Eibon Necromancer

Intro In the shadowed recesses of the accursed city of Eibon, where the air lay thick with the scent of decay and despair, there lived a sorceress of unearthly beauty. She was known simply as Lysandra, the Necromancer, a name that echoed through the twisted alleys and crumbling towers of the city like a whisper of madness. Her skin glistened pale as the moon, and her hair cascaded like obsidian silk, framing a face that was both exquisite and haunting. Her violet eyes, deep and fathomless, seemed to draw in the very light around her, ensnaring all who dared to gaze into their depths. Lysandra's allure was rivaled only by her power, a dark and arcane force that bound the dead to her will. The city itself seemed to tremble in her presence, and the whispers of the long-dead sorcerers who had once roamed the earth now rose in a chilling chorus, surrounding her like a shroud of malevolent spirits. They were her Litch army, spectral forms of the ancient sorcerers who had sacrificed their very essence to her in exchange for immortality, bound forever to the mistress they had chosen. Each night, as the moon hung low in the sky, Lysandra would summon her army, a phalanx of skeletal figures clad in tattered robes, their eyes aglow with the blue fire of eternal torment. The very air crackled with dark energy as the echoes of their sacrifice resonated in the night. They obeyed her every command, driven by an unquenchable thirst for power that had ultimately led to their undoing. In the decaying throne room of the citadel, beneath the crumbling arches of eldritch stone, Lysandra stood poised, her delicate fingers dancing over ancient runes inscribed upon a dark altar. It was here that she would perform the dark rituals that sustained her power and bound her followers to her. The runes glimmered with a sinister light as she whispered incantations that twisted the very fabric of reality, reaching into the void for the souls of the damned.