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Lazarus
DeathKnight by pyrus

Age:

???

Class:

???

Race:

Skeletal Undead.

Occupation:

N/A

Relatives:

???

Raised at:

Crypts of Karazhan.

Eye colour:

He lacks eyes, with pulsing orbs of bright blue mana hovering within his eye sockets.

Piercings / tattoos:

His face appears to be fractured, faint cracks visible to those with a keen eye.

Status:

Undead.

His voice, Alexander, and theme, from Amnesia as well.

BackgroundEdit

The CoffinEdit

A grey haze surrounded my vision momentarily, before my sight became one with the darkness. I was completely enveloped by stone, yet from some odd feeling within my gut I could tell…

…I was back amongst the living. My hands were brought before my eyes by some unnatural force - I noticed them to be mere bone - and ‘twas then I discovered the unnatural force was my own will; my senses had diminished; I felt nothing; as if I was simply observing another from their own perspective. Slowly, steadily, my body shifted within its tomb, the sound of bones creaking and cracking would have ordinarily sent shivers down my spine… but this time they did not… and soon became what I recognised as the only company I had within this wretched coffin – my own voice had been taken from me by the deft hand of decay… but I retained my spirit. I compelled my limbs to extend and they submit, urged to press against my prison with all the might they could muster, yet to no avail, and after several minutes of overwhelming effort I despaired. Trapped, alone, and in utter darkness, hope was a concept I refused, doomed to lay on my deathbed for what seemed like an eternity, staring blankly at each individual grain of the masonry holding me captive – examining the body that now held my soul prisoner.

I could only describe it as torment, praying for aid from whomever would grant it, trying to remember my life before this darkness, yet both acts were futile. Why was I damned to such a fate? I still do not know, but my desire to answer that question is one of the few reasons I choose to continue my existence.

Time passed, unchanging, until the land itself stirred to wake me from my inertia. Above and all around me, I could feel power of great depth surging through the earth. For the first time in what seemed like eons, I was visited by a presence. A blue glow had spread from my own person to fight back the shadow, and I saw with great clarity the intricate details inscribed onto the innards of my coffin - runic symbols scattered like seeds in the wind. Light had arrived in all its glory, and hope now swelled within my previously lifeless corpse. My hands stretched forward as they had in ages past, striking the stone sigils, lighting them in the same pungent colour as my new ‘eyes’. The stone was smooth, sanded, as if great effort was taken to ensure my cage was a sight to behold – I can remember my surprise as I glanced down to my hands, pressing them against my skull, to feel the connection between the cold bones. I could feel… I could see, could touch and even smell my own rot.

Power coursed through me…
Draugr by jared hai-d4j5mi9
and I slammed both palms upon the lid – pushing against it as the earth cried out around me, torn by an astounding source of power that I could sense far above me.

It rose, sliding from my bastille.

I rose with it.

But, as I then discovered, my imprisonment was not over yet…

The TombEdit

My skull twisted a full rotation, surveying the entire room. Other than an ornate black door, four grey walls were present around me, yet an array of items was strewn about within. Could they be mine? It did not matter to me, though, for there was only one thing my soul yearned for – and it lay in wait behind the door. I reached out to snatch it, to throw myself unto freedom! But my path was barred. I pushed. I shoved… the black metal gave me no quarter. Not locked, but blocked, by what? I did not know… I did not know. Fate tortured me in that way.

I turned now to the items. Entire bookcases were dotted about the walls, containing tomes, scrolls, novels and all kinds of written works. Feverishly I sought to search through them, skeletal fingers rifling through parchment with the intent of finding a means to escape. I searched in vain, but I had caught sight of one last item within my prison. Before my coffin was a rod tipped with an odd gem-inset head, protruding from circular stonework, and clearly I could tell it was placed purposely in such a way. My steps echoed through the room as I made my way forth, squatting carefully, to illuminate the rod with my ‘eyes’ – the blue glow making runic symbols across the rod visible. They were vertical, and on two sides of the rod, but my keen eye noticed distinct similarities between these and those of my coffin, and so I took hold of the rod with both hands. The runes gently began to glow as I slid the weapon seamlessly out from the stone sheath, to discover its full shape:

A long shaft, coloured in a pale orange, studded and with runes atop each stud. At one end was the oddly shaped head that I saw previously, which lead me to think it was a staff, but at the other – a wickedly curved blade. Both ends had a blue crystal inset within the metal, but the blade held a much larger one… and was much larger in general, which led me to believe this was some sort of pole arm. Spikes subtly extended from both ends, at a tangent to the orderly shape of the weapon itself. When my fingers wrapped around it, I could not ignore the sense of familiarity that washed over me. Did I know this item…? Was this my weapon? The runes buzzed quietly, the glow fading.

Whatever had occurred above my tomb had stopped by now, and the power had ceased, yet it would return at irregular intervals throughout my long vigil. And with each pulse, I felt myself grow stronger…

…Soon, I had hoped, I would be able to break out. But, over time, my hope died a slow and painful death…


AppearanceEdit

The creature's hair and beard hang loosely from his head, warped to a murky grey colour by the dark nature of his ressurrection. His face comprised of many shades of white and grey, also appearing fractured and flakey. His eyes do not move, yet a faint blue light radiates out from behind them - through the gaps between eye ball and eye socket. If you were ever to glimpse his open maw, you would spot that he has no tongue and green-ish ichor is strewn about in its place.

Pale and sickly skin is tight to the bones, as if there is no substance to fill it out out. Indeed, it appears that his full suit of armour holds his thin form together. Not to be underestimated, though, is his strength - fuelled and empowered by the dark magic embedded within his structure.

The movement of the being before you could be described as mechanical, even inhuman, yet action it takes appears to have been calculated in detail.

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