughed, because he knew he now had front row seats to the events that would decide if the world would end or not. It was the most fun he’d experienced in centuries!
Chapter 5: The dead that walk
Dora stared up at the ceiling, paralyzed with fear and more than a hint of embarrassment. She recalled meeting her client, who was none other than Vord the Undying, the most powerful Lich in existence.
She also, to her great shame, remembered fainting almost immediately after realizing who he was. The purple flames and charred bones were all the evidence she’d needed. All the stories about this infamous Undead spoke of how, as a still-living elf, he had fought a dragon and survived its terrible flames. His wounds had forever burned, though. Even after cheating death and obtaining immortally as an Undead the cursed fire continued to scorch his bones black.
In her opinion, fainting was only logical! Plus, she had endured a grueling trek through Miasma and a Manticore attack! Passing out was acceptable. But still mortifying.
She lay on her back in a bed that was, without a doubt, the softest and most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in. She’d woken up a few minutes ago and had spent the entire time lying there and trying to get a grasp of everything.
With her mind in a whirl, Dora quickly thought over what she knew of Liches.
‘They’re the pinnacle of the Undead, and the goal of practically every Necromancer,’ Dora mused, recalling the tomes and writings that warned of these creatures. A Lich was once a mortal mage, who desired immortality. Through an unknown ritual, they forcibly separated their soul from their bodies, gaining eternal life so long as their soul was not damaged. Their soul, sealed away in an object known as a Phylactery, became the Lich’s sole weakness. So long as it remained, the body could not be vanquished.
A Lich’s physical form could regenerate from any wound but eventually their flesh and blood would crumble away, leaving behind only bones for a body. All forms of immortality carried a price. The Necromancer became a Lich by paying for it with all earthly sensations and desires.
But in exchange, there were few beings on the mortal plane who could stand against the raw magical power of a Lich. They had intimate knowledge of all sorts of Dark spells, and since many were practitioners of forbidden magic beforehand, their might was awe inspiring. A Lich was automatically granted an S-rank designation, as well as a ‘Kill on Sight’ order by the Adventurer’s Guild and most nations on Erafore. How bad was it? An S-ranked human was considered strong enough to level a city given enough time. A Lich of the same rank could topple a county with waves of Undead soldiers and foul magic.
And Vord was the mightiest of the Liches still in existence. His power was so great he surpassed the S-ranked designation and was granted the title of an X-ranked being, one of the few who stood opposed to the side of Good. A creature one step away from the might of a divine entity, Vord was the bane of the dwarves and Earth Elves. He was reviled as an unholy monster, and had lived for thousands of years. He had stolen the most sacred of dwarven relics and profaned it.
And he wanted to meet with her.
After a few more minutes of blankly staring at the ceiling that had no answers to her questions, she sat up and took in her surroundings.
The bed was a queen-sized four poster bed, with gossamer drapes the color of mist encircling it. The navy-blue sheets were a cotton-silk blend. The pillows, she found, were stuffed with the feathers of a Dire Swan. It all spoke of vast, yet understated, wealth.
Pushing the drapes aside revealed a room that was far more colorful than she’d expected. It was not bright by any means, but it was a lot more diverse than the various shades of black she’d thought a Lich’s hideout would have.
The carpet was a very dark shade of blue, while the walls were painted a muted beige. The furniture was all made from dark brown wood, and the room had everything from a desk and wardrobe, to a number of strange, foreign appliances she could not name or identify. There were no decorations anywhere, however. Everything was stark and austere and looked to be brand new, or at least never used.
Dora slipped out of bed, not making a single sound as her feet sunk into the plush carpet. Her bed did not even creak as she got up. She looked down at herself and was displeased to see she was not dressed in the garments she’d worn when she’d fainted. Someone, or more likely something, had stripped her while she was unconscious and then put her into a very lacy black dress similar to the one Anette had worn.
There was a brightside to her predicament, as she found her pack and dagger on the floor next to the bed. And she was clean and not about to be devoured by monsters in the Gorge outside. She was still very much in danger, but Dora would deal with that when it came. For now, despite all the rumors to the contrary, Vord the Undying was treating her courteously, and would likely not vivisect her for his own amusement. Not until their business was concluded, anyway.
She took a deep breath to steady herself, and then she resolutely strode to the door and opened it. Beyond was a hallway filled with several other doors. All were closed, but a few had a very strange addition to them; a skeleton dressed as a butler standing to the right of the doorway.
Dora paused, a sliver of fear worming its way into her soul as the uniformed skeleton stationed outside of her door turned to her. A band of gold wrapped around its skull, covering its eye sockets. The surface of the band was etched with eye shaped runes. Then there was a golden choker around the skeleton’s neck, disturbingly reminiscent of a slave collar, but with none of the enslavement and control runes. Instead, it had a mesh grill and a few unrecognizable runes carved into it.
“Pleased Examination: The Honored Guest is awake. Command: Follow me, Master Vord wishes to speak with you.” A tinny male voice emerged from the grill on the choker.
The Healer flinched in shock as the skeleton spoke. It was not impossible, of course. Powerful Undead like Liches, Reapers, and vampires were all capable of speech and thought. But lesser Undead, such as zombies or reanimated skeletons, could not. They lacked the faculties. They lacked a soul, or even a shard of one.
But a closer inspection of the skeletal butler calmed Dora. The creature was not actually speaking, merely repeating a set of instructions worked into the collar around its bony throat. This was akin to a Golem or other magical automaton.
“Um, yes, please lead me to him,” Dora agreed, and the skeleton nodded its head before gesturing for her to follow.
“So, do you give tours?” Dora asked humorously as she followed it down several corridors and hallways. To her surprise the Undead butler nodded.
“Dignified Response: We do. In the event an Honored Guest wishes to tour the facilities, permission must first be granted from Master Vord. Query: Do you wish to request a tour?”
“No, not right now,” Dora said, shaking her head. She then frowned. “Where are we? Are we still in the Aldani Gorge, or is this base hidden in pocket dimension?”
“Guarded Response: That information is classified. Please, do not try to inquire further about the location of the Solemn Mausoleum or we will be forced to destroy you.”
She shut her mouth at that. Instead of talking she paid closer attention to the architecture and path she was walking. Now the place looked like a proper Lich’s lair. The walls were made of black stone and sinister purple torches provided minimal light throughout the area. There was not much in the way of decorations, but the few pieces of artwork that existed all featured death or some macabre depiction of the frailties and futilities of life.
Dora sighed in relief when the butler brought her to the throne room she had previously been in. And without the Miasma clouding her senses, she was able to get a better view of the interior.
The chamber Vord the Undying chose to use as his throne room was stark and bereft of overt displays of wealth, much like the rest of his hidden palace. His power was shown in other ways throughout the room, however.
The walls, for instance, looked at first to be merely a holl
owed-out cavern with some golden decorations here and there. A closer inspection revealed that gold on the walls was actual veins of the raw ore, the sides of the wall smoothed out and polished so that the veins of the precious metal shone in the dark. It showed that Vord had no need for petty mortal money, as he used the raw, untouched gold as a decoration.
The floor was deceptive as well. At first glance it just looked like flattened, packed dirt similar to the floor of the lobby. In truth, it was a single, massive block of black marble being used instead of multiple tiles of the stuff. The time and effort – not to mention the cost! – needed to transport that much stone was mind boggling!
Lastly, there was the Lich himself. He exuded power. He dripped with magic, his entire frame barely containing the writhing, pulsating Darkness of his existence. To look upon him was to see a figure who had courted death, married her, then divorced her and took half of her power with him as part of the settlement.
He sat, waiting for her, and Dora trembled. Partly in fear, but a great deal of it was due to excitement. Though the obsidian seat was occupied by the most powerful Undead on Erafore, there was a sense of relief that filled the Healer as she stood before him. After all, this was the end of this particular journey.
‘Now all I have to do is get him to tell me how to find Scarrot and the others, and everything will be golden,’ Dora mused.
She cleared her throat and nodded her head deeply in greeting. “Lord Vord the Undying, thank you for putting up with my bout of fainting. Also, many thanks for the clothes, if a bit unsettling that I was unconscious while you dressed me.”
The Lich chuckled. “It is no trouble, child. Though you have my apprentice Anette to thank for the outfit. She’s the one who requested you wear it.”
“I see,” Dora said slowly. “Is there a name for this style of garb? It is highly unusual.”