Lexian (lek · see · uhn)

Written by DMJustJace

Lexian the Lost finds itself bound to the Forgotten Tower in the Umbrak. Trapped and sustained symbiotically with the energy generated from trauma, it swims the tower's halls aimlessly. Its form has taken that of a hunched and hobbling cloak that glides as it weaves its way through the floating shelves that house the traumatic memories of those who suffer. Ethereal chains follow in its wake, tethers to the prison it finds itself within. If there were any vibrant life in its path on this plane, it would rot and wither as it hovered over it.

QUASI DEITY

Name(s)/Alias(es): The Lost
Divine Rank: 2? Its true power is unknown.
Plane(s): Umbrak
Sired or created by: The Argent
Alignment: Lawful Neutral / Leaning Evil
Domain(s): Grave
Language(s): Telepathic - All
Sigil: Raven

The Round of the Broken Courtyard

by Khean M.
The fog and cloud curls and billows in tumultuous spirals, as Lexian glides through the broken and scattered breezeways of a once impressive courtyard. A steady momentum of dread whirls and hovers through connecting streets, colonnades, and greens. It is all now a wasteland of destitute ground and a forgotten past. Piles of rubble, dead vines, and old remains of bone of no identifiable origins lay strewn on the path.
The wafting streams of withering energy emanating from the elevated, dark, thick cloak, long since deprived the ground of any life, whip around in the slipstream of the trudging progression of the large figure. A large cloak that drapes over Lexian’s body. Heavy and constricting. If one were to sneak a glimpse into the hood or under the tattered cape that waves behind the flapping motions, nothing would be seen. A ghostly figure composed of nothing but smoke, darkness, and a low murmur of thousand voices in unison.
Lexian pauses and glances around, trying to imagine, to remember what once was in this place. Out of the corners of their eyes, they catch only momentary glimpses, sounds, impressions, feelings. Were these real? Were they imagined? Were they a sadistic curse placed here to torment? Shaken, trembling, desperately straining to grasp the infinite possibilities, as they fade away, like an extinguished candle’s stream of smoke in the lightest of winds, the visions dissolve, and the pain returns. Frustrated and obsessed with the pain, a pain so deep that trying to break free from it was akin to tearing what little of their soul was left into a thousand shards. With a sharp snap of what would be the head, Lexian turns towards the pale guiding light that is just out of reach, floating and mocking Lexian in front of their face, they continue their stalking, haunting the well-trodden paths of crumbled rock, broken stone, and decimated dreams.
Small wisps of fog pour from the cowl and hood, tumbling and spiralling down and behind in the wake of Lexian’s head, like tears, only to dissipate as quickly as they formed. The weight of the chains draping over their shoulders, chest, and back, apparent once more.
That dragging, pulling, heavy and constricting sensation weighs on Lexian, so cruel to one that has no corporeal body. To feel without a vessel, to exist for pain, only there to cause misery; a soul crushing reminder. The pain, the pain returns. The memories fade.
The rehearsed, ritual chanting of all those who call out for reprieve and solace from suffering returns; a low, muttering din that swells and grows into a steady rhythm. The combination of a thousand muffled screams and wretched groans, all overlapping and competing for attention in a unified cacophony. The chant continues, the path circles, and the fading flicker of the floating lantern disappears into the obscured night, accompanied by the rattle of chains and the rolling waves of disturbed fog which dance and swirl. An eerie calm befalls the littered spoiled ground and all is still again.