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Hailing from a war torn land, when their home was turning to darkness, the followers of a mystical religion dedicated years of research and secret reconnaissance to find the one light that would save them. The tomb of their forgotten god.

Confident of their discovery—for it matched all their descriptions—the acolytes summoned their friends, to descend into depths of a hidden tomb, long obscured by the passage of time.

But, when they found his humble sarcophagus, they could not open, nor break it, to resurrect him. Their spells and incantations fell into silence, and they believed all was for nothing.

Desperate after having come so far, they turned to the library, searching for some hidden rite that would allow them to release, then resurrect, their last hope for the land. But once amid the ancient books, they slowly began to hear whispers and the echoes of voices.

They made the mistake of believing it was their deity, communing with them, guiding them. And slowly, it began to drive them mad. Now they work, tireless and sleepless, to resurrect their “god”; carefully undoing the seals which were laid centuries before, as they slowly unlock his sarcophagus.

But this place is not what the poor acolytes believe. Within the stone sarcophagus grins an ancient lich, trapped and sealed long before. Aware of the plot against him, he created plans—one of which was to be implemented, should all else fail.

This last plan was to send his thralls out into the world, to spread the rumour of the hidden grave of the God of Light, who would rise and aide his people in need.

Though centuries have passed, his plan has finally come to fruition, in the form of the desperate souls who have sought him out, and now struggle to free him from his entombment.

He will be kind to them. He will kill them first. Not like that giant, Therog, to whom he promised eternal life. He wonders how that idiot is appreciating his existence as a corrupted water elemental, now—his skull certainly made an excellent fountain!

...No, for too long has the lich lain, chained and bound, watching a scrying mirror embedded in the lid of the coffin above him. Unable to kill him, his nemesis had resorted to this torment—forcing him to watch the very celebrations of his defeated reign, by the filthy peasants who used to squabble over who among them they would sacrifice first.

Gradually, he saw as the seasons turned, his cities grew and fell, and the world forgot all about their fearsome and terrible ruler.

Almost. They did not forget about their God of Light. Mortals were always so desperate to turn to the last, tattered shreds of hope, wherever they would find it. Even in mouldy old books.

Nor, entirely, did everyone forget about him. He would be remiss not to cede that the followers of his nemesis remembered his resting place all too well. But, by the time they arrive to stop the actions of the acolytes, it will be too late.

He will be free, and his reign will begin again. Finally.

Warned by the whispering voices to be wary, the acolytes have set magical traps throughout the tomb. They are desperate to buy themselves more time against the dark forces that fight against the release of their ancient saviour—for he is their last hope, and he must be resurrected...