AboutAge: Unknown, appears approximately 20 years of age
Height: 6' 2" / 187.96 cm
Weight: 140 Lbs. / 64 Kg
Race: Human Necromancer, Caucasian
An excerpt from an RP in which he is a main character.
~~The Mage greeted the man across the fire, and recognized him from the night before as the drunken bard whom he had nearly tripped over. Quickly he searched his mind for a name, but was unable to remember one.
"You have heard stories? Of me? I assume Thrice, or possibly even Nano, have been glorifying my name?"
Errol was slightly annoyed by the idea that news of him had spread outside his control, but did not dwell upon it. Instead he merely smiled and plucked another scaled egg from the small group near the fire.
"My father was a kind man. His men often jokingly referred to him as 'Alistaire the Gentle', despite his true surname being 'Gatemaster.'. He was a 5th level member of The Red Hand; a respectable rank, holding office and a sizable fund for his magical research. He had been granted a castle and slaves, and was offered the daughter of an allied family of nobles to take as his wife. However, he did not love her. And being the willful man that he was at the age of 500 years, he instead took a handmaiden from a lower family as his Baroness. She was a commoner in comparison, but he did not care, and despite the lamentations of his fellows, he married her. That handmaiden was my mother, Lilian Greyholm, soon thereafter Lilian Havok."
Errol broke open the egg and poured part of it's semi-liquid contents into the hot pan. The eggs began as a bluish-green yolk, suspended in a translucent violet albumen. Once hitting the fired pan, the Mage broke their yolks with the cooking fork and scrambled them to a crisped, off-white mass of pure protein. As he did so, he continued.
"As a child, my mother Lilian raised me herself, preferring to bear the rearing of her child herself, rather than leave it to my father's slaves. It was she that taught me to walk and speak, as well as write and read the common languages. My father, being the loyal servant of the guild that he was, was away for many of my formative years. It was my grandfather, then, that helped raise me until my conscription, and taught me the basics of Necromancy. From then forward, I would apprentice under the tutelage of one Crosekk the Desecrator. From age 7 to my 100th year. It is there I was educated in what you refer to as the 'Dark Arts'. After my apprenticeship I would be pressed into the ranks of Necromancers, Arcanists and Invokers that made up the bulk of The Red Hand's special military. I spent several hundred years in their service, eventually surpassing far beyond my father's and grandfather's previous ranks."
The Mage paused briefly to turn the cooking food.
"After what some might refer to as an eternity, and only after achieving my current level of mastery, I was allowed free reign to do as I pleased, of course, within reason. It was then that I met another of my kind, solely by chance, known to most as The High Wizard Nairuhl. It was he that showed me the guild's master plan, their great and grand design. The Red Hand was lead by Nairuhl's bastard half-brother Daeleth, a Seeker. Nairuhl and he had lived for greater than 70,000 years feasting upon the souls of lesser Necromancers. Both he and his brother had attained mastery ranks 30 and 31, respectively, the highest being rank 40. According to Nairuhl, his dearest brother had grown tired of consuming his lesser comrades and had formulated a plan to gain immortality and near invincibility; a plan that would surely result in an endless and bloody war against all of Dominaria for rule over it's entire span. Nairuhl, being the more compassionate of the two, could not stand his brother Daeleth's constant quest to surpass him, and had decided to confide in a particularly talented young Necromancer, yours truly, in order to spare the plane."
Errol pulled the pan from the fire and turned to the stone, where he dumped even more of the perfectly cooked eggs onto already heaping platter. He next took some bacon from the bag and placed it in the hot skillet, where it sizzled immediately.
"You see, Daeleth was to summon a Ghastlord; an undead god and holder of timeless secrets. He had communicated with the ancient deity, and convinced it to take a mortal form, where it could teach him more effectively the mysteries of it's power, mysteries that he falsely promised to pay for with a portion of his own soul. In reality, Daeleth had planned to receive the Ghastlord's teachings in the form of a spellbook, and before the god could return to it's own realm, imprison him and feed upon his endless life-force and limitless power, along with all those present for the ritual. Brilliant Nairuhl had managed to steal a glance at the manifest of Necromancers to be summoned for the rite, and my name had appeared near the top of the list. It was then that I was given the choice to carry out Nairuhl's bidding and stop his scheming brother, or die by his hand. I chose. Rather than die, I decided to stop one of the most powerful men in all the multiverse. The night of the ritual, I recieved a sacred dagger by way of anonymous parcel. I concealed the weapon beneath my robes, and as we filed into the chamber and the usual rites were read, I played my part and waited. Daeleth entered and began the ritual, and after several hours of chanting the Ghastlord appeared. And once the god had burned the final word upon the final page, I placed the dagger in it's back and wrenched the book from it's hands. The encounter with Nairuhl months before had awoken my spark and allowed me to leave the plane. With the magic I had learned over the past centuries, and the book as my focus and amplifier, I dispatched those that attempted to stop me as I made my escape. Without his book, the Ghastlord dead, and weakened by the transaction Daeleth was unable to pursue me. I have spent my life traveling from plane to plane, hiding from any who may have found some way to follow ever since."
After he finished telling his story, Errol plucked the bacon from the pan and placed it upon the stack of eggs and returned to the side of the fire. It was then that the Mage remembered the man's name.
"I do not truly care what you think of me, Luneth. I am not like other Necromancers, and I know that. I have spent the last two years of a many hundred year lifetime in the service of strangers. In that time, I have forsaken my quest for greater power at the expense of others. And I do not feel I need to prove to you that I stand here to defend you, and anyone else that treads within this place, should they seek it. If you feel my presence here is not in the best interest of the group, you may relay your concerns to Thrice. If he requests me to leave, then I will abide by his wishes. Until then, you would do well to keep your opinions of me to yourself. I do not respond well to insults."
Shoveling a portion of eggs and bacon onto a plate, Errol presented it along with silverware rather pointedly to the Bard. ~~