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Ketal strolled leisurely, his steps measured. He could sense a location that appeared to be an exit.
“Have I arrived?” he murmured, a flicker of excitement crossing his face once more. He pushed against the door barring his path, and with a grating creak, it swung open, revealing the interior.
It was a vast chamber.
Grotesque decorations made of bones adorned the room, and at its center stood a throne constructed entirely of skulls. Sitting upon it was a skeleton with glowing blue eye sockets. In the lich’s bony grasp were a spellbook and a staff—clear indicators of his identity.
Ketal’s eyes gleamed with recognition.
“It’s a lich!” he exclaimed. A lich! A genuine lich!
The lich was a being that marked the pinnacle of a mage’s craft—a soul infused into a phylactery, granting him immortality as long as the vessel remained intact. He was a staple figure among the villains of fantasy worlds. Though in recent stories, liches often appeared in more neutral roles or even as allies to the protagonist, they remained quintessential figures of fantasy lore.
Ketal trembled with excitement. He had come here on a whim, driven by curiosity, and never imagined he would encounter a lich. It was as if he had struck gold in the most unexpected place. He was ...
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