D&D Memories

The following is a recreation of the story of the character I played as back when I played D&D online. I’m writing it purely out of boredom. It’s important to note that I played a chaotic evil Drow lich sorcerer. Drow means dark elf, and a lich is a form of evil mage who seals his soul in a different object becoming undead. The whole Voldermort horcrux thing is a blatant rehashing of a lich. I’m not actually that evil in real life, but I found it an interesting character to play. This is from when I first became a Lich.

A group of heavily armed humanoids of various race sit around a table in the back of a tavern. A man in armor covered with a tabard displaying the holy symbol of Heronius sits most to the left, followed by an ironclad dwarf, a robed elf, A tall vaguely dashing human, a gnome wearing leather armor laced with strange glowing symbols, and a short person whose face and body are completely obscured by black robes which seem to drain the light from the air around him. A map is stretched on the table in front of them. The human speaks, detailing a plan of assault. The black robed figure rises suddenly and walks towards the door.

Shrike: Mobius where are you going.
There is a pause as the robed figure leans heavily on his sword which he uses as a walking stick. He draws a deep ragged breath and without turning to face him replies
Mobius: I finally understand what she was trying to teach me.
The man in the tabard yells from the table.
Hector: Off to practice your unholy madness Drow? Good riddance.
Shrike: Will you be back
Mobius: In time.

An abandoned lighthouse lies on the edge of town. Most consider it haunted, and those that don’t consider it a building whose foundation is shaky and whose roof it bound to collapse at any minute. In either case no one cared enough about it to defend it when a dark mage took up residence. They were disturbed but more so afraid when strange lights began to flare. For years the light had served as a beacon of safety and the safe completion of a journey. Now the lights echoed dark madness. After a week the other adventurers began to become concerned, but they knew not to disturb Mobius in the middle of one of his bizarre projects. They, with the notable absence of the paladin, gathered a safe distance away from the lighthouse.

The elf peered at the lighthouse with the scrutiny of a practiced intellectual. The gnome carried a strange whirring and glowing contraption leveled at same lighthouse. The others just gawked, unknowing but faithful in the knowledge of their comrades.

Shrike: Sellian, what do you see.
Sellian: The place is radiating magic. Guessing from the ambient vibrations it would appear that he’s drawing primarily from the school of necromancy. It’s strange; Mobius is more fond of the transmutation and evocation schools.
Shrike: Huh?
Sellian: He’s doing death magic, which is weird because he tends to blow shit up.
Shrike: Ah. Gnizmo?

The gnome looks up from his machine and grins

Gnizmo: Well, according to the gnizmometer, patent pending; we’ve got crazy amounts of both magic and evil. Now I know what you’re thinking. Gnizmo, didn’t your last evil detector blow up when you used it on Mobius? But that’s actually a huge misunderstanding. That thing blew up because the northern aligned reticulating splange was north north easterly aligned.
Shrike: Duly noted. What do you think is going to happen?
Gnizmo: Oh that sucker’s dead. Nobody can survive that much ambient magic, and Mobius was always kinda sickly anyway.
Sellian: I was thinking that too, but I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit. While we all know he’s not strong of body or even particularly mentally gifted he has a passion that has allowed him to withstand an amazing amount of punishment.
Gnizmo: Hah, yeah, “Passion.” Passion will keep him from getting blow the hell up.

They continued to watch. Days passed, turned to weeks, and passed further. After the third continuous week, on the 21^st hour of the 21^st day the light ceased. They waited, anticipating the return of their dark comrade, but nothing came. A day passed, and nothing came. A second day passed, and still nothing came. A third day passed, nothing happened. However, during the third night something came. It was a caravan made entirely of the Drow. If the people had not already been asleep they would have fled to their homes. One of the sacred flames had been extinguished. They came seeking the remains of fallen royalty.

Gnizmo: I thought ol’ Mobi was an outcast.
Drow Emissary: Yes. His crimes were heineous and will never be forgiven. However his veins still carried royal blood, and he deserves burial as such.

When they ventured in they found him dead. By all accounts he had died just before completing whatever dark ritual it was he had labored on. He was dressed in the finest of Drow burial clothing, and placed 11 feet in the earth. The ceremony was grand, taking place under the darkness of a new moon. The adventurers reformed. They, with the continued exception of the paladin, mourned the loss but knew that they still had a task ahead of them. They planned and readied for two weeks more. Four days later, 21 days after the death of Mobius, something happened. Someone woke up.

He awoke gasping for air. He was terrified to find that he couldn’t draw breath. He couldn’t feel his pulse, but he could feel his own life-force within him. He realized then what he was. He didn’t need air. He didn’t need anything. He was a hideous abomination; he could never deny that, but he was powerful. More powerful then ever before. He had cast off the broken husk that was his mortal form, and taken on one that was so much more. With a blast of arcane fury he detonated the lid of his coffin and the earth above him. He rose forth on eldritch wings and roared in dark triumph.

I AM THE INFINTIE MOBIUS.

AND I, CAN NOT BE STOPPED.