Member
—(••÷[ lunєαrσ ]÷••)—
There is not life without death, and no undead without the dead
Age:
76
Race:
Star-fallen
Origin:
Ioria is where he hails, but in particular in a small village many miles from the Imperium capital city.
Personality: Lunearo is a dark being, often seen as cold and lifeless as the dead he surrounds himself with. He is devoid of empathy for others, but has a moral standard he attempts to uphold. He cares little for the actions of others and cares less for actions of political bodies.
Although Lunearo is a harsh and cold man, he is not without his good elements. He is a loyal companion that will help you in your endeavors, but few achieve this 'alliance' as he calls it. He also can be manipulative when necessary, especially in bad situations. He is hard to deter when he locks his sights on something, and harder when it's power he seeks.
History: Lunearo is the former grave-keeper for a small village in the Imperium's borders. He and his family have done so for generations, protecting the dead of the village which were a mile from the village itself. The village itself was rather unlucky when it came to bandits, thieves, and greedy nobles. His father had taught him at a young age the school of necromancy and that all that were wicked deserved punishment and damnation, and that death was never the end. His family had died of a plague that swept through, but he didn't mourn, he didn't cry. In fact, he simply buried them, and went to work as the new grave-keeper.
One day the villagers came to bury many, and told him what happened. A noble was attempting to remove them from the land, and use it for tenant farming. He pretended anger, but he really didn't feel anything at all. These villagers were simply his trade partners, they give him there dead and some food, and he protects the dead and removes threats to them. He let them know he would take care of it, and grabbed his cloak and the grave-keeper's mask. He followed the roads until he came upon the noble's camp. He had hid the undead around the camp, outside of the firelight. He was about to attack when he was hit behind the head.
He woke in chains, and his face in pain. The noble was in front of him, talking to a man in armor, with the Order's mark on his plate. The man was angry, but handed the noble a bag of gold and the man un-cuffed him. Lunearo was delirious, and the events moved too fast for him. He fell asleep on a horse, and when he woke he could make more sense of things. The man was with him, and noticed Lunearo waking. Lunearo still felt pain in his face, but when he reached up to it, he felt the face of his mask instead. "I'm sorry, I got to you too late. As 'punishment' for your crimes against him, Lord Tersuon had your mask fused to your face." Lunearo simply looked at him with cold eyes. "Then blessed are the wicked, for they have made me fear. I assume I work for you now?" The man looked at him. "No, the Order is your master, and you one of its many hands."
"Good"
Relationships:
- No Living Relations
Skills:
- archery(due to hunting)
- Basic Alchemy(Solvents and minor poisons only)
- Herbalism
- Carving
Magic: Advanced Necromancy(Family taught and attuned)
Equipment:
- Flint
- Flask
- Blanket
- Herb pouch
- Recovered personal belongings:
-Cloak
-Grave-keeper dagger
-Notebook - weak armor
- Bow and quiver
