Van Richten Lich
The woods outside Bolten is inhabited by numerous tribes of goblins and orcs, thus none dare tread it's trails even during daylight without caution. Every twist of the trail could hold an ambush from one of these two greedy races. In addition an underlying series of caverns causes sinkholes throughout the forest floor. Often hidden by the foul creatures of the forest these make perfect traps for the unwary, easily hobbling a mount.
If the travelers of the woods knew what lurked beneath one of the sinkholes very near town they would have more reason to fear. Something far darker of heart than a mere goblin dwells there, and has done so for nearly two centuries.
A small stream trickles over the edge of the sinkhole, gouging itself a trough through the soft limestone to it's floor ten feet below. Here the stream curves under the earth into a darkened passageway. This tunnel twists it's way for a hundred or more yards, slowly descending further from the light, opening into a large cavern.
Were anyone foolish enough to explore this cave, and be knowledgeable of such places, they would be perplexed by it's regularity. No stalactites hang from the ceiling ten feet above, and the floor is as smooth as a nobleman's hall. Save for the small stream in it's confining self carved banks, the cave is completely dry. Likewise the air is warm, regardless of the season. Walking across the cavern to it's opposite wall would present answers for the caves peculiarities, were any one to live so long.
Here stands a door, strong and crafted in a manner that brings to mind on a Royal bedchamber's portal, not a place deep under the earth. It is beyond this door that the darkness lurks.
Eight rooms have been magically carved from the stone beyond that door. Even at first glance it is obvious one has stumbled upon something more than an ancient Dwarven delving.
The first is an elegantly appointed dining hall and sitting room. Branching from this are four doors, one leads to what is obviously a library and spell casting chamber. Two lead to small chambers, such as those an apprentice might inhabit in their master's home. The final door leads to four rooms with an environment even more strange to a cavern.
Temperatures in these rooms soar into the hundreds during the day, dropping to chilling temperatures at night, much like the variances of a desert. It is these chambers which hold the master of the small complex.
Banished from his homeland for practicing the dark arts, Quaralanthal Antharalan eventually made his home here when his power grew great enough.
Crossing the central hall from his doorway, Quaralanthal waved a hand absently and one of the doors to the smaller chambers opened of it's own accord. A few silent steps brought the dark elf through this portal, his gaze shifted immediately to the bed of the room.
Lying upon the bed, enspelled so she would be unmoving and unknowing of her situation, was a woman. Fine features and flowing red hair too long to be practical in anyone who must work for a living marked her as a noblewoman. The sheer gown she wore was slit nearly to the hip, revealing one long well toned and tanned leg. Quaralan's almond eyes shifted higher to the gentle curve of her hips, and then to her slim waist. His probing gaze moved even higher to where the bodice of her gown strained to hold her ample bosom in the manner of current fashion. A slight smile of desire twitched at his lip as he admired the upper globes of her breasts where they were revealed, held upward and tightly together by the gown.
Settled in the considerable cleavage revealed, supported by a silver chain around her neck, was the only thing which betrayed this was not some mere noblewoman. A bloodstone, set in a ring of bones hung around her neck, the mark of a necromancer. The lack of more elaborate tooling in the amulet told Quaralan she was a mere apprentice, only now considered worthy to consider her studies in earnest.
Snapping his slim fingers, Quaralan released the spell binding the woman. She came to consciousness slowly, as a sleeper awakened early.
"Who are you? What place is this and where is the master?", her voice was firm as if speaking to a servant who moved to slowly for her liking.
The elf bowed deeply, "I am Quaralanthal Antharalan, and you are in my humble home. As to your master...", he snapped his fingers in the direction of the door and it opened.
A grey-bearded man in the robes of a necromancer strode into the room to stop before the bed.
"He is here. Unfortunately...", The dark robed form pitched forward to land face first in the woman's lap, revealing a gory singed hole in his back, "he has met with some misfortune."
The woman scrambled out from beneath the corpse and stood next to the bed, her hand on the bloodstone pendant. "What have you done!", the first words of a spell immediately began to pass her lips.
"I have deemed this one undeserving of the honor of teaching you. And do not seek to use your art against me.", A wave of his hand closed the woman's throat, cutting off her chant with a gasp. A quiet word from his lips caused the corpse to rise and lurch out of the room, trailing blood behind it.
Dropping her hand from the bloodstone pendant, the woman felt the choking grip release her. "And you are more worthy to teach me?"
Gesturing toward the door where the corpse had shambled out moments earlier, the dark elf spoke, "I have taken your former masters life, therefore my power and knowledge must be greater."
An angry retort concerning cowardly blows from the rear was forming on the woman's lips, but she banished it. Knowing full well that even if this one did strike down her master through treachery, he had already proven himself stronger than herself. Sighing, she resigned herself to her course.
"You are to teach me then?"
"I assumed such would only be logical.", the dark elf with a shrug of his narrow shoulders.
"What cost my instruction then, I can afford no more than that which I was able to pay my former teacher."
A faint smile touched Quaralan's lips as he spoke. "Your masters store of tomes and magical items is more than sufficient to cover the trouble I took to destroy him, as well as your instruction costs. Should you prove talented, obedient, and useful you will live and learn. Fail in any of these three areas, and you shall join your former master as my undead servant."
"It seems my choices are limited, and you have already proven to me you are stronger in the art than I. I accept your offer to teach me."
"Most gracious of you to gift me so.", the dark elf sneered with sarcasm. "Now what is your name."
"I am known as..."
"Your truename. And seek not to deceive me, for I shall know and be most ungracious."
"I am Denethia Kinchaze."
"Very well Denethia, ", Quaralan said sinking into a chair, "your first lesson shall be in obedience. Disrobe."
Denethia folded her arms before her. "I would think so powerful a mage would be above such petty amusements."
The dark elf's lip raised in a snarl and raised his arm, delivering a backhand slap at the air before him. Ten feet across the room Denethia's head snapped to the side and she fell to the bed, struck by his magical blow.
"I said... disrobe.", the dark elf repeated, emphasizing the final word.
Denethia locked her eyes into the Quaralan's own almond shaped ones. Her gaze never dropped as she divested herself of her garments. Finished she stood straight and staring, making no attempt to obscure her nude body.
Quaralan rose from his chair and began to walk across the room. A few words passed his lips as he gestured and neared her. Denethia found herself paralyzed, only the muscles of her face having the slightest range of movement. The dark elf came to stand within arm's reach.
"I very well may decide to indulge myself in such", he mimicked her voice as he said the next words, "petty amusements."
He walked around her as if to inspect a piece of displayed merchandise. "In truth I find your body much more attractive than the lean willowy forms of my peoples females.", He came to stand before her again, "The fiery color of your hair does not occur among those of my people. I find it strangely arousing, especially this.", He gestured toward the patch of hair below her navel, "My people shave it since it traps unwanted body heat and sweat in the desert environment."
Quaralan walked across the room to a dressing table. From this he removed a glass goblet etched with strange sigils and poured a slight splashing of wine into it from a nearby bottle. Sitting the goblet down he took up a folded piece of black silk and began unfolding it. Within was a bone handled dagger of dark steel. Taking up the goblet and the dagger he crossed back to where the immobilized Denethia still stood.
"No I do not belive I will be engaging in something so mundane as a thrashing in the sheets at this time. I have a much more satisfying joining we may perform at this time."
Denethia was unable to move enough to see what was occurring as Quaralan knelt before her and widened the space between her knees with a gentle push of his supple fingers. She could barely feel his hands on her, and noticed a tiny prick of pain on her inner thigh.
A few moments later he rose and she could see blood stained the tip of the knife, and that the goblet was now nearly one quarter full with a liquid much darker than the wine he had poured into it earlier.
The dark elf smiled at her and raised a hand to her left breast. Denethia watched with a strange detached feeling as the knife entered her flesh, accompanied by the same prick of pain as she had felt in her thigh. With morbid fascination she watched blood well from the cut and run down the slope of her breast to drip from it's nipple into the waiting goblet.
When the goblet was half full, the dark elf pulled it away. Before Denethia's eyes the cut closed and the bloody stream vanished.
Quaralan then released the goblet, which hovered at his side as if resting upon an invisible table. He shrugged off his own robe revealing a thin but well muscled body covered only by a loincloth. He took up the dagger and repeated the ritual cutting upon himself.
Finally the goblet was full. The dark elf's wounds sealed as had Denethia's own. Quaralan raised the glass before him and the liquid seemed to swirl and sparkle with tiny motes of light.
Raising the goblet to his lips he drank slowly, draining half of it's contents. Sitting the goblet down on it's invisible pedestal he shivered and sighed in profound pleasure. Taking up the goblet once more he raised it to Denethia's lips.
"Won't you drink a toast to our long and profitable partnership my flamehaired apprentice?", he said tipping the goblet up.
Denethia felt the warm liquid flow down her throat. When it came to rest in her stomach a feeling of heat washed over her entire body. Her breath came quickly as a feeling of ecstasy roared through her. Her lips parted and a low moan of pleasure escaped them. The feeling continued for a few more moments, and then darkness descended over her.
* * *
Denethia awoke lying on the bed exactly as she had been before. She was clothed in a black silky garment so thin and light it seemed almost insubstantial. Only moments after she had opened her eyes, Quaralan opened the door and strode into the room.
"Wonderful!", he said with amusement and satisfaction apparent on his expression, "Most subjected to that spell do not awaken for a week or more. You have been asleep for less than a day."
"What was this ritual?", Denethia asked shivering slightly at the memory of the profound feeling of pleasure she had received from it.
"A test of sorts, and insurance of your loyalties as well. The test you passed remarkably. Your quick awakening shows you have remarkable aptitude for the dark arts, an inborn potential that simply needs to be released. As to the insurance, we are now blood linked. You must obey my commands or be subject to a drain on your very lifeforce. It will leave you weak and helpless until such time as you decide to obey my orders once more."
"So I am your slave.", she said rising from the bed. The silken garment clung to her like a second skin.
"No my fair firehair.", Quaralan said sitting and admiring her clinging attire, "No slave you are, but an apprentice. I will take great pleasure in teaching one of your potential. I simply make assurances that you always know who is the master, and who is the pupil."
"A cunning and useful piece of art."
"That you see it as such only reaffirms my belief you will be a remarkable student and useful ally."
Quaralan rose from the chair and crossed the room to stand before her. Denethia remained leaning against the bed as he approached.
"Now I shall deliver my first, and perhaps last command if you are wise and obey my wishes without question.", His voice rose into a commanding tone as he spoke the next words, "Never until the day you die shall you strike me with body, weapon or art. Nor shall you summon up or entreat others to do so for you. This is my command."
Denethia felt a flash of heat where the knife had touched her flesh during the ritual. His words then seemed to sink into her body, becoming a part of her. She knew with remarkable clarity that she would be unable to disobey that order and live to tell the tale.
The note of command left Quaralan's voice when next he spoke with a smile coming to his lips, "Unless I ask such of you. I sometimes find such things.... pleasurable."
Denethia smiled back. She knew she would take no small pleasure in delivering whatever pain this elf who had enslaved her requested.
"But such things are for another time. Now we should adjourn to the study and fathom what you have already learned. Then we shall see about expanding your knowledge, If such is your wish. Perhaps you might wish to eat or rest beforehand?"
The thirst for knowledge which had prompted her to seek the dark arts in the first place welled up inside Denethia, "I would learn, things of the body may wait when there is knowledge to be gained."
"Excellent.", was his only reply and the walked to the study.
* * *
Denethia and Quaralan sat in the central hall, breaking their fast on a splendid meal gathered, prepared, and served by Quaralan's undead servants and magical conjurings.
"You learn quickly. Considering your former master was a fool with little real power, you had progressed far under him."
"My thirst for power is stronger than a dwarf for gold", Denethia said, sipping a fine blood-red wine from her glass.
"I sense it, as strong as my own. Our desires seem to match closely in many things.", he raised his glass to show he had chosen the same wine from the dozens available.
Denethia noted the action with an affirmative sound and they finished the remainder of the meal in silence.
Denethia rose from the table and dropped her hands to smooth her skirt, forgetting she still wore the clinging silk wrap she had awakened in. Quaralan's eyes drank in the sight with as much lust as he had consumed the potion of their mingled blood. She crossed toward her own door.
The dark elf spoke as she reached out for the door's handle, "Perhaps we have another desire in common which we might satisfy before retiring."
Denethia turned to observe the dark elf. In his eyes and manner she saw something she knew well. Desire for her flared in his eyes. She had already decided to offer him little reason to issue further commands to her. Thus she resigned herself to this task as simply as she would have a request to dust the shelves. After all, her body had been the coin she had paid her former master for his knowledge.
True, the greybeard had possessed little stamina, and was only driven to request his payment after some particularly significant feat of magic. She was sure Quaralan would be much more demanding. But it mattered little. If submitting willingly was the price she must pay for the knowledge he possessed and avoidance of further magically enhanced commands, so be it.
Quaralan rose as Denethia dropped the silken wrap to the floor to pool at her feet. He followed her into her chambers.
Denethia was surprised to find that their coupling brought with it the same ecstasy that the potion of mingled blood had sent coursing through her body. She knew it must be some effect of the potion, for she had long ago ceased to take pleasure from the act. Having discovered early on that her attractive form was as good as coin or authority when dealing with a man, she had used her power wisely and often to get what she wanted.
Lying in the bed after the dark elf left her for his own chambers, she considered that with a little careful thought, she might gain much knowledge and power, tinged with much pleasure, from her new master. Her greatest desires well on their way to being fulfilled, she slept.
* * *
Over the years she served her master and herself well. Vast amounts of new magic came into their possession as she took the life and art of those Quaralan deemed to be of no further use to his network of dark agents throughout the land. She discovered there had been many to dwell in the two small apprentice chambers of the dark elf's hidden sanctuary. A few still came on occasion, though now she taught them more often than did her master.
Through stolen lifeforce Quaralan kept Denethia from aging. Already she had lived a decade or more longer than any human she had ever heard of, yet she looked and felt not a day older that when she had first awakened in the chambers which were now her own.
She had expanded her dwelling area into a four room complex now. Quaralan had deemed she was to stay nearby instead of setting up a separate location as did all the other apprentices who came and went from the cavern that was☺the dark elf's hidden sanctuary.
Only once in all this time had Quaralan issued another command such as that he issued immediately after her awakening. He had discovered her keeping a book of spells to herself, not informing him of it. He had commanded then that she deliver up anything she discovered of the art to him without exception.
As the years passed, it was Denethia's desire for the dark powers the wielded which proved the stronger. She knew she was now more powerful than her dark elven master. She chafed at being still but a student to someone she could slay easily were it not for the magical command lain upon her.
On top of that was Quaralan's consistent refusal to show her the spells which transferred lifeforce, keeping her and the dark elf forever young, as well as the ritual spells which created the blood link.
Unfortunately there was nothing she could do to remedy the situation. The few veiled attempts she had made to overcome the magical command had left her a pain wracked heap upon the floor. Only when she surrendered to fate and abandoned her attempt could she again rise to her feet.
Thus she resigned herself to the trap she was in. Forever hoping for that one piece of magic that could free her from her bondage to the elf. Little did she know that time had come when she searched the study of a rival wizard she had just sucked the lifeforce from as if juice from a piece of fruit.
Quaralan walked about the room, tossing this and that into a spell crafted bag which would never be full. He nearly drooled over the vast amount of original magic this wizard had crafted, and was now his to learn and wield.
Denethia searched as well, using a spell Quaralan had devised which caused any object to glow which held certain keywords he had woven into it's enchantment.
One such item, a black bound book with no lettering upon it anywhere, caught her eye. Hearing Quaralan in another part of the structure she opened it.
"The secret of Lichdom.", she whispered to herself. Perhaps somewhere in this volume would be found what she needed to break free of Quaralan's spell. Quickly she conjured a copy of the book and sent it flying magically to one of her hidden sanctuaries, placing the original in the bag.
Together they poured through the items they had gained that night, back in the comfortable familiarity of the dark elf's study room. Denethia watched out of the corner of her eye for Quaralan to come across the black bound tome.
"Fascinating.", Quaralan said as he examined the black tomes pages.
"What is it master?", Denethia asked, her practiced mask betraying none of the sarcasm she felt when she spoke the word master.
"This tome details the path to Lichood. A fascinating piece of art I am rather surprised to have come across. Tomes such as this are very rare."
"It is surely a great find!", Denethia said while leaning over his shoulder to look at the book.
"A curiosity, nothing more."
"But Quaralan, surely great magic lies within that book."
"True, but to trade one's body for it is simply ridiculous."
"But master...."
"No!", he snapped, "We shall live forever through my life transference spell. There is not need employ such foolish measures when we already can acquire such power without it."
"But master...."
"Silence!", his tone slipped into the commanding one she had heard only twice before, "Never again shall you look upon the pages of this tome! This I command!"
Denethia cast her eyes downward as she felt the compulsion wash over her. Intermingled with the feeling this time was an undercurrent of impending victory.
They finished their inspection and things returned to normal. Quaralan was quick to forget anger with Denethia once he had lain a command upon her and lain in her bed.
Denethia was particularly energetic in that night's coupling, and Quaralan fell asleep in her bed. In the morning she rose quietly and left the sanctuary, leaving a message that she went to pursue some rumors of a powerful magical artifact in the far South. She knew Quaralan would suspect nothing amiss, for she had been on such journeys before, often bearing fruit he found extremely to his liking. A dark smile decorated her lips as she vanished on he wings of a spell to her sanctuary in the south.
* * *
Quaralan was becoming angry. Denethia had been gone in search of this rumored artifact for nearly a year, and it had been six weeks since her last report. Others could be sent to do his bidding, but no two of them could match Denethia's power. And he sorely missed her presence in the evenings. Other apprentices he was linked to provided the ecstasy of the potion when they coupled, but none with the strength and power as when he lay with Denethia. He was seriously considering going to seek her out and ordering her to return home when she materialized before him.
"Has your search borne fruit my lovely firehair?"
"I'm afraid not master, I discovered the item which I sought, after much searching. Unfortunately it had somehow been drained of power when I discovered it."
"A year wasted? It is unlike you to fail so."
"Wasted?", she said smiling, "I would hardly call this a waste." She produced a book bound in red leather and a dazzling jeweled amulet, "The amulet is the powerless husk of the artifact I sought. Though it is now but a handsome piece of jewelry. The other I think you will find very interesting."
Quaralan opened the book and looked over the pages, a smile widening on his face the farther he pursued the tome. Finally he closed it and looked at Denethia. "These spells are all original, and powerful!"
"As I said, hardly a wasted year.", she said smiling.
"Ever do you please me my firehair. Now I seek a pleasure I have been denied for nearly a year.", he gestured toward the door of Denethia's chambers."
"Mmmmm....", she said licking her lips, "I have been anticipating this pleasure as well."
Together they rose and entered Denethia's chambers. They were exactly as she had left them a year ago. She smiled and slid seductively into the bed.
Quaralan divested himself of his clothing as he crossed the room to her, then set about the task of helping Denethia do the same.
"Hurry master, I've waited a long time for this.", she purred into his ear.
Quaralan pulled free the last of her undergarments and then stopped moving, staring in shock. The tangle of red hair below her navel which so aroused him had been shaved smooth, as if it had never been.
"What have you done!", he screamed and backhanded her with all his strength enhanced by magic.
Denethia did not even move as his hand connected with her face. "What's the matter? Don't you like it?"
Quaralan's face reddened with blood in his anger. "Never are you to do this...", he paused and gestured to the object of his displeasure, "thing again!"
"And what if I say I prefer the current conditions?"
"Then I shall order you to obey me, and you know you cannot refuse."
"Oh is that so master?", she said smiling with sarcasm in her tone.
The magically commanding tone arose in Quaralan's voice, "Never shall you do this again, this I command!"
"I think I might.", she said smiling, "I find it rather pleasurable."
"You have been commanded, you must obey!"
"Ah yes, the ritual. Well do I remember the first command you gave me. Let me see, how was that worded...", she paused and tapped a finger on her forehead as if in thought, "Never until the day you die shall you strike me with body, weapon, or art. Nor shall you summon up or entreat others to do so for you. That would seem to put me in a position where you would forever be my master."
"It does, and you shall obey!"
"Never until the day I die....", as the last word passed her lips she banished the illusion surrounding her form. Instead of immediately dissipating, the illusions slowly faded.
First her fiery red hair lost it's lively luster. Then the soft flesh she had so often used as a tool in her bid for power withered and clung tightly to her bones. The swell of her ample bosom was replaced by shriveled dry mockeries of their former ripeness.
The flesh of her face pulled tightly against her skull and pinpricks of red light welled up in her empty eye sockets. Before Quaralan even had time to scream, she bound him with a spell and stood. A simple gesture and the dark elf stood before her as well.
"Now I am the master. Now and forever!", laughter, cold and hollow as if from the grave, punctuated the statement.
Reaching to the nightstand she retrieved the ornate jeweled amulet she had brought with her. Almost tenderly she placed it around Quaralan's neck. Then she placed her shriveled hands on either side of the dark elf's face and kissed him.
He would have hit her, tossed every spell he knew, at the very least spit the dusty taste out of his mouth had he been able. As it was Quaralan was completely helpless to prevent her chilling embrace.
She pulled her lips away from his and laughed again seeing the sweat which ran in rivets down his entire body.
"Once you shared a wonderful magical drink with me. Now it is time I return the favor."
Raising a hand she held a single finger up, a finger tipped with a long black nail. With it she pierced her left breast in the same spot Quaralan's ritual had demanded so many years ago. A grey ooze seeped slowly from the wound.
"I trust you will forgive me if we dispense with the glass?", she laughed and pulled Quaralan's head forward with great force to the wound. Helpless to resist under Denethia's magic, Quaralan drank, and then darkness swept over him.
POWERS AND ABILITIES:
Due to the magical energy imparted upon Denethia by her connection to the negative plane, she is capable of seeing in complete darkness with no penalty. Light however bright or sudden, does not enhamper her vision in the slightest.
Unless disguised, or she wishes to restrict it, Denethia constantly exudes a black aura of fear. No creature of less than level-5 can hope to stand and combat with a lich, immediately fleeing for their lives. All others must make a saving throw or be affected as the fear spell.
An aura of cold darkness surrounds Denethia, over which she has the same control as her fear aura. The darkness swirls about her and has no definite shape or range of effect. Instead of incurring the penalties of a darkness spell, this dark aura is equivalent to a blur spell when active. The aura of cold may cause some lessening of abilities to those caught within it, at the DM's discretion.
Denethia can with the touch of her flesh, deliver an attack of intense cold. This causes 1d10 st. damage unless the victim is immune to cold. Those affected must also make a saving throw or be paralyzed. This paralysis lasts until healed or dispelled by magic.
Denethia's magical nature, and the strength of her undead flesh, prevent non-magical weapons of less than +2 from striking her. Weapons unable to strike her simply skid off her flesh as if they had struck stone to strong to chip.
Any spell which affects the mind or life functions will have no effect on Denethia as is common among the undead. Spells of cold likewise have no effect, though things such as magically hurled ice spears would damage her as if they were a magical weapon. She is also immune to polymorph magic.
Undead control: Denethia is able to command any undead creature which is half or less of her level, which is 65. She is able to raise and control undead within a 5 mile radius of herself. Only undead stronger than a ghast have any hope of resisting her controlling influence while within range.
Denethia may control up to 600 levels of undead at any one time within her five mile range.
Once per day Denethia may lay a charm similar to a geas upon an undead creature under her control, allowing it to venture on missions farther than her normal range of influence. A minion of this type may be turned, but will only stop moving until the turning influence has been removed, then continue upon it's mission.
Any undead creature Denethia controls, and is within her range, may have it's senses used by her as if they were her own.
Undead under Denethia's control, within 1 mile of her, turn as if they were the lich herself. Undead farther away turn as if they were their normal type, plus one category for each mile they are closer to the lich. Thus a ghast within 3 miles of Denethia would turn as a mummy, within 4 miles as a wraith, and within 5 miles normally as a ghast.
Undead under Denethia's control, within her range possess a gaze attack. Those who look into the minion's eyes must save or be affected as a fear spell. Those who miss their roll on a natural 1 will fall comatose for 1d4 days.
Denethia retains her level-65 Necromancer specialist wizard spell casting abilities in undeath. This means she casts spells as a wizard, save any spells dealing with Necromancy are much stronger than even those cast by a mortal necromancer. She is also not restricted from using the school of illusion, in fact her vast intelligence has allowed her to perfect her illusions so well that a being has a -4 penalty to save against them. Consider Denethia to be in possession of all the special Lich spells found in Van Richten's guide.
Denethia has master proficiency in the following weapons and has several magical versions of no less than +5 ability on hand at all times: Dagger, Dagger throwing, Staff, Bola, Sling.
Denethia was remarkably agile and dexterous in life and retains this skills in unlife. Treat her as having agility 2 and any thieves ability she might wish to use.
Denethia has the saliant ability of regeneration, meaning she regenerates 5 hit points, even if her body has been reduced to ashes. If the ashes are scattered it takes her one month per 10' of scatter to completely regenerate her body.
Denethia also has the saliant ability of imitation. Any spell directed at her affects her as normal, but she may trap this spell energy and redirect it on the following round as if it were her own, with no drain to magic strength.
Denethia possesses the saliant ability of coldfire. This is a negative energy flame which causes 3d10 st. damage to those who come in contact with it. Even those naturally or magically immune to cold must save or be affected by it. This coldfire may be hurled as a missile weapon, to the range of a magic missile. It may also be enspelled into a skull or skull half. Flames placed within a skull will remain for 30 days unless Denethia decides to cast permanency upon them.
Denethia may perform a power ritual as described in Van Richten's guide, but has not done so yet. Should such a thing be desired, consult this guide for information.
PHYSICAL STATISTICS/ITEMS CARRIED:
Denethia has 101 hit points, a natural armor class of 7 and 190 points of magic strength.
In addition to the aforementioned weapons, Denethia always has in her possession the following list of items
STAFF: This staff is charged with numerous protective and offensive magics. Most are necromantic in nature and stronger than the norm for such an item. The ancient lost form of single counter triggering is also upon this item.
CLOAK OF THE ARCHMAGI: This is typical of the minor artifact, see normal stats.
MISCELLANEOUS MAGIC: Denethia will always be in possession of 1d10+10 magic items which may be more powerful than the norm and may be corrupted by her foul influence.
THE UNDEAD ARMY:
Denethia has numerous common undead under her control. Only a few special ones shall be mentioned here. Assume that in addition to these she has her full complement of undead under control.
Quasimancers: Denethia has under her control the following undead with the abilities of a quasimancer: 10 ghouls with level-5 spell casting abilities, 7 ghasts with level-7 spell casting ability, 4 wights with level-10 spell casting ability.
Vampires: Denethia has under her control 2 vampires. Both of these are of the typical "garden" variety. They were however, both wizards in life and maintain their spell casting abilities in unlife. One was a level-12 wizard and the other a level-15 master wizard. Note that these vampires may control undead creatures, thus adding to Denethia's already vast army of the undead. These do not gain the gaze attacks or special abilities of Denethia's personal undead however.
Mummies: Denethia has under her control 3 mummies. These are the typical "garden" variety, but were priests of dark gods in life and maintain their abilities in undeath. All were priests of Set with the following levels 9,12,14. Note that these mummies may control undead, thus adding to Denethia's already vast army of the undead. As with the Vampires, these minions do not gain gaze attacks or special immunities.
Vassalich: Quaralan was transformed by Denethia's body fluids into a vassalich under her control. She holds his phylactery and thus has complete control over him. Quaralan maintains his stronghold near Bolten, while Denethia operates from a mountain fortress which divides the "Camelot" area of Nipairo from the asian section. Quaralan maintains his abilities as a Dark Elven Necromancer specialist wizard. His spell casting level is equivalent to 22. He has the minions gaze attack even at his vast distance from Denethia. Quaralan has all the same spell immunities as a normal lich, and turns as one as well. Quaralan has a 5-foot fear radius. Quaralan's chill touch only does 1d4 st. damage and may only slow instead of paralyze as does Denethia's. Quaralan may raise undead minions, but they enjoy none of the bonuses that Denethia's personal minions enjoy.
Familiar: Denethia has as a familiar a Necrophidius enabling her to move in complete and utter silence. Otherwise treat this familiar as a creature of the appropriate type under the find familiar spell.
THE BLOOD POTION RITUAL:
This spell may be either an original concoction of Quaralan's or, more likely, something he stole from another wizard. Several steps are needed to perform this ritual binding.
(1) The goblet: The goblet must be of the finest glass. Flakes of gold and diamond dust must be incorporated into the making of the goblet's glass. Etched upon the glass must be 20 necromantic symbols which take one hour per sigil to craft. The crafter of the goblet must be a master. The wizard himself much etch the symbols on the glass. Thus the wizard must have some skill in etching upon glass. The goblet is not consumed or damaged by the ritual and may be used over and over again. The minimum cost of crafting such a goblet should be no less than 1000 gold pieces.
(2) The wine: The wine is a magical distillation of fairy blood. The blood of no fewer than 30 fairies must be used to distill enough for a single use of the wine, which is less than half a mouthful. A well stocked alchemical lab and library is necessary to distill the wine. Likewise materials totalling 800 gold are consumed in each use's crafting. The wine itself is flowery and incredibly sweet. It burns like acid when swallowed and is more intoxicating than even Dwarf Spirits. Those who take more than the barest sip must save or fall into a drunken comatose state.
(3) The blade: The knife's blade must be of the finest steel, crafted by a master. The steel is then darkened with a number of dark wizardly spells to an almost oily looking sheen. Runes are than burned magically into the blade and sprinkled with diamond dust. The crafting of the blade should cost no less than 4000 gold. The handle must be made of bone from an arm. This bone must come from a virgin of the opposite sex of the wizard. The bone must then be carefully hollowed and capped with electrum caps on both ends. Inside this hollowed out area of the bone must be placed at least 13 drops of blood from either a paladin, holy cleric, white robed wizard, chaste prince or princess, or a unicorn. This must be heartblood, taken directly from that organ, naturally killing the victim. The blade and handle are then joined in a ritual which takes the full night of all-hallows eve to perform.
This ritual is culminated by the wizard dropping the handle and blade toward the breast of a virgin of the opposite sex. The blade and hilt will join as they fall and pierce the heart of the victim if the ritual is successful. Otherwise the wizard must try again, all parts of the knife useless. Make a roll on the d20 with 10 indicating success to see if the ritual succeeds. The knife may be used over and over in rituals.
(3) The ritual: This ritual must either be performed on a willing subject or one who is unable to resist. The subject need not know the true nature of the ritual to be willing, but must know of the cutting and drinking of the blood or there is a chance of failure. First the wine must be poured into a glass, no more than half a mouthful or the elixer will fail causing the first drinker to fall comatose for 1d12 days and lose 5 levels temporarily, regained at a rate of 1 per month. The same affects the other person if they are foolish enough to drink after seeing this. The next part of the ritual depends upon whether it is performed upon a member of the same or opposite sex.
On a member of the same sex the left breast, above the heart, and the left arm must be pierced. Each should fill the goblet to 1/4 full with each piercing. On a member of the opposite sex the left breast and the left thigh must be pierced. The wizard must then do the exact same to themselves. The wounds seal after the goblet is pulled away and the temporary loss of 1d4 hit points may be healed in any normal manner. Afterward first the wizard and then the victim must drink. In the case of a same sex ritual the wizard receives a one hour burst of power, with all their spells functioning at 2 levels higher, while the victim feels a wash of painful heat and collapses.
In the case of a same sex ritual, both receive a feeling like that of sexual climax, only amplified twice over. The victim still collapses. The success of the binding depends upon how much will and aptitude for the dark arts the victim possesses. The stronger the will and aptitude of the victim, the quicker they will awaken. If the victim has absolutely none of either, they will slowly die over the next five hours, with the wizard losing a level for each hour. These levels are restored at the rate of one per month. A by- product of the same sex ritual is that if the bonded individuals ever engage in a sexual coupling, they will gain a degree of the ecstasy which washed over them during the ritual. The stronger the will and aptitude of the victim, the closer to the original strength of the ritual's feeling it is each time.
Once the ritual is complete, the wizard may issue commands to the victim. These must be issued in a commanding tone of voice and ended with "This is my command." The victim will then be unable to disobey this command or fall to the floor unable to move. Only abandoning the violating course of action in their mind will allow them to rise. No form of magical healing or dispelling can rid the victim of this curse. Only the death of the victim or the wizard will free the victim of this blood-link.