Hi everyone,
A few days ago I stayed up until late, not able to sleep, as I kept somewhat involuntarily thinking about what would be the backstory of my first 3 characters. I wanted to write it down here, and only now did I have a chance to do so.
Keep in mind that these backstories are not inspired by the game's lore, because there is only so much available right now. It's just a player's imagination running wild.
Locke - Revenant Scholar
Sardok - Liche Priest
A few days ago I stayed up until late, not able to sleep, as I kept somewhat involuntarily thinking about what would be the backstory of my first 3 characters. I wanted to write it down here, and only now did I have a chance to do so.
Keep in mind that these backstories are not inspired by the game's lore, because there is only so much available right now. It's just a player's imagination running wild.
Locke - Revenant Scholar
In the small and fringe academic town of Saratoga lived a lonely man. He belonged to a group of scholars sent out to study the maladies of the body. Young men who were invested in dedicating their lives to making meaningful contributions to the human society: that of learning new truths which to share about health.
However, unlike his peers, Locke always had an interest in more than the physical. He always believed that, by identifying how one's thought processes worked, it could be possible to identify a multitude of afflictions, including physical disorders. Such concept was highly unpopular, just as he was. His firm belief in the importance of the mind since his early years always made him look aloof to others. While most children focused on spending as much energy as possible moving around and causing havoc, Locke focused on observing other living things and trying to mentally dissect them.
His propensity to live in his imagination and ethereal calculations shaped him into an intelligent adult with a keen perception, but ultimately disheartened with a sensation of isolation and nonconformity. With his great desire to understand the world, and especially other people, he felt a calling to the scholarly path of academia. As did every other individual looking to achieve great feats of intellectual recognition, he intended to produce a meaningful enough contribution to the Grand Cathedral, a central institution in the human realm that concentrates all philosophical efforts to protect what is left of their independence against the Undead.
Saratoga was a town focused on the learning of biology, human or otherwise. Never being understood by his medical partners, Locke followed a mostly lonesome path in his belief on the connection of the mind with the body. His ideas were often ridiculed by mentors and colleagues alike, and never did he quite managed to make a truly verifiable connection either. Unwavering in his desire to prove himself right, he spent many years in study and observation of both living and dead things.
He was only being maintained so long as a scholar, barely endorsed by the system and just merely acknowledged by his peers, because he managed to contribute to the least desirable activities, such as the disposing of dejects and the cleaning of paraphernalia, without complaints. Despite the unsavory nature of these and other activities, he often relished the time alone to collect his thoughts. And it was in those many, many days that he spent alone, manipulating dead bodies, that he began to make thought trails in his mind along the years... trails that would eventually lead to his magnum scriptum.
There comes a time in the life of any scholar that one must prepare a magnum scriptum, a culmination of a major learning achieved in his studies, and deliver it to the Grand Cathedral, where the scholar's work is evaluated by more experienced individuals and adapted into a teaching, if useful. If it's prized enough, it may warrant an invitation to the Grand Cathedral, where one may further discuss his ideas and learn in a more focused manner.
It was through his one great contribution that Locke finally achieved the recognition he coveted. His magnum scriptum was titled "Identifying individual propensity to becoming undead through psychology". In his academic work, he also attempted to predict which kind of undead one would become if turned by retracing the individual's life-longe experiences.
To everyone's amazement, including Locke's, he was later summoned by Warden Petruvius of the Grand Cathedral to discourse about his findings.
The letter of invitation arrived at noon. Locke eagerly prepared his belongings to travel at first light. Alas, he would be prevented from doing so.
One of his peers woke him up in the night. "Locke, it's me. It's almost dawn already. We were thoroughly surprised with the letter you got, and some of us felt deeply ashamed of the way we've treated you. We want to make it up to you. We are gathering at the door of the monastery to say goodbye. Will you come with me?"
Confused, yet somewhat thrilled about his colleague's unexpected reaction, he followed the man to the exit of the monastery. As he climbed down the stairs, he was pulled by the arms by two men taller than him into the catacomb. There, he met 16 of his fellow medical scholars, and he was painfully put to death by the pitiful and envious individuals that could not recognize nor accept his differences and accomplishments.
As Locke looked up to them from the ground, being kicked, spit on and stabbed, he felt his life force trailing away. He did not feel sad, he did not feel pain. He did not feel surprise, he did not feel pity. He did not feel resentment. All he felt... was rage.
Locke went by his entire life living calmly and solemnly. He never hurt anyone, never desired anyone, and never felt he belonged.
His one goal was to be recognized, by proving useful.
He was but one step away from achieving that goal. For so long, he was afraid he'd never make it. And then, just like that, out of pure jealousy, all that which he worked for was taken away from him.
Locke died with that one thought in mind.
Locke, the Revenant, would be reborn with that same one thought in mind.
Ironically, his magnum scriptum would wrongly indicate his type of undeath.
Sardok - Liche Priest
Sardok spent most of his life taking care of the poor souls whose lives had been stained by Deadhaus' corruption. He spent more than a decade helping disinfect the wounded, strengthen the weak, purify the land, and exorcising the few undead that he was strong enough to handle.
One of the victims of the dead's blight ended up becoming his wife, with whom he had a baby boy.
A few years after the birth of his child, with his activities having become more restrained afterwards, he was invited to the Grand Cathedral to lecture to the congregation about his dealings with the undead.
With such an honorable invitation, he could not refuse to help the living in a new, more meaningful, way, and gracefully took it as his duty to travel there at once.
His trip was uneventful. Sardok and his family were given a private chamber in which to sleep in, and the priest had the first three days after his arrival dedicated to learning the ins and outs of the Cathedral and its surroundings, as well as being introduced to the various individuals with whom he would be dealing with in his new attributions.
On the third night after his arrival, the priest had the most vivid and terrifying dream of his life.
In his vision, Sardok ran through the Cathedral's corridor, desperate to get to his chamber, only to find his wife and son on the bed, affected by some infirmity that was draining their life force.
Sardok woke up sweaty in his bed and put himself immediately upright. He looked to the side and there laid his wife and son, both peacefully asleep and undisturbed.
In the next morning, he spoke to Warden Petruvius, his guide and summoner, about this strange vision, most realistic and unlike anything he ever felt. Petruvius was dismissive about his concerns, stating that dreams are often only our own imagination working its way while we are too busy sleeping to control it. However, upon noticing how deeply his new guest was affected with this ominous nightmare, Petruvius suggested that he should take some time off before assuming his new duties by reading in the Cathedral's library and studying the work of former minds.
Sardok, not knowing better, accepted the Cathedral's curator's suggestion.
To his dismay, however, he was not able to put away the feeling that his family would soon die.
Fearful of losing them and having to face the world in a new way, Sardok embarked on a journey of study and discovery that took him 9 years, beginning by the Cathedral's library.
In the first year, he sought cures for maladies inflicted by the dead upon the living.
On the second year, he believed he would need deeper understanding of the workings of Deadhaus' magick. As such, he looked for the church's understanding of their rituals and magickal manifestations.
On the third year, Sardok lost all hope that the human's and divine understanding of the undead would be enough to ever cure his family's occult plague. Having noticed his concerns and deeper desire for knowledge, Warden Petruvius kindly allowed an exception for the priest to access the Cathedral's forbidden materials on Deadhaus.
On the fourth year, he had already read about rituals which affected one's health and hunt down information on Vitality, Essence and Magick. Convinced that he would have to use the undead's own teachings to counter their influence, he decided to learn their dark powers by the root: performing rituals himself.
Five years into his journey, he started to notice the symptoms of his family's demise. His wife looked pale, his son had little energy. His boy's hair had begun to fall, despite his more than proper nutrition and physical activity. Obsessed with recovering their former states, he delved deeper into the rituals and adoration of the dead by partially sacrificing his own flesh and blood.
Despite all considerations, Sardok felt genuine excitement in exploring that which no other clerical individual had done before, of his knowing. He rejoiced at the idea of understanding how the dead came to be, and how to counter them.
One more year had passed and he was now 6 years into his intense study. His family was becoming more and more weak. His wife, feeling powerless about their condition and saddened to be away from her husband, pleaded Sardok to be close to them, for she feared her son would be taken by the divine soon. She was convinced it was the world's will, and that nothing more could be done. She only wished Sardok would be close to them while they would last.
Naturally, with such a deep understanding of things most mortals would not even dream of, the former priest — for he was no longer a priest of the church, in his heart — completely dismissed the notion of having their fate sealed by an unknown manipulative power. He only had to keep finding a way... Passionately, Sardok felt more vivid then than he ever did, and he was adamant in finishing what he started.
On the seventh year, Sardok's only son died in bed, looking like a sack of dried bones, a sight that would send shivers through any human's spine. But not Sardok. Sardok, the former priest, was too busy to attend to the funeral of his dead child, attempting to control magick, drawing runes and calling upon powers he believed he understood. He did not even wince when informed about his passing. Warden Petruvius made sure that he would not be disturbed in this moment of solace.
On the eight year, his beautiful wife died of heartbroke. Having lost any connection to her husband, having lost the most important thing she had in life, and being barely more than a carcass herself, she forfeited her life while looking at the sunset. But it seems that had little effect in Sardok, who by then believed that his now dead family had positively contributed to his grand, grand and ominous achievements... Achievements that neither he, who strongly believed in them, quite understood. Her soul, which had been played with for so long, had now been forever doomed into unlife.
Petruvius comforted his dear Sardok by lending him a book from his personal collection, simply titled "Lichedom", for which Sardok was highly grateful.
On the 357th day of the ninth year, Sardok relinquished his human existence to reach a new height of enlightenment and join Deadhaus.
Yet, upon achieving an ascension so strongly sought after, Sardok, the Liche, recovered his then dulled senses and realized what he had sacrificed to get there. In his renewed wisdom and sophistication, he gasped in disgust at his realization that he was the very contagion that brought the slow and painful demise of his family.
And now, he had all eternity to contemplate that.
Philandriel - Vampire Blade DancerA very rich nobleman with 17 children inhabited a heavily-populated town in Nogosaua. His eighth child, Philandriel, was nothing besides ordinary.
With his older siblings all being set in their roles in his father's various enterprises, Philandriel was the first of all his brothers and sisters to have no particular place to fulfill. Being born in such a wealthy family, there was no need he had that wasn't met. If anything, his life with few expectations or responsibilities was boring.
Throughout his short life, what he most desired was finding something unexpected to take him away to somewhere distant where he would be genuinely challenged.
His desire was answered in the form of a visit from the Mujahadi.
The Mujahadi are a lineage of desert nomads. Merchants and artists, blade dancers — professionals with dual-wielding scimitars and flashy moves. They travel the land, selling spices, buying materials, enchanting the commoners. Their sculptured bodies fascinate all who behold them, their fair and brown-tainted skin are beautiful, and their wild, choreographed movements with their swords amaze any transient in their performances.
Curiously, only the older people of the town thought poorly of them. The elders seemed to believe that these people were a bad omen. An omen of blood. For some reason, they recommended all to isolate themselves from these strangers, and to hold tight to one's loved ones, lest they be taken away. Surely, such concerns were mere nonsense from senile individuals with strong preconceptions.
Amidst the newcomers, Philandriel met Irvina, the most incredible creature he had ever set eyes upon. Her scintillating eyes enchanted him like no girl ever did before. Her dances marked flowing waves in his mind that lingered in his vision even after sleep.
Profoundly enamored of this new girl, Philandriel requested the Mujahadi elder to accompany them in their travels. He cited "cultural exchanges" as his foremost objective. While he wasn't lying about his desire to get to know them, he wasn't entirely faithful about this motivations. In any case, neither the Mujahadi nor his own family showed any reservations. Thus, the young noble, utterly innocent and unprepared, swapped his graceful comfort for what he believed would be an adventurous life in new lands with people very different from the ones he knew.
In their travels, which lasted a couple of years, Philandriel became closer to Irvina. The two of them shared similar desires in life, were of a common age, and had mutual fascination for each other.
As much interest and aptitude that Philandriel had for the Mujahadi's ways, especially in the making of spices and "blade dancing", these were abilities that they had many reservations when it came to teaching others about. Despite being allowed to travel with them, he always felt that they were secretive people. They trusted him, only so much. They allowed him to belong, only to a point.
That, however, was something that Philandriel and Irvina both slowly overcame together. She taught him what she knew herself, bringing him closer to a Mujahadi as possible.
This connection between them did not go by unnoticed and was heavily frowned upon, but at the same time, everyone in the tribe was already quite charmed by the boy's innocent demeanor, constantly inquisitive spirit, and adoration of their ways.
After spending so much time close to Irvina and having shared so much knowledge and understanding between each other, Philandriel desired to take their relationship to a new level. A carnal level. Irvina was no stranger to such desires, and he knew it. They understood each other, they shared a deep bond. Despite a mutual inclination, Irvina wouldn't let him get this close, simply stating she was not ready.
But after two years together, Irvina gave in to her cravings and broke the vows she had with her tribe. She set up a velvet shack in the outskirts of their encampment outside one of the towns they visited. The full moon was reverberating its splendor in space at that night. She invited Philandriel in, and the two lavished each other as their love duly mandated.
That night was magnificent to both of them, but especially intoxicating to Philandriel, who, despite being so intensely focused on the moment, forfeited all notion of space and time, and lost his consciousness during their lovemaking at the arms of Irvina, youngest Vampire of the Mujahadi lineage.
Much to his dismay, Philandriel woke up a long time later with little memory of the events that took place during and after their embrace, and his life had changed to unlife. Irvina was nowhere to be seen... nowhere indeed.
Philandriel would be forcibly welcomed to the undead world of the Vampires, and he would never see Irvina again.
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