The Lichemaster:
The midnight chill was always powerful high in the Grey Mountains. It swiftly flowed through the crevices and valleys of the mountainous terrain, and chilled all that called it home to the bone. Many of those creatures would be lying asleep in their caves and coves throughout the mountainside. It would be a harsh environment for the hardiest of humans, and it would be doubly so for such a fragile old man such as Heinrich.
Heinrich wandered the rocky peaks of the Grey Mountains for years now. While the chill air penetrated deep, even past his wonderful cloak, it was nothing compared to the agony he had to live with every day. The sharp, jagged shards in his veins and nerves, poking at him with every breath and movement. A constant reminder of what he'd lost. He was cursed to wander the lands,seeing the Winds flow around him without ever being able to touch them. They were always out of reach, always just a hair's breadth away from his grasp before he succumbed to pain.
Pain. That was what life was. Pain. Endless, unending pain. His body ached, yet he kept moving, because he knew that if he stopped, he would never be able to move again. One foot in front of the other, that was all that mattered. He had made a promise to himself, and he wouldn't betray his past self, not while he still drew breath. Even beyond that, if he had anything to say about it.
Heinrich had felt the call. It was hard to miss, the voice of the whispers on the Winds. He had always ignored it back then, when he was at the top of the world. Back when he thought he was invincible. He thought he was mighty, powerful, that nothing could bring him down. Why settle for those voices when he could make his own? Now, Heinrich could only look back and scoff at his foolishness. He was naive, and he wouldn't be making that same mistake again.
It took a while to reach this place, especially undetected. But he had his cloak to thank there. A powerful artifact he crafted in his younger years, allowing him the power to briefly transition between planes. It helped him ward off the winter chill and escape the notice of the Dwarf Rangers that patrolled these mountain passes, for his destination was close to their home. They knew not its true purpose, but that didn't mean they would leave part of their region unguarded.
Heinrich took a shaky breath as he came across the entrance of the barrow. His cloak had helped him survive the winter chill, but it was almost a blizzard out there. His cloak didn't require him to bend the winds to his will, but it was weaker without his power behind it. He took a deep breath as he mastered his shaking limbs. He couldn't help but look down at his hands, wrinkled, sallow and stretched thin across his bones as they were. What little was left uncovered by his robes was covered in scars. One for every Necromancer who attempted to kill him, jealous of his power.
'Not much longer'
Heinrich Kemmler stepped into the Mound of Krell.
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What happened next was impossible to describe. Heinrich had long lost the ability to detect the Winds as well as he used to. All he knew was that the instant he stepped into the Mound, his world turned upside down.
Everything went dark. Then he was flung into a world of pain as he was wracked with every injury he had ever suffered in his life. Bright flashes and images cycled through his mind, each second forcing a new thought, concept, idea, or memory that he had contemplated in his life. He could feel conflicting sensations, smells, tastes, and sounds brushing past him, conflicted with the images flashing across his thoughts. He felt nauseous, sick and discombobulated, past any experience he ever had.
It was then that Heinrich knew. The Dark Gods were testing him. They wanted to see if he was worthy. What they were forcing him to experience would drive any normal man insane, perhaps even kill them.
[Eye of the Gods: 72+30 (Lichemaster)=102]
He would not give in. Heinrich did not come this far to fall now. He sought immortality, and he would not let such a paltry challenge end him.
Ever since the Battle of Ten Thousand Skulls, Heinrich Kemmler was incapable of casting spells. It felt as if a thousand glass shards were pressing against him at all times, and they would only dig deeper the harder he drew on the Winds. His soul could barely reach out to cast a simple incantation before his very essence would start bleeding. That didn't mean he was going to sit down and accept such an ignoble defeat at the hands of mere visions!
Heinrich closed his eyes, which did nothing to phase away the images and sensations, but was a helpful mnemonic to help him concentrate. He was used to distraction, albeit not quite at this level. Nonetheless, he centered himself, and he summoned as much energy as he possibly could.
It was painful. Far more painful than it should have been, which he supposed was the result of the mad dog like growling he could feel at the edge of his hearing. Heinrich put that out of his mind, and sifted through the other voices. The sibilant whisper of a snake like being, the amused cawing of a bird like creature, and the slimy coughs of a slug like creature. They were all watching him, three with amusement and one with rage.
Heinrich took a step forward, and broke the shackles holding him down.
He opened his eyes, and came face to face with the upright corpse of a large, armored warrior, sitting down on a stone throne.
What surprised Heinrich most of all, however, was the sudden surge of power that flooded into him the instant he opened his eyes. What happened next was not a conversation. Heinrich didn't know if he could ever hold a conversation with Them. It was Ideas, Concepts, Feelings. They gave him an offer.
RAGE! Prove yourself!
Interest. Continue to Innovate.
Disgruntlement. Don't be boring.
Contentment. Just be yourself.
Go North. Join Us. Be One with the Four.
Heinrich had no idea how he could understand them, but he knew what the details of the offer were, despite the concepts they were sending being relatively easy to understand. The Dark Gods were holding a contest, a championship, in the north. Those who proved themselves would earn their favor. If he accepted their offer, they would return his powers and end his suffering, but he would have to pledge himself to them forevermore.
'Was it even a choice?'
The whole "conversation" took place within the course of a few seconds. Heinrich stood up, as dark energies that hadn't touched his flesh in years came back to him. The feelings of elation and satisfaction that came to him almost felt alien, foreign. Heinrich looked at his hands in wonderment, as Dhar easily formed a perfect ball a few inches from his palm. He couldn't help himself.
He laughed. It wasn't the laugh of a madman, but it was certainly hysterical. The laugh of a man who had nothing more to lose, who had taken a gamble, and succeeded. The laugh of a man who had thought he lost everything, only for it to come back to him.
It took him a while, but Heinrich eventually composed himself. Clearing his throat and looking left and right to make sure that nobody saw his outburst, he glanced back to the warrior sitting down on the throne. Krell the Wight King.
A grin came over the Necromancer's face as he considered the preparations he would have to take to face off against prospective Everchosen. Blood was pumping into his veins for the first time in forever, and he finally felt alive again.
"You will do. You will do quite nicely" Heinrich Kemmler mused with a chuckle as he raised his hand to bring Krell back to unlife.
AN: The muse suddenly hit me and I decided to write something. I actually rolled for Heinrich there, and would have gone with whatever result popped up. Basically an experiment to get me used to writing. I hope you guys enjoy.