In the time of the First Black Viking, halfway across the Aznarian continent, construction was underway. Construction of a gargantuan magic circle. But the research was heavily rushed. And proper materials weren't gathered at this black site. Dust floated in the air in the vaulted basement. An overzealous magician contracted to some country to make headway into their war efforts. She needed them. And she thought they needed him.
To Gods, human-made countries are but a blip in their timeline. A malfunction of their radar, perhaps. Not even worth taking a gander at. For all those "alliances" and "unions" were but superficial. Nothing to even bat an eye at.
But the conduct of this particular kingdom was enough to interest one member of the Prima Concillus. "What could those cretins be planning?" this entity inquired. And so they flew down to the world to observe. Once that particular kingdom decided they milked enough out of him, they opted to get rid of her. Dead men tell no tales. And so this God observed the overzealous mage sacked and executed. Her guts oozed out onto the magic circle. And the angry mage, filled with rage, laid waste to all in her cage.
While overzealous, she thought she was doing the right thing. Attempting to come up with a magical formula to protect her homeland. Who could fault her? Betrayed by the people she called her own, her soul cried. And the sky cried with her. But it was shackled by a fuschia mist. As if by self-preservation, her dying wish was granted by the God observing her. Though not in the way she expected. Or wanted.
This magician wanted vengeance. And so that God made her soul ever thirsty for those who betrayed her. She sacrificed all of the souls that betrayed her in her own cage and offered them to the Revenant Reaper. Satisfied by this offering, the Revenant Reaper resurrected her. Resurrected her not as a human, but as a Lich. An immortal undead.
While her thirst of vengeance had yet to be satiated, a tale of fates caused her and the Black Viking to cross paths. While both were formidable foes, they came to see eye-to-eye. But fate would have it no other way than to take from that wounded magician. It took what it gave. As it always did.
Eventually, when the Black Viking died and the Lich Magician couldn't go and mourn properly, she was heartbroken. She couldn't pay respects to the one person that somewhat understood her. And this drove her to insanity. Rampaging throughout the lands, she would come to be known as the Lich Queen. And she'd evolve from consuming those souls. And it was then, and only then, under the light of a full moon, her thirst for vengeance was quenched.
But the ramifications of this process were a source of eternal regret for the magician. She could never interact with a human properly again. Their innate fight or flight instinct would prevent normal conversation. Now out of sadness, the magician wailed under the moonlight. Hating all humans for eternity, she would seclude herself in the deepest depths of the Barren Continent, Griacron in an ancient labyrinth.
Griacron was a desolate wasteland. Said to resemble the birth of the world, few lifeforms can survive there. But those that do have adapted monstrously. And they all have a taste for blood. The air is toxic if inhaled for sustained periods of time. The water is acidic and impossible to drink. The ground is eternally charred and unfit for life. Even the sky is stained a marbled black and red.
And so, truth became legend. And legend became myth. And myth faded from existence. But not before the poem of the Lich Queen's Wrath was passed down.
The Lich Queen's Wrath:
Rumors heard from a little bird
Say that a magician's thoughts stirred
Magical Protection for her homeland
Until she faded like sand
Alone in the hall
She awoke to the call
The knights flooded in
And took her to where she'd never been
Down to the dungeons she went
With all her mana spent
The king's mind dulled
The queen was culled
In a fit of rage
And her experience as a sage
She sought vengeance from her betrayers
And the reaper heard her prayers
They got what was coming to them
And forever she would condemn
Once satiated from her hunger
She made way to a bunker
And forever she rests
Forever and ever
Alone
Alone
For all of eternity, she would decide to stay in the deepest pits of hell. Perhaps for atonement, or perhaps for seclusion, she stayed there for centuries. And she would stay there for centuries to come. Unless of course, fate decided to toy with her a little more.
As the centuries went by, she brought balance to the ruins she forever called home. Secluded from humans, she had much time to contemplate. And reaffirm her hate. For a millenia, she would keep to her own devices.
She would research various topics she wished to research, completely undisturbed. She would gather materials and live off the small biosphere contained within those labyrinthine ruins. And she was content there. The Lich Queen would execute any monsters that became too pesky, and would research and research. She did what felt true to her in her human life. But for some reason, it wasn't the same to her. Something was off. It didn't give her that spark of joy it used to.
But she would push through that worry. Or rather, push it to the back of her mind. Deep down, she wanted an excuse to return to the surface. She wanted the embrace of a friendly presence. She had holed herself up in research in her human life so much so that she had rarely talked to anyone. And if she did, it was for business and business only. Even the Lich Queen wanted somebody to love.
She'd attempt to create something with true emotions, but would fail every time. The golems she got so good at creating had static faces. It could be said that even she didn't know how to smile properly. Or even express emotions in the first place. How could she create something that possesses true emotion if she hardly understood it herself?
Then a millennia after the Lich Queen had cast herself away from humanity and lived peacefully, did somebody stumble upon the remains of her work in that collapsed vaulted basement. And, without proper knowledge, would set off the chain of events the Fautum Prima could not account for: The Cataclysm.