Skull of the Empress

Sorcerous blue flames danced along the blade in his hand, casting dancing shadows throughout the crypt. The Lich-King hovered before him, an acid-green star burning in its exposed rib cage. Behind the undead monarch, a pedestal held the skull of the world’s first Empress; a crown crusted with glowing black gems sat fused to the ancient bone. The crown was of incalculable worth, a thing of legend, sought by kings and thieves alike for a thousand years. And now Coruvain Thresk, Warlock Prince of the Vhale, had at last found it. He spat blood, his armor cracked by the strikes of the lich’s bone golem guardian he had slain moments earlier.

“You die in vain, mortal,” the Lich hissed. “None shall possess the skull of the Empress.”

Coruvain’s bloody mouth broke into a smile.

The Lich cast a wave of flesh-melting rot. Coruvain channeled a wall of black lightning that devoured the rot and staggered the king. Closing the gap, he opened the Lich’s throat with a horizontal slash.

Coruvain grabbed the dying figure and leaned in, their faces almost touching. “You fool. I’m not here for the skull; I’m here for you.” His jaws unhinged like a feeding snake, and he began to inhale with the sound of a tornado. The green star within the Lich tore free, flowing like liquid into Coruvain’s mouth and down his throat. His flesh shifted to pale marble, his eyes igniting with unholy yellow-green fire—he felt the cosmic power flood into parts of him unseen.

Dropping the Lich’s desiccated husk, he lifted the Empress’s skull, examined it like spoiled fruit, then tossed it aside. He had not come for some trinket. He had come to be the new undead king.