Death's Vassal[edit | edit source]

In my younger and more ignorant days, I attempted to make a deal with Death to become immortal. He flat out refused to never take me, but he agreed to give me extra two centuries, in exchange for one century of service. I eagerly accepted, and he gave me the power of the Black Fire; true Death magic. I spent the next hundred years hunting down escaped souls or those who had cheated Death. When my service was complete, I went to Death to claim my prize, and he gave me an extra two hundred years... in a prison cell. Death captured me and threw me in his dungeons. He couldn't kill me, it wasn't yet my time, but Death was under orders to never give life to those whose time it was. He couldn't afford to let me roam about, boasting of my immortality. So for eighty-four years, I spent the days in Deaths dungeon, with no food, and no water. I could draw no magic, as magic comes from life, and this was Deaths domain. As I watched the days roll by, i began to loose my mind. Trapped in a cold cell with no one to talk to, never leaving, began to take its toll on my sanity. I began to see things, hear things, terrible and wonderful alike. One moment, I would be playing imaginary card games with Mike the Moss, the next, battling demons and nightmares of indescribable terror. By the end of about seventy years, I had become all but a gibbering mass of flesh and paranoia. And yet, each day, I still felt the sun on my back, giving its warmth and light to comfort me and bring me peace. There had to be something I could do to escape. And then, in a flash of incite, I realized there was magic here. Magic is the energy of life, and life was made by a few key ingredients. The earth in our flesh, the water in our blood, the air in our breath, and the fire of the sun. This place may have been a barren wasteland, but the sun still rose and shone its light here. I latched onto this hope, and began to draw energy in. It was slow work, as the light was weak and cold, but with each passing day, I felt the magic pouring into me again. It took fourteen years, and on the day I was thrown in, I blasted my way out with the magic I had stored and escaped. To this day, I am still running from Death. I still have the Black Fire, but I refuse to use it. If I ever did, Death would find me.  

My Century of Service[edit | edit source]

My deal with Death[edit | edit source]

The Black Fire[edit | edit source]

My New Team[edit | edit source]

Raslin, Paladin of the Raven Queen[edit | edit source]

A Palidin of the Raven Queen, one of Deaths many forms. When he was a boy, he lived in a small remote village as the son of a Blacksmith. One day though, he woke up to find everyone gone. He searched all over town, no one was there... until he came upon the town square, where he found the bodies of everyone he had ever known. Everyone's, everyone's, corpses lie on the ground. He walked among the dead, not really knowing what he was looking for, something had broken in him, and he didn't really know what was happening. Suddenly though, he jolted back as he felt something grab his ankle. He spun around, thinking it was a survivor, but when he looked into the womans eyes, there was nothing. They were empty, dead eyes. There was no way this person was still alive. But apparently, no one told her that.

Torun, The Dishonored Valkyrie[edit | edit source]

The Druid

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