The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 18 - Preparing for Finale)

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revenant
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by revenant »

I think that chapter fourteen is a good continuation of the previous chapters, but one thing I have to point out about the whole story is in the beginning you say you a righting a story about the origin of the undead and later in the actual story Zarek says that Ronard must ask some other necromancer for the secrets of unlife like he didn't discover necromancy first and the loyalists already new what necromancy was. :? Can you clear my confusion?
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by StandYourGround »

I suppose it could easily be a sarcastic comment that might otherwise have been said, "Hah! You'll have to ask another necromancer to tell you, if you can find one! MWAHAHA!"
I will now resume lurking silently.
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by Captain_Wrathbow »

One of his many dark adept apprentices?
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by admiralspark »

The comment concerning "another necromancer" is there to tell the bad guy (cannot remember his name ATM) that he has trained other necromancers. He is the first, but it's the 'hero's slip' that is revealing that he's not the only one....sort of to strike fear into the enemy.
"In German you'd be called a "Stehaufmaennchen" (about: stand-up-guy)...you're absent from wesnoth so long that one thinks your campaign is dead but you always come back. ;)" -Anonymissimus about SkeleRanger and ToaM
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by Zigg »

That exile guy he trained (I forget the name)
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by Jarkko »

XV: Cost of Immortality

A guard stood in a southern tower, looking at the devastated lands in the south. Various scaffolding were scattered around the unfinished defenses. Vultures circled around the bones of the fallen. It was an early morning. A rooster's crow meant, that it was a bedtime for those that were - not so human. He, on the other hand, had barely woken up. Nothing was going on. The land was an icon of tranquility. The lone guard had delved deep into his memories – to compensate the boredom of an unexiting guarding duty.

When Dunroth surrendered and the people were gathered, he and his wife were side by side amongst the rows of weeping townsmen, watching in terror as the skeleton in white robe shambled by. All of sudden his wife let out a yell of pain, falling down on the ground. He tried to hush his wife, but she couldn’t stop it. The yelling had already attracted the attention of the White Lich. Blue sparks gazed at them and step by step the lich came closer to them. A wave of hand and his skeletal minions grabbed the woman and started dragging her towards the execution stand, that was still black. The lich ripped a blade off the hand of another skeleton. The woman was forced to lie down on top of the stand. The guard attempted to run towards the lich, to save his wife, but his minions held him at bay. He yelled and cursed Zarek as he saw the blade being raised.

A swing of a blade and the guard lost his will to live. He wept tears and screamed along with his wife. The crowd was silent. They were too astonished to utter a word, only the teardrops on their face told a tale of their feelings. The screaming halted from the stand - but it was not because of the blade. It was because someone cried. The lich climbed on the stand and raised a crying and kicking infant to the sunlight, that was stuck in his mother’s womb just moments ago. The lich reached the minds of the citizens to speak his thoughts.

“Without my intervention two lifes would have perished. Let this child prove, that life and health waits for those, who serve me. Those, who oppose me shall not find peace even in death. Hear me, Dunroth, for I give you a choice - I hope, that you will choose wisely. Woman, take your child and go to your husband.“

At that moment the guard knew, that he’d serve the White Lich for the rest of his life - and so did many others on that day. The lich placed his hand on the townsmen, one by one. Some gained clarity and understanding, some went insane. But after the lich had touched him, he knew, why some couldn’t swallow it. It was like a hundred books were opened and read aloud to him at the same time. The chants of a blissful choir was hard to resist. It sounded so good, it had to be true…

Wayn had lied. He knew nothing about Ronard’s whereabouts. In fact, he had only seen Ronard leave through the north gate - which meant nothing. That lack of information cost Zarek valuable weeks. He had figured out a dozen punishments for Wayn - but a punishment didn’t change the fact, that there was only half a Kingdom up north to search for… if Ronard even went there in the first place. The most troubling fact was, that no news came from anywhere. He sent scouts on a daily basis – but even the north was silent. Dunroth was like an eye of a storm. All the havoc just hurled around it, as if avoiding it at all costs.

There was always something. Either some part had too many riots, some necromancer was too weak or the art itself could have been a bit better. He wanted to fortify his ground there and make those people believe in him, so that when he finally confronts Ronard, he wouldn't be completely alone – or then he just hesitated to take a great leap to the unknown and finish things. The citizens of Dunroth were very accepting. The lich sold immortality to the people and they bought it. Those, who thought, that immortality would best serve their purpose, formed an entourage around Zarek. A group of smooth operators, thinkers, fiddlers, upstarts – and Wayn – became his necromancers and they did just about anything Zarek dared to ask them to do. Whenever they weren’t spreading Zarek’s gospel in neighboring villages, they formed an inpenetrable social barrier, that widened the gap between the lich and the rest of the people, making him seem more distant – and somewhat holy.

But immortality had it’s price. A signifigant one was, that Zarek had more time than he could have possibly wasted. He didn’t need to eat or sleep. All the needs, he had had while alive, had burned away with his flesh. After there was nothing left to be revived or converted, after he had run out of questions to answer, or things to research, Zarek realised, that if something doesn’t happen very soon, he’d be stuck in Dunroth forever.

”Wayn… any ideas?”, Zarek asked on that particularily boring morning, ”Anything, for I am bored.”

Wayn yawned. He had been awake for several days in a row and it could be seen from his face. He knew, that he should sleep during nights, but the undead worked only during nights – and when Zarek asked the necromancers to do something, they found his words hard to resist. The exhausted figure shambled to the great map of the Kingdom and studied it long, mumbling to himself about how bad his choices were, while scratching his messy hair, that had started to turn gray.

”Well… There is always Nearhold”, he finally said after scrubbing the most of the Kingdom out as useless or otherwise unreachable. Zarek tilted his head a bit, waiting for an elaboration and Wayn stretched his face to his usual, artificial grin.
”What Dunroth is for traders and ordinary commoners, Nearhold is for legionnaires. A rather important crossroad, so to speak.”

He moved his finger along a thick, curly line that almost stroke through the entire Kingdom.

”This here is one of the biggest roads in Kingdom, starting from the Two-River Pass in the south, carrying on all the way up north to these… whatever these mountains were called again. Nearhold not only connects the west, the south and the north, but it also serves… as a port for the Royal Navy on Felham Bay”, Wayn instructed, ”It is a… relatively small fortress – but strategically speaking it’s second only to - Felham itself. I guess you can imagine what a… deadly blow it would to the Kingdom, should Nearhold be occupied. Not to mention, that it’s also – a good sport, so to speak…”

”A good sport…”, the lich mumbled, ”Very well – If you think so, them we shall march to Nearhold. Gather the minions, prepare the necromancers. We will march at dusk. Or – was there anything else?”
”Yes, master…”, Wayn said, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, ”I’ve been meaning to ask… and other necromancers have been talking about it… When are you going to – grant us immortality?”

Having that said Wayn prepared to face a ball of ice. Instead the lich merely folded his arms and sighed.
”After Ronard lies dead before me.”

He said nothing else. Wayn left the room being clearly disappointed. Zarek sat on a house of cards - the very same vultures, that aided him on his quest could turn against him at any moment. Yes, he had given them knowledge and understanding, but even still his adepts and necromancers weren’t completely blind, like his minions of bone and rotten flesh. They were humans with brain and willpower. Immortality was his trump card. He’d be fine as long as he only knew the secrets.

Bound by the circumstances he lead a great force out of Dunroth once the sun had set down. They marched about a week, completely unobstructed. Every time they reached a Legion stronghold, they prepared for a battle – but mysteriously nearly every fort had been abandoned.

Finally they saw the glimmering waters of the Felham Bay. It looked like it was the Great Ocean itself, save for a distant, blue strip in the horizon, that was the opposite shore. Just like Wayn had told, a road they had been following from Dunroth, ended to a greater road, that went along the coastline. At the crossroads stood the fortress of Nearhold.

”Someone else had the same idea”, Zarek said quietly. They saw from far away, that Nearhold was facing heavy resistance. Dust clouds rised from behind the forests and hills. Tiny ants moved back and forth, forming up and moving towards eachother. The clashes of battle and screams of paine echoed from the woods and the mountains.

The camp was set and the lich observed the surroundings with the necromancers. A skeleton appeared at them. It groaned viciously to the necromancers, waving its axe in the air, preparing to attack. As Zarek turned to face it, though, the skeleton got bewildered. It looked at the lich and each of the necromancers and other skeletons, unsure about what it should do. Someone else pushed its way through the bushes of the thick forest.

”We… didn’t expect reinforcements this soon”, the dark adept talked to necromancer Rocan, ”However any help will be appreciated. The crowner scum…”

Rocan shook his head, pointing at the lich. The adept was startled at the sight of the lich. He had seen a lot of skeletons, but nothing like him.
”Are… you the leader?”, the adept asked.
”Yes, I am”, Zarek said. The adept took a step back just like everyone else had taken, when they had heard Zarek’s voice inside their heads. He kneeled down, looking at the ground.
”I – apologise my insolence, master. As I was saying, the crowners are fighting back hard. We expected to fight only the garrison of Nearhold, but then more crowner soldiers came from the north two days ago. We could use all the help we can get.”, the adept said.
”Rise, adept, and tell me about the enemy.”
”Ordinary legionnaires, Heavy armored fighters, archers… and some new type of soldiers, that seem to be exclusively trained to fight our kind. They use magic, their hammers have been enchanted with flames… They – pretty much… cleave their way through our minions”, the adept stated.

No doubt, Ronard had something to do with it. Zarek understood why things had been quiet in the north. Somewhere out there the Kingdom was preparing for a historical counter-attack – and the White Lich had marched right in the middle of it.

”Very well. Inform your master, that help has arrived. We will join the battle as soon as possible”, Zarek said. The dark adept raised up, bowed and vanished to the forest with his minions.

”I didn’t know, you have extended your power here as well, master”, Wayn said, thinking about the confrontation.
”They are most likely Mirrok’s, my apprentice”, the lich clarified, ”After I was captured, he apparently continued his own campaign. Mirrok is behind every invasion in the south. I wonder, why he has suddenly decided to stray off his original plan. Unless…”

The lich left the thought hanging in the air, as he went back to the camp to check the forces.The words of the mysterious dark adept, that was not one of his own, invoked a whole set of questions – a feeling, he hadn’t felt for some time. He found it rather interesting – as if he was an experiementing healer again.

Onward to Chapter 16: Images
Last edited by Jarkko on June 21st, 2010, 5:13 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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revenant
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by revenant »

Jarkko wrote:”Raise, adept, and tell me about the enemy.”
I'm not sure if this is a typo but raise should be rise.
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (Chapter 14 has arrived)

Post by sur.nhm »

revenant wrote:
Jarkko wrote:”Raise, adept, and tell me about the enemy.”
I'm not sure if this is a typo but raise should be rise.
You're right.
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (It took a month for Chapter 15?)

Post by King_Elendil »

Guess what, I've got a list of typos that I noticed (these may not be all of them):
Dust clouds rised from behind the forests and hills- Should be "dust clouds rose from behind"

The clashes of battle and screams of paine echoed from the woods and the mountains.-  Should be "screams of pain echoed"

I – apologise my insolence, master.- Should be "I – apologize for my insolence, master"

Somewhere out there the Kingdom was preparing for a historical counter-attack – and the White Lich had marched right in the middle of it.- Should be "right into the middle of it"

Wow, Jarkko, you did a really good job on this chapter, and it was well worth the wait. I can't wait to find out what happens next :)
I'm finally admitting that this will be a very long (if not permanent) Wesbreak. Thank y'all for the great times, and may Wesnoth rise to become one of the most popular games on the planet.
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (It took a month for Chapter 15?)

Post by Sapient »

I like your writing style, and I find the story very entertaining and interesting. I admit that I am very eager to see what happens next but I will be sad when the story finishes. It's nice how you always leave us with a bit of suspense -- the mark of a great story-teller ;)
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (It took a month for Chapter 15?)

Post by Gwynnedrion »

This is pretty damn good stuff. Btw, can I sig the '”Rise, adept, and tell me about the enemy.” part?
”Rise, adept, and tell me about the enemy.”

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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (It took a month for Chapter 15?)

Post by admiralspark »

Not to dig up an old thread, but can we expect the story to continue? I was really enjoying it! :)
"In German you'd be called a "Stehaufmaennchen" (about: stand-up-guy)...you're absent from wesnoth so long that one thinks your campaign is dead but you always come back. ;)" -Anonymissimus about SkeleRanger and ToaM
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (It took a month for Chapter 15?)

Post by sur.nhm »

admiralspark wrote:Not to dig up an old thread, but can we expect the story to continue? I was really enjoying it! :)
I second this opinion :D
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (It took a month for Chapter 15

Post by Jarkko »

Author's note:
I apologize the delay caused by real life events and the fact that is, in fact, summer. Nevertheless, due to the popular demand (of two people) here is a brand-new chapter - With a rough estimate I dare to claim, that the conclusion lies two chapters away, so please keep your seats and trays in the upright position for the duration of the flight. ;)

--Jarkko



XVI: Images

Zarek insisted, that he’d lead his forces to the battle in person, despite the opposition of his necromancers. Whether their worry was genuine or just fear of loosing the keys to immortality, no-one knows. Yet his foolhardy choice raised the morale of the living servants. If the lich was going there, why should they stay in the camp, they thought?

He had already lost the count of all the sunsets he had seen. The great force marched down the hill and towards Nearhold. A group of Kingdom’s esteemed horsemen rode across the road, heading to the south, where most of the battle seemed to rage in tiny pockets deep in the plague-ridden southern woods. They moved on, slowly but firmly. Occasional small groups of soldiers attacked them, but even outnumbered they proved the adepts words true – they were painful to kill. The legionnaires didn’t fight with foolish valor, they fought with rock-solid skill and each swing of a blade symbolized their unyielding will to destroy the tenure of the treacherous undead. It came as a surprise for many of Zarek’s minions, a surprise they didn’t realize until the magical binds dispersed and their souls flew to the skies.

”It is getting darker and darker. How are we supposed to fight in pitch black?”, necromancer Rocan complained, as Zarek had stopped for an odd reason. Zarek looked at the ground, letting out a long sigh.
”Do not try to see the fragile, hollow crust of your enemy. See their souls. Open your eyes, grasp the magic, that hovers around you – and tell it to show their souls to you”, Zarek said to Rocan.

Rocan closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. He had gotten used to the spirits in the air, but for the first time, like the torches had been lit, one by one the souls of the living appeared to his vision. They formed an ocean of light on their left side, just outside Nearhold. On their right side there was a similar ocean - but it was different. Purple flickers pulsing their struggling light. Bound souls, forcibly recalled. The other undead.

”Is this, how you see things, master?”, Rocan asked.
”No – I have no eyes blocking my vision. I can’t explain it to you, but you will find out in time.”

The oceans moved slowly towards eachother. When the right moment came, both sides let out a wild battlecry and rushed to combat. Zarek waited. He wanted to be sure, the Legion was busy with the other undead. Then the time came. It was pitch black and save for occasional faint, blue glimmering from their ranks they were unseen. The forces of the White Lich stretched out as an impenetrable wall, like a monster from the nightmares of children and grown-ups, they looked like they’d devour anything, that steps on their way. The archers in Zarek’s army left back, as they took arrows from their quivers. Whou could’ve seen a cloud of black arrows against the dark sky, that landed with precision on the fierce legionnaires? Amongst the battlecries, screams of pain was heard. Arrows flew from two directions on them, but they fought as if completely unharmed. They were different.

Dark adepts formed a row in front of the rest and surges of dark energy blasted out from their hands. Black smoke penetrated the minds of the combatants, searched out the darkest memories from their brain and drowned the soldiers to the ghosts of their past. The undead cleaved their way through as zealously as the legion crushed through the skeletons and walking corpses. Several spirits flew to the Land of the Dead that night and even more left hanging in the air to the endless cloud of distressed souls, only waiting for a necromancer to bring them back. And the necromancers were more than willing to do that.

Minutes turned to slashes of a sword, swings of a mace, castings of magic. In the darkness survival was the word of the day, not victory. But after grinding through a particularily stubborn group of legionnaires, Zarek saw ’them’. Large figures running towards them from Nearhold itself, carrying burning torches – except that the torces were heavy warhammers. They swung them in the air as if they were mere sticks. When the hammer hit, an unfortunate skeleton was not only smashed to pieces, but it exploded to wild flames at the same time.

”Go back where you crawled from. The Kingdom reigns surpreme. There’ll be no place for you in this world”, echoed in Zarek’s head. He glanced around, but with all the fuss he couldn’t determine, where it came from. But he wasn’t the only one to hear it. Everyone within the undead heard it – Zarek’s undead looked at him, but it wasn’t their master who had spoken. But the other undead seemed a bit terrified.

”This land is ours. This nation is ours. You and your vicious art will be destroyed”, the lich heard again. Everytime an opportunity came, he glanced over the fighting armies. Further away from the main battle stood one of those special legionnaires holding his hand at the side of his head.

”We will keep destroying you until nothing is left. You will no longer disturb the dead. The Kingdom will…”
”Stop interrupting my work, cretin”, Zarek reached out to the mind of the distant legionnaire. He lowered his hand, having not expected a response. The legionnaire looked at the undead forces, looking for the culprit and he saw a hooded figure, Zarek, staring right at him.

The soldier raised his flaming hammer and pummeled his way through the skeletons and dark adepts until he could see the eye-sockets behind the blue sparkles, that were Zarek’s eyes. He was way too big, way too strong, way too experienced . Should that hammer hit his staff and it would probably break into million pieces… Should that hit him and he’d find out if he’s immortal or not. A primal sense told him not to find out. For his luck, the legionnaire was a bit too slow and with effort Zarek hopped aside at the same moment the hammer struck a small, momentary campfire on the beaten grass.
The lich turned around, trying to cast the soldier’s feet into a thick layer of ice, only noticing that his opponent merely stroke the iceball away. Running out of options, the lich raged forth and grabbed the man from his head. They both fell down on the ground.

Then, it felt like time had stopped and the lich saw a series of images flashing by, memories of the legionnaire. At first he saw a tavern of some sort, a small village. Then he saw someone shouting at him… The legionnaire broke off.

”Stay off my mind, filthy abomination!”, he groaned, pushing Zarek off him. In an eyeblink he was back on his feet, crushing a few skeletons more around him. Zarek attacked, his staff raised above his head. The hit didn’t damage the legionnaire, but it confused him a bit – enough for the lich to order nearby skeletons to rush him back on the ground. The lich pushed himself through the pile of minions to touch the legionnaire’s head a bit and again the battefield vanished around him.

The tavern again – it had a sign hanging above it’s front door, a man, yelling at him – no, not just him. There were others in the row, just like him. A tower of somekind… no – a ruined castle. Everything seemed white. The man again… blonde hair, quite large build… wait – that donkey’s arse… Ronard!

It was as if a huge brick wall of energy tried to smash him. The soldier gathered all his magical abilities to ward Zarek’s mind off from his – better yet, maybe even destroy his mind once and for all. What they both saw were merely flashes of light and darkness, as they battled with their pure willpower and mental strength. Zarek had seen enough and he tried to break off, but the soldier didn’t let him go.

”K-kill… Kill him. Kill him now!”, Zarek groaned. The flashes grew more intense, his mind burned and so did the legionnaire’s. Their thoughts were one, until the other one just vanished from the scene. The silence drifted away and the lich was once again in the middle of a full-scale war in Nearhold. But the legionnaire had lost his head. Without wasting another thought, Zarek resumed to rally his forces.

For the undead, an area about a mile long took three days to cross. Those, who weren’t dead, fought until they were. Those, who had died – well, their only purpose was to block everyone’s movements by lying on the ground until a necromancer would collect them. The monotony. Kill, dodge, repeat. Everyone knew, that years later, when the combatants itself serve as mere fertilizers for the decimated Kingdom, some poet would find a deeper meaning from all that – and they would paint it with gold and silver, until no-one smells the thick layer of blood underneath.

The tall, stone walls of Nearhold. It’s wooden gates crushed down to reveal, that inside it was more a harbor, than a full-fledged stronghold. So were the soldiers. To imagine, that the most important crossroads for the entire Royal Legion was mostly guarded by semi-experienced dockworkers made Zarek stare in disbelief – and provided hours of fun to Rocan. The undead poured in through the gate… and long before the last skeleton had dragged itself to the frontyard, the fight was over. The sun shined once again and the unborn generations would learn to know Nearhold by the name of Bloodhold.

But the sun revealed something else, than the blood-stained, decimated landscape. This revelation was noted by one dark adept, that was searching the fortress for any survivors. When he saw the numerous streams of black smoke rising far from the southern horizon, he let out the yell, mixed with fear, excitement and madness.

”Felham is burning! The Kingdom is no more!”

Zarek and Rocan saw this from the window of the personal quarters of the stronghold’s commander, who was alive just an eyeblink before the yelling of the adept. For Zarek, it meant only one thing. Mirrok had succeeded on his task. He had marched through the entire nation, right into the capitol, and crushed it. He had succeeded on his campaign.

”A village, a tavern, a ruined castle… That’s where Ronard is and that’s where those special legionnaires came from”, Zarek mumbled, while studying another map of the Kingdom. That one was more special, though – It had the location of the fortresses and supply routes marked to it.
”Well, that applies to pretty much every village imaginable”, Rocan answered, ”Did you see anything else?”
”The tavern had a name… But I saw it only briefly. It was something… it related to us somehow…”

The lich walked back and forth, sorting his thoughts and images in front of this problem, the answer of which would be descisive. Minutes passed, as he carefully went through every single image from that fight.

”It was frozen…”, he said, ”Frozen – something…”
”The Frozen Skull?”, Rocan asked with a brief amazement on his face. Zarek looked directly at him, but the skull couldn’t form up the grin of enlightement.
”The Frozen Skull. That’s what the tavern was called.”
”I can’t believe, that shack is still up… Uhm. Wintermire – The Frozen Skull is in Wintermire. The village also has a ruined castle. I used to play there when I was a kid…”
”Where is it? Show it to me”, Zarek asked. Although he found it an interesting coincidence, that the place, he was going to wreck next was Rocan’s hometown, he didn’t care about dusty childhood memories. Rocan woke up to reality and walked over to the map. He pointed at a tiny blip, on the northeastern side of the Kingdom, above the bay.

”That’s where it is – but it’ll take months to get there on foot, not to mention the resistance of the Legion…”
”We won’t go there by foot”, Zarek replied. Rocan found it unbelievable.
”Then how do you suggest, we move a thousand-headed army without anyone noticing?”

Zarek moved away from the table and looked out of the window to Felham Bay. There were but two ships docked in the harbor. Two royal strike frigates. The rest were probably somewhere else. But it wasn’t the frigates, the lich was looking at. He looked at the salty waters and his soul smiled widely.

To be continued...
Last edited by Jarkko on December 30th, 2010, 5:10 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: The White Lich [Fan-Fic] (It took a month for Chapter 15?)

Post by Sapient »

Jarkko wrote:due to the popular demand (of two people) here is a brand-new chapter
Hey :shock: I was checking the forum like almost every day! If I had known begging for more story would have worked I would have tried that sooner. :lol2: But it was worth the wait.

Now I will just subscribe to updates on the thread so I don't have to keep peeking in here anxiously. :)
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