Description
Sabrath strides into those places he graces with his presence wearing a large, regal, purple robe that covers most of his form. That which is not covered is shown as a skeleton, the animated bones of what was once a powerful human mage, now a king amongst the undead. He wears, upon the cranium that crowns his robes, a gilt crown studded with jewels. He is constantly followed about by a 'nude' skeleton, carrying the train of his robes.
Personality
Sabrath looks down on those around him with arrogance, and has little need for most mortals. Those of exceptional quality, he either seeks alliance with, or merely attempts to destroy.
Equipment
Abilities
Conjuring
- Summon Galbrath: The Lich summons his trusty sword, with the gilt golden handle and magical blade, Galbrath. That which its blade touches slowly rots, if itself is not magical.
- Summon Undead: The Lich summons a number of undead equal to 2d6.
- Summon Arlkath: The Lich summons his trusty, large tower shield, Arlkath. Its defense is effective against all but the strongest of magic.
- Flesh to Stone: With a successful roll of eight or more, 2d6, the Lich turns a limb of the target into stone.
- Environment to Swamp: With a successful roll of four or more, 2d6, the Lich turns a portion of his environment into swampland.
- Summon Lesser Demons: With a successful roll of eight or more, 2d6, the Lich summons a lesser demon, with roll of 9 or above adding another to the fray.
- Summon Greater Demon: With a successful roll of 14 or more, 3d6, the Lich summons the general of his legions, Arkhath. Requires a sacrifice of a lesser demon which manifests as a flame at the tip of his blade as he draws a circle in the air.
A circle of flame spins e'er in its chest, its fiery maw awaits its opening to spew out the flames kept in its belly; great Arkhath, son of the Earth's center, arise ye from thy rest.
Transmuting- Flesh to Stone: With a successful roll of eight or more, 2d6, the Lich turns a limb of the target into stone.
- Environment to Swamp: With a successful roll of four or more, 2d6, the Lich turns a portion of his environment into swampland.
- Environment to Desert: See above, replace 'swampland' with desert.
Ritual- The King's Armor:
Oh ye garments of the mighty one, the dark king who rules o'er a thousand souls, cloak your master in your protection, that he may charge into battle with no fear of harm.
- Two turns: verbal component and sacrifice of two undead minions, creates steel-bone armor that replaces the Lich's robes with a full suit, excluding helmet.
So begins...
Sabrath
brought his hand from his shoulder, willing to humor the fool that sought petition from him. His bleached bones grasped at the air, and then pushed down slowly, the robes concealing it as he finished the action.
Within moments, a small six by six foot square of swamp began to bubble up from the floor of the bar, spewing the stench of peat and decomposition as it churned near Jack.
It is done; now prove yourself.
Sabrath
slackened his mandible a bit wider, a rasped gurgle escaping it as he watched Jack transmute his own form. His boned fingers came together, forming a bridge as The Pale Lord leaned forward in his seat, empty sockets trained on the fool.
It is no small feat.
The lich rasped, and then an imperative: Transmute your form back to flesh, and We shall further test it.
Sabrath
kept his mandible slackened, a terrible, shrieking pale escaping it as five cracks formed in the floor on each of Jack's flanks. Up came, from each growing crack, elite soldiers from his undead legions. They held their greatswords pointed, diagonally, toward the floor. Four on each side stepped back, their armor clinking, leaving only two on each of the fool's sides.
Dispatch two of Our most skilled, and perhaps We may deem you fitting.
The Pale Lord rasped, Fitting for consideration into Our service, or at least to remain a living mortal.
Sabrath tapped a finger onto his table. It was the briefest instant that the two soldiers' bones turned, and their figures leaned forward, their forward-facing feet pushing out, bringing both long greatswords up in a diagonal slash toward Jack's chest. Neither of them wasted a moment of movement, the swings both disciplined and efficient.
Sabrath watched silently as Jack fell. The swordsmen bent their craniums down, the first skeleton bringing his greatsword to parry the strike at his legs. The second shifted his hands on his weapon, bringing it into a heavy side cleave toward the man's neck, aiming to decapitate the individual. Once again, The Pale Lord had no doubts in his soldiers' abilities.
Sabrath remained unaffected by The Assassin's fumes and oil slicks; he was dead, and sitting. Rather, his two skeletal soldiers slowly stepped back, their weapons brought up in such a way that the edge of their blades formed a cross section of torso and cranium. Their eye sockets trained on Jack's aqueous form, now observing.