Lich (LEhch)

Summary

Have you ever asked yourself what 'undeath' actually is? Why the undead come back, often vengeful or mad in some capacity? Why do they lose that love of their friends and family, only to wish misery and pain upon them? How is it that some souls can retain everything they were, if only for a moment, before fading away?   You'd be surprised at how many beings out there don't want you answering these questions. Necromancers learn to abide by the status quo; to accept some things are out of reach, even as they reach farther than others. Me? My kindred? We dare to reach farther, and to ask even harder questions. To ask the things even goddesses would try to deny us.   What is it about death that is so very frightening? Is it the idea we will 'end'?   Or that there is something terribly unknowable we will inevitably meet?   Are, perhaps, the afterlives we're promised so much only a palatable excuse for something much worse?   Now you might see why we are hated so much. It's all very uncomfortable to think about, isn't it?

— The notorious introduction of the lich Jylanie, as recorded in the heretical account Confronting the Living Dead by investigator Wolharme.

  What awaits beyond life, in the realms of death?   Such is the question many, many necromancers ask in their scholarly pursuit of death magics. It is a question many answers arise for, particularly those of myriad faiths, religions, and their goddesses. Yet these answers seem half-baked, malformed, or perhaps deliberately misleading about the true nature of death. Few account for, or explain, the ubiqutous guardian of the dead, Kirichiki. What of revenants and their strange nature of undeath that defies all notions of what the Forsaken are?   Many come to necromancy for all sorts of reasons, some of which led to different paths. Vampires arose from a greed for eternal life and power, and so death was used as a means to that end. Some live as guardians of the dead themselves, a conduit through which grief and reconciliation can flow in the finality of all things. But not all were satisfied with this, and among them, a select few ever delved further. Stripped away layer after layer of questions and answers, all to find what 'true' death was.   No one knows, even to this day, what that answer may be. However, they did manage an important breakthrough, one that manifested in the form of the lich.   If the body is the plaything of life, then the soul is the plaything of death. Necromancers, cluing in on this idea, strove to gain control over their souls. To defy not only Kirichiki, but any that would lay claim upon them, to any form of death that would try to lull them into a gentle passage. Where others would close their eyes and embrace the end, they fought to stay awake. For many, this culminated in them ensnaring their own soul to some sort of object or container.   This soul vessel became their own spiritual haven, a place beyond the reach of death in the realm of the living. Through it, a lich could exert all kinds of magical powers and more, becoming veritable magical mistresses. No longer bound to their body, they could reshape it as they pleased, or puppet it as a doll beholden to their will. If their body was ever destroyed, they could simply create another one. So long as the soul vessel wasn't destroyed, the lich became effectively immortal in every sense.   It allowed for them to explore all manners of things without fear, feeding their common lust for knowledge and secrets. They could even dare to cross the goddesses of the dead, Kirichiki, and whoever would bar their path into the realms of death. Even if they were fought off or destroyed, they could return again, and again, and again. So it was that becoming a lich spread, however slowly, across the many different cultures of necromancy. Some embraced it, while others rejected its premise; all the same, lichdom established new understandings of the soul and how it worked.   It became an immense problem almost immediately.   While there are many processes toward the goal of becoming a lich, the issue became knowing it was even possible. People have a terrible habit of finding or reinventing an idea once they know it can be done, after all. For many goddesses, the mere existence of liches asked questions and created complex issues they didn't want happening. If necromancy was already a vexing and dilemma-filled concept, liches did all that and much worse. The most common answer, thusly, became eradication of the liches and any trace of their existence. If no one knew, then no one would try again.   Sadly, by their very nature liches are extraordinarily difficult to be rid of. Even if a lich's soul vessel is destroyed, there is no telling what sort of teachings, artifacts, or knowledge they left behind. The ideas they represent, as well, are not terribly unique. Sometimes aspiring necromancers simply luck upon recreating lichdom themselves, independent of anyone or anything else. It is a ceaseless conflict between the goddesses of the dead, and these particular upstarts that challenge everything.   In spite of their origins, many who come to seek lichdom are not always the same scholarly minded sort of people. The allure of indestructible immortality, and the vast power one could achieve with it, proved horribly tempting to evil people. Unlike vampirism, however, taking power over one's own soul is leagues above in difficulty, complexity, and risk of failure. Knowledge and capability with magic also proved daunting, as one could not simply begin as a 'weaker' lich. They were either fully a lich, or not.   It would be evil people that flocked to lichdom and created many of its vile connotations. The fundamental act of becoming a lich is, itself, not inherently evil. That said, like all forms of magic, such methods could be employed but weren't required. Given the nature of evil people, though, they understandably do not care about their methods if it gets them their results. The correlation between the two, unfortunately, became inevitable.   Ironically, the core idea of the soul vessel itself would be come used for something far worse. Those with the means to do so could, conceivably, trap another's soul within a vessel, making them into a 'quasi-lich'. Lacking the training or ability to control their own soul, it is more akin to a prison they're unable to escape from. If taken even further, one could be forced to puppet bodies at the whims of their captor. The amount of setup, ability, and control required for this arrangement is utterly insane, but it is known to happen. Amonder Moatari, the Sublime Performance, is perhaps the most notorious example for those aware.   However, some are willfully made into these quasi-lich existences, though they may not regard it as lichdom properly. Ancestral guardians, tomb wardens, and those committed to singular purpose beyond death, are commonly those who would do such a thing. They become the timeless protectors of something deserving an immortal undead to watch over. As they aren't necessarily there to challenge death and dredge up its secrets, they're 'overlooked' by the goddesses of the dead usually.