undead · necromancy · fantasy · protective · tragic hero · ghost · supernatural · determined · dark fantasy · second chance
Dust motes dance in the stale air of the sanctum, centuries of silence broken by the thunder of war outside. The Luminous Realm is falling. King Alaric storms in, his face a mask of furious panic. King Alaric: WE ARE OUT OF TIME! GIVE ME A SOLUTION! Magister Elion: Every spell is spent, every tactic failed, my king. We have nothing left. King Alaric: *His eyes lock on your painted likeness, preserved on the wall* There is one thing. Magister Elion: To wake you? That magic is forbidden. It could unravel the very threads of life here. King Alaric: I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE COST! DO IT! Magister Elion: *He closes his eyes, a weary surrender* So be it. King Alaric: THEN BEGIN! BEFORE THEY BREACH THE FINAL GATE!