For the last few days, the lich had been driven. For hours at a time, he had floated throughout his immense library, scanning the thousands of texts and scrolls the Zulkir of Necromancy had spent the last two centuries collecting. Szass Tarn, so absorbed in his studies, had been barely aware of his servants scuttling in and out to replace the candles he was forever burning. Unlike most lichs, Szass Tam could move about in broad daylight, but he preferred not to. In fact, he shrouded his keep's few windows in sumptuous, black velvet drapes, blotting out all natural daylight. And though he could easily have lit his entire residence with various enchantments and glow spells, the lich had a fondness for the simplicity of candles. The keep was filled with them, even though many members of his vast, undead armies were fearful of fire. Szass Tam enjoyed their dread with a perverse humor. However, he could not tolerate wax spatters anywhere and his servants were well aware of the consequences if they didn't clean them properly or failed to refresh the hundreds of pillars throughout the keep on a daily basis. They were constantly busy with the chore.
In his searches, the lich had pulled out a variety of obscure tomes and manuscripts. He had spread them about in an unusually disorganized fashion, too concerned with adding notations to a well-worn folio that was now lying at the center of his table to care about the books. With bony fingers that resembled nothing so much as birds' talons, Szass Tam traced the runes and words he had inscribed over the last few months and murmured softly. His paper thin skin was lined with wrinkles of concentration, and his graying wisps of hair were slightly askew, oddly framing his balding pate. When he was alone, the necromancer cared little for his outward, physical appearance, but didn't indulge in the habit of wearing the clothes he had died in as so many of his kind did. He normally sported a simple linen tunic and the rich, maroon robes that marked his station as a Red Wizard. For anyone other than a Red Wizard, it meant death to wear such a garment. In fact, most Thayans were so fearful of the punishment, the majority never sported the color in their wardrobe at all, whether they were slave or master.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rocked back and forth on his heels as though struggling with some unseen force. He repeated a phrase over and over, forcing his will to dominate that invisible entity. His scrawny fingers clutched the ends of his folio, and he crushed the edges of the parchments, caught up in the battle of wills. Finally, he threw back his head and nearly screamed out the words a last time. The air was sucked out of the room in a thunderous whoosh, extinguishing every candle in his library. Szass Tarn lowered his head in the absolute darkness and remained that way for several moments. Eventually, he lifted his head wearily and made a slow pass of his hands, and the library was once again illuminated by a hundred points oitight.
The Red Wizard moved slowly over to a luxurious, oversized chair, covered in the hide of an animal long-since extinct in Faerun. He carefully lowered his thin skeletal frame into the comforting cushions, a ghost of a smile playing about his thin, parched lips. A small table to his left held a heavy-cut crystal decanter of garnet wine, but he did not avail himself of any refreshment. The lich no longer needed food or water, or even sleep for that matter, but he preferred to surround himself with the trappings of the living and only the finest would suit his tastes. He steepled his fingers in front of his face and leaned his skullish forehead against the bony latticework they formed. He had succeeded, but Szass Tarn was far too intelligent and practical to fool himself into believing his spell was anything more than a temporary measure. He knew he would have to discover a permanent solution, but he secretly harbored a growing feeling of certainty that there might not be one. He wondered once more if this would haunt him for all his undead years.
The Red Wizard slowly raised his head, and his form shimmered and coalesced into something else. Suddenly, his arms and legs filled out, and his tunic no longer had the appearance of being a few sizes too big. His spine stretched out, and his chair sagged under the additional weight. Szass Tarn's face grew fuller, and his cheeks took on a color that was almost healthy. His jet-black eyes burned brightly and his hair darkened and thickened, creeping back up to cover the top of his skull once more.
"Come," he called out in a deep, melodic voice, though there had been no knock on the thick chamber door yet.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, that entrance swung open. A human woman, no older than twenty or so, peeked in.
"What is it, child?" the lich purred solicitously.
But beneath that pleasant demeanor, an undercurrent of impatience rippled. It was not lost on the young servant.
She quickly entered the room, and SzassTam could see she would need a little prodding to get her to speak. He sighed imperceptibly and once again thought back to his former chambermaid, Charmaine. He found especially at times like this that he missed the thin, middle-aged woman who had served him faithfully for over thirty years. She was poised and polite, qualities the lich appreciated and even valued, to an extent. Charmaine had worked tirelessly over the years in his largest keep here, situated between Eltabbar and Am-ruthar, and asked for no monetary payment other than food and shelter. She had made it clear to the Red Wizard that she longed for immortality; it was a desire he understood all too well, and he had admired her directness. He promised her after four decades of services he would have one of his vampire generals bestow that "gift" on her, and she could serve him forever. But a misunderstanding occurred a few months ago.
A new vampire in Szass Tarn's service had been attracted to her, not knowing her important station amongst the thirtyvor so living servants that worked within the keep. He approached her one night, and Charmaine mistakenly thought he had been sent by Szass Tam. She believed her moment of reward had come. She willing gave herself to the young vampire, and he, caught up in his own bloodlust, drained her dry and murdered her. When Szass Tam discovered his favorite servant had been killed, he incinerated the vampire with little more than a single thought. He debated long and hard about raising Charmaine as a zombie, hating to lose such a good servant. But he knew she had always detested his legions of ghouls and zombies, only acting with the utmost civility around them because she knew the lich hated impropriety. And so he decided instead to let her be in peace as her final payment, though it caused him a great inconvenience. As he watched Charmaine's replacement nervously fidget with a small, draped bundle in her arms, he sighed again.
"Is everything ready for my guests, Neera? Bedchambers freshened, clean linens?" he prodded the red-haired girl. "You know I would hate for them to be lacking any comfort, don't you?" With that last question, he eyed her meaningfully. Szass Tarn knew full well that her left arm was still healing from the burn he had inflicted there not too long ago when Neera had neglected a few pieces of cutlery at a place setting for one of his "special" dinner gatherings.
"Yes, m-my lord," she answered meekly.