#deathbuilt

The tomb was vast and perilous. As Xerath drifted forward through the darkness, his own form illuminating the walls around him, he found himself rather intrigued. The dead lined the walls, their mummified forms condensed into sarcophagi similar to the one he himself was imprisoned in. Clearly, this place had been built after the Fall of the Empire, but by whom?

The mage’s thoughts were interrupted as he soon emerged in a large, open chamber. It was circular, with strange symbols covering the walls. What caught the Ascendant’s attention the most, however, was the strange robed being who hovered in the center, with their backs turned toward Xerath.

“Who are you?” The Magus spoke in the native Shuriman tongue.

The Shadow Isles were no place for anything of the living. The flora was long dead and withered and with it, those that would feast upon it. And with no prey, there was no great predators to feast upon here. The place reeked of death and had initial lured the Voidreaver because of it. But now, he could see that his long journey was seemingly for naught as he crept amongst the dead trees, glowing green eyes constantly on the watch.

However, just because there was nothing akin to life here didn’t mean he was alone. Kha’Zix could feel it in his very core. Creatures unnatural and not belonging to this plane of existence (as if he could claim such a thing himself) wandered this lifeless land. Literal specters of the past roamed about, eteranally claimed by the island and bound forever in undeath. The thought was not a pleasant one in the slightest if only because for Kha’Zix, the thought of death was only a mild inconvenience to his eternal evolution.

He made no effort to interact with these...things, and in turn they seemed not to bother him. He was perfectly fine with this of course. It made his roaming of these desecrated lands all the easier. Who knows, perhaps he might even find something he could eat and rend with his savage claws?