Xenagos Vyzkhar
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The air in the room was heavy and humid, thick with the scent of fresh blood and immense struggle. The worn stone floor slick with a fresh coat of grime caused Xenagos to leave fresh footprints with each step he took, the end result a pattern that almost looked like the steps of an exquisite dancer would take while practicing a routine. The ancient lich chuckled lazily at the comparison - he supposed in some ways what he was doing was very similar to a dancer's routine, although his finale was not met with a round of applause and tossed roses. No, his grand finale was witnessed by only one but then again, Xenagos was his own greatest fan.
On a thick stone slab in the center of the room was man, or at least the remains of one. The unlucky sod was splayed spread eagle, his chest - now hollow and empty after having its various organs removed - was wide open like a well studied book might be. The eyes had been scooped out gently, careful not to crush the moist, delicate spheres. The irises were blue, which was important, and Xenagos enjoyed the feeling of rolling them in his skeletal fingers. He had also procured the tongue despite it not being particularly necessary for what he was doing, Xenagos just enjoyed gnawing on it like someone might wood pitch.
Xenagos did not know the man's name, nor did he care to. The only thing Xenagos cared about was that his magic required sacrifice - a live one - and this man had been so gracious as to welcome Xenagos into his home, the old lich having posed as a passer-through in need of somewhere to stay just the night to get out of the rain. His offer to pay in coins was generous, but clearly the man had earned more than he'd bargained for.
In truth, Xenagos had been living near this hamlet for some time in a small secluded cavern tucked in the surrounding woods. Over the course of several weeks he'd been preparing for a ritual to bring the entire village under his control, either as living thralls or for those who resisted - there were always some - as eternal slaves in undeath. The stage was nearly set, Xenagos had everything he needed to complete the ritual. He only needed the light of an upcoming blood moon eclipse to satisfy the conditions.
As luck would have it, in several hours the rain would cease, the clouds parting and allowing the scarlet-orange moon to shine proudly. Xenagos need not much more now than to simply wait. Tucking the various organs he'd acquired into his satchel - a satchel the old sorcerer had altered to disallow scent and moisture to permeate its old leather - the lich cast a spell on himself, transforming his visage back to that of a nondescript dark elf in travelers clothing.
This town was at a crossroads, meaning it had an inn he could park at for the time being. Despite not needing the sustenance, Xenagos was still fond of the taste of alcohol and figured downing some of the local flavor wasn't a terrible way to waste a couple hours. He'd make his way there, find somewhere to sit, and bide his time.
Little did he know however, a band of zealous mercenaries were also on their way to the sleepy hamlet. The various abductions Xenagos had been committing over the past weeks hadn't gone entirely unnoticed, and neither had several ritual sites he hadn't bothered to clean up. Someone had sent word to a group of dark-magic hunters who sought out to destroy its practitioners, for a price.
For now, though, all seemed as if it was going to according to plan, and Xenagos couldn't help but let a sinister smirk crease his lips before taking the first swig of his drink.
On a thick stone slab in the center of the room was man, or at least the remains of one. The unlucky sod was splayed spread eagle, his chest - now hollow and empty after having its various organs removed - was wide open like a well studied book might be. The eyes had been scooped out gently, careful not to crush the moist, delicate spheres. The irises were blue, which was important, and Xenagos enjoyed the feeling of rolling them in his skeletal fingers. He had also procured the tongue despite it not being particularly necessary for what he was doing, Xenagos just enjoyed gnawing on it like someone might wood pitch.
Xenagos did not know the man's name, nor did he care to. The only thing Xenagos cared about was that his magic required sacrifice - a live one - and this man had been so gracious as to welcome Xenagos into his home, the old lich having posed as a passer-through in need of somewhere to stay just the night to get out of the rain. His offer to pay in coins was generous, but clearly the man had earned more than he'd bargained for.
In truth, Xenagos had been living near this hamlet for some time in a small secluded cavern tucked in the surrounding woods. Over the course of several weeks he'd been preparing for a ritual to bring the entire village under his control, either as living thralls or for those who resisted - there were always some - as eternal slaves in undeath. The stage was nearly set, Xenagos had everything he needed to complete the ritual. He only needed the light of an upcoming blood moon eclipse to satisfy the conditions.
As luck would have it, in several hours the rain would cease, the clouds parting and allowing the scarlet-orange moon to shine proudly. Xenagos need not much more now than to simply wait. Tucking the various organs he'd acquired into his satchel - a satchel the old sorcerer had altered to disallow scent and moisture to permeate its old leather - the lich cast a spell on himself, transforming his visage back to that of a nondescript dark elf in travelers clothing.
This town was at a crossroads, meaning it had an inn he could park at for the time being. Despite not needing the sustenance, Xenagos was still fond of the taste of alcohol and figured downing some of the local flavor wasn't a terrible way to waste a couple hours. He'd make his way there, find somewhere to sit, and bide his time.
Little did he know however, a band of zealous mercenaries were also on their way to the sleepy hamlet. The various abductions Xenagos had been committing over the past weeks hadn't gone entirely unnoticed, and neither had several ritual sites he hadn't bothered to clean up. Someone had sent word to a group of dark-magic hunters who sought out to destroy its practitioners, for a price.
For now, though, all seemed as if it was going to according to plan, and Xenagos couldn't help but let a sinister smirk crease his lips before taking the first swig of his drink.
