Demortes' fathers death

After a debate with some local citizens in Westbridge, Demortes heads to the Backstreet Billards Healing Area, for a short get-away. As the half-orc was sitting on the couch, drinking, a weird noise came from within the room. Demortes was the only one in the room. The fanged male was wierded out a little, but thought nothing big of the sound. Another sound came from behind the bar. The sound of glass shattering on the floor behind the bar continued. Demortes raised to his feet quickly. "Who's there?" said the frightened lich. A small human figure, about six foot in height. The short hair told Demortes it was a male. "Who, or what, are you?" bellowed the defensive half-orc. "Don't you know the spirit of you own flesh and blood?" cried a deep hallow voice. "Wha what?" cried the frightened Demortes. "I am your father," cried the voice once again. "My father is dead. Killed by mothers kind." "That is what you believe. Do you know what truly happened?" said the spirit. Demortes nodded, as he was looking disappointed. "You tried fleeing, you were fleeing from those that support the Rok, you bastard. As with my mother, I will die fighting against the Rok, not fleeing like you had done." The spirit came closer to his son. "Is that what they told you?" the father said. "Here let me show you," the father said, moving faster toward his own flesh, and blood. The father wasn't walking. He was floating. The almost translucent spirit had floated through Demortes at an incredible speed that Demortes had hit his head on the end of the couch he had fallen back on. He is now laying unconscious on the floor, dreaming, dreaming of the fathers death.