"Two hundred twenty-two thousand, three hundred thirty-nine..."
The dull blade, my companion for the last four millennia since the Great War, has finally succumbed to the passage of time. It crumbled to dust between my skeletal fingers.
Only my spectral stone remains. Despite my attempts to shatter it in every way, it has not been untouched.
It still pulsed with a sickly glow and reeked of graves.
I have long since forgotten the screams of my comrades.
Amidst the flames that scorched the last stronghold that day, I too had forgotten the reason I sold my soul to the Abyss.
In exchange for power?
To stop them from dying?
Or was it simply a way to cling to something in utter despair?
Whatever it was, the price has turned me into this...
There is no longer a heart to tremble.
No more blood to shed tears.
I am a creature that even death turns away from in disdain.
Only a barren will clings to the remnants of memory.
They call me Lich.
A corpse, cursed by immortality.
Born of mistakes and late regrets.
I used to be human.
Now..
I am just a tattered shadow of myself.
And even...
I can hardly remember my own name.