Meet the Lich

[Anastasia]

> OOC: Make a will save?
<Nikkolai> roll 1d20+14
* Hatbot --> "Nikkolai rolls 1d20+14 and gets 23." [1d20=9]
* Taishyr (~ferixstad@adsl-99-52-152-122.dsl.klmzmi.sbcglobal.net) Quit (Ping timeout)
> Oblivion. For a time Nikkolai knows it, feeling nothing, sensing nothing, being nothing. What penetrates this fog of nonexistance is pain. Flashes of pain that blossom throughout him, as if small, sensitive bits of himself were being flayed off him with an axe. With pain comes awareness - of blackness, of nothing but the pain. An agony all around Nikkolai, wailing.
> From this miasma of misery an awareness achingly returns to Nikkolai. A sense of being, of suffering. A sense of coldness, as if Cold itself had been poured into his body. Eyes...he has eyes. They open, dry. His stomach churns and tosses, his breath..nothing. His chest is still, only deep cold radiating out.
* Nikkolai blinks once. Twice. This...doesn't feel real. The pain, the coldness, the absence of breath. He turns his head to either side of him, noting his surroundings, trying to get a grip on reality.
> His neck moves slowly, rasping like old parchment paper as he moves. His eyes are blurry, a haze as a headache blossoms. Her voice pierces it like a cold, hateful lash. "Nausea is normal after gaining this advanced state. Focus yourself past it."
* Nikkolai notices a roiling in his abdomen. He tries to ignore it, focusing instead on improving his eyesight. The headache will no doubt be aggravated by speaking, but he chances it anyway. "What have you done to me...my Lady?" The last is a hastily added afterthought, lest she take offense.
> OOC: Make a concentration check?
<Nikkolai> roll 1d20+22
* Hatbot --> "Nikkolai rolls 1d20+22 and gets 35." [1d20=13]
> Through pure dint of will Nikkolai focuses his vision! This is despite the flare of pain...before him is a chamber of oynx. He lies in the hands of two huge skeletons, immobile. As if giants were flayed and placed here to stand solemn guard.  Below Nikkolai is a cauldron, steaming smoke that fades from sight mere inches from the boiling black liquid within. "I have given you a form beyond death, one that masters death."
* Yuth (~Dis@c-71-194-208-215.hsd1.il.comcast.net) has joined #dunes
* Nikkolai leans back against the cold bone and stares upward. He supposes, logically, that he should be more upset about this turn of events. The others, Calariel, and even Yulia would despise him in his current form. Perhaps they would even think that this is what he had desired all along. And wasn't it? He had desired power and dared to even dream of (more)
<Nikkolai> immortality, if only so he could withstand the power of his old master. And yet, here he was. Back in her clutches. The boy he had promised to rescue was as doomed as he. He was bound to her as a slave for eternity. But perhaps...this is what he deserved. "You honor me beyond worth, my lady." A cold, empty reply.
> "There is no time to rest now, you have been in Oblivion for a week." The Lady of the Green Kirtle stands before you. She wears a green gown, her red hair pinned back. A six-twined staff of strands of mithral is held, the top decorated by a bewildering, strange design like a star. "Come down here now."
* Nikkolai attempts to bring himself to his feet and climb down to his master.
> His body responds with effortless, painful movement. He sees his hand - a dull yellow-white, drawn a little too far and looking flaky, dry. Once he reaches the bottom, "Now drink from the cauldron, it will abate some of your naseau of the transformation."
* Nikkolai nods to the Lady, thinking distantly that it would almost be a relief to die. He was in pain...but he didn't care about it. How odd. He reaches into the cauldron with a dry, cold hand and scoops two mouthfuls of the liquid to drink.
> The liquid is tasteless, yet it leaves a thick, cottony feeling in his mouth. As he swallows it, his stomach goes still and his headache lessens.
* Nikkolai turns and walks to his master, halting before her. He hesitates a moment but fails to bow to show his deference. He supposes that that's all the little joy he'll have left; minor acts of defiance. "If it please my Lady, may I ask precisely what great work of magic she has performed upon me? I have learned enough in my travels to recognize a major (more)
<Nikkolai> --undertaking when I see one." Perhaps some flattery will loosen her tongue.
> "The Ritual of Crucimigration," The Lady of the Green Kirtle says shortly, "A simple undertaking, even when applied to another."
* Nikkolai narrows his eyes slightly. "I see. So I no longer need concern myself with the trappings of mortality."
> "Mortality is an outdated concept to you." The Lady does continue from that, a beat before she replies, "You deserved slightly better than the fate of a shadow, no matter how foolish your last acts were. Also, there are matters to attend to. In this form, the plague will not touch you."
* Nikkolai raises an eyebrow. "I am grateful that you decided to overlook the actions of a foolish young boy." Nikkolai does bow his head slightly this time. "The plague, my Lady? What plague do you speak of?"
> "The Bleeding Death is what the people of Amlyn call it." Tapping her staff on the ground once, a metallic echoa gainst the cold floor, "The handiwork of Ursagel, slave of Mydianchlarus."
<Nikkolai> "I confess, my Lady, these names are unknown to me. As is the reason why you wished me immune to the plague itself. You have a task for me?"
> "I have a task for all of you," The Lady of the Green Kirtle begins to walk, "Your friends are waiting, I have no need to repeat myself."
> OOC: You can make K:P on Mydianchlarus if you care to.
<Nikkolai> roll 1d20+15 K:P
* Hatbot --> "Nikkolai rolls 1d20+15 K:P and gets 31." [1d20=16]
* Nikkolai falls into step beside her. "As you wish." He pauses for a moment, taking great care with the words that he's about to speak. "My companions, my Lady...what will you do with them?"
> "As a sword to strike," The Lady of the Green Kirtle starts to walk, "You will see, enough talk." The last word has a faint note of command to it, cold.
<Nikkolai> "Yes, my Lady." Nikkolai remains silent, following the Lady to her intended destination.