The old Elf felt lonely without anyone there beside him at night, so he began to softly sing.

A soft quiet song.

A lullaby.

The lullaby he had sung to his four small children, two sets of twins, two girls and two boys, each two years apart.

He missed his children.

They had been murdered, poisoned with tainted chocolate, them their throats slit. A haunted memory of the blood filled nursery, plagued Quaraun's tortured sleep.

Two girls age twelve, two boys age ten, murdered in a bloody magic ritual.

Quaraun stopped singing.

Tears streaming from his eyes.

"I loved my children," Quaraun said to himself. "But I loved BoomFuzzy more."

Quaraun had murdered his children on the one hundredth anniversary of BoomFuzzy's death. An attempt to resurrect BoomFuzzy, with a blood sacrifice, life for life, exchanging the thing he loved most of all, his children, for the return of his long dead lover.

The exchange had worked, but not completely.

BoomFuzzy's soul was back.

Ripped from the land of the dead, now cursed to roam the land of the living.

A incorporeal wraith, a ghost with no body, worse, a Lich with no flesh. Enraged by what Quaraun had done, the Lich immediately fled, to where Quaraun did not know. And so once again, Quaraun was alone, separated from now not only the one he loved, but now with no family to love either.

And so Quaraun wandered the world. In search of BoomFuzzy's tormented ghost, while seek a way to restore the wraith into a physical flesh body, that they could be reunited in life, once again.

The wraith had no voice to speak with the living.

No flesh to hug and hold.

Alone.

Lonely.

Lost.

Tormented.

It would have been nice to have someone to talk to. Nicer to have someone to hold. BoomFuzzy in his current Lich state, could talk to no one, hold no one. He could only reach out and try to touch them, his hand going through them, and far back in horror as he watched them crystallize in a horrible blue death, a frozen blue ice, The Crystal Plague spreading throughout their body, starting at the location he had touched.

They died.

Everyone he touched.

Everything he touched.

Every plant.

Every animals.

The Frost Lich's frozen touch of death, struck terror in the hearts of mankind.

So many dead. Entire villages, buried in ice. All because of him. Because he were looking for something. Someone. A lover lost. He wasn't afraid anymore.

BoomFuzzy.

The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

King Gwallmaiic.

The most feared Faerie King of all time.

Now the most feared Lich the world had ever known. He didn’t care anymore. He'd roamed the world trying not to freeze everything he touched, but he no longer cared.

Depression filled his mind.

He wanted death.

He crazed for death. But he was already dead.

Now undead. A flesh-less corpse walking among the living.

The Phooka of a Thousand Deaths, he roamed the world endlessly killing himself over and over again, in search of a way to die and stay dead.

But he was soul bound to an Elf.

To Quaraun.

And as long as Quaraun lived, the Lich could never fully die.

The Lich grew to hate Quaraun. His lover from once before, was now his curse that trapped him in this state of existing not dead, yet not alive.

For as much as Quaraun loved BoomFuzzy, BoomFuzzy hated Quaraun.

Hated Quaraun for the wish misspoken, that had bound their souls together, trapping them for eternity, always connected together, always separate, never together. The Lich that once in life had been BoomFuzzy, thought to kill Quaraun and free himself of this curse.

So many lay dead in his path. If only he hadn’t touched them.

The Lich had come this way, drifting through these forests, freezing everything he touched. A path of frozen trees, only days ago, lush, green and full of life, now stood dead, frozen, strange blue crystal points, skewered through their bark, trunk, and leaves. Everything touched by the frozen wraith had the life sucked out of it, and nothing but frozen blue quartz crystals left behind.

He passes by the village.

The villagers flee before him, and he laughs.

This is their world. Now his.

They are the rulers, he is the servant, no more.

In life The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley had been a holy terror, a warlord who marches his armies across nations, slaughtering all in his path. No one understood why Quaraun loved him. What Quaraun ever saw in such an evil man. But now, The Elf Eater was long dead, and his frosty Lichified wraith roamed the earth, striking more fear into the hearts of humanity than he had ever done in life.

Nothing but frozen blue ice.

Nothing but deadened snow.

Nothing but the cold.

The Lich had found a cave hidden within the forest, deep into the mountains. He had crawled into it and slept, and when he awoke, it was time to go again, searching for some fresh game. It didn’t matter what it was; something big enough to eat would do. Anything larger was gone, killed, or fled. No one dared approach the lair of the Lich, who was known for being cruel and merciless.

But even he couldn’t find an endless supply of food here. There were no animals nearby, and they knew better than to wander too close. Even if there were, there was still the risk of his touch freezing them in place, trapping them forever inside his lair.

So they stayed away from the lair, watching it from afar, hoping that someone else might stumble upon its depths.

But no other had, since the Lich had come to live there.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been at the lair.

It felt like it had been centuries.

Days.

Nights.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Seasons.

Time had ceased to exist.

Only days mattered anymore, days that meant nothing, only days where the Lich was alone, and hungry.

When it felt like all was lost.

To kill the Elf Eater, destroy the wraith, rid the world of this icy lich, was the battle cry of millions of cities, millions of villages, who lived in mortal terror that one day this lich would walk through their village and leave behind, as it always did, nothing but icy death.

And while most sought to destroy the Lich, Quaraun sought to free him, restore him to life, release him from his frosty flesh-less cursed existence.

And that was why Quaraun was here, in this valley, whose name he did not know, near a village he also knew not the name of.

Quaraun was following the Lich that was all that remained of BoomFuzzy, and it had walked through he mere days ago.

To free the lich, to bring him back from the brink of death, to find the rare flower that could re-energize his corpse and bring him back to life... that was his goal. Why he followed the Lich's icy trail.

And so Quaraun, he followed the Lich, keeping silent, keeping his eyes on the horizon where the Lich travelled, and keeping watch for any sign that BoomFuzzy might be coming near.

And then he came to a river.

A river, flowing fast, flowing far.

He followed it upstream, moving closer to the riverbank, until finally he realized it was not an ordinary river.

An icy river.

An icy river running through an icy forest.

The river was alive.

Quaraun followed the river, and found its source, and it was not natural. Not normal, not natural at all.

There was no water. But rather strange magic that looked like water, smelled like water, tasted like water, but was not water.

There should have been, with the rivers in this place.

This place was supposed to be frozen over.

This was supposed to be lifeless, dead land.

Dead ground.

And yet... life pervaded, even though the footsteps of the Lich had walked through here.

This river ran through it as though it were alive. As though it flowed with life. And as it moved, the air around it grew warmer, the light brighter. And suddenly, Quaraun could feel warmth on his skin, and smell summertime.

Summertime!

What a strange place.

For a moment he hesitated, unsure if he should continue onward.

Wasn't the river dangerous?

If the water froze, wouldn't it trap the whole world under ice?

And if the river was frozen, wouldn't it freeze him too?

Or worse?

Wouldn't the undead creatures within be trapped, trapped forever beneath the ice?

Yes. Yes.

He had to hurry.

Had to reach the end. Before the sun set and the moon rose.

And so Quaraun continued on, until at last he came to this clearing, where he had set up his tent for the night and now sat humming to himself, trying to calm his frazzled nerves, after be awoken by the blood spattered nightmare that haunted him every night.

This was no place for a nightmare.

It was beautiful here.

Pristine, serene.

A small quiet meadow full of plants, lush with greenery.

A pond off the side of the river, full of cat tails and water lilies.

Quaraun sat wrapped in BoomFuzzy's furs, for many hours and listened to the soft hum of the crickets, cicadas, and frogs croaking and chirping and buzzing. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that he was lying in the soft warm furs that lined BoomFuzzy’s bed.

The furs were soft and fluffy and smelled like BoomFuzzy, smelling of anise, gingerbread, peppermint and wormwood, and there was a comforting heat that wrapped around Quaraun when he slept. Quaraun wondered if it could feel as comfortable to anyone else, but he never felt more comfortable than when wrapped in BoomFuzzy's fur pelt blankets.

He didn't know what else it could do for them other than being so soft and warm. It had been his favourite thing to do on rainy days or cold nights. After a long day at work, he would come home and curl up under one of the furs in the bedroom of BoomFuzzy's gingerbread house. He always fell asleep faster there.

Quaraun opened his eyes, glanced out the open curtain-door of the tent, and looked up at the starry night sky. It glowed a soft golden hue over the trees and he sighed, resting his head back down on the fur pelt blanket.

Suddenly Quaraun sat up and pulled the covers off as he remembered where he was. He was not snuggled up asleep in the safety of BoomFuzzy's gingerbread house.

No.

BoomFuzzy had died centuries ago and Quaraun was alone.

These were BoomFuzzy's furs, kept these many years, from BoomFuzzy's bed, but BoomFuzzy had long been dead.

Quaraun was alone.

Alone, sleeping in a secluded grove on the side of the road, as he always did now.

Sad and alone.

Lone and chilly.

Wandering the world, to wherever the road took him. With no aim, no goal, and no purpose. Ever on his search to find a way to resurrect his dearly beloved BoomFuzzy.

He was lost.

Lost to the world.

Lost and alone.

Lost to time. Lost to all that made life worth living.

Dead and cold.

Cold and dead.

Quaraun sat in his tent staring at the moonlight shining down, all silver and grey on the lush green plants, making them shimmer blue under the frosty ice crystals.

Quaraun held is breath, staring, panicked at the ice crystals forming over the leaves. Shimmering, sparkling, in the moonlight, like sequins of velvet.

Quaraun looked out the tent, looking past the river, past the pond, and there in the trees, he saw it.

A dark figure, looming in the moonlight.

Watching Quaraun.

Quaraun's blood froze like the ice on the plants around him.

His heart skipped a beat.

"BoomFuzzy!"

It was the Lich.

The Lich, awoken, risen from his slumber.

The Lich, walking towards Quaraun, a big, grinning smile on his face.

The fuzzy, frost Lich frost spread like a blight across the meadow freezing everything it touched.

The river froze. The grass froze.

The tent glazed over, the fabric stiff with fuzzy, frosty, ice.

If the water froze, wouldn't it trap the whole world under ice?

And if the river was frozen, wouldn't it freeze him, too?

Or worse?

Or would it freeze him completely, and leave him frozen in place, frozen forever, with no hope of return?

And then he thought of the gingerbread house and BoomFuzzy, and BoomFuzzy's words of kindness, and remembered all the times he had fallen in love, and remembered the Phooka's words, his promises to take him home.

Home.

Home with BoomFuzzy.

Back in the warmth of the gingerbread house.

Home, in BoomFuzzy's arms. In BoomFuzzy's bed.

The word brought joy to Quaraun's heart. Home. Yes!

The Lich, the Lich that in life had been BoomFuzzy, was there, his hand reaching out to Quaraun, beckoning, inviting Quaraun into his cold, icy embrace.

"Follow me home, lil one," BoomFuzzy's voice said, drifting ghost-like on the wind.

No.

No!

NO!

Sunrise slowly crept across the meadow, and chased away the frozen fog. Melted away the frost on the grass. And chased to the shadows, the Lich that could not bare to step forth in the sunlight.

"No! Don't leave me!"

But the Lich was gone.

Quaraun closed his eyes and back away from the door, and hid in the back of the tent.

All that ever mattered now, was to find his friend. Find the man who would love him so very much, that when he returned to BoomFuzzy, he would have someone else, by his side.

Quaraun had been wandering through these lands, trying to find a way out, a way back to his own realm. But now, looking at this icy river, the idea of returning to those shores sounded wonderful. Perhaps he would make it back there. Perhaps he could find a way to save BoomFuzzy, and bring him back to the land of the living.

So he would follow the river, keep track of its flow, make sure it went straight forward, and stay in it as long as he needed to. Then, when he felt the need to return, he would return.

He would return.

With the new spring he had found.

Quaraun wandered the world, going from town to town, looking for books, tomes, scrolls, diaries, notes, anything written by a mage.

Any mage.

Scoring the world for clues, to any mage who might ever have tried to cheat death, tried to resurrect a loved one. Anything that Quaraun could learn that might be of some sort of usefulness for bringing BoomFuzzy back to life.

Quaraun now sat awake, looking around and wondering what he should do next, than he remembered that he had seen a small farm village up ahead. He decided to pack up his tent, and explore the village. Perhaps it had a library or a book collector, or maybe even a village which, someone who might have access to magic spell books he could study and read and take notes from.