Silhouette

The chamber was... Not quite what James expected. Doctor Bones described it as the likely personal space of Neiclaz's leader, and he supposed in a sense it was. Yes, there was a bedroom in a... Well, not a corner since the room was a massive cylinder, but it was there, against a wall, with a strange yet neat curved look. Seeing it let James realize that, unlike the rings, this full room didn't have windows and only featured the one door, the one he snuck through.

But a bed was the least interesting fact about this space. There was no throne or attempt to symbolize a seat of power. The closest thing to that would be the braided chair placed in front of a curved desk against a wall, and that seemed to be more out of comfort than anything else.

No, if anything, this room was a laboratory. Herbs and vegetables hung down from the ceiling, countless flasks, vials, vases, and urns were spread all around the room in cabinets and on shelves, those made of glass showcasing colorful liquids, sparkling powders, and more solid and strange ingredients, such as a fish in formaldehyde and clumps of crystals, while those made of brown and red clay were covered in symbols and more polygonal drawings. Yes, there was no doubt in James' mind that this place was once a remarkable room of creativity and wonder. But... Well, time had passed. And as well preserved as everything was, it was merely that: preserved.

Most of the ingredients were rotten or dry, others were covered in fungal growths. The entire room reeked of rot and decay. Some flasks only had the barest silvers of liquid left, their content almost completely evaporated to the point of only leaving traces on the glass. Not to mention the dust everywhere. James knew without a doubt that had he had lungs and a circulatory system now, he'd be coughing and choking on the thick particles in the air.

But, for all the aged and withered wonder of the room, the most notable thing was the pitiful creature inhabiting it.

James assumed it was a man from his voice, but he couldn't tell. The figure muttering as it walked endlessly in circles was far too decrepit to properly identify past the bare minimum of being humanoid, only a skeleton covered in mummified skin and worn robes being left, and even then, there was something about it that... Well, James had no clue what its head once looked like.

For that was the saddest part about the creature, even as its disembodied voice echoed yet more excuses, more begging, more vain hope. Its head. Starting from the bottom, everything was relatively fine, considering its age and undead nature. There was a pointed chin covered in dark brown mummified skin, a mouth that opened just enough to reveal yellowed gumless teeth, nasal cavities where the nose presumably rotted off, and... Well, that's where the head stopped.

Everything from the middle of the nose and above was missing. And James could still see what was left of it, bone shrapnel all over the room. On the bed. On the floor. On the desk. Even up on the shelves, and some somehow entangled in the herbs dangling from the ceiling.

James was no forensics expert, but... Well, it looked like their head exploded, and they'd been stuck like this ever since.

"I can fix this. It's not my fault. I can fix this."

It was at this point that James heard Doctor Bones' voice from the other side of the door, though heavily muffled.

"Everything alright, in there?"

It appeared his host heard her too.

"Please, go back to sleep! You'll be fine! I can fix this. It's not my fault. I can fix this."

James made sure to only answer through the small part of him still outside, a shadowy tendril on the ground, just in case his voice triggered something in the undead.

"It's... Well, this appears to be something between an alchemy lab, an enchanter's workshop, and a bedroom. More importantly, our friend is missing half his head."

"Oh. Oh... This would explain the... Repetitive nature of things. The fact that there's even enough will left to form sentences and react to the surroundings is impressive, and speaks of someone with a powerful soul in life."

"I thought the state of the body didn't matter to the undead?"

"Well, they don't actually use their brain or heart, but that doesn't mean they don't matter. Those are the parts of the body the soul is linked to in life. Anything too damaging there will sever the connection and drastically lower the chances of resuscitation as an undead. There's a reason the most common and efficient way to kill them when you're not an exorcist is to destroy these two organs."

"Alright. I'll try to talk to him, see if I can calm him down, and avoid an outburst if I open the door. I can't promise anything."

"Got it. Prioritize your life, preserving the site, and opening that door, in that order."

"As you wish."

Before engaging the undead, James made sure to spread his presence throughout the room. Larger and darker shadows here, a few sneaky tentacles there, a little bit of him of him everywhere - including still in the miniature gap of the door, just to be ready to run out if necessary. Even with all these precautions in mind, James made sure to initiate contact by speaking with the part of him the furthest away from the sole entrance and exit into the room.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

The undead, who had so far been walking in circles and muttering under his breath, whipped his head around to stare at the spot on the wall from which James had spoken. And, while he had a feeling this would happen, James was still surprised to find himself speaking a language he had never used before. It was hard to notice, his mind subconsciously doing the translation as it had always been doing since his arrival in Terra Stellis, but by focusing on it, he could somewhat feel the words in his... Well, not mouth, since his ability to speak leaned more on the magical side despite his use of shapeshifted shadow flesh to mimic vocal chords, but the sentiment was still there.

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"Go back to sleep! I can fix this. It's not my fault. I can fix this."

"I just want to talk. Can you tell me what happened?"

And for the first time, the undead started spouting new lines.

"It's not my fault! I did everything right. Everything was going right. It's not my fault. I followed every step. It's not my fault. It's not my fault!"

"It wasn't your fault, I get it, but what was it?"

"I did everything right. I can fix this. I can fix this."

"Alright. Can you tell me who you are?"

"I can fix this. I will fix this. I must fix this. Fixing. Fixing."

"Look, I'm going to open the door. I'm going to let others in. Is that fine by you?"

"Go back to sleep! You must go back to sleep. I can fix this. Please. Don't wake the others. Go back to sleep."

This time, James made sure to only address Doctor Bones and, more importantly, her guards.

"Alright, he's... He's reacting, but still lost, caught in a loop. It sounds like he thinks we're other inhabitants who... Woke up. Did you find other undead when you first explored the ruins?"

This time, it was Bo who took the lead, the monk sighing before answering.

"Husks. They didn't react, not even to touch. Just corpses and a handful of phantoms, standing there, souls weighted down and shackled to a world they didn't even perceive anymore."

He shook his head, his long platinum blonde hair floofing up with the motion.

"We preserved the bodies for autopsies, but I set their souls to rest."

"Interesting. Then he thinks we are other undead, and is begging us to 'go back to sleep' so he can 'fix this'. I was under the impression it was rare for undeath to occur in large numbers at once outside of violent events."

"It is. And yet they bore no wounds."

"Did you find any corpse that wasn't still living in death?"

"No. We found ashes and strange burns on some walls, but the number of those matched the number of specters."

"In other words, every individual in Neiclaz died and became undead. From our talkative friend's muttering, seemingly in an event he was responsible for, as much as he tries to deny it, both to the others and himself."

Doctor Bones took over next, seeking a way to reconstruct the events that had led the ancient structure to its fall.

"Perhaps starvation? If he put the tower in lockdown and it got stuck underground, there would no doubt come a time when the stockpiles of food they kept even for these situations would run out. But that doesn't match perfectly either, they were too spread out for that. Not to mention, there would be at least some traces of attempts at cannibalism. I refuse to believe not a single individual would have tried."

"From my experience with Mother Greenheld's orphanage, it happens. No one resorted to such a thing there, and the starvation was enough to create a large number of ghosts. But you're right, they saw death coming and chose to stay together, to comfort one another. If this truly was a permanent group of secular individuals in an otherwise nomadic society, I doubt they wouldn't have bonded together enough for at least those on the same level to stay together."

"Indeed... You mentioned the chamber being a magical workshop, right?"

"Something among those lines, yes."

"Then... My guess would be a ritual gone wrong. A magically enforced stasis, something that would last until whatever threat caused them to hide passed. Our friend did something wrong, the backlash blew up his head and instantly killed everyone in Neiclaz while also forcefully binding their souls to the location. "

"Wouldn't he also be an inactive husk, then?"

"If he was the leader and main actor in a ritual in what we know is a community where every member had some magical expertise, then it's very likely he was the most powerful, at least in this settlement. Sheer power would shield him from the worst magical effects, even if the physical ones still took their toll."

Bo narrowed his eyes at that.

"Which runs the risk of the lost soul becoming more than a mere undead. Silhouette, be ready to engage if he becomes aggressive if he opens the door."

"That already was my plan. Any particular reason you thought to bring it up again?"

"There's a common misconception when it comes to undead and magic. Undead sorcerers are impressive, yes, but only as much as living ones, if given more time. The true danger is encountering a lich. A being whose soul was oversaturated by death and magic on its passing, to the point of becoming anchored to the living world in a way no other entity is."

"Let me guess, I have to destroy a phylactery?"

"If this were a voluntary transformation, then yes. However, everything seems to indicate this wasn't planned or wanted. In this case, the connection isn't to one specific item but a greater whole. Not a chain, but frost spreading on a window."

"In layman's terms, if you would, oh esteemed monk?"

"An involuntary lich doesn't have a solid connection to a singular object, but a weak one to their surroundings at the time of their metamorphosis. Or, to put it even more simply, Neiclaz itself is the phylactery, though it's only a weak link. There is no need to destroy the structure, but severing that connection and freeing the soul will require a large and expensive ritual of our own..."

The monk then sighed, his voice growing annoyed yet resigned as he continued.

"That, or someone wielding the Destruction Aspect to sever that link. Carefully."

"I see. Let us hope it doesn't come to that."

"Yes, let's. I'd rather spare this lost soul from oblivion."

"And don't forget Neiclaz! I mean, yeah, let's preserve our undead friend's eternal soul, but don't forget to preserve the site!"

Pierrer Potisha cleared his throat after his employer's interruption to take back control of the conversation.

"Right. Silhouette, you open the door. Doctor Bones, please stay back. Bo and I will be ready for the undead should it grow aggressive and force its way out, Sabile will be hanging back and protecting Doctor Bones. She will also be ready to cover for our retreat if necessary. I'd usually take this spot, but given the area, her geomancy won't be quite as useful here."

"Understood."

And with that, James finally pressed the button he had scouted near the door. The triangular slab of dark green marble began to shake before receding into the ceiling, the grinding of stone on stone and the clickety of a mechanism's gears echoing throughout the room and the man-made cavern in the dirt outside.

The undead turned to face the noise and screeched, yelling more of what were previously mutters.

"DON'T WAKE THEM UP! I CAN FIX THIS! I CAN FIX THIS!"

And at these words, eldirtch green flames blossomed in the lich's hands, reeking of death and decay. Truth be told, calling them flames was a misnomer, merely the closest comparison that could be drawn, much as James' own shadow flames weren't anything like real fire, merely other forces mimicking it. Or perhaps the mortal mind could only perceive them as such? Could only perceive these ethereal forces in the forms of approximations of more familiar natural forces?

Philosophical musings aside, James readied his own magic.

It was time to put a dead man to rest.