It had been millennia since he was able to walk about one of his old homes in peace. The fragrances brought on a strong sense of nostalgia, memories he had thought had faded along with the passing of the ages. But an old elf never forgets. A slight smile forms on his lips before his seriousness returns, his expression matching the tomb he'd just arrived at.
His walk to his ancestral estate, what was left of it anyway, was surreal at best mixed looks of amazement and distrust (or perhaps disgust even) as the security wards known for their viciousness deactivated in turn upon his arrival. Of course, this was not the first time, he had been sneaking in for some time now, but this day was different. Today was the day he'd finally return to his people... whether they wanted him to or not.
With a sort of dark majesty he rarely allows himself to fall into while out in the greater world, he makes his way to the crypt, where his family, himself included, had been interred, and sealed into out of fear they would somehow claw their way out. The fear was not entirely unfounded of course, his was a family not of monsters, but of monster makers, ones spoken of in hushed tones and succor sought from when the only recourse left is the power and influence found only in darkness. They were called demons, but no, demons lack direction and require a firm hand. If they would be something, they would be Devils if anything at all.
Pale lights ignited along the walls as he made his way down the stairs. The architecture was lavish as was the custom of his people, the sense of foreboding palpable as the darkness below, but the prize was down there and he would not stop. Even if he did have to lay eyes on his wretched parents and siblings again.
Faint whispers flitted about the dark, the illumination of the lights did nothing to ease them as these were probably from the spirits of the dead encased in the walls. Malkaris allowed his gaze to move across the chamber, large sarcophagi lined along the walls, each as gaudy and beautiful as one could imagine, though imperfect, as they were also covered in warding magic, each sigil requiring multiple lives to empower, he remembered fondly, as their execution was done flawlessly during his time as a student. He was a prodigy when it came to necromancy, in a family of prodigies. His time as a youth, learning the art was not good one, but he learned, and he excelled.
"Fancy meeting all of you here."
He speaks in a slightly dry, sarcastic manner, but the seriousness of his face never leaves. He can feel the attention of the tormented focus on him. His mother, father, sister and brother all. All dead by his hand, and all imprisoned in a tomb they could never escape from, himself included, but that came later. Malkaris himself had escaped by sheer chance brought on by the sundering. The sheer magical force hit his sarcophagus first, causing it to act much like a bulwark for the others. The wards on the other sarcophagi were damaged as well, but his were completely destroyed, being of a different, lesser sort he imagined.
And here he was again, staring at them again. Once his senses had returned to him, Malkaris drew himself to his old sarcophagus. He hesitated for a moment in opening it. His hands shook from anticipation and from the amount of restraint it took not to dive in. This would take some time to do perfectly, as he didn't just need another body, he needed HIS body, and it had to hold up. He removed the lid slowly, dust coming off in clouds until his body was finally in view. It had changed... it was slightly mummified, but very well intact. He imagined the nightwell had a lot to do with it, it's power seeping into the grounds of the tomb, radiating for millennia throughout, causing his skin to darken somewhat, his features looking more like those of the Shal'dorei and not his Kaldorei brethren. This was... good. Unlike his treeward kin, he did not give up his immortality willingly to a tree, and the time spent seeped in the energies of the nightwell without expending a single drop would mean his power could safely be contained within his vessel. Who knows what else, but one thing is certain, he would remain immortal and in his mind, he would be closer to being the god he already thought he was.
"Well aren't you beautiful? I suppose I should get to work. Don't you all agree?"
Angered wails are his only replies.