Yohann Ghar'Shaad

I think I am dying. I have been dying for a long time. It was painful at first, but now I do not have even that. It has been taken away from me, along with everything else. They have taken even my name - Yohann Ghar`Shaad. I still feel my body, I breath, my heart beats. Although... No, I am wrong. It has not moved in a long time. I have only become used to it, as I am used to breathing. I still try to breath, but every breath is more difficult than the last. My lungs are burning, and if my arms were not tied, I would have scratched my lungs out from my chest. I do not understand it... It turns out, my skin has taken on a tint of blue. My veins have been cut, and now my blood is collecting in a vessel. There is so little of it left! I watch the last drops slowly collecting in the silverware.

Gradually, time stops running for me. Now it flows. It flows very slowly, so slowly that I can watch the drops before they disappear in the pitcher. Skin blackens. It breaks with disgusting sound, and falls to the floor. "It looks like falling autumn leaves," - I think, - "where have I seen this before?" It quickly grows dark. And now I spill into this darkness.

My body becomes lighter than air. I push away from the altar and fly. Freedom! I only now understand how confined I was within my body, how it hindered me. I see light, it lures me, calls me. It's call is so strong that I move towards it. But I am not destined to unite with it. Something holds me back, does not let me go towards the light, it draw me back into my body. I do not wish to return, I resist, try to shake free, but it is stronger than I am, and soon I unite with my shell - my prison.

The body on the altar flinches. Powerful convulsions run through it. It bends into an arch. Lipless mouth opens in a scream. Arms try to reach the chest, but are stopped by thick steel chains with which they are tied to the altar. But soon the metal begins to give. In the very instant in which it is ready to burst, the convulsions cease. Several necromancers run up to the body. They take off the chains and disappear into the dark, from which Necros then appears. His new servant is ready, although will be difficult to submit to his will, and a part of the old personality remains.

He is satisfied. Necros allows himself to smile - his experiments have succeeded. He could finally create a lich equal in strength to la'rich, but not requiring a puppeteer, like the others. This unit has not only remained a mage, but gained the power of command over the lower undead. Yes, this creation is good.