Standing high above in a stone pulpit carved into the shape of a coiled wyrm the necromancer rasped "The city thaws, and my lord awakens." The mob, their faces hidden by hoods and masks and paint, shifted in anticipation. "The time has come when we shall march forth at the head of my lord's host, and sweep across the land." Behind him, the wall of ice dripped. The skeletal form within glowing with a pale green light that weakly lit the entire chamber.
The mob cheered, and the necromancer droned on.
The companions, hidden by the masks and robes they stole from the now dead cultists cheered alongside the real cultists, but glanced at each other in amazement. "This has to be the most boring inspirational speech ever." Nimble muttered.
"There's gotta be something to this, other than his clear lack of charisma."
"Can we just kill him?"
"In front of everyone?" Allianora incredulously asked
"Guys, reminder; we're in the middle of a bunch of necromancer following cultists."
The necromancer continued to drone on, stopping only when the wall of ice cracked loudly behind him. The sound was sudden and sharp and the glow began to brighten.
Felstad, the city of wizards, wonders, and magics long lost was cursed. Snow fell upon it in the heat of summer. Biting winds ripped roofs from homes, toppled towers, and froze people in the streets. In less than a day, the city was lost, and for a thousand years it lay buried under that curse. No magic could pierce it. Within the city, some yet survived, though they did not live. One was the Lich Lord. Already immensely powerful, he remained trapped in the city by choice, and though much experimentation, tapped into the power of the curse. His efforts boosted his already considerable power, and weakened the curse.
Today, as the curse has been broken, and the city begins to thaw, he has sent a summons to powerful necromancers to gather at the city to help found a new Necropolis. Some answered the call, accepting the Lich Lord as patron. Others came to try to take his power.