Name: Artur Rose
Gender:Male
Age:20 +???
Race:Human Skeleton/Undead
Appearance:Artur is a raised, undead skeleton. Despite being a very old skeleton he keeps his bones as clean as possible; one must take pride in one's body if you want the respect of others. He has layers of clothes on himself, in order to look more 'fleshed-out' and not as gaunt, but the top layer is a dark forest-green tunic that is belted at the waist, dark brown woolen pants that tie at the ankle with soft leather shoes. He has a deep red hooded robe with his house sigil on the back - a black and gold rose bud. The robe is open in the front but can be tied at the waist. Underneath the robe there is a side bag that hangs to his left side, with the strap crossing up to his right shoulder.
Nationality:Kaine
Magic:Destros (Pyromancy)
Mystos (Illios)
Backstory:A scene from a memoryA long hooked shadow creeps along the crypt's walls, skewed and warped from the blazing torch clutched tightly in hand. Grunts and coughs echoed after the hunched figure as he slinked his way through the tunnels below the desert, thinking of how unbelievable it was that it could get so cold so quickly in this wasteland. He was used to the cool breezes of his homeland, not this drastic exchange between two extremes of temperature. Still, he trudged onward into the depths.
The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can go home and forget all about this, he thought as he glimpsed light ahead. The others were waiting for him, just as he was told by the Master. Entering the room, three men reached instinctively for their weapons - the youngest of them almost dropped the torch he was holding. "Relax," rang out his elderly voice into the silence of the room. "I serve the Lord of the Black." The young one's face relaxed into an expression of relief, but the others' remained serious.
"Were you followed?" One of the men snapped.
"Ha!" The old man almost laughed. "Followed
me? Through this hellhole of a desert? I can assure you that we're the only things alive in this wasteland for leagues." The man grunted as he motioned the old man to follow, and turned on his heel to start walking to one of the tombs in the room.
"He's there, the one you were looking for," the man stated as the young one scurried over to hold the torch over the inscription. The old man looked at the engraving on the stone slab that covered the tomb. Nodding, he looked to the one that had just spoke.
"Perfect. If you wouldn't mind getting the remains out of there and placing him on the ground, I shall begin." As the men worked on sliding off the stone lid, the old man placed his torch in the brazier on the wall and started drawing a circle on the ground. The runes had to be precise before he could infuse them with his magic. He had risen many before, but none that have been gone this long. Still, the Master entrusted him with this task and he was
not going to fail him.
After everything was in order and the remains were laid in the circle, the necromancer placed several objects around the skeleton. Sitting, he held out his hands, speaking the words of power and channeled the magic around him. For hours he repeated the spell, focusing his power to call back this mans soul. Rituals that required this much power were like flipping over a boat in the water. You had to slowly rock back and forth until you reached the tipping point. Then, he felt it.
It was too late to react, as a cold burst of air filled the room snuffing out all the light. The three warriors gasped and panicked as they frantically searched for their flint to relight the torches, but the necromancer didn't need to see to know what happened. He had made a terrible mistake. Light enveloped the room, unveiling the standing skeleton before them. He was looking at his hands, and then at the rest of his own body and then to the old man sitting in front of him. Unable to show emotions through facial expressions anymore, the old necromancer could see that he was confused nonetheless. Which also confirmed his failure. This undead was not under his control, it had taken all of his power to bring him back. Even the three warriors could see that he had messed up, and they went for their blades. It was too late.
"What. . . have you
done to me!?" The booming voice tore into their heads, through their mind. The necromancer held up his hand as if to cast a shielding spell as a reflex, momentarily forgetting that all of his magic was drained. Fire exploded out from the skeleton's bony fingers as four mortal screams filled the halls of the crypt, only to be swallowed up by the vast desert above.
Skills: Arcana
History
Investigation
Perception
Deception
Persuasion
Personality:He is very methodical and calculating. Also, very curious when it comes to something he doesn't know. Especially when it comes to magic. In life he was a good person, and always tried to help those whom couldn't help themselves. But, since his undeath his emotions and humanity are just a memory. Trying to cope with this and be a good person is something he is struggling with, wondering to himself whether he should just stop caring about humanity altogether.
Equipment:Since my character knows magic, he would have some spellbooks along with his personal journal, including ink and the like for writing.
Spell components
Empty vials to collect samples.
Rose Family Crest ring, as a necklace tied around his neck with a leather strap and hangs hidden under his tunic.
Map of the realm.
@BrandJust to clarify, I'm not trying to play an evil litch character. This character was a good person in life as well as a mage, and is simply a raised undead with his former consciousness. But since he is undead, emotions are very dulled along with his empathy, despite his good character. He wants to be of use in the world again, but has to struggle to find his place and also deal with those that despise his kind, which is why I chose the illusion magic. I'm hoping I'll be able to disguise myself as a human at least for a short duration of time to help with mingling in populated areas if not now but later in game. Also, since he has been dead for so long, places aren't like how he remembers. Maybe towns or landmarks he had known are no longer there, and so forth.
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