—???—

At least, Malewicz should have died. By all respects, by all laws of tampering with forbidden spells, by all that is sensible and right. Instead, his flesh began to melt off, and his organs began to pool. Together they formed a putrid sludge that poured into the crudely carved lines in the floor, filling in the shape of a happy tree, and a stick figure family, as his blood began to float, turning to mist in the air. Indeed, even his soul began its descent to the hells, only to be caught! Stuck in the air within that foul mist, and forced to scurry back into his bones out of fear.

What should have followed such an occurrence is but a simple skeleton. A soul, dispersed throughout the whole skeleton such that it begins to form a new structure of arcane muscles and tendons, that can be plied through magical will. Something that any even meddling necromancer, any raw neophyte could accomplish with ease, and only a true fool could mess up. However, his soul, perhaps reacting to the magics in the air, snuck into his skull instead. Almost in its entirety, with only thin wisps foaming out to form fragile outlines where once muscles stood. And thus, Malewicz awoke the next day as a Lich.

But, how, one might wonder? To so butcher forbidden spells, to so carelessly follow the words of old, long-dead evils(or middle-aged, short-dead children’s rhyme writers, in this case), and to so wantonly ignore all sense and reason? It was the true height of idiocy that such a ritual was even attempted! The ‘Mowysmierica’ he had was indeed not even the great ritual book! Almost all such books had been destroyed centuries ago by paladins and errant knights. In truth, it was a book of old imperial children’s stories, the Waslowrunica, the phrase Malewicz having read being but a children’s rhyme, the ritual lines in the floor a crude depiction of a house, a family, and indeed, a happy little tree.

But magic responds greatly to will, and it is indeed the great will and surety(perhaps somewhat abated by fear) that had led the steps to work.

This was something that no mage, not even the greatest archmage, could have possessed, for they had known failure in the Arcane, perhaps failing to cast a simple fireball or a cantrip as an acolyte. Indeed, Malewicz believed himself to be capable of even greater than his abilities.

Such belief, such idiotic will had coalesced into the mana giving the ritual a confidence necessary such that it bent and gave way, altering the very fabric of reality to grant Malewicz his wish, in a way that the more structured, indeed, ‘safe’, new magic of scholarly magi would never be capable of. Capable of, of course, due to their desire to keep their flesh on their bones. And their desire to live, not to die, as Malewicz had envisioned. Indeed, it took a true madman to wish for death from magic, and then expect something afterwards besides the cycle, the hells, or an afterlife. And Malewicz, slayer of many, his nieces, his nephews, his brother, his sister, and his parents? Who had a death warrant across everywhere that had heard even mention of his crimes? Well, he was such a madman.

Indeed, even as Malewicz’s soul slumbered, undergoing the transformation into a lich, something only not made instant due to his belief that it would not be instant(the magic simply rendering him asleep to sustain the illusion), guards searched for him, searching for the mad killer… imbecile, that had so haunted the Creswovich family. Of course, the one place he was in, the Crewsovich tomb, was not seen as a real possibility of his location.

For he was an idiot, not capable of feats of reanimation! And certainly not a necromancer… and even indeed, if he were such a necromancer, he would require souls in order to reanimate bodies(something that would hardly stick around more than a few weeks after death), which was, although not common knowledge, known enough to make searching the tomb seem a dismal prospect. Even if Malewicz, that cretinous idiot son, had somehow mastered necromancy, he would perhaps only find a single stubborn soul down there to use.

And it was thus that Malewicz Crewsovich awoke the next day, flexed his bony fingers, and rejoiced.

—MALEWICZ—

*Click* *Clack* *Click* *Clack*

I let out a sinister laugh. Well, my now skeletal jaw allowed me only a series of clicks, and clacks. Lacking any vocal cords I could no longer laugh… I would have to work on that! But for now, my GRAND plan… At LAST, was successful. They had called me MAD, an idiot, a simpleton.

But now?

They were soon to be dead. They would all kiss my boots! Or… wait, did liches wear boots? I must consult the TOME! I scrambled up before catching myself. NO! I clacked, I would consult the tome NO longer! I had outgrown it yes, surpassed Hesmir! I had no need of the tome, it was hard to read anyway.

—???—

Something that was already a challenge for Malewicz…

—MALEWICZ—

It too only described how to become a lich, not proper footwear for newly anointed Arch-Arch-Liches. And of course, as the first such Arch-Arch-Lich, I would be writing my own rules from now on, no more following the LIES of my father, or family. The mutterings of my inferiors shall not be kept in any sort of status. However… there would no doubt be countless guards patrolling above… having heard word of my horrid ritual, and no doubt feeling my GREAT arcane entrance into the world anew… I would need MINIONS! And it was a evil thing then, that the family tomb was at my disposal. Though the bodies of my close family are no doubt unusable, seeing as they were drained in the ritual. And it seems that boots, and clothing, were not something I should wear. They were ill-fitted and clung to my bones un…boningly and as such, I took them off.

—???—

They were not in truth, drained, and indeed, could have been used for necromancy by any neophyte of the dark arts, truly, they might be the only bodies in the tomb new enough to hold souls. Of course, to a lich it would be child’s play. But that would require even a surface level understanding of anything relating to souls. Something Malewicz… lacked.

—MALEWICZ—

I would have to look through the tombs’ INNUMERABLE caskets for a suitable corpse!

.

.

.

I… had a problem. The TOME had only covered how to become a lich… not much else. I thought, at least. It was a hard book to read, the characters in some evil and forbidden language, only bearing a passing resemblance to Pravkan. Perhaps I should go and consult i— NO! I was better than the charlatan Hesmir. Oh yes, I would prove it. Raising a skeleton from the dead? HAH, what trife. Anyone could do that. Dionyzni(the enemy!) had been clear on that. That any random peasant could become a neophyte if sufficiently… something.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Regardless, it would be easy for an Arch-Arch-Lich like myself to do. I approached the next casket, of some Crewsovich, and began to will the magic, as I had been taught, to reanimate the corpse.

.

.

.

Nothing happened, however.

*CLACK *CLICK* *CLAAACK* I cursed. Could I truly not be as gra—*CLICK* NO! I was that grand, it was clearly this casket that was the problem… it clearly had been enchanted to prevent dark magic from touching it.

I pried the lid off, revealing a dusty old set of bones. Just like my family to prepare for every eventuality, to think they’d place enchantments into the caskets. I resumed my sorcery! Willing the dark magic—now unrestricted from enchanted stone lid!—to animate the bones of the skeleton.

—???—

Of course, in truth, necromancy requires a soul to bind. Just as Malewicz had been animated through the soul acting out its memory, in tendons, ligaments, and muscles, so too would necromancy use the memory of the soul, to allow the necromancer to avoid having to use the sheer force of will—and knowledge of human anatomy, to completely reconstruct human musculature. Or at the least, one capable of moving bones about. Of course, the Arch-Lich, Hesmir had been said to be capable of such feats, though at great effort.

However, the magic within Malewicz, that strong will, and intent that made him manifest again, knew of how it was bound. How it moved. And it simply, taught, nay infected the magic around the bones to move, to bind itself without soul. And the magic, so infected, so malignantly touched, simply did what it remembered. It created a musculature, as it had seen on these bones before, as it had seen on the numerous humans that had ever existed. And as it knew in a way no mere human could ever hope to know.

—MALEWICZ—

The body, THE BONES, began to rise. The skeleton creaking together, as bones and matter sat inert for UNTOLD EONS began to move themselves once more, and they stood, crawling out of the casket to stand beside my GRANDEUR!

—???—

A skeleton, a basic necromantic creature had been created, but not by traditional means, no, by the means that only Malewicz, existing as he…they do now as a force of will manifest could.

—MALEWICZ—

EASY! Simple even, I had struggled, but that was… due to NO fault of my own! It was simply the paranoia—NO!—wise thinking of my ancestors—who in truth, are related to ME, explaining their GREATNESS!—that had caused a momentary ERROR! I had my first minion, and he moved much in the way I expected.

Clatteringly and… clickity. He shambled, more than walked, and swayed, more than stood. But he would do… YES, I had heard of the GREAT conquests and vigor of the skeleton, that could MARCH ETERNAL, and labor forever! He would serve as the GRAND start to my loyal army, and would ensure that were would be NO more orders pressed on me from above! No no no, I will give the orders now. I am the orderer now.

*Click!* I ordered the creature, and it marched, according to my will, boldly shambling forwa—*CLACK* I CURSED.

It had hit a wall. Not a metaphorical one, you see, it had RUN INTO A DAMNABLE WALL! It seems the minion is not blessed with my GREAT intellect. *Click* I will ensure this does not happen again.

*Click* *Clack* *Click* *Click* *Clack*, I ordered. Ensuring that the cretin knew his orders now, to march through the tomb, and open caskets, as I marched behind, ready to raise the dead. And to begin my conquests, for soon, yes, soon, I will march on the living!

And I would make them pay for doubting me. And then… I did not know. Or wait, yes! I will surpass HESMIR! And become the first Arc—No, I had done that. *Click*... I would continue I guess… and bring ruin and desolation to all of Pravka! Yes, I like that, and then… the world! YES truly, I will SORROW THE LANDS AND… hmm, no, if I sorrowed the lands then who would WORSHIP me as IMMORTAL GOD EMPEROR? I would have to leave some alive, I suppose. But how would I decide??? Those loyal to me? No… No such people existed.

.

.

.

I could demand submission? But who would accept? Necromancers are not known for mercy, and it would look good if I was merciful… I could simply just not kill those who don’t resist? But then how would I spread FEAR? If all people had to do was not resist, then people would think I was a weak ARCH-ARCH-LICH… I would have to come back to this. Maybe after my first conquerings it would make sense.

It always seemed to make more sense after the fact. Like how I had not trusted the petty HEDGE mage who had sold me the Mowysmierica at first, but I began to trust them after they told me of the great lengths they went through to find the tome. Whole adventuring parties—and many knights!—had died to get their hands on it. The mage had told me elves—yes elves!—had been involved. WHO would lie about elves? MY FAMILY! THEY had told me elves were EXTINCT! But the wretch of a mage told me they were simply hiding, and had been using the tome for dark magic rituals! It had cost an ARM—and a leg, but clearly I had been RIGHT to buy it. So I will be RIGHT later after I find out what it is I am right about. Yes… that makes sense.