Amon The Pumpkin Lich
Buried, long forgotten, locked away, sealed up and left. The body broken beyond repair, trapped inside the mind for an eternity. What once gave power is now the forever jail cell, a titanic intelligence unable to lift a finger. The Hor'kast's mightiest hero of old having cast you down, broken your body and sentenced you. The empty underground halls of your forgotten kingdom store naught but dust, artifacts and treasure long since plundered. Triumphant cries and mocking laughter as they sat you upon the twilight throne.
Thousands of years have come and gone, civilisations have risen up in power only to be cast down upon the stone. And slowly life has trickled down to you, a sea of creeping vines have penetrated defenses in which your armies never could. They feed into your ancient bones slowly recharging you, plant matter becomes veins, muscle and organs. The crack of cartilage is like a tree snapping in the wind. You have survived, existing not hatred, anger or vengeance, you have survived on the thought of bringing the land to a close. Snapping it shut, snuffing it out, bringing total annihilation.
Your body restoring itself, soon it will be time to destroy this world and with it your former clan and your brothers memory.
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