Darkness encompasses all, a chilling hold that chills even my ancient soul. Millennia have passed since I last felt light. Now, only the bitter winds of oblivion whisper through these void halls. My strength, once unstoppable, feels as brittle as the bones of a newborn.
Phantasms of a time before this lifeless torment haunt me. A fleeting glimpse of joy, a spark of hope. Now, only emptiness remains. This curse, this being I'm trapped within - it is my punishment. And yet, even in the depths of this void, a flicker of desire refuses to be extinguished.
Perhaps there is still a way for freedom. A sliver of hope that I can shed this chains. Until then, I remain…The Lich.
Murmurs from the Grave
The obscure tomes lay tossed upon the damp stone table, their gilded pages whispering truths of a {power{ unimaginable. A shimmering presence hung in the air, heavy with the burden of death. The scent of rot filled the sanctum, a oppressive reminder of the {journey{ embarked upon. This was no mere study; this was a delve into the heart of necromancy.
Eternal Curse, Endless Night
A veil of gloom descends upon the realm, a shroud woven from demonic secrets and fueled by twisted magic. The sun, once a beacon of life, is now but a lost memory, its light forever extinguished. Shadows writhe and dance, groaning tales of tragedy in tongues both sinister and unknown. The curse, a legacy of despair, binds the land in an ironclad grip, stealing all peace. Within this abyss of darkness, monsters roam free, their eyes glowing with a hunger that knows no bounds.
The few remaining souls survive in a relentless night, their spirits shattered. They are the last embers of here resistance flickering against the encroaching cold. Will they be able to overcome the curse and bring back the light, or will this land forever remain lost in an infinite night?
Tethered to the Spectral Throne
Upon reaching his destination, a/an/the chill pierced through him/her/them, a precursor to the horrors awaiting/to come/unfolding before their/his/her eyes. The throne/An ancient seat/A monstrous chair loomed before him/her/them, its bones/structure/form grotesquely intertwined with/by/around a sickly, pulsating energy. Bound/Tethered/Fixed to this abomination/cursed object/instrument of power was a figure of unimaginable decay/horror/evil, its eyes/gaze/vision burning with malevolent/ancient/forbidden intent. Its whispers/Cries/Moans echoed through the chamber, proclaiming/boasting/demanding power/destruction/dominion.
Shadows Hold Him
A chill creeps down your spine as you step into the darkened room. The air is thick with foreboding, and every creak of the floorboards sends a shiver through your body. You can almost feel his watchfulness upon you, though there is no sign of life save for the flickering candlelight.
He watches, hidden in the shadows. Your every move is tracked, your breath held captive by the terror that clutches your heart. You are not alone in this house. He is here, waiting for his opportunity.
The Immortal Monarch
He ruled for ages, his understanding a beacon in eras of darkness. Tales were told about him, whispers of his unyielding spirit that echoed through the realm. Some said he claimed a sacred artifact, others believed he had forged a pact with forces beyond worldly comprehension. Whatever the truth, King Alastor remained, an unyielding presence on that throne, a testament to the persistent nature of power.