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
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 Dancer
A 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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I liked part two even better, @Livin. The story became more and more interested as we went along. I wished you would have told us more about his way of thinking, what he was feeling throughout the exploration of the book. I'm also curious to know what was written in the last pages, if we ever find out.

It seems that Thorn is more efficient at transforming/recruiting new members to Deadhaus than Warden Petruvius is. Or at least, a different kind of recruiter, of a personal nature.
 
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@Golden Xan There was a lot I left out to keep it about as long as part 1. I tried to include some hints towards his personality without being too obvious; but I tried to characterize him as a sociopath that had disguised himself behind a mask of humility when he was powerless, a mask he wore for so long that he convinced himself that this was who he truly was. Part 2 is supposed to show not only the rise of his power but also the gradual falling of that mask. The reason he was first fixated on the puppets was because it was the only activity he could engage in where he was in total control, the closest thing to dominating others that he could get; and necromancy allowed him to expand upon that, the early death being the final push that made him fully embrace his true self. I tried to show that even the things he cherished most he viewed as replaceable with the bit where he crushed one of his creations while also making another at the same time.
 
My Revenant (Part 1)
Against the currents he fought his way to the surface of the river and made his way to its closest bank. Upon getting to his feet he beheld four undead, some dressed in some measure of ruined armor and others wearing cloaks. Behind them stood a tall and slender undead, covered in tiny bones. Seeing these undead triggered a rage in him that caused him to attack without thinking, tearing his way through them until he reached the one in the back. As he got close enough to strike the tiny bones launched themselves upon him, binding and pulling him to the ground.

The undead moved to stand over him as he was pinned to the ground and spoke to him, promising his destruction if he didn't calm down. He struggled and strained against the bones until fatigue set in, becoming still as he glared at the undead. It remarked on the contempt he had for it without even know who he was or why and he screamed about how the undead deserved destruction. The undead chuckled as it moved its hands about, directing the bones to shift him onto his belly and carry him back towards the river. He fought to break free as it appeared he was about to drown but the bones stopped just as his head reached the water.

In the reflection he saw from the water as the truth was revealed, he was also undead. His skin was white and half the flesh on his face was missing with parts of his skull showing through. His eyes were pitch black except for an ominous glow that came from where his pupils should be. He screamed to be turned away and the bones moved him back to where he was before. His fury almost freed him from the bones as he fought to break free once more.

He cursed the undead for doing this to him; but it denied having any part in making him what he now was, that this was of his own making. He denounced the claim as lies, that the undead did this to him like he did the others. The undead took credit for raising the others that he just destroyed; but not him, asking why it would create something that sought to destroy it. The undead released him from the bones, call them back to it. He got to his feet as the bones arranged themselves all over it's body as the undead stood ready to strike.

He didn't move to attack, only questioned what happened to him. The undead freely speculated that he was now a revenant, explaining them to be undead that brought themselves back by their own sheer will and the force of their rage. When asked how he died he found he couldn't remember anything from before he pulled himself out of the river, not even his name. The undead mentions the ones he raised also came from the river and suggested that the answers to those questions might be up stream. He began to walk in that direction but stopped as the undead started to follow and he demanded to know why, to which the undead said that he owed it four dead of equal or greater size and quality to replace the ones he destroyed.

They walked along the river for hours in silence before his curiosity got the better of him and began to ask questions. It started simple with asking what the undead was and it revealed itself to be a liche that went by the name Merrick, a sorcerer that utilized necromancy to achieve a version of immortality. He asked about the bones, to which Merrick said that they were rat skeletons that he reanimated. When asked what he was doing out there, Merrick said he was traveling in search of power and well preserved dead for the tomb he was constructing back in deadhaus. Merrick spoke of the great tomb where his teacher resided and a desire to match or exceed it with one of his own.

They soon beheld a great city that was surrounded by an army and both of them quickly realized that they had reached their destination. It wasn't long before they were attacked by a patrol, but they proved no challenge at all as he and Merrick made quick work of them. Merrick overwhelmed most of them with the rat bones that tore their bodies apart and then channeled the bones towards the revenant as they carried the weapons of their victims to it, so that the young revenant stood a better chance in battle. With weapons in hand, the revenant cut them all down as those that remained try to overwhelm him.

As the revenant claimed their armor for himself, Merrick got to work acquiring all that one of them knew from reading their soul and explained that this siege was part of quarantining a plague that was ravaging the city. Merrick speculated that the plague could've been the culprit and the river could be how they dealt with their dead if burning was no longer an option. Merrick expressed doubts in his own theory though as he pointed out that if they were using the river to rid themselves of their dead then there'd be more than the ones he found, that there were no signs of disease on any of the corpses. Merrick soon realized that his words fell on deaf ears as word of the plague had triggered memories in the revenant, stirring an anger that was similar to when he first emerged from the river. He screamed as his rage emanated outwards and once it was over the revenant said that he remembered everything.

The revenant revealed how he was a blacksmith that became a bodyguard after the siege started, to protect the healers from the desperate and the vile as they tended to the ill in exchange for them looking after his wife who was sick with the plague. In time the attacks on the healers became more coordinated and successful, leading to many healers getting slaughtered alongside their protectors. The inevitable happened and they were ambushed, their bodies thrown into the river after it was finished; and the revenant said it had to get back in there to find those killers, as well as learn what became of his wife. Merrick offered to assist in getting inside and revealed that he might have a solution to the plague if the revenant agreed to protect him while he worked. The revenant agreed to these terms and revealed his name, Streyn.
 
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Part 2 of Revenant, Part 3 in the works

Through the filth and the muck they worked their way into the city through its sewers, following a path forged by Merrick's puppets as they mapped out a route to the nearest opening to the surface. They emerged from beneath to find the streets empty and the buildings boarded up, seeming to have arrived unnoticed. They quickly made their way to the district where a few buildings had been converted into a make shift hospital, where Streyn left his wife to be cared for. They arrived there to find the whole district had been set a blaze recently, reducing it to a mix of ashes and charred bits of wood. Remains were found among the ashes and with a chant from Merrick he was able to learn what had transpired.

Merrick told of how they broke in and cut down the healers along with anyone else that could put up a fight. He mentioned how after they were done taking everything of value that they sealed up the doors and set the buildings ablaze with the sick still inside. Merrick plucked a skull fragment from the ashes and handed it to Streyn, telling him that she called out for him until the very end. Streyn's rage erupted and his aura projected itself once more as the piece of bone crumbled in his hand. Merrick stood silently until Streyn started march forward onto the streets, screaming for those responsible to show themselves.

Merrick managed to talk Streyn down, arguing it would be better to prepare before going on the war path. Streyn showed the way to his forge, now picked clean of all its merchandise and filled with squaters that fled in fear at the sight of two undead. Streyn took stock of what was left, finding the anvil untouched and the trap door to the basement storeroom undiscovered. Merrick said that the storeroom would be the perfect place for him to prepare his solution to the plague, suggesting to Streyn that he forge some arms and armor for himself in the meantime. Streyn argued he had what he needed from his kills, that he'd rather go looking for those responsible for taking everything from him; but Merrick insisted he turm to forging, saying that he won't regret it.

Streyn toiled away at the forge as Merrick locked himself away in the storeroom without interruption as their presence scared off whomever was left in that district. Streyn found that his pace surpassed what he was capable of when he was alive, shaping the steel like he never could before; but it wasn't just his pace, he felt his rage rise with every swing of the hammer and he sensed that rage being infused into the steel with every strike. When it was finished he had a full suit of plate armor with a heavy cleaver and a broad shield. It only took him a week to create them and they were worn with pride as he presented himself before Merrick. Merrick expressed satisfaction with them as he explained how they were far more than common steel, that they were connected to him as result of engraining his aura into them as they were made; and that as his rage grew his armor would thicken while his blade would grow sharper.

Streyn observed what Merrick had been up to as well, as his puppets continuously brought dead rats in through holes in the floor and walls. They gathered the dead rats together were Merrick would raised them and be sent out to find more rats to brought back dead. When questioned about this, Merrick explained how rats or other vermin often carried diseases without being afflicted and are likely the reason this plague had lasted this long while also spreading. Beyond reducing the means for the plague to spread, it had also created a network within the city where he could project his senses anywhere and through it he had discovered the locations of those responsible for burning the hospital. Streyn demanded to know where they were and Merrick told him to follow the rats.

Streyn followed the reanimated rats in the night as they led him to a building and upon breaking through the doors he encountered several armed men rising to face him. Streyn cut them down with ease as the cleaver sliced completely through, decapitating heads and dividing bodies in half with every swing. Any strike that got around the shield simply bounced off his armor, not even leaving a scratch or dent; but the strikes did serve to increase his rage, resulting in everything feeling lighter and increasing the speed of his movements as he tore through everyone he encountered in the building. When it was over and Streyn regained his calm he beheld his handy work as he looked upon those he cut down. Many were men of varying ages, mostly older but some of them young enough to almost pass as children; and there were also women that lay dead at his feet that appeared to have attempted an attack with whatever they could get their hands on.

Upon further search he found rooms filled with other sick people being tended to. The healers begged for mercy towards the sick and themselves, that they meant him no harm. Streyn asked if they meant the same for those that had been butchered, but they said they had no part in that; and those who did only did so out desperation to save the ones they loved that were in this room. Streyn asked about the fire and they said they heard one of them call it a mercy, to spare those inside the slow death that was coming after what they had done. Streyn erupted at hearing it called a mercy and splitting one of the healers open with the cleaver before leaving, his rage now tempered for the time being.

Streyn went before Merrick in the storeroom, tossing a bag of severed heads at his feet and telling him to see if any of them played a part in the ambush that killed him. Merrick sifted through them and said that none of them did, causing Streyn to pound the walls in frustration; but Merrick did offer up one of the heads, saying that this one started the fire. Streyn took hold of it, squeezing it out of anger and causing it burst between his hands. Streyn told Merrick he wanted him to end the plague, right then; but Merrick said his solution needed more time and Streyn only replied for him to find a new one. Merric chuckled as he spoke of a way to accelerate things but that it would leave him vulnerable, out in the open without the means to defend himself; and Streyn said he would protect him like he promised he would.

PART 3
The sun rose as the two of them reached the castle at the center of the city and were greeted by the guards as they moved to attack before retreating at the sight of Streyn splitting one of theirs in half, cutting through their shield and armor as if they were made of butter. Merrick warned that they'd return soon with others, that up until now they had gone relatively unnoticed but after last night's slaughter the entire city would be seeking out the undead monsters that they are likely to now be blaming for the plague. Streyn simply instructed Merrick to position himself where he needs to be while he barricaded the doors; and Merrick did so, moving about as he sensed for the exact spot that he required within the entrance hall. Once he found it Merrick channeled his puppets off of him and down onto the floor, connecting their skeletons to one another so as to form circles around him and symbols between them. Streyn asked what this was, to which Merrick said it was part of a ritual circle; and when Streyn asked where the other parts of it were, Merrick said he would see for himself if he held up his end.

At first there was a stillness as Streyn waited for a response from the castle guards, only to learn from Merrick that the castle was abandoned and what few guards that remained were here to guard against looters. Merrick told of how the nobility fled at the first signs of the plague and were actually the ones leading this siege. Streyn asked how he knew this and Merrick revealed that he had learned it from those they killed outside of city; but before Streyn could ask why he didn't reveal this earlier, a barrage of horns filled the air as they turned to behold the army from beyond the gates pouring into the city and moving directly towards them.

Merrick chuckled as the two thousand strong army marched towards them, with Streyn reacting by shutting the doors to seal Merrick inside while he stayed on the other side. Merrick told him through the doors that he needed only hold them back until the ritual was complete, making it sound easy as Streyn contemplated how he'd endure the first charge. Once the army reached the steps going up to Streyn they began with a volley of arrows, keeping him pinned behind his shield; and he came out from behind it to find the vanguard following the end of the volley to close the gap unopposed. Streyn met them head on and matched the number of times struck with every soldier he killed. Attempts were made to overwhelm him but with combined sweeps from the cleaver and shield he kept them back until their numbers were depleted.

With near a hundred men now dead, Streyn stood ready to face what came next as the heavy infantry that comprised more than half of the total army made their way up the steps. Unlike the vanguard, they first positioned themselves as close to surrounding Streyn as they could after he backed up until he was against the doors. Streyn's anger grew at the thought of suffering another death, but also towards Merrick for seeming to have abandoned him as he felt more than enough time had passed and he should now be helping him. The anger towards Merrick grew greater as the infantry moved in until Streyn struck his shield with the cleaver while shouting "Fight" loud enough for Merrick to hear. The strike caused his aura to reverberate from the shield and echo outward.

As the waves of his aura filled the surrounding area the slain vanguard suddenly began to move as the various pieces were pulled back together, rising to their feet and rushing through the heavy infantry unopposed in their shock. The undead soon slammed into the door alongside Streyn in a rage as they pounded and clawed to get inside. Merrick could hear the pounding and chuckled as he triggered the ritual, causing the circle to emit an eerie green glow; and that same glow could be seen from the outside as it encircled the entire city. The undead ceased their pounding on the door as a glyph became burned into their foreheads and turned to stand alongside Streyn against the infantry. Merrick spoke to Streyn through one of them, saying to do that again every time he kills another dozen or so until its finished.

Streyn spear headed the charge into the center of the infantry, knocking those in front off balance long enough for the undead vanguard to climb all over them. Streyn kept knocking them back as the undead continued their assault; and once he felt his rage as strongly as he did before he'd strike the shield with the cleaver while the command to fight was present in his mind, raising more undead that quickly acquired the glyph to their forehead before joining him in the fight. The vanguard was soon used up but by the time this came to pass Streyn had more than half of the army fighting alongside him, causing many among the living to break rank and try to flee.

By midday victory was achieved as what was left of the army fled through the gates, leaping over a stream of dead rats that were the source of the green glow surrounding the city. Any who stepped or fell onto the stream would be envolped and carried off by the rats as they were torn apart. Streyn ceased his pursuit at the stream with the undead horde stopping just behind him and turned around to make his way back to Merrick, witnessing the undead as they swept through the city and breaking into every building. Screams began to fill the air as Streyn watched the people left in the city try to escape the undead and getting torn to pieces when they failed. Streyn intervened to save some of them and found himself surrounded by the undead as one stepped forward with Merrick speaking through it.

Streyn demanded an explanation for this, reminding Merrick that all of this was meant to cure the plague; but Merrick pointed out that he never promised a cure, only a solution. Streyn was stunned as he asked Merrick if this was what he intended all along, to end the plague by killing all who lived within the city; and Merrick stated that it was once the army that surrounded the city was no longer a threat. Merrick spoke of how the plan was to reanimate all the rats in the city, using them to overwhelm the army; but that plan had to be scrapped because of the impatience of a certain revenant and this plan came about as a result, to create a field spell that brought all mindless undead under his control with the hope that that same revenant would figure out how to raise them before getting cut down. Merrick was asked what he would have done if Streyn got destroyed; and Merrick openly stated he would've cut his losses and left the city behind. Streyn's aura radiated as his rage grew like before, only now it was controlled and focused while he stared down upon the undead that Merrick spoke through as he raised his cleaver.

Before Streyn could strike Merrick warned that he was out numbered against the undead army that he now controlled. Streyn tried to command the mindless undead, banging on the shield as he ordered them to stand down; but Merrick stated that they would only follow his will, as more gathered around Streyn. Streyn weighed his options as Merrick tried to negotiate his surrender by talking of how much they managed to achieve together, how this city would become the great tomb that he sought and that Streyn would always have sanctuary here. Streyn's gaze became fixated on the green glow of the glyphs on their foreheads as Merrick kept speaking, realizing how he might turn the tide in his favor. Streyn abruptly charged into the crowd of undead, forcing his way through them as he made his to the stream of dead rats circulating around the city.

Upon reaching the rats he braced himself before marching into it with his shield in front to take the impact, becoming enveloped and pushed in the direction they were moving. Streyn channeled as much of his aura into the cleaver as he could before he began to feel himself get carried off and planted it firmly into the ground with a might strike. The strike caused an eruption of energy as his aura flowed through the stream, dissolving the rats and destroying the outer circle. Streyn turned to command the undead that were rendered mindless from the lose of Merrick's field, only to find them combusting into ash. It seemed Merrick's spell did more than control them, it sustained them; and without it they simply broke down into nothing like they would have to begin with.

Streyn made his way to the castle, as what remained of the army from outside the city began to move in again. He burst through the doors to find Merrick waiting for him, unarmed as the puppets were gone. Merrick spoke quickly, telling Streyn that it wasn't too late and that they could still take the city together. Merrick even said that he had discovered those responsible for killing Streyn, who they were and where they could be found. His words fell on deaf ears as Streyn marched right up to him and brought his cleaver down hard on top of Merrick, the force of which caused his body to almost burst into dust and dried bits of bone.

Streyn quickly turned his back on Merrick's remains and left the city without any resistance as none that were left among the living had the courage to even consider trying. He left his vengeance behind as he began his long walk to Deadhaus, his ambitions being to find a place for himself in his new state of being. Back in the city a small herd of reanimated rats made their way over to one of the people that were killed in Merrick's slaughter after the army of the living was driven out, covering it as they emitted a green light. The corpse rose from the ground as the rat bones covered it like armor. The corpse made it's way to a high point in the city where it observed Streyn's march to deadhaus, openly expressing its disappointment in failing to control what might have been the greatest puppet it ever made.
 
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loved everything i have read on this thread so far. i have been gaming for nearly 40 years now and regardless of it being D&D/Champions/GURPS etc... over the years, our groups have always required backgrounds for the characters we create. it is great to see their will be people playing this game with true passion in their hearts, the stories show that. great job everyone.
 
I originally wrote this back during Nosgoth's run and have decided to let it be my Vampire's backstory, it was a lot longer than what I did before so I'm just posting the final bit.
They move at the pace of the slowest men, ensuring that they stay together; and no one is left behind as they head south along the wall, seeking the gap in it that has been spoken of in fables and bedtime stories. Whatever stalks them claims several hundred of them at a time with each passing night and without being noticed. After nine days of marching, now feasting upon the horses after exhausting their supplies, this once fearless army of ten thousand strong has now been reduced to a timid force of less than three. They fight to stay awake as they have been pushing themselves to march along the wall day and night without stopping for the last two days, for they no longer believe there is any defense against this unknown threat. They do not lose hope that they may yet survive and make their way back home, for their leader Nash continues to believe.

The army can march no longer, they must rest after these two whole days of marching without stopping. They set up camp, lighting many fires that they encircle with every other man facing away from the fire as they watch for anything that may come out at night. They sleep in shifts like before, every man getting a couple of hours at a time and the fear of being the next one taken keeps many of them up. However, after two days of marching without rest there are campfires where everyone around it can be found passed out. Shouts to wake people up can be heard throughout the encampment as everyone is fearful of what may happen when they drop their guard.

Around Nash’s fire sits the various nobles that are sworn to his father, the king, and their champions who are charged with their lord’s protection. Beside Nash sits his chosen champion, an older man named Laurence with his claymore propped against his shoulder. In the time of house Beorn’s campaigns in the south he had a reputation for besting over half a dozen men at a time in battle. The nobles find this an odd choice for a champion, given his age when compared to the others; but he has served the family as long as Nash can remember and was charged with training him in the ways of the sword. Laurence looks to Nash who is staring up and trying to find stars to gaze upon through the thick clouds that are rolling in to carpet the night’s sky.

“How are you, my King?”

  • “I hate this sky.”
“My King?”

  • “Ever since parts of the army started going missing it has been like this. It is bright and sunny throughout the day without a cloud in the sky, but as soon as the sun goes down the clouds start rolling in and painting the sky pitch black.”
“Perhaps we should have rested during the day and marched at night like we did before?”

  • “If only we could, we’ve abandoned the tents and everything else we felt unnecessary in order to travel light so we could cover more ground. The sun is so bright during the day, there is no escape from the light for our eyes.”
“Sleeping at night was costing us men, poor sleep sounds like a trade anyone here would make.”

  • “Even when we march at night we continue to lose more of our people. I’ve heard it among the men, they ask where their friends are who marched with them the night before and someone tells them that those friends fell back from fatigue only to never be seen afterwards the next time anyone looked back to check on them. With the skies like they are, the only light we can count on at night is from torches; and they may light the way but there is never enough for everyone no matter how fast we make them each morning because they know those with torches stand a better chance of not being taken.”
“My King I think-“

  • “I am no king.”
“As far as I see it, you are the last of your brothers and the sole heir to the throne. Is there something I am missing?”

  • “We must make it back home first, through the gap and back north.”
“Do you think we will make it?”

  • “I have to believe we will. What state we are in when we do is the mystery.”
“How much further do you think we are from it?”

  • “According to the fables, it resides in the marshland half a day’s ride from a city that is twelve days by foot from home. We marched straight east from home to reach the site where we first breached the wall so that shouldn’t affect the distance too badly.”
“Twelve days of walking is how much you believe we need to do?”

  • “Yes”
“So we have four more days of this, I don’t know if the army will hold together that long at this point?”

  • “One”
“What, my King”

  • “We should have one more day of walking left, not four. Seven days of normal walking during the day, plus two days of walking at day and night. This means you can double the last two days to count them as four, four and seven is?”
“Eleven, one shy of twelve.”

  • “We’re almost there.”
“Do you think we’ll be safer once we’re in the marsh?”

  • “It can’t be any more dangerous than being out here has been.”
“I can’t argue against that. You should rest my King, before your watch begins.”

  • “Wake us to take over when the time comes, you are no good to any of us without your rest either.”
Nash goes to sleep with the other nobles around the fire, while Laurence and the other champions encircle them with their weapons drawn. Nash dreams of his father and brothers, feasting around the table in the great hall back home. David and Garrett are arguing over how to punish a servant that was caught stealing food from the castle, while Edward and Francis are discussing their next hunting trip. All while this is going on Nash notices his father, sitting peacefully with a smile as he looks upon all his sons. It inspires a sense of calm he has not felt since he first crossed the breach into these lands.

The calmness passes as he awakens to a faint scream and he opens his eyes to behold the monsters that have been taking the men. They look like giant black bats, as big as a man with talons for toes and clawed fingers on top of long wings that carry them through the air unseen in the darkness of the cloud covered sky. From above they swoop down, snatching up any man whose guard is lowered, making sure to slit their throats before they have a chance to scream; but this time one of the men managed to get a sound out before being silenced and Nash has heard it. With a loud yell, Nash alerts everyone of what is happening and they all rise to fight for their lives. Instead of retreating after losing the element of surprise, the monsters choose to press an attack. From above they dive down quickly, hiding in the darkness of night until they are upon the soldiers and snatching them up off the ground.

As the creatures fly low some of them are shot out of the sky by the archers that manage to spot them in the darkness by the light of the camp fires and are quickly set upon by dozens of the men as they exact their anger and vengeance upon the now defenseless monsters, hacking them to pieces with their weapons while setting them on fire with torches. The creatures that manage to get on their feet prove just as formidable on the ground as they do in the air, disappearing into the darkness and remerging to kill those men who move in small enough numbers. They use the tips of their wings as spears, lunging them forward to completely penetrate the men’s bodies and pull them into the shadows or swinging those very same tips wide to cut open any part of the body that isn’t armored. Any man who manages to get past the wings must then deal with their clawed hands that rest in the middle of their wings where they fold and mouths full of razor sharp teeth, tearing through leather armor into the men’s flesh like it is nothing. One of these vicious creatures has set its sights on Nash as he rallies among the nobles and their champions, fending off attacks as they come while making sure not to leave the light of their campfire.

Cries by Laurence to “Protect the King” fall on deaf ears as everyman is struggling to defend their own lives against the increasing number of monsters. The winged beasts target the archers, snatching them right up off the ground. The spearmen do their best to defend them, attempting and occasionally succeeding in impaling them on their pikes while hurling javelins at them as they swoop down to snatch up whoever they can. The light infantry men move quickly to overwhelm the creatures when the fall while the heavy infantry target those monsters that get to their feet and put up a fight. As a result, only those in the path of the monster headed for Nash attack it and it is more in self dense than in defense of the one they call their king.

It tears through every man that gets in its way as it charges towards Nash. The champions and nobles move to meet it, leaving only Laurence behind to protect him, but they only manage to stall it. It kills half of them with just one swing, slicing open their throats with the tip of its wing. The rest try to surround it, attempting to it strike from its blind spots; but it is like it can sense everything that comes with in range of it, knocking away any attack it isn’t able to counter with a deadly blow until they are all dead. It charges once more for Nash now solely defended by Laurence.

Laurence stands between Nash and the beast as it charges towards them, assuming a defensive position in anticipation. Laurence is ready to lay down his life to protect Nash, but Nash has something else in mind as he moves to Laurence’s side. Laurence tells him to get back behind him and run in case he should fail; but Nash refuses, expressing a desire to die fighting by his side. Laurence begs him to reconsider while there is still time, but Nash denies him this and draws his sword while raising a wooden shield he picked up from one of the men that have fallen. The monster is upon them and they begin the fight for their very lives.

Nash steps forward, away from Laurence, to draw the creature towards him in hopes it will create an opening for Laurence to strike. The gamble pays off as it lunges both wing tips forward in an attempt to impale Nash and he manages to catch them both with the shield as they penetrate it while Laurence quickly cuts the tips of both wings off with a single downward chop of his claymore; but it is not without cost as the wing tips have penetrated through Nash’s shield arm and into his chest, just missing his heart but pinning the shield to his chest. Nash falls back onto the ground and the monster stumbles after this occurs, as Laurence presses his attack and lunges his claymore straight for where he thinks the beast’s heart ought to be; but to Laurence’s shock, it catches the blade with the hand on its left wing as it folds the distal part of its right wing behind its hand. It then thrusts its right hand into Laurence’s gut and it bursts out through his back. The creature revels in watching Laurence choke on his own blood while trying to scream in pain as he his ribcage rests on its right arm; but in being so consumed by Laurence’s agony, it fails to see Nash get to his feet and move in to strike. With one swing of his sword he severs its right hand clean off, causing it to recoil as the creature steps back and Laurence falls to the ground dead.

The beast is now down to its left hand and its teeth to finish off Nash. It quickly attacks him with its right wing, now without a clawed hand or wing tip, to try knocking Nash off his footing before striking with the left hand. Nash back steps the right wing and blocks the left hand with his shield, with the claws digging into the shield in order to grasp it. Nash tries to chop the left hand off as it tries to grip the shield; but the monster yanks him forward, causing his arm to fling back as its mouth full of teeth opens and is aiming to bear down on his neck. In the last second, Nash manages to thrust his sword forward into its chest as he is pulled in close by the beast to deliver the finishing blow.

The beast falls forward, dead, landing on top of Nash as they both hit the ground and pushing the wing tips deeper into him until one of them pierces his left lung. Nash is pinned under it, unable to move and struggling to catch his breath as the dead beast bleeds all over him from where it was stabbed. He hears the fighting continue for hours until the sun begins to rise as the monsters flee from it and the dead or wounded ones are left behind to begin burning from exposure to the light, including the one on top of Nash. The heat from the flames is almost unbearable and the smoke that the monster’s corpse puts out makes it harder for Nash to breath, as well as making it harder to be seen. The men begin searching for Nash, his breathing is so weak that he is unable to yell out for them to hear where he is. Time passes but none discover him, hidden under a beast’s corpse that is further masked by a cloud of smoke as it cooks from exposure to the sun.

Eventually they discover Laurence’s body and come to believe that Nash has been taken away by the winged beasts, leading them to move on a little later to resume the journey south, leaving Nash behind. Nash’s hope of being found dies as he watches them move on after burying the dead. He lays there, trying to laugh without causing himself pain at the way he is about to perish. He always preferred to live but he always hoped he would die fighting if he had to; but this is no way to go, smothered beneath a foul smelling beast as he suffocates from it and blood slowly filling his lungs with each breath. He chooses to close his eyes and accepts his fate, hoping to have another nice dream before his end finally comes.

Nash opens his eyes sometime later, expecting to be where he deserves to be on the other side of death and only finding himself where he was before. His breathing has returned to normal and the fatigue he has been carrying is long gone. The cooked corpse of the monster is still on top of him, but it no longer feels so heavy and dissolves into ash as he pushes it off of him, revealing that it is nighttime and that he must have been under there all day. He feels his wounds to find they are gone as if they were never there and that his flesh has turned pale. His senses are also different as he finds he can see everything in the dark as if it were the middle of the day, witnessing the winged monster returning once more.

They land in front of him as Nash grabs hold of Laurence’s claymore, finding he can lift it with ease and even handle it with only one hand if he wanted to. The monsters stare Nash down as he takes a defensive stance and begin to cry out as their bodies contort, shifting their form. When the change is over Nash beholds the monster to now be people with pale skin like his now is. One of them steps forward, a young woman wearing finery that would’ve put the ladies from his court to shame. She smiles at Nash as she extends her hand out to him, speaking elegantly.

“Welcome to our family . . . brother.”
 
I originally wrote this back during Nosgoth's run and have decided to let it be my Vampire's backstory, it was a lot longer than what I did before so I'm just posting the final bit.

I was wondering whether you'd create a story for a Vampire as well. Very nice.
What was it, in your vision, that turned him a Vampire? Was it inhaling the ashes of the dead and burning werebat?
 
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I was wondering whether you'd create a story for a Vampire as well. Very nice.
What was it, in your vision, that turned him a Vampire? Was it inhaling the ashes of the dead and burning werebat?

It was from inhaling the smoke and ashes; but also from the blood pouring all over him from where he impaled it, seeping into the wounds from where the wing tips pierced his arm and torso.
 
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It was from inhaling the smoke and ashes; but also from the blood pouring all over him from where he impaled it, seeping into the wounds from where the wing tips pierced his arm and torso.
That sounds like a fun way to become a vampire. But I'm not entirely sure but isn't it that if you consume or intake vampire blood in some way you become a ghoul? I've never been entirely clear on that, but from some stuff I've seen isn't that sort of the norm for vampire blood consumption? I personally love it, I've always loved it when either a character becomes so metal that they use their own blood as a weapon or that blood in some way tragically turns them off a path they desired.
 
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That sounds like a fun way to become a vampire. But I'm not entirely sure but isn't it that if you consume or intake vampire blood in some way you become a ghoul? I've never been entirely clear on that, but from some stuff I've seen isn't that sort of the norm for vampire blood consumption? I personally love it, I've always loved it when either a character becomes so metal that they use their own blood as a weapon or that blood in some way tragically turns them off a path they desired.

They haven't really gone over what is required to transition yet for deadhaus. Consumption is the most common but I've also seen where bites were enough and any blood transfer did the trick. It's possible some blood got into his mouth while he tried to scream or struggle.
 
So I thought about honoring the so far chaotic Mount & Blade Bannerlord campaign I'm playing to turn the character who I'm guessing has become known as "The Devil of Vlandia" should really become a vampire given her capacity for bloodshed.
So...
Ayra the Butcher - Vampire
Ayra sat on her chair, slowly drinking the sweet wine in her cup, cherishing every moment. It had been a long time since she became the monster the people saw her as. From a lowly position as a farmers daughter, to a war band leader, to a lord in a kingdoms army, to being the destroyer of said kingdom.
Ayra tried to recall how many noble bloodlines she had snuffed out. During the first war she was in, she had a small army of 100 men attacked by three armies of nobles at once. Over 400 men against her hundred, she recalled the fear she felt, but still kept her men ready. Then she recalled her enemy, less than 25 of them were experienced fighters, the rest were all peasants and nearly all of them were starved. Her men meanwhile while few, were far more experienced, well fed, and loyal not to the kingdom, but to Ayra until death.
Ayra recalled that battle, the blood of peasants flooded the river, their enemy's best fighters were dispatched with ease, and the three nobles were captured. After that, that was when her name became feared. Ayra arrived at a nearby fort her 'king' was besieging and borrowed the catapult, to 'return' the three nobles. Only afterwards did she learn that one of those nobles was the lord of the forts son, who went to aid his father but decided to take some easy pickings before hand.
Over the next three years, she earned many enemies in the other factions. After killing each noble, one of their family would seek her out for revenge before meeting the same fate. By the end her first war, half of the noble families in three factions were wiped out by Ayra and her loyal men. The royal prince of one kingdom sought to earn a reputation by taking Ayra's head, only to lose his own.
Ayra sighed as she recalled the "peace" her king had sought, she had NOTHING to do. She owned a small little fort at the edge of the continent, utterly bored by the peace. She made a few excursions against the local bandits, but they were no fun. During the second month of the peace, stories of her atrocities spread throughout the kingdom, how she butchered nobles. She quickly fell out of favor from the king, and even the small little fort she held as her own was at risk of being taken away. Then a man appeared to Ayra, he asked if she was bored by the peace, of serving a lord who wouldn't let her sate her bloodlust, and asking if she would like a way to release the beast within. All he asked was that she would serve as servant to a new king, a king who would let her do what she want to her enemies, and seldom interfere with her desires. Before even hearing the benefits she agreed, and was bestowed The Kiss. With her new found strength, she plotted to turn against the kingdom, but approached her men first. She thought she'd have to slaughter half or more of her men when they found out what she was, but rather their loyalty ran deep, and many vowed to fight with her until time itself ceased to be.
So, she invited the lords of the land for a dinner where she would explain how those atrocities were but lies. Naturally the lords were unsure, but when Ayra said she'd make sure that they'd be able to bring their armies nearby, they agreed. Ayra had asked the stranger however to turn her men, and so they went about poisoning their remaining food stock. They would not have to worry about being out of food for long. When the lords and their armies arrived, Ayra was happy to see that their armies, despite numbering in the thousands, were starving, and ordered her men to provide them food. While the lords were inside chatting with Ayra, they weren't aware that outside the fort walls their armies were choking on death, having their throats ripped out and blood drained. Before the dinner reached dessert, their armies were little more than walking corpses at Ayra's command.
Naturally, when Ayra revealed how foolish the lords had been, they tried to struggle and fight back against their now undead armies but life is fleeting, while death is forever.
Over the next year, Ayra led her armies, consuming the kingdom from the inside out. During eves of battles, some of the troops from the living sought to fight alongside the undead. Ayra discovered that while she had little sway over the nobles, the common folk had respected her treatment of her troops. So while the nobles plotted, Ayra heard and saw all their movements. Rival armies were turned from the inside out, turning on the leading noble on the eve of battle in ravenous hunger.
Ayra snapped back to the present, and looked up at the walls. Corpses, stripped of skin, were chained in front of flags in the halls pillars. Each flag was the flag of a nobles house from the kingdom she had destroyed, and the corpses belonged to their leaders. Behind her, was a large window, with the top covered by the kingdoms old flag, the once was king, now little more than a bloody decoration. Some in the new kingdom thought Ayra wasn't trustworthy with the undead, by Ayra was, much like she was to the king who now adorned her hall. That king just made the mistake of trying to put a leash on her. Her new lord cared little, for she brought death to anyone who would stand against him and her shear enjoyment of others pain made her little more than a tool and a threat. She knew this, but didn't care, as long as her lord kept pointing at people for her and her men to kill, she would let him call her a tool in front of her. She drained her cup, and got out of her chair, and gazed out the window. Now she turned her mind to those her lord asked her to fight, Gigahaus. Soon she and her men would take to the field of battle, and they would fear the Dance Macabre, for the bell of the undead tolls for all.
 
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Sins everyone else are posting their characters background i guess ill post mine too.

The concept of the character: It's a revenant that is so old he no longer remembers how he became one, aimless and without motives, where he is fully consumed by his hatred which refuses to let him find peace and move on from his undead life, instead it have destined (or cursed) him to continue roaming the realm of man.

Name: N/A

My Revenant Background Story (i'm still tweaking it):

I will admit there is so much I do not know, so much I have forgotten... I am so old I no longer remember my name. When I try, there is just a vague sense of lingering emotions, mostly anger and hatred, adorned with flashes of faceless people, souls I must have known before but which are now strangers to me. It is like a parchment without writing on it, shattered and broken memories of a life, long since past. A life I can no longer quite recall.

I do happen to remember a time before the vampires walked the land, however. There were wars then, and there are wars now. So much have changed, and so much is just more of the same. Yet, I still walk on this realm, without knowing the reason why… and I have forgotten more than I will ever know.

I am old, very old. So I implore you, ponder just how insignificant you are to me. If you get in my way, I will not even hesitate, for I possess only hatred towards this existence. I must continue roaming, even though I no longer remember why, as this is the only purpose that I have left…
 
Not a background but a story I wanted to share

Of all the great cities of men that fell there is none more tragic than the one that fell under the rule of King Akram VII. From its earliest days as a hamlet it was a beacon for those seeking to prosper by the sweat of their labor and not have to worry that it could be siezed by nobility through heavy taxation or royal claim, for the noble family that founded it had successfully established guiding principles that allowed them and their people to flourish from one generation to the next while encouraging their subjects to be trained in various arts of defense. This prosperity often invited threats from the outside while every now and then there were those in the royal family that attempted to change the status quo; but each threat was met by an emboldened populace that fought with every fiber of their being to preserve their way of life. Raiders and bandits faced swift execution if their guilt was confirmed. Armies that marched to invade were overwhelmed by the shear numbers that challenged them as every man and most of the women met them on the field of battle.

When the dead first rose and marched on the living this kingdom found itself to be among the first in it's path. The scouts reported that a horde of undead that surpassed their numbers by a factor of three was a week away. In their desperation riders were sent to all neighboring kingdoms to join them on the battlefield field, arguing that if they were to fall and become part of the horde then even if the rest of them came together after it wouldn't be enough. All but two kingoms that were closest to them responded with promises of support. The alliances were made and the city nearly emptied as every capable citizen left to join the other armies on the field where they were to wait for the day when they would fight the dead, leaving behind only the infantile and elderly.

For days they waited and prepared for the battle to come, their concerns growing as the the dead grew closer while the allies were still nowhere to be seen. Riders were sent out to find them and never returned, causing many to fear that they had been betrayed and wished to return to their homes. King Akram VII sent part of his army back to secure the city, only for a handful of them to return with news that the city was burning and whoever wasn't killed was taken as slaves. Much of the army sought to return and rescue what remained of their people, but Akram argued against this and that if the dead continue to march unopposed then they're loved one's deaths would be guaranteed even if they managed to be rescued. The people ultimately chose to stay and prepared themselves for whatever may come as they watched the dead appear over the horizon.

When the battle was over it was King Akram that rose first as a newly made Revenant, sustained by the anger he felt over his people's demise and the betrayal of those he turned to for aid. The King and the others who rose on their own only numbered a couple dozen, with liche's beginning to raise the rest to serve as mindless fodder until Akram intervened to stop them and brought the horde's focus upon them once more. Before being dispatched for a second time the horde stood down at the command of the one leading them. It expressed understanding for their attachments but explained that those bodies were now nothing more than empty flesh, but Akram and the others stood their ground. This defiance in the face of certain destruction impressed the leader enough for it to order a cease to the liche's work and instead use the corpses another way.

Akram stood silent as the bodies were laid together in stacked, layers to build one massive pyramid of flesh. The leader ignited the pyramid with the violet flames that erupted from its body, burning up all of the bodies in spite of it not emitting any heat. Akram assumed this was done to ensure that they would never be brought back, a mass funeral meant as an act of appeasement; but from within the flames various particles of matter from the destroyed bodies swirled into a mass of iron and carbon, shaping itself into numerous swords of intricate detail. The leader pulled the swords from the fire, presenting them to Akram and the others as a gift in exchange for their service. Akram and what remained of his people took up the swords, creating the feeling that the rest of their people were with them once more; and together they all knelt down as they swore their fealty to the dead.
 
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