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[Lonegamer]

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He sat in gazing through a hole in the charred ceiling of what once was in life the home he shared with his beloved young wife Elizabeth. Upon closer examination it would be perfectly obvious that while his gaze seemed to be affixed on the stars over head his mind was else-where, far from his stinking wet burnt out husk of a former residence; far from the make-shift throne he constructed from bits of wood and bone, and very far from his current rather wretched existence. For hours he had been petting the skull idly resting on his lap next to a rather heavy and ancient looking tome. At times, his gaze still steady he would cradle it, his precious relic.

He was and still remained perhaps one of Sosaria’s greatest albeit unknown human tragedies. It had been said by an enemy of his once that he had shed directly and indirectly the most blood, his manipulative actions cost more lives then any other single Necromancer in the Common Era. A far cry from the man he seemed like he would become when he first set off from his native Britain to begin studies on Verity Isle. Idealistic, a youth of great intellect and sharp wit combined with charismatic charm one learns from the courtiers. Unlike many a Britannian blue-blood he would amount to something based on his own ability not his family’s old money. No doubt the champions of light he spent so much of his time on the plane seeking to destroy he would have worked with to build the great unified Sosaria he so passionately desired to see.

But, an unassuming book, a text no greater then thirty pages caught the recently graduated professor’s attention and altered forever the course he was destined to follow.

The power of Necromancy came easy to him at first, almost effortlessly he manipulated the powers of entropy and decay delving deeper and deeper into it he realized too late it was not he that had mastered the dark art, but the dark art that had mastered him…more specifically it’s source, Oblivion who in time he would come to know rather well.

Murder, deception, thievery and cruelty came easy to him, his actions slowly were no longer his own. His intellect, his will and his being slowly was being led and configured to this alien force crying out from the void until finally after he had reached what seemed to be his demise an elf, like no elf he had ever seen before literally plucked him from his tavern seat and dragged him to a place he would know well over the years Charnel Hill…he watched and learned much from his master as they worked to build what would become the Order of the Ebon Skull and his journals would reveal that while he never held much loyalty to any individual ever again a steadfast almost fanatically obsessive loyal streak existed for his first master, this Admoreth.

That felt like ages ago to him now, he had risen and fallen to the very heights of power, in time sacrificing even his humanity to his Oblivion, all that remained now was energy bound to a husk, his only emotions hatred, greed, lust, envy, malice and vanity. True he seemed human, even spoke with the same charismatic charm of his youth but this, only another one of his illusions.

He sat in shadows, on the brink of his own demise, and waited and watched while in torments no mortal he imagined could ever know. His masters, the Lich Lords had been one by one vanquished, his heretical one time allies had taken and lost the city which was once his gem, which his word and his dogma ruled. The dark arts had been abused time and time again by heretical rabble-rousing upstarts and the lightsworn had all but wiped away all he sought to create. Worst of all, his Oblivion, his source of power, The Dark Throne was silent.

No more…he could taste his glorious ascent, all that he had worked for, all he had dreamed of would be realized. He knew quite clearly when he first sensed the rumbling of old powers amid Bailos’ mockery of a kingdom in Umbra what he had to do. All of them, every last necromancer and undead that followed the heretic’s path had to be purged, every building and relic tainted or erected by their vile hands torn town…their libraries burnt to the ground. They were nothing more then rabble rousers, the vacant throne of his masters they threw him from to make room for their foolish now missing emperor he knew belonged to him, the city, the Order, Oblivion’s very essence was is to possesses.

But he never was one for getting his hands dirty…they would do it for him.

Necromancer and Lightbringer alike would bring about their own culling, they would create him, give birth to his new and stronger form themselves plans set into motion months ago now drew close to fruition…

Suddenly with the crack of a door his seemingly perpetual gaze came to an abrupt end as he jumped to his feet tucking his dear relics into his long leathery cloak.

In what would be for him very out of character behavior he greeted a tall imposing cloaked figure with a short nod his head and in a tone of calm almost concentrated seriousness spoke slowly and deliberately, as if to insure his visitor would under stand him:

“Do you have it?”


With an annoyed sigh the figure produced a small metal chest from his heavy robes and dangled it momentarily before the necromancer’s face then as he reached for it withdrew the chest with a sadistic chuckle.

“Before ve so readily hand over such a great and rather…priceless heirloom ze family vishes zat I remind you of our little arrangement da? You have loyally served as our eyes and ears since you first left ze fall of your creator..zis Admoreth. Granted for ze rather high price…but thus far it vas vell spent. You vere our voice, acted on numerous occazions according to our vishes and desires…it vas us who saved you zis last time from destruction at ze hands of Bailos da? Found you a suitable host da? I vant your vord…no no your oath that you vill not turn on us now…”

Just as the tall visitor vanished his little speech the necromancer broke into a rather arrogant and cocky smile and bowed with a flurry.

“My dear Lord Ne’Sveti…” He said as he stooped and kissed the figure’s ring; a silver wolf’s head; “Your family as always can count on the loyal and efficient service of it’s greatest agent!”

When he was Lich Lord, he would take infinite pleasure in slaughtering them along with all the rest.