Description
The man before you appears powerfully built, yet his dress is not that
of one who has devoted his life to warfare. Armorings, meticulously
maintained, are paired with stylish and colorful attire, giving him
the appearance of a gaily dressed dungeonkeeper.
Eyes of chestnut brown are set beneath a jutting brow, and his face
is adorned with a well-maintained mustache and light beard. His head
is shaven clean, with nary a stray hair or bit of stubble presenting
itself. His mannerisms are easy and gentle, and a somber sadness
seems to perpetually shine in his eyes.
Role
The beginnings of my studies
Added Sat Apr 11 09:34:15 2015 at level 10:
The occult has always fascinated me. Even as a child, I would slip from the
temple during services to sit quietly in the graveyard, content among the
markers and the silence. While I'm certain it wasn't every service, it
seemed, to my child's mind, that my rear was sore shortly arriving home from
prayer.Perhaps this is why I have such disdain for the church. After all,
would not any malleable child's mind create a link between the temple and the
pain after such occurrences? It matters little, I suppose, for I am grown
now and beyond the reach of my father's grip.
I would sit quietly, as I said, my ear to the ground, imagining sound and
movement under the soil. Were the bloodthirsty dead reaching for me through
the cold ground, or was it just my imagination?I doubt they were moving,
but a child's imagination is a powerful thing. It was powerful enough to
guide me through my adolescence, giving me reason to read and research the
mysteries of death. My frustration grew and I grew, for such knowledge is
closely guarded and many of the books I read were nothing more than
conjecture and rumor. My own attempts at copying the rituals in these books
met with failure, but I have always been willful, and I refused to quit.
It was upon my thirtieth birth year that I ventured to visit the Galadonian
guild of necromancy. Of course, the zombie at the door was hidden from view,
but I smelled and sensed his presence, even before I heard his rumbling and
raspy voice. I was forbidden from entering, but I knew that all within must,
sooner or later, venture without. I waited in the filthy alley, wondering at
the noises and gurglings emanating from that subterranean laboratory.
Several guildmembers venture within and emerged, but I knew none of these
would be willing to aid me. They were interested in their own studies, and
had little time to waste upon such an upstart, especially one with little
coin of his own and minimal knowledge.
Finally, my trial of patience was ended. It was Fulzicrul Thar himself
strolling up onto the street, and I swear I could sense the waves of power
and wisdom flowing from him. He peered directly into my eyes, and asked if I
was interested in joining the guild. He said he could see the want in my
eyes, the need for knowledge, and that such desire was always rewarded under
his tutelage. First, however, he would require a sacrifice. He said he
needed the blood of a paladin, and that only a few drops would suffice for
his experiment.
The blood of my Father
Added Sat Apr 11 09:35:30 2015 at level 10:
My heart leapt and sank simultaneously. My own father was a warrior-priest
of Baerinika, and while he often came home battered and bruised, he was
careful not to soil our home with blood. His bandages were kept clean and
disposed of immediately upon their changing. I had little hope for stealing
his blood in that way, so I resolved myself to taking it. A small cut,
whilst he slept, should be simple enough.
It was over a week before my courage and want were strong enough to counter
my fear. I crept into his chambers with a small paring knife stolen from the
kitchen. I knew he was a lawful man and a man of prayer, but I had always
given little thought to such things except as impediments to one's own
desires. I crept ever closer and very slowly, but upon the blade touching
his skin, his hazel eyes flashed open and a fierceness cross his face. His
hands reached for me, and in the heat of the moment, and in my determination
to have his blood, I fought him. I stabbed him in the throat, and I'll never
forget the feeling. His skin was toughened from exposure, and the life in
him pressed against the knife once it was within his body. I yanked the
knife free, and tried in vain to place the bottle beneath his head. In his
death throes, he smashed the bottle from my hand. His hands grasped his own
throat in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. His struggles ceased for
a moment, and I saw his head dip to his chest. I thought him dead at first,
but then I saw the amber glow upon his face, and I knew I must act quickly.
He would likely not forgive such a sin as mine.
The knife rose and fell, its silvery blade staining a deeper crimson with
each strike. I knew his concentration was broken with the second stab, and I
continued until I knew him dead. Guilt flared within my heart, but I was
forced to quieten it as best I could. This would not be for naught. I
emptied his piss-pot, and used it to gather his blood, all of it I could
carry. Thankfully, my mother was visiting her elven relatives and while
I am certain the scene upon her return was devastating, I've not had to
face her. I have never returned home. I have no need for her elven purity.
Fulzicrul was amused at my tale and reminded me that my father would likely
have slain me had he known of my intentions. One less paladin, he said, was
a favor done to those who would learn, and was more than enough to guarantee
my entrance into the guild.
And so my studies began in earnest. No more with the charlatan's books and
imagined rituals. This is real.
The folly of the Light
Added Sat Apr 18 23:15:48 2015 at level 16:
I am astounded by what I have seen this day. A whispered voice from the
shadows called out a conjurer's name to me, allowing that this individual was
known to favor angels over demons. I wondered what this might have to do
with myself, then I realized that due to my studies, I was expected to kill
this person. Naturally, I spoke directly with the student of conjuration and
was shocked by his responses to my questions.
I could not fathom the limited frame of mind of this person. He informed me
that he would never deign to summon a demon or devil. I could understand
such, if, of course, the demon or devil were never found to be of any use.
Then he surprised me further, by staunchly insisting that he would not even
learn the rituals by which could be done! Why, I asked, would you limit your
knowledge in such a manner? Why, by the gods, would you willfully insist
upon ignorance of your own art!?
His response was disheartening, to be sure. The Light, he says, the Light
guides me, and I cannot stoop to such dark magicks.
What a foul land we live in, where fear and morality dictate what we learn
when guilt and shame guide our choices.I pity this half-hearted conjurer,
for he shall never be all that his talent will allow.
Perhaps I should kill him. It would be a mercy, truly.
My pledge, and hope for a bright future
Added Thu Apr 23 04:30:01 2015 at level 18:
I have chosen my path, and pledged myself to the Heralds, that band of kindly
folk that run the Inn of the Eternal star. Most might think this an odd path
for one such as myself, but I have peered within their library and seen the
amassed knowledge they protect and preserve. A wonderful duty they have
taken upon themselves, to protect the purity of these tomes and prevent their
defacement and likely destruction by those who do not understand their
contents.
I know that a lengthy explanation will be likely, for I have met none of my
fellow guildmates who have ventured to serve in such a manner. In truth, I
care little for killing, although I'll do it without remorse. Many of the
guild blather on endlessly about spilling blood and reveling in the
domination of their foes, threatening to defile their corpses, and so on. I
find their prattling boring to no end and choose to do more with my life than
be content with such trivialities. Were the Masters of old still about, I'd
join their ranks, but alas, one must make do with what is available. I will
serve my own tastes, which run more towards reading and booze than murder.