The Wanderer, Ability and Power
“Thresh, I need your lantern,” said Karthus.
“Why,” the Chain Warden replied with a deep and deliberate voice?
“Do you love the Black Mist as I do?”
“Yes, other than the souls trapped inside my lantern, the Mist is the only thing that sustains me.”
“Good… I have been studying these tombs possessing the secrets of death, and I have found a way to spread the Black Mist.”
Thresh slowly steps toward Karthus, and without saying a word extends his arm offering his unholy lantern. Karthus reaches out and grabs it with both hands. He holds it up to his evil, glowing, empty eye sockets to look at the souls trapped inside. They are all there, tons of them. The Deathsinger, in dark delight, watches the thick brew of screaming, crying, suffering misty souls.
“Thank you my dear friend! Your reward for this will be immeasurable. Freedom and power await! No longer will just have to sustain. You will flourish as the Black Mist spreads!
“Well, I already grow tired without my lantern in my grasp. So I will have to rest as you sing of death,” Thresh says as he labors himself like an old man to a dirty stone bench.
“Do not worry, Warden. Across the seas in Ionia, their spirit realm is always knocking on the door to reality. And in your lantern, amongst all these tortured souls, many of them are from Ionia. Once those souls are unleashed, they will yearn to go to their home’s spirit realm, and Ionia will call to them. But I will Defile them! Then Black Mist will cling to the souls as they venture home. It will bring a Requiem! Balance will be destroyed and the beauty of nightmares and death will begin!”
