A loud knock filled the chamber where Christoph now scrambled to his feet beside his own corrupted corpse. His limbs were longer, his body more massive, and the tail on his backside flicked to one side causing him to lose balance and topple back over. Christoph’s various new trinkets and tools clattered with the impact, but he quickly straightened himself. Carefully standing, doing his best to keep the heavy tail in check, he moved as quietly as he could behind the pillar where his corpse stood. Straining himself as before, he willed his body to move until he could rest, mentally exhausted, against the stone.

Another series of knocks came from the monstrous doors.

Christoph remained silent—his tail now swinging wildly behind him.

Then the door creaked open.

“Master?” There was a short figure hunched into the slight crack in the doors. He was almost whispering; the way a child enters a room in hopes of not upsetting a busy parent. “Master, are you there? We heard noises. Is it complete?” There was a hint of giddiness to his voice.

Christoph watched from around a pillar, through several jutting bones, as the figure moved slightly into the doorway. It was clearly visible to him. Christoph was able to see much better in the dark. The eyes of a dragonkin are far superior to those of a human. This is just one of many traits that our young man must figure out along his journey.

“Master. You said three days. The time has passed and the minions have collapsed.” The creature emerged from the shadows of the door. It was a small, muscular goblin.

Christoph had only heard rumors of the little green people. His village had often used them as fairytale bandits of children who weren’t very good to their parents. You didn’t see them coming because they were as tall as the grass. They’d sneak right into town and bag the naughty child up before taking them back to the camp for a snack.

It was troubling, but such times and lifestyles call for more drastic measures when trying to keep your youth alive. Anyone wandering too far from the village could be subject to a roaming horde of these miniature miscreants. They were often noted to be quick to violence, often not the brightest of the humanoid species, and relied heavily on numbers instead of actual skill or strength.

In this slice of the world; however, goblins were far more than a mindless bundle of murderers. They were given purpose. They had developed more than the other tribes in this area of the world specifically because of the one this goblin had called “Master.”

Christoph remained behind the pillar, but he still wasn’t in control of his tail or limbs. This and the fact that his snout was quite longer than the nose of his human form, he was sticking out on both ends of the pillar. It didn’t take long for the goblin to spot the figure attempting, and failing, to hide.

“Master!” The goblin smiled wickedly. He was partially hunched as a lump claimed the left shoulder. He wore leathers with several buttons and buckles. It was rather nice gear for something Christoph believed to be a short oaf.

Green skin was the first thing Christoph fixated on. It was quite green, and it would have made spotting this fellow in the grasslands quite difficult. His hair was a deeper green with specs of blue sprinkled in. The hair was tied up in a thick ponytail that rose almost completely vertical. His arms were swollen with muscle. Even in the faint light, the sweat on the curves of his arms was impressive for a being of such a short stature.

“Master?” He stood in a defensive stance in the opening before the altar; eyeing his newly reborn ruler.

He knows. Christoph began to panic. His tail swung wildly and caused him to dig his claws into the pillar from being thrown over again. What do I do? Anxiety, though dampened through undeath, swelled up. The tail he couldn’t control slapped the ground with a loud, dulled boom.

The goblin flinched and lowered his shoulders. He bowed to the master. One knee even slid forward. His head hung as if he’d disgraced himself before a deity.

“A thousand pardons, my Master.” His voice was quieted and expectant of what was to follow. “To approach you in such a way. To have questioned you. Please, forgive me.” Regret was almost palpable.

What is going on? The dragonkin remained partially hidden. What’s he doing?

The goblin’s head didn’t rise. He wouldn’t have dared to look upon his ruler without consent; especially following such a blunder. Approaching without permission? Unthinkable in these cold halls of darkened stone.

“Please accept my apologies, Master. I’ve only come per your request of three days.” His eyes remained plastered to the floor. “I will accept any punishment.”

His devotion, mostly consisting of fear, was a mystery to Christoph until he reexamined the body of the goblin. Deep scars and slightly discolored flesh covered patches of the goblin’s arms and neck—that which was not hidden beneath his hide and leather clothes.

There was a long silence. Only the sound of the tail tapping softly against the stone kept Christoph from losing himself in the quiet. I’m going to get caught. He’ll never let me leave here alive if I don’t do something.

“Master, please.” The goblin bowed further. His chin dug into his chest as he almost curled up into a ball before his glorious, and often brutal, leader.

“W-what did I say about three days?”

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The voice was harsh and deep. It felt strange hearing it come out of his mouth, but Christoph did his best to not give away too much so early. Maybe I can lie my way out of this. That’s my only hope. He didn’t straighten himself. Instead, he asked the goblin his questions while partially hiding behind the pillar—beside his own corpse.

“Master, you told the garrison that one of us should check on you three days after you’d finished the ritual.” He continued to bow as he spoke. “It has been three days, and the ritual seems to have been a success! Glory to you, Master.”

“What ritual?”

“A test? Yes, of course! You demanded our absence and an increase of security at our gates while you completed your potion and ritual. Our Master, the ruler of death, has now overcome it. You are now a lich, yes?”

These words were a jumbled mess for Christoph to decipher. He’d never heard of a “lich” before. It wasn’t something common in the world. Such a small percentage of individuals were capable of using magic beyond the most basic levels, and even fewer were talented enough to reach beyond the usual limitations to achieve greatness such as this. Magic to stave off Death himself… quite a feat.

“What,” Christoph cleared his dried throat in hopes of probing further, “is a lich?” Make it sound like you’re testing him. That’s what he thinks this is. Stay calm. Christoph attempted to play off the creature’s apparent ignorance.

“A lich is the highest of undead. Our master has completed the ritual to become an undead that can never die! Hail to our great master!” The goblin was now on all fours and bowing his head continuously. “You told us to gather the phylactery once finished and set it into your throne. A throne worthy of the new King of the Undead!”

King of the Undead?! Christoph choked and coughed at hearing the title. Just who in the world did I end up inside?!

“You are amazing, Master. To overcome death and become our eternal ruler, our clan rejoices in your supreme power.”

Jeeze, this guy can sure grovel. Christoph felt like wincing away from the overly obedient goblin. Not quite the terrifying monster I’d expected from the stories. “Y-yes. I am your master!” He wasn’t sure if he’d put enough confidence or the right tone into the voice, but the monster nodded his head again in agreement.

“Shall I place the phylactery into the throne? It has been worked on by our finest craftsmen over the last several days, my Lord.”

Christoph wasn’t sure how to continue. He’d never seen the item the goblin spoke of, nor did he know where it was. “Y-yes. Take it and leave me!” The voice was shaking a bit. The scaled lips quivered as he spoke. A soft puttering sound accompanied the words. His tail still swung uncontrollably behind him as the limbs tensed and loosened in spastic waves of thought.

“Of course, Master.” The goblin tapped his forehead to the ground and then hurried, eyes dropped, to the altar. He was almost as tall as the table, but hopping a few times gave him the height he needed to see the jeweled item in the center of the table. Before he even reached for it, the goblin exhaled in awe. “Incredible, Master. Your soul is truly overwhelming!” Such flattery when speaking of a far less developed soul than that of his true master. Christoph’s spirit did present an astounding aura, but it lacked that certain darkness only a truly mad wizard could produce. The goblin, having no knowledge of such things, stared with an open jaw at the item.

“Indeed!” The false wizard was now peering around the other side of the pillar. He was keeping an eye on the goblin that turned toward his direction. Christoph shrunk a bit behind the stone, but the goblin’s eyes quickly dropped back to the floor. There was panic in the creature’s eyes. He hurried himself down the stares from the altar and toward the door—holding the precious phylactery close to his chest. Christoph couldn’t help but feel a thorn pierce his heart at the frightened being, “W-what is your name?”

What in the freaking Seven Hells are you doing?! Christoph slapped one claw over his muzzle and drew back behind the pillar.

“M-m-my name?” The goblin froze near the door.

He’s on to me! Oh, no! He knows! Christoph tried to steady his tail and took hold of the sword at his side. I may have to fight my way out of here! Dammit! I blew it!

“Master has never asked my name.” Yup, Christopher thought, now I’m going to have to kill him. At least he’s small. The goblin turned toward the pillar, no questioning or lack of loyalty in those eyes, and bowed deeply—still holding the precious trinket close to his heart. “Thank you, my lord. To speak my name in your presence is a blessing. My name is Nowl, Master.”

“Nowl.” The voice which repeated the name was deep with contemplation. Completely surprised by the reaction, Christoph nodded slowly and repeated the name. “Nowl, thank you for your service.”

The goblin smiled a jagged grin. His shoulders relaxed a little, but he still clung to that aura-emanating artifact. “You are too kind. I live for the glory of Master.”

Jeeze, a bit over the top. Christoph still held onto the handle of his new blade. He wasn’t sure if he’d saved himself or if the goblin was tricky enough to see through the deception. I need to get out of here.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The goblin bowed several times while backing out of the chambers. The door then shut behind him with a resonating boom.

There was quiet again. The stench of death and the silence in shadows were the only companions Christoph had. His own rotting corpse was a supplier of both. With the doors shut and the world visible through new eyes, Christoph gradually worked his way around the pillar to look at his body again.

“What happened?” His claws covered his face. “Why?” The lifeless boy, trapped in a cage of bones, watched with sunken, hazy eyes. Fog had gathered behind the lenses. Christoph had the rather rare displeasure of seeing himself dead.

Swinging back and forth like a metronome, the tail behind Christoph was gradually becoming more of a useful appendage. He wasn’t standing straight yet, but his back was becoming less and less slanted as time went on. Able to balance himself, Christoph stood before his corpse with a grimace.