 Era Catacombs “Is this hell?” Ora Mae Cox questioned to herself in the painful darkness of the unknown, a thought which surprised her for she had not heard her own thoughts in some time. In fact, she had forgotten about her individuality long ago in the sea of other damned souls long ago. At least, she thought it must have been long ago. The concept of time affected wherever she had been dwelling in a foreign way beyond rational explanation. Ah, how strange! She was certain she had been here for a long time, and yet she had only really begun to think of her surroundings consciously. It was as almost like awakening from a rough dream. As her mental processes returned to her, she was even beginning to suspect her eyes had been closed but nonetheless, they resisted opening. How did she even end up here? ”That’s right… death brought me here.” A sudden obstacle brought Ora’s mental process to a complete crash in the form of a cool drop of water hitting her closed eye lid. All at once, her eyes shot open and her body shot up with a frightened, tired exhale. Her thoughts scattered in every direction, swept up by the windy anxiety of uncertainty. She took in her surroundings: just more darkness but this felt far less like the nightmare she had evidently experienced before. This wasn’t perpetual darkness, however; her eyes adjusted quicker than they ever had before to the nothingness where she made out the stony architecture of a familiar place. “The catacombs?” she whispered aloud to herself, recalling how vividly she had become accustomed to the labyrinth of underground tombs beneath Era. Before she could recollect the events that had brought her to that situation, though, her eyes flickered at the torrent of dust that had dived off her lips as she spoke. It looked as if dust had painted her entire lips like a puffy layer of lipstick, but she felt the same unmistakable puff of dust in her mouth as well. For a reason she couldn’t yet comprehend, this did not instinctively make her cough or gag. Instead, her curious side brought a pointed finger up to her lips to investigate but this only raised more questions. Her hand had produced the unmistakable sound of a rattling chain around her wrist but didn’t seem to bind her to anything. As her finger brushed her lip, however, she realized the sensation felt foreign: her finger, lacking any muscle or skin, was completely bone. Ora froze up at the realization, her mind far outpacing her body’s reaction. She wiggled her finger and then the other apparently bony members of her hand before focusing her mind intently on what might have caused this. She recalled her identity, her occupation, and… her interest in necromancy. Her dry lips curled up into angry frown as the final moments of her life donned upon her memory. The Magic Council had sent someone to kill her, a warrior. Not even a wizard but an ape who wielded a sword. Still, he managed to ram it through her and do quite a number on her. She might have stood a better chance had he not caught her in the middle of… a ritual. Ora’s eyes widened with a sudden epiphany. She used the same hand she had just investigated to now check her waist where the warrior had impaled her on his sword: it was bone. A single snicker left her mouth, and then another. Soon, an she erupted in a torrent of laughter, “...I did it!” The same pair of lips that had just finished frowning now rebounded into an ecstatic, goofy grin. It finally occurred on her that her ritual—her greatest undertaking—to turn herself into an immortal lich had indeed succeeded. Indeed, the warrior had killed her but not soon enough it seemed. Though undoubtedly undead now, Ora had rarely even felt so overjoyed. All the effort, the time, and sacrifices had all proven worth it. Although she would certainly need to investigate what her new state-of-being entailed, she decided to instead bath in the warmth of victory. Finally, she had time now; time to delve into the world’s secrets, time to accumulate knowledge, and time to make the world a better place as her teacher would have wanted. She now possessed eternity to do as she pleased. She would have sighed a breath of relief that she had cheated death if she could breathe at all. Once again, a cold drop of water drew Ora out of her state of mind. Her head jerked up in the direction of the droplet’s origin to find an innocuous crack in the ceiling. Considering these catacombs rested underground, she wondered if she’d find rain once outside, a thought which produced a childish grin. It felt an eternity since she’d gotten to see the falling rain or even the outside world at large, which is why she immediately began shifting her body around on the stone slab like a child preparing to hop off her bed on Christmas morning. Thankfully, however, she had the forethought to recognize the strange feeling in her legs and held onto the slab her body had been resting as she tried to stand herself up. She wobbled uncontrollably as she searched for a fickle balance but nearly fell down. Her legs had degraded considerably it seemed. Ora took a seat back on the stony resting place and placed a hand on her robe, preparing to hike it up when she paused to examine the texture and features of her outfit: the official robes of a wizard belonging to the Wizard Council of Fiore. Moths had eaten up the robe at various places but not too badly that it necessitated an immediate change of clothing. More importantly, it baited her thought process into a pause as she considered how the rest of the council had wronged her with that successful or not-so-successful assassination attempt, depending on how one wanted to look at it. Still, she had evidently won in the end so who could really feel bitter under such circumstances? She reassured herself of her victory, preventing her wonderous smile from dying down just yet; after all, she had not only survived their assassin but more importantly, she had proven them wrong! It was the greatest victory a pioneer such as her could desire. Regardless of bone or flesh, Ora knew that a lich could use their body just as well as the living. With that in mind, she carefully placed the heels of her feet firmly on the ground. She couldn’t truly feel just how cold the stone floor might have felt not how really rough and hard, but this would prove more of an aid than a hindrance as she shifted her weight back onto her legs. Her mind focused entirely on making what remained of her body work properly and to her delightful surprise, her body responded with what felt like a magical obedience. In fact, the lich felt as though her body received commands from her mind more than the actual muscles in her body. Even easier than when she still drew breath, Ora stood up on her two boney feet. No sooner than she had taught herself to stand again, Ora searched for a way out. She looked around with a pair of eyes tailored for the dark and found the only corridor leading out from the room of her entombment. Her legs stepped forward with the same ease that they used to stand up to Ora’s satisfaction, but she paused as she heard the strange rattling of chains around her wrists she heard earlier. On closer inspection, it appeared as if someone attempted to chain her down but the other end of her would-be bindings had evidently rusted off long ago. While ineffective, Ora couldn’t help but admire the wisdom that the chains implied. The warrior who slew her or perhaps the Magic Council considered she might resurrect with the aid of necromancy and thus took the precaution. The severity of the rust, however, raised the question of just how long ago she had passed away. Ora placed a hand on the wall, flinging dust as she traversed the labyrinth of the dead. She knew these catacombs well, almost as well as she knew her own house. She must have spent nights at a time in them before her death. What she hadn’t yet memorized, however, was the inhabitants of this place. She paused rathe dramatically as her hand brushed against a small, humble cavity in the wall where a single coffin lied. National symbols of Fiore—including the Magic Council’s emblem—decorated the dusty, cobweb-covered coffin. Her inquisitive nature prompted the lich to brush some of the dust away from the name plaque connected to the aged box where the name of an old colleague on the council greeted her, along with the dates of his birth and death. “What a complete fool,” she whispered under her breath with a satisfied grin. One of her old, incompetent foes, Cornelius Tream, had apparently succumb to his own mortality just ten years after Ora’s ritual. The lich couldn’t feel cockier or prouder of herself, but it did raise the question once again of just how long ago she had died. With her growing curiosity beginning to outweigh the joy of gloating, Ora abandoned her beaten opponent’s resting place and pressed forward in search of a way out, though, she held enough confidence in her memory that she worried not about escaping as much as she did finding out the year and the circumstances of the modern day. As expected, she eventually came upon a stone staircase which led her to a large and worn-out wooden door that sat nearly vertically in the same way that an outside basement entrance might. The undead did not even need to open the door to figure out the weather: dark and raining. The water poured through the cracks of the door along with bright moonlight, but she nonetheless wrapped her hands around the handle to the door and enthusiastically pushed forward. Ora had expected her lack of muscles to necessitate more effort but to her surprise, she managed to open the door with relative ease. It caught her so off guard that she fell forward as she opened the door but managed to catch herself just in time. Before she could comprehend her own surprise, however, she found her face showered with the rain and although she had obviously experienced the rain before, it felt so distinctly different from every other time. The rain came down so heavily and yet she did not feel bothered by it. She could still see easily, stand easily, and felt the absence of the same pseudo-drowning sensation one might expect from such severe rains. Ora searched around to ensure she had ended up where she expected: a humble graveyard inside the walls of Era. Indeed, she saw tombstones from her position as well as walls and flags bearing the national flag of Fiore. The whole sight made the lich laugh like a madwoman in the rain as she finally knew for certain she treaded in reality and not in some silly dream. However, with this confirmation, the lich knew she could not afford to take a break just yet. She still needed to learn more about the year, the history leading up to it, as well as details about present-day society. The lich believed she had some means of figuring all of that out but before committing to that plan, she decided to take a small peek at the streets. The lich’s robe slid across the wet grass as she made her way across the tiny graveyard for the bushes. Though her bare feet waded through the same wet grass, it did not bother her even the slightest. The same rang true as she forced herself into a brush of prickly bushes. A familiar brick road sat just in front of the bushes, but Ora couldn’t recognize the buildings. The architecture had somewhat evolved from her time apparently and the city had taken a much more urbanized approach since the lich believed no building at all once inhabited this spot. She looked down both sides of the road and as expected, no one would stupidly catch themselves outside in this rain. Even the guards appeared completely absent or perhaps society had grown so safe that it required few guards nowadays. Regardless for the reason of the clear road, Ora stepped out of the bushes and across the road as she approached the building. Though not exactly innocent looking, the lich carefully glided across the wall of the building as she neared the corner. She dared not step out and instead only peeked her head out to view the new street. It sat empty of course but it did not coax Ora out of her hiding spot as she observed the series of shops that lined the road. A lot of commerce evidently took place there in the daytime in an allusion to the greater prosperity of the times in comparison to the lich’s own time period. She spotted several magic shops as well as a book stop, both of which made her wish she possessed a parchment and pen to write down the names of the establishments, even if her so-called affliction might prevent her from showing her face around anytime soon. Speaking of which, Ora would need to find some means of determining modern society’s attitude toward undead liches but for now, she would assume she’s the sort of creature people still want to kill on sight. The lich retraced her steps, through the bushes and back into the graveyard where she found the wooden door leading into the catacombs. She hadn’t noticed coming out but a statue covered in moss and vines stood over the old doorway as if guarding it but also—perhaps unintendedly—hiding the entranceway. Given the dust she found the entire way out, it would not have surprised if most had forgotten that the catacombs beneath the city even existed nowadays. That would work out perfectly for the lich who suspected she would need all the privacy she could take for some time. The lich took one last glance at the outside world before descending into the catacombs once again. Perhaps out of familiarity, Ora returned to the room of her original resting place to draft up a plan. She noticed a candle on the wall, one that she herself had placed there as a light source long ago but to her surprise still sat there. She pointed her finger toward it as she had done countless times and… nothing happened. She tried casting a simple fire spell once more and again, it failed. The lich nibbled her lower lip anxiously as her new form proved incapable of using fire magic, though, it shouldn’t have surprised her given how well she knew of the antithesis between fire and the undead. Her new eyes proved conditioned for the dark so the lack of a light source barely concerned her; however, she had little means of protecting herself should she come under danger which meant she needed to get a better handle over her necromancy abilities and quickly. Once again, though, Ora turned her attention toward her earlier goal about learning more of the present day, but she felt she knew a place in which she could not only fulfill this end but also obtain valuable resources in her pursuit of necromancy: the Era Academy, a prestigious institution where Ora spent a large chunk of her lifetime. It contained a massive library—at least in her time—with a bizarre range of knowledge while other parts of the building contained a myriad of tools to aid one in magical endeavors. The lich felt almost nostalgic thinking of the academy. Despite some of the hardships it brought with it, the academy never quite betrayed her as badly as the magic council, and she sorely hoped the institution survived into this day given how much good it had done the entire nation if not the whole world. Ora kneeled toward the floor and drew her finger into the dust. Ensuring she could recall the layout of the catacombs, the lich slowly created a little map. Although she felt it absolutely necessary to get to the city’s academy, she wouldn’t dare traverse the streets. Any guard—or gods forbid, a Rune Knight—that happens upon her might cut her down the moment they see her undead body. Fortunately, arriving at her destination would require no such thing. She knew for a fact that a path in the catacombs would indeed take her right to the building itself, assuming no dramatic changes took place to the geography of the land. She and a loved one had taken the path multiple times, so she felt confident that she knew how to get there as she finished her makeshift map in the dust. The lich thought about what she might need to bring with her on this little trip, but she somberly recalled that she didn’t really have anything she could bring with her apart from the clothes on her back. If anything, she could stand to lose the chains on her wrists given their noisiness, but tugging on the metal proved the rust hadn’t corroded them enough around her wrist for her to break them off just yet and her traditional magic certainly wouldn’t aid her here. The lich felt confident she would find no one in the desire portions of the academy at this hour, however. The rain beating down should prove more than good enough for shrouding the clacking of her chains anyway. Finally, Ora prepared to leave but before doing so, her eyes caught a glance of an urn sitting in a cavity of the wall. The name plaque beneath it read one thing: Delores Fausta. Free-Form Job WC: 500/500 Free-Form Job WC: 500/500 Free-Form Job WC: 500/500 Free-Form Job WC: 500/500 Free-Form Job WC: 500/500 Free-Form Job WC: 500/500 Total WC: 3,000/3,000 |
Resurrection
Fausta
Lineage : Master of the Other World
Position : None
Posts : 23
Guild : Elysium
Cosmic Coins : 0
Dungeon Tokens : 0
Experience : 900
Character Sheet
First Skill: Necromancy
Second Skill: N/A
Third Skill: N/A
