Mal' Khaitas

[Madcombat]

 Character Name: Mal' Khaitas
Age: Unknown
Race: Lich Lord (Soul)
Faction: Cult of undeath (Leadership)
Profession: Necromany (Undeath)
Equipment: Nothing in his possesion at the moment.
Closest Resembling image:
Backstory:
"He shall walk the earth, bear in frost and bone.  Blood and snow dictates the rhythm of his presence, he bares the mark of an unholy lord, a bringer of death.  He is a harbinger, a Lich."
-          The book of the damned chapter 4, verse 27.
All does not begin evil that is a lesson all should understand.  There is always a rise to that evil, a journey if one must will.  What can we say, I couldn't say Mal' Khaitas was not a talented Shaman at the time, nor' my greatest apprentice.  If I said those things, I'd be lying.  That one was always a stubborn one, quite eager in life as he is in death.  Quite a friendly student, a friend he used to be, one of my only.  If I was to date back to his changes I'd have to travel back in time through decades, even Millennia's.  Considering that, I could easily say I am not alive any longer; you're probably suffering from the consequences of my actions and teachings.
When I found the boy, a mere child in the northern reaches of the lands, past the snow and ice.  He was a small harmless child, I found him on the outskirts of a village near a mother he grieved over.  I guess I could say out of pity I felt it was I who had to take the child into my care.  Upon investigation, his village was hit by bandits raiding for supplies, no survivor's just burning wood and hay, rotting corpses and horses.  I took my fair share of anger that day for the destruction of his life in a single selfish pillage.  I returned the boy to my home, I guess I became close to that one.  When I was watching over him, I noticed his body was scared and burned.  I also noticed these symbols of power spanning his arm; I sketched these symbols and added this mystery to my archive.

I've studied all my life as to what those symbols could mean, what it meant?  Did they have purpose?  Was it some sick joke played on my by the raiders that day?  My life is full of questions about that one, but I put him to the test, after reaching the age of five I took it to myself to put him under my power as an apprentice.  As I said, I'd lie if I said he showed small capability's, even so I felt he could surpass me, I guess that's one of the  reasons he fell so far.  I can only say upon teaching such talent, my mind was shrouded with fear constantly.  I'd take my fear out upon the child at times; perhaps it was the fear for the symbols, the runes.

After years of training, his gift was matured, at the age of six-teen he showed a will to explore his surroundings and adventure out.  I used to send him on errands to visit locations to acquire artefacts required to fulfil my research on the runes.  One of which was the book born in a black leather cover sealed in locks. I had to have the book and to be fair, the road was too dangerous for a man such as me, so I sent the boy, the boy I now relied on to acquire the artefacts relevant to my studies.  So I gave him the task, he was to search for the book of which I found to be called, the book of the damned.  I never saw the book till two years after sending him on the quest.

I felt lonely after him leaving, at peace.  It was as if he was so much weight to hold, such a heavy burden to teach and so when he left, I felt glad to resume the studies I left behind.  But I'd lie if I say I was mistracked, I explored a new era of power.  Upon my visits to the villages I met a young woman alongside an elderly lady, both born in robes and feathers, they wielded wooden staffs.  The Elderly woman was ahead of the younger woman, as if a leader, a mother.  And so, I upon the sight of her began a interrogation of questions.  She spoke to me, with great depth.  She spoke in riddle, rising questions to my mind.  She led me to a grove, or might I say a grave yard.  Upon setting foot on the dead yard, my body felt cold and dead itself.  "You feel uneasy?"  She said to me, and then it made sense.  She explained to me the power of undeath, Necromancy so people would refer to it now but back then, we had a different name for it.  We called it undeath simply due to what the power did.  I gained an understanding that day about such power and returned to my sanctum, striking my mind upon such knowledge.

I grew tired each passing hour, I feel to my dreams and slept a long night.  The sound of knocking, my servant approached me claiming he had returned, the student always returns to the master.  I spoke to my student, the uneasy feeling returned to me but with depth to it.  In his arms he bore the book, I reached out for it and grasped it.  My hands felt cold, frozen perhaps.  I required something however, not even the greatest pick would break through.  The book was full of death; I could feel it on my lips.  But out of the light, he gave to me, a key and so I opened the book with hesitation and peered into the book.

Although I noticed, I did not take any care to the fact my students appearance had changed, his skin was pale and he wore black robes, over the robes was a dark piece of armour I had never seen before, and he bared a sword.  I turned away from such knowledge for a brief moment to attend to my greatest student, my saviour.  Upon speaking to him, he spoke with such a deep voice I had never heard so.  It was like an echo, oh the power I felt erupting from such a man.  It had been two years, he was Eight-teen, but he looked older, much older. His eyes were blue but under them, his eye shadow was blood red, scarred as if he had not slept for months, years even.

I looked back to the book, it didn't matter anymore, he grew with power and I assumed the book had weight on him.  I told him to leave and rest; he resisted the order and stated he could not leave the book in such hands.  I questioned why only for a retort of "You do not understand, and never will."  I accepted this, I could only accept that he worked hard to obtain this artefact and he was not going to leave it.
I finally peered into the book, and so I was blind.  I do not see any longer, my mind does not permit me to see.  I am cursed, an old man cursed by something I should never had set my eyes into, I spoke out "I do not see?"  And so the student, my master replied "You do not see for you are blind, you was always blind."  After that trade between words, I felt broken and cast aside.  And then finally, I felt the pain, the rending of my flesh and the blackness and cold of death.

In death, I thought I was gone forever. I saw my gods reach out to me, but before I could grasp the hand to the heavens, I felt another hand grasp my leg and pull me down to my corpse.  I awoke, blind but I could see, my vision was blue and acidic.  I tried to speak out, but I couldn't.  I then heard those words again.  "You are mine."  And so I knew it, and so it was written.
You are now wondering who wrote this.  How could something like me, so dead and uncontrolled write such a story and tale about this man, this lich so he is now?  I am dead, but my memory, my ghost lives on.  I am dead indeed but I am trapped on this world, between the gates of the heavens and the gates of the other side.  I've watched my body wonder the wastelands in search and I've documented what I know of my Master.

He is death itself now, and he claimed his throne and does not move till awakened.

Other comments: Since I am a Lich on the server now, Paintcheck wanted me to craft this backstory that I put some good effort into and might improve over the week.  Theres alot of depth to this character.  Anyhow, if you have not noticed I wrote the backstory from another characters perspective, I am going to compose a list of what I need to add in addition to the character such as the Books abilitys and what it is, however I might leave mystery to that.

[Madcombat]

This story continues on the Dragunsurn story as these characters are practically bound together now.