BLACK MARSEMIUS, THE LICH-DRAGON

The cave had been considered cursed for centuries, but no one left alive remembered why. It was a place of ill-omen, where no rest was to be had by the wounded and weary. Legends spoke of demons and clouds of poison and gods of death dwelling in the black depths of the cave. At the deepest part of the cave was the Great Seal, a slab of obsidian covered in runes and a thirty foot wide magic circle. People dumped trash and corpses in the cave, and sometimes bandits or tribes of humanoids would hide here, but never for very long. Stingbats roosted on the ceiling next to giant arachnids that looked like stalactites. Giant rats and centipedes creeped around the dark corners of the cave in search of food. Other malignant creatures stirred in the shadows, lurking, waiting for prey.

This dark, dank cave was the prison of an ancient horror, Black Marsemius, a dragon that became a lich. The foul monster had been imprisoned by a band of heroes, but only after killing thousands of people across the kingdom, including most of the royal family and many noble knights. But that was long ago, and only vague legends were remembered now. So the band of adventurers chipping away at the great obsidian slab covered in mystical symbols had no way of knowing what was hidden underneath it. They did not know about the horrors of that bygone age, of the evil that was imprisoned under the stone. They just sought out riches and fame, and believed the great stone hid nothing more than treasure.

As the tomb raiders cracked open the seal and broke through the polished volcanic glass surface of the slab, creating a gap wide enough for them to enter the abyss beyond, a horrid stench of death and rot flowed out of the void beyond into the cave. The weaker members of the party grew sickened and retched on the floor of the cave. The wizard of the party stepped into the breach casting a spell to light the gloom. A vast chamber with walls of cyclopean stones looming upwards beyond the torch light was revealed. A mountain of coins and jewels glittered in the torchlight. As the band of adventurers stumbled into the chamber, their eyes gleamed as they stared at the vast treasure. Heedless of the risk, the party began grabbing handfuls of gold and gemstones before their leader could warn them to be quiet.

Something vast and slow moved in the darkness, awakening after centuries of enchanted sleep. Black Marsemius, the Lich-Dragon, had been trapped in his own lair, sealed by the magic ward on the entrance, trapped inside his home as a last resort by a wizard who was not strong enough to defeat the mighty beast. Now the seal was broken, and the jangling of coins had roused him from his centuries of stasis. Rising up and staring down at the party of adventurers, he realized he was free from a trap and his old instincts and hunger were inflamed. With a thought he quelled the light of the wizard’s spell and all of the party’s torches, spreading an inky black darkness through the cave. The terrified adventurers tried to flee, but found themselves stumbling in the dark. Inhaling air into empty lungs not used for ages, the huge dragon let out a blast of charnel wind, a deadly miasma of dark energy that drained life away. The bodies of the treasure-seekers withered away and they collapsed dead on the cold ground. The skulls of his ancient enemies, embedded in his chest where his heart used to be as trophies, all moaned in pain…

BLACK MARSEMIUS, THE LICH-DRAGON

A terrible great wyrm that somehow rose from the dead as a vile lich, this dread beast is the stuff of nightmares. Soot and ashes lining its green and ebony scales, it reeks of the grave, with its face a bare skull and its ribs exposed through desiccated flesh. Its bony claws are like scimitars and its fangs are like the sharp heads of spears. With magic powers that make it more deadly than any mere dragon, Black Marsemius is doom made flesh, the embodiment of death and destruction.

Centuries ago, a band of heroes slew the dragon, took out his heart, and roasted it. When Black Marsemius rose from his grave, he hunted them down and slew them one by one. Now, their moaning skulls fill the gap in his chest where his heart used to be, the dragon’s final revenge.

AC 18, HP 94, ATK 4 rend +11 (2d12) or 1 charnel breath, MV double near (fly), S +6, D +5, C +4, I +4, W +4, Ch +5, AL C, LV 20

Carrion Stench. Living creatures DC 12 CON the first time within near or DISADV on attacks and spellcasting for 5 rounds.

Impervious. Immune to fire, cold, and poison.

Charnel Breath. Fills a double nearsized cube of cold, foetid air that reeks of death extending from the dragon charged with dark, necrotic energy. DC 15 DEX or 6d10 damage. Creatures slain rise as undead under the command of Marsemius 1d4 rounds later.

Phylactery. Can't be killed while its spirit vessel (an object) is intact.

Necrotic Aura. Healing spells are DC 15 to cast on any target within double near. Other creatures attempting to rest in this area gain no benefits.

Shadow Leap (INT Spell). Self. DC 14. Teleport up to 100 miles

Stygian Darkness (WIS Spell). DC 14. Extinguish all light sources (even magical) within far.

Legendary Undead. Immune to morale checks. Only damaged by magical sources. Hostile spells targeting Marsemius are DC 18 to cast.