Skeleton Fable

"Once there lived 206 friends who loved the skeletons inside their flesh, muscle and veiny exteriors, and wanting to bring that skeleton out, they all became necromancers. With a vow to find knowledge on this, they began their determined search. Soon a reputation grew, and all the kings in the land became worried of the 206 dark towers twisting into the virgin skies. They set the highest bounty on them in all the lands, and from every corner of their lush green hills came adventurers.

Wielding maces, hammers, swords, and arcane powers, they swore to the kings to rid the necromancers and bring peace to the lands, then left for the dark towers. None came back. The necromancers would keep protecting each other, and overcame anything that the kings sent their way. Some say they rose the corpses as their loyal skeleton minions, and would burst out like an infected cell to duplicate their code in the surrounding regions. But they never did. The necromancers had no qualms with the outside world, and merely used their stones for further knowledge.

One of the 206 brought up a question: The only skeleton they can create is a mindless one, solely sufficient on their magicks. This brought research to a halt, for how could they fuel their own skeletons if everyone was a skeleton? So, each individual tasked his grey matter with that very question, hoping to find a loophole. One night, a clever necromancer said to everyone, "There exists a creature called a Lich. Fueled by his own magick, he is self aware and is, most importantly, a skeleton. That, I think, is where our fates lie."

Intrigued, everyone discussed it until the crack of dawn. There, they learned that to become a lich one must have a container for the soul, called a phylactery. What constituted a phylactery? Could a marble be a phylactery? Or a humming bird? After much time and discussion, they found a book detailing what a phylactery could be, and how to enhance an object into being that.

With the knowledge that a phylactery could be any object in the material land, each necromancer stared at the other. What to make into their phylactery? What mostly cherished treasure would be worthy of becoming a phylactery?

A humble necromancer suggested that they should use each other's skeleton as a phylactery, since they are their most cherished treasures. The idea spread like wildfire, and the ritual to Lichdom was set.

At the stroke of midnight weeks later, on a full moon, in a ritual that took much time and preperation for, they all became liches.

Life was good for all the 206. They could feel the wind going through their ribcages, their bones creaking openly, and no longer a need to feed or sleep. Their research was postponed for a while, life as a skeleton, as their real selves, a dream come true for the necromancers. But one by one, they all grew restless, a nagging sensation in their pelvis bones. Why the unrest?

After a long debate over it, they learned the source of their negative feelings: They felt lonely. They all were happy to be skeletons, but they felt lonely. They all stared at each other, and knew in their sinister skulls the answer. They were skeletons, yes, but only 206 of them. A small army of liches. Their love for their skeletons knew no bounds, and having 206 individual liches wasn't enough to quench their love. They had to become one.

Another book told them what this was: A demilich. Made out of exactly 206 liches, this lich would possess no peer, no equal, nor any rival in its power and structure. Its bones would be the mightiest, its skull the most beautiful and sinister, its ribcage with the most ribs.

And so, research into the ritual and ingrediants for it went underway...

The kings of the lands finally became fearless, and, having no more adventurers to lure to their deaths, marched their armies toward the towers. By the time they arrived, the ritual was underway. All they had to do was march forward a bit more, and smash the liches to dust, for they were defenceless in the ritual, but they had one obstacle: The adventurers skeletons standing guard, like a sea, between them and the towers.

In the thousands, they awaited the move of the kings.

Not wishing to turn back, each king spurred his army forward in a mad dash, knowing their total combined count dwarved what was present before them. A mighty clash began, one of which many poems and songs were written for.

The kings were almost to the liches when something odd happened: Each tower exploded. Violently tossing the masonry aside, as if a bomb detonated in the middle of each structure, they leveled themselves completely. The armies of the still sleeping skeletons stared with their mouths agap at the display, shocked to see it. Was that their Gods divine wrath? Were their prayers finally answered, and their children can now safely play in the streets?

No. From the wreckage, from deep underground in some crypt, out came one, giant skeleton. One, not two hundred and six. Radiating with majestic light, the Demilich stared at the still ignorant skeleton army, and with a simple gesture, brought them to enlightenment."

Vinkona stopped, staring at everyone gathered around her. She waited a moment before speaking, seeing what their reactions might be to her story. "The moral to this story is: A skeleton is always worth reaching for, no matter how long it takes."