Necromancer Vossler of the Moors

You know the feeling - the one where you are sleeping the deepest possible sleep. Where you are beyond the universe, still alive, but at complete peace. Nothing is as restful as that sleep. And then, the moment in time that jars you from that sleep.

Vossler had lived a peaceful life. He was a solemn fisherman, his trusty rat by his side to consume the bones, his feather to remind him of days by the sea before the Moors froze over. Vossler had perfected the art of ice fishing - he was one of the last members of Nuuk as he was one of the most resourceful. He grew in the short growing season - he preserved his hunts, he ate sparingly. He also passed peacefully in his own bed, at an age that any of us would accept to live to.

That is, until a near explosion came threw the door. Icicles like shrapnel speared through the room and a mostly decomposed body sat up in bed with that feeling of being arisen from a deep sleep.

At the door, an elated Wizard #595 stood, exhilarated that he was able to complete the spell which would allow ice to perform like dragon fireworks.

His exuberant demeanor flipped to terror as Vossler gritted his bare teeth in a bony jaw and started to saunter over to Ofaris.

Ofaris knew what this meant - he had awoken a soul from it's eternal slumber, and it will not rest until that which awakened it has perished.

Entered by: 0xF49E…71FA and preserved on chain (see transaction)