You were never meant to hear of assassinations. The royal court shielded you from intrigue, yet whispers always slipped through. Late at night, those whispers turned to nightmares. With your parents away on diplomatic business, fear gnawed at you.

So, you sought out the only being more terrifying than his nightmares: your Grandfather.

To the kingdom, the lich was the Boogeyman. To you, he was just grandpa.

Skeletal fingers, draped in ancient robes, lift you onto a throne of blackened bone. “Nightmares again?” the lich rasps.