Soil. Loamy, wet, and pulsing with life. Its warm, gentle embrace cradled and nurtured much of existence on the continent known as Vecora. From the blades of grass where insects shuttled to and fro, to towering trees whose outstretched canopies sheltered bird and beast alike, the humble earth made all of this possible.
Yet, it wasn't just these creatures who found comfort and sustenance from the ground. Some still found refuge in the realm beneath, even if the word 'living' did not quite describe their existence.
Ravvi—demonic rat-like creatures, had their burrows of ash. Ancient golems toiled in buried ruins, long forgotten to the world above.
But one creature... one of bone and frayed robes, had also learned to call bored tunnels and hidden holes their home.
Deep beneath the surface above, a rough stone slab rested within a secluded chamber. Hooded figures stood round in ill-fitting cloaks, a scant ten in number, speaking in hushed whispers that echoed off the smooth walls surrounding them, bearing fresh impressions of chisels sliding across their exterior.
"This is the third ambush in the last week alone," a hunched cloak squeaked, "Those imps not only found us, but bored their way through twenty feet of stone without a single spell. Stone."
"All the more reason to put an end to this." Another jutted in, his voice tinged with ample arrogance.
"Oh— oh. 'Put an end to this', why didn't I think of that?! Yes, all I need to do is gather my men, blast every damned midget I find, and waltz right into their home and burn it all to the ground," The speaker seemed to go up an octave, reaching a note even the greatest opera singer would marvel at.
"—Wait a second, we did try that. Turns out, it isn't so easy when cannons are involved. You know what, fine... I'll try again, but could you get me a glass of water after we do this? I find it refreshing after being fucked in the ass!"
A white, bony fist slammed against the slab's surface, only pulled back under the robe once the man noticed a disapproving gaze from across the table.
Blue light flashed underneath the darkened hood of a robe, whose fabric appeared both larger and more filled compared to their contemporaries. "I find that hard to believe, considering your constitution."
"...It's the principle of the matter, your grace."
The large creature continued to glare with contempt at the bowed head.
Did they really think only they felt frustrated? All the centuries of existence under their rotten belts and the only thing they were capable of was complaining. If anything, they were lucky their wards didn't have the ability to talk back. Maybe then they would understand an iota of his burden.
'These skeletons will be the death of me...' Karag bemoaned, a smooth gray jawbone peaking from his own hood.
"I've told you to set a perimeter above ground. Who was responsible for this?"
"That would be Heath, your grace."
Karag immediately changed focus towards a creature on his right, who refused to meet the judging gaze.
"I-I set the perimeter as requested."
"So why did we not hear of this?"
His question was met by a shrug after a brief pause: "I only have so many servants under me, it is possible they slipped by."
"Liar!" Another exclaimed. "I saw skeletons in his quarters. At least ten, chiseling away at a wall."
"You bastard!" Heath roared with vindication, "Everyone reserves a few for themselves. Besides, I deserve a finished room too!"
Karag gripped his skull as the room descended into pandemonium, with heated insults and accusations flying like spells across the room.
'Why did I agree to this? A headache, all of these little bastards...'
It shouldn't have been possible for a fleshless skull to feel this pain. Yet, time and time again, Karag was left to marvel at just how magical these skeletons were at causing him trouble.
Long ago, he had stumbled across the miscreants during one of his travels. And after showing his skill in battle, they quickly solicited him to join—to lead—an alliance between liches. Perhaps he took pity, or perhaps he was searching for a goal after aimless years of wandering. Either way, he eventually said yes.
It was a mistake he would quickly come to regret.
Before, it seemed like such a simple thing. They were the same, after all. Bodies forged by bone and magic.
But they weren't. This had become clearer with each passing day. Somewhere along the line, a difference existed.
While the dirty cloth they wore hung loose on their bony frames, his boasted a tall stature and wide shoulders. In place of brittle, bleached bones, a skeleton of dark gray emanated strength. And on the eve of battle, it was a sword of steel that rested in his palm, rather than a fragile wand.
And somewhere in those cavernous skulls, lay a level of sheer idiocy that Karag refused to believe he shared.
Perhaps it was part of the price paid for undeath. If so, he could only thank the one who had given life to a pile of bones such as he. To imagine himself in a barehanded fight over a room's appearance...
A violent shake of his skull banished the horrific idea, though the flame in his sockets dulled from the mere thought of it.
"Order. Order! I say—"
It was at this moment as he attempted to corral the ancient buffoons, the world froze.
String— translucent in form, stretched out before him, tethering his body to a place he had long thought desolate and forgotten. A horn seemed to blare from the depths of his soul, drowning the clattering of bone before him.
Liches were as knowledgeable in magic as they were powerful. Yet, not a single being perceived the wonder occurring in their midst.
Karag knew this fact. Years of living amongst such creatures had brought an understanding of their nature. But he remained unsurprised, even as the song swelled in tempo with his feverish soul.
How could he not be shaken? After ages, he was free.
No longer did the pointless bickering distract him. No longer was he chained by worthless vermin.
In Karag's mind, only a single thought prevailed: 'The call has been rung.'
And with every call, came an answer.
Karag seemed to shrink away, blending with shadows as he turned to a tunnel leading away from the mindless liches.
His master awaited him; demanding his presence.
Karag had no plans of wasting Alastor's patience.