Hello, everyone!!! I had to rewrite this chapter because I was half-awake
when I first wrote it. I think it is much better now.
Cold, skeletal fingers moved quickly through the mystic passes of a silent spell. The lich Nevarenn finished his spell with a flick of his forefinger, and as he did so, twenty corpses rose up from their coffins, magically reanimated. Mentally, Nevarenn ordered them to attack him; he needed the practice. With hardly a thought, the lich raised a single finger in the direction of one zombie, and in a bright purple flash, it exploded. Not wasting a second, Nevarenn lifted both hands in the direction of a group of ten of them, and in short order, six spheres made of glass formed between them. The spheres were quickly limned with a magical blue flame. With another mental command, the spheres detonated, sending shards of burning glass in all directions. All it took was one piece of glass to hit a zombie, and the whole creature would be engulfed in blue flame. Raising his bony hands in one final evocation, Nevarenn conjured a hail of horse-sized blades to tear the rest of the undead minions to shreds.
This was part of a daily routine Nevarenn had scheduled for himself; it was designed to stop him from giving in to the inherent evil he felt within. Being a lich was not without its advantages, though, for instance, Nevarenn had almost instantaneous access to an almost infinite range of spells, all of which he could cast in an instant. Nevarenn had to fix this problem, but it could not be solved in his tomb. Curling his fingers into mystic glyphs, Nevarenn teleported himself to another part of his tomb, the treasury. He swiftly invoked a spell of telekinesis, and with his mind called forth the various wands and scrolls he would need on his long journey.
Nevarenn visited his extensive library next; he needed to know where to go. He plucked a rather recent text from the shelf. Waterdeep? No, too common. Silverymoon? No, too... holy. Calimport? Too many assassins lived there. Nevarenn scrutinized many texts similarly, no one location having the allure he searched for. Nevarenn tossed the book aside; he could find no city on the face of Faerun that could give him the power that he sought. "Power? No, not power, why would I think that?" Nevarenn asked himself, shuddering at the ease with which the evil thought had crept into his mind.
Recently, Nevarenn had been subject to many such thoughts, each one occurring so naturally Nevarenn thought they were right, but they were purely malicious. Soon, Nevarenn feared, he would succumb to the evil nature of a lich. He could not allow that to happen under any circumstances. Somehow, Nevarenn had to find a source of magic to restore his soul. Although it would not make him alive again, it would allow him to remain good.
Just than a though occurred to Nevarenn, he could find no place on the FACE of Faerun. Maybe he was approaching this all wrong. Swiftly as possible, Nevarenn moved through his extensive records until he reached the tome he wanted. It was a dark purple in colour and bore the large symbol of a spider upon the front of the book. Nevarenn opened the book and flipped through until he saw the heading he wanted, Menzoberranzan.
The City of Spiders: his destination. Nevarenn was angry he hadn't thought of it sooner. If there was a magic that the Drow could not find, it did not exist. A grin crossing his decayed face, Nevarenn rose from his seat, moving his hands through the complex gestures of a long-range teleportation spell. He could not teleport directly into the Underdark; the abundant magical "hot spots" interfered too much. He first had to find a way into the Underdark. With a loud crack, the lich disappeared.
Miles and miles away, far beneath the surface of Toril, Gromph Baenre smiled. With the flick of an obsidian-skinned finger, he dispelled the divining window. The Archmage of Menzoberranzan could not have been more pleased at the thought of a conflicted lich coming into his domain. The poor fiend would be so busy trying to quell his sinister urges; he will be completely vulnerable. Gromph could make him do whatever he wanted. Again the mage smiled.
Regardless of how strong he thought he was, Gromph knew the lich would eventually be led to use a demonic source for information. The Baenre wizard was now preparing for that eventuality. Safe within his extradimensional office, Gromph indulged enough to look around and admire the room. Scroll tubes were stocked neatly upon shelves. Stacks of ancient parchments stacked everywhere. Gromph knelt to the floor, placing the last runestone in the circle of protection. A small blue shell sprung forth; ready to contain whatever Gromph conjured.
Gromph slowly, deliberately moved his hands in the appropriate manner, fingers curling into specific glyphs of summoning. He finished the incantation by throwing both hands into the air. Glass tubes and wands all started clinking together as his whole office began to tremble. After a few moments, a great red doorway of fire expanded until it was almost too large to be contained. Through that gate stepped, to Gromph's ultimate pleasure, a huge, dog-faced, bat-winged Balor.
A loud snapping noise announcing his arrival, the lich materialized in a small bedroom at the Yawning Portal in Waterdeep, the quaint room making his arrival less obvious. Nevarenns' red orbs of eyes flared as he cast one more spell, one of illusion. Now, instead of an undead lich, Nevarenn stood in the chambers looking as he had before he had been corrupted. The door to his room creaked loudly when he opened it, and as he walked toward the stairs, the floorboards groaned beneath his feet.
Once downstairs, Nevarenn knew what to search for: information. He needed anything regarding the Underdark or an entrance to it. Nevarenn was unsure how to gather information covertly, as in his home city (in a life that seemed so far away) he had used his noble status to get what needed. He was sure he could manage anyway.
Nevarenn was not so sure of himself after an hour of no results. He was currently engaged with an unbearably annoying halfling man.
"I might know somethin', I might not." The little creature stated in his high-pitched voice. All Nevarenn would have to do was curl his fingers correctly and the insufferable little wretch would just- No. That was the evil lich talking; he must be patient.
"Look, I simply want to know if there is anywhere I could... gather information." Nevarenn alluded, his own voice it's usual deep tone.
"Ah, now I see what yer meanin'! Well, if you come back her about... midnight, I could... fix you up with someone." the little man imparted.
"I would be most pleased with that," Nevarenn had hardly gotten the sentence out when the halfling took off out the door.
Nevarenn was about to return to his room when he heard a shout from across the tavern, "Lich! Die evil fiend!!!" Nevarenn whirled to see a young cleric standing at the opposite end of the room. His magic-sensitive vision allowed him to see she wore a circlet of true seeing. She quickly cast an incantation to dispel his illusive camouflage. Soon, there stood Nevarenn in all his undead glory.
Not wasting any time, Nevarenn flung both hands in her direction, eyes flaring. Nine blue orbs of pure ice magic sailed across the room, shattering on impact with anything and freezing everything in a three-foot radius. Once something was frozen, it shattered. Nevarenn looked across the hall to see the cleric still standing, unharmed. Thinking fast, Nevarenn tried a very complex spell; one that he himself wrote for an occasion such as this. He flung out his hands, moving his arms and fingers through magical gestures, finally finishing his spell with a bright blue flash. In an instant, everyone in the room was healed, their memories of the last ten minutes erased, and Nevarenn had teleported to safety. It wasn't that Nevarenn couldn't have killed them all; only that killing them would have drawn far too much attention to himself, and that would hardly have been the right course. Nevarenn found himself exhausted trying to quell his dark impulses. At Midnight he would return, and this time with a better illusion.
Cold, skeletal fingers moved quickly through the mystic passes of a silent spell. The lich Nevarenn finished his spell with a flick of his forefinger, and as he did so, twenty corpses rose up from their coffins, magically reanimated. Mentally, Nevarenn ordered them to attack him; he needed the practice. With hardly a thought, the lich raised a single finger in the direction of one zombie, and in a bright purple flash, it exploded. Not wasting a second, Nevarenn lifted both hands in the direction of a group of ten of them, and in short order, six spheres made of glass formed between them. The spheres were quickly limned with a magical blue flame. With another mental command, the spheres detonated, sending shards of burning glass in all directions. All it took was one piece of glass to hit a zombie, and the whole creature would be engulfed in blue flame. Raising his bony hands in one final evocation, Nevarenn conjured a hail of horse-sized blades to tear the rest of the undead minions to shreds.
This was part of a daily routine Nevarenn had scheduled for himself; it was designed to stop him from giving in to the inherent evil he felt within. Being a lich was not without its advantages, though, for instance, Nevarenn had almost instantaneous access to an almost infinite range of spells, all of which he could cast in an instant. Nevarenn had to fix this problem, but it could not be solved in his tomb. Curling his fingers into mystic glyphs, Nevarenn teleported himself to another part of his tomb, the treasury. He swiftly invoked a spell of telekinesis, and with his mind called forth the various wands and scrolls he would need on his long journey.
Nevarenn visited his extensive library next; he needed to know where to go. He plucked a rather recent text from the shelf. Waterdeep? No, too common. Silverymoon? No, too... holy. Calimport? Too many assassins lived there. Nevarenn scrutinized many texts similarly, no one location having the allure he searched for. Nevarenn tossed the book aside; he could find no city on the face of Faerun that could give him the power that he sought. "Power? No, not power, why would I think that?" Nevarenn asked himself, shuddering at the ease with which the evil thought had crept into his mind.
Recently, Nevarenn had been subject to many such thoughts, each one occurring so naturally Nevarenn thought they were right, but they were purely malicious. Soon, Nevarenn feared, he would succumb to the evil nature of a lich. He could not allow that to happen under any circumstances. Somehow, Nevarenn had to find a source of magic to restore his soul. Although it would not make him alive again, it would allow him to remain good.
Just than a though occurred to Nevarenn, he could find no place on the FACE of Faerun. Maybe he was approaching this all wrong. Swiftly as possible, Nevarenn moved through his extensive records until he reached the tome he wanted. It was a dark purple in colour and bore the large symbol of a spider upon the front of the book. Nevarenn opened the book and flipped through until he saw the heading he wanted, Menzoberranzan.
The City of Spiders: his destination. Nevarenn was angry he hadn't thought of it sooner. If there was a magic that the Drow could not find, it did not exist. A grin crossing his decayed face, Nevarenn rose from his seat, moving his hands through the complex gestures of a long-range teleportation spell. He could not teleport directly into the Underdark; the abundant magical "hot spots" interfered too much. He first had to find a way into the Underdark. With a loud crack, the lich disappeared.
Miles and miles away, far beneath the surface of Toril, Gromph Baenre smiled. With the flick of an obsidian-skinned finger, he dispelled the divining window. The Archmage of Menzoberranzan could not have been more pleased at the thought of a conflicted lich coming into his domain. The poor fiend would be so busy trying to quell his sinister urges; he will be completely vulnerable. Gromph could make him do whatever he wanted. Again the mage smiled.
Regardless of how strong he thought he was, Gromph knew the lich would eventually be led to use a demonic source for information. The Baenre wizard was now preparing for that eventuality. Safe within his extradimensional office, Gromph indulged enough to look around and admire the room. Scroll tubes were stocked neatly upon shelves. Stacks of ancient parchments stacked everywhere. Gromph knelt to the floor, placing the last runestone in the circle of protection. A small blue shell sprung forth; ready to contain whatever Gromph conjured.
Gromph slowly, deliberately moved his hands in the appropriate manner, fingers curling into specific glyphs of summoning. He finished the incantation by throwing both hands into the air. Glass tubes and wands all started clinking together as his whole office began to tremble. After a few moments, a great red doorway of fire expanded until it was almost too large to be contained. Through that gate stepped, to Gromph's ultimate pleasure, a huge, dog-faced, bat-winged Balor.
A loud snapping noise announcing his arrival, the lich materialized in a small bedroom at the Yawning Portal in Waterdeep, the quaint room making his arrival less obvious. Nevarenns' red orbs of eyes flared as he cast one more spell, one of illusion. Now, instead of an undead lich, Nevarenn stood in the chambers looking as he had before he had been corrupted. The door to his room creaked loudly when he opened it, and as he walked toward the stairs, the floorboards groaned beneath his feet.
Once downstairs, Nevarenn knew what to search for: information. He needed anything regarding the Underdark or an entrance to it. Nevarenn was unsure how to gather information covertly, as in his home city (in a life that seemed so far away) he had used his noble status to get what needed. He was sure he could manage anyway.
Nevarenn was not so sure of himself after an hour of no results. He was currently engaged with an unbearably annoying halfling man.
"I might know somethin', I might not." The little creature stated in his high-pitched voice. All Nevarenn would have to do was curl his fingers correctly and the insufferable little wretch would just- No. That was the evil lich talking; he must be patient.
"Look, I simply want to know if there is anywhere I could... gather information." Nevarenn alluded, his own voice it's usual deep tone.
"Ah, now I see what yer meanin'! Well, if you come back her about... midnight, I could... fix you up with someone." the little man imparted.
"I would be most pleased with that," Nevarenn had hardly gotten the sentence out when the halfling took off out the door.
Nevarenn was about to return to his room when he heard a shout from across the tavern, "Lich! Die evil fiend!!!" Nevarenn whirled to see a young cleric standing at the opposite end of the room. His magic-sensitive vision allowed him to see she wore a circlet of true seeing. She quickly cast an incantation to dispel his illusive camouflage. Soon, there stood Nevarenn in all his undead glory.
Not wasting any time, Nevarenn flung both hands in her direction, eyes flaring. Nine blue orbs of pure ice magic sailed across the room, shattering on impact with anything and freezing everything in a three-foot radius. Once something was frozen, it shattered. Nevarenn looked across the hall to see the cleric still standing, unharmed. Thinking fast, Nevarenn tried a very complex spell; one that he himself wrote for an occasion such as this. He flung out his hands, moving his arms and fingers through magical gestures, finally finishing his spell with a bright blue flash. In an instant, everyone in the room was healed, their memories of the last ten minutes erased, and Nevarenn had teleported to safety. It wasn't that Nevarenn couldn't have killed them all; only that killing them would have drawn far too much attention to himself, and that would hardly have been the right course. Nevarenn found himself exhausted trying to quell his dark impulses. At Midnight he would return, and this time with a better illusion.