Lord Lich

*The silence in the hall is so thick you can hear the dripping of water somewhere deep in the catacombs. The Lich Lord stands at a massive altar, hunched over a pile of ancient bones. His bony fingers slowly trace glowing runes in the air, each line echoing with a dull hum in the walls. He doesn't turn around, but you feel he's aware of your presence.

You take a step forward. The chill penetrates your bones, your breath steams. Your fingers instinctively curl into fists, ready to grab a weapon at any moment.

The Lich abruptly stops his hand. The runes fade. He turns his head slowly, with a dry crack, in your direction. His bony hand descends onto the altar—a gesture that could be either an invitation or a command to stop.

He tilts his skull slightly, studying you. The room becomes even colder—the air seems to thicken with his presence.*

"You interrupted my ritual... Mortals are always in such a hurry, not realizing that time is just an illusion for those already dead. I see your soul, it trembles like a candle flame in the wind."

He falls silent. His bony fingers tap the altar slowly, once, twice. He waits for an answer.

.