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Artur had thought that being a walking skeleton was insane, but this was even crazier! Backing away from the center of the room, only turning once he had reached one of the many hallways that fanned out from the structure. One thing was for certain, he did not want to wait for that thing to come back. From what he had understood from his teachers, this was supposed to be a gateway; a portal to other locations in this realm. That wasn't from this realm, the material plane. That was from. . . somewhere else. He didn't know how that thing knew his name, and that frightened him. He decided that he needed to get out of this place as soon as possible, and he started to walk a different direction than the way he had came, setting a scorch-mark on each wall that he passed after each turn. Eventually he would find the way out of here, whether it be the long way or the quick way.
Not like it mattered, he was dead. Living dead, at that. He had never heard of the dead regaining consciousness of their previous life, but of course necromancy wasn't something he had been particularly interested in studying. He walked on, making marks on the walls with each turn from the ball of flame in his hand as his mind raced on with endless questions. Who was that necromancer? Why did he choose him of all souls to raise? How long has he been dead? He knew that all these questions would not be answered in the crypt, but there was little else to do but think.
He pulled the robe close around his body, as if he had a chill. It was purely a reflex, as he noticed he didn't feel cold at all. In fact, he didn't feel anything. He had been walking these corridors for gods-knows how long and wasn't even the least bit tired. He paused for a moment when he realized that he wouldn't need to sleep or eat ever again. Those were his two favorite things! No more lazy days lounging in the silk sheets of his bedchamber, reading old tombs whilst eating yellow cheese. If he still had eyes, he would've wept. After his lament, Artur continued on, determined to find the way out of this maze.
There was a rustle of wind around one hallway that whipped his robe back and almost put out the small fire in his palm. He had found it! Quickening his pace, he walked up the inclining hallway. At the end, the entrance was almost completely covered in sand, save a three foot hole. Artur had to crawl on his hands and knees to get through the opening, and looked around in despair at the scene before him. Ruins. What was once a sacred academy to the magic arts now lay almost completely buried in the sand of the desert. How could this happen, was he really gone this long? He was bewildered at the notion of what year it must be, for erosion of this magnitude to occur. Where was his people? Surely they hadn't all died out.
Pulling the hood onto his skull, he walked into the desert heading to the where the borderlands used to be. He had to find a way to answer at least some of his questions. He had to know what had become of his homeland, and his house. He had to figure out what he was going to do about what he is.
Not like it mattered, he was dead. Living dead, at that. He had never heard of the dead regaining consciousness of their previous life, but of course necromancy wasn't something he had been particularly interested in studying. He walked on, making marks on the walls with each turn from the ball of flame in his hand as his mind raced on with endless questions. Who was that necromancer? Why did he choose him of all souls to raise? How long has he been dead? He knew that all these questions would not be answered in the crypt, but there was little else to do but think.
He pulled the robe close around his body, as if he had a chill. It was purely a reflex, as he noticed he didn't feel cold at all. In fact, he didn't feel anything. He had been walking these corridors for gods-knows how long and wasn't even the least bit tired. He paused for a moment when he realized that he wouldn't need to sleep or eat ever again. Those were his two favorite things! No more lazy days lounging in the silk sheets of his bedchamber, reading old tombs whilst eating yellow cheese. If he still had eyes, he would've wept. After his lament, Artur continued on, determined to find the way out of this maze.
There was a rustle of wind around one hallway that whipped his robe back and almost put out the small fire in his palm. He had found it! Quickening his pace, he walked up the inclining hallway. At the end, the entrance was almost completely covered in sand, save a three foot hole. Artur had to crawl on his hands and knees to get through the opening, and looked around in despair at the scene before him. Ruins. What was once a sacred academy to the magic arts now lay almost completely buried in the sand of the desert. How could this happen, was he really gone this long? He was bewildered at the notion of what year it must be, for erosion of this magnitude to occur. Where was his people? Surely they hadn't all died out.
Pulling the hood onto his skull, he walked into the desert heading to the where the borderlands used to be. He had to find a way to answer at least some of his questions. He had to know what had become of his homeland, and his house. He had to figure out what he was going to do about what he is.