Name: Ghol Vordak (Legendary, Epic May 2016)
Race/Class: Undead Necromancer
Experience: 178,578
Level: 17
Copper: 419
Silver: 87
Gold: 79
Mats: 133
Special Items:
Professions: Friar, Enchanter
Magic specialisations: Shadow, Earth,
Level 0: One handed Short, Loot Chest, Mana Band 1
level 1: Mana Band 2, Mana Band 3
level 2: Shadow Spell - Paralysis, Arcane Spell - Arcane Sigil
level 3: Cannibalism, Mana Band 4, Bless
level 4: Shadow Spell - Trance, Small Polearm
Level 5: Raise Undead, Earth Spell- Root
Level 6: Fearless, Arcane Spell- Silence Caster, Mana Band 5
Level 7: Exorcism, Dead to Arms
Level 8: Shadow Spell- Pestilence, Mana Band 6
Level 9: Reanimate, Arcane Spell- Dispel Magic, Mana Band 7
Level 10: Earth Spell- Boulder Smash, Mana Band 8
Level 11: Minor Mana Enchant, Earth Spell- Earthquake
Level 12: Infectious Disease, Arcane Spell- Spell Block, Sermon
Level 13: Shadow Spell- Domination, Earth Spell- Acid Spray
Level 14: Artisan Mana Enchant, Resurrection
Level 15: Reflect Damage, Army of Darkness, Desiccation
Level 16: Master Enchanter, Enchant Weapon: Stone
Level 17: Arcane Spell: Elemental Missile, Arcane Spell: Death
Level 18:
Ghol Vordak- Biography
‘Fallen? Hah! Don’t make me larf. I din’t fall. I was pushed...’
(Ghol Vordak, overheard upon entering The Hangman’s Rest)
Ghol Vordak remembers very little about his warm days. A sight or sound might trigger fleeting images- of a cottage by a stream or a village drawn around a mill like chicks around a mother hen. Sometimes he recalls the laughter of children and a woman’s smiling face, but that is all. No names come with these images, and no warmth is gleaned from their remembering.
He does remember the plague, however, and the terror that followed. Whole families succumbed to it and were laid low in the ground, only to rise shortly after to prey upon their neighbours. He remembers digging and then lighting pyres when it was learnt that this worked. But then the weeping sores appeared over his own body, and the pain truly began. The children’s laughter stopped around about then, and so did the smiles on the pretty face that Ghol has sworn never to forget.
Ghol rose from his own shallow grave as an expendable pawn. Around him, his old village lay in smoking ruins. A rusty old sword was thrust into his stiff fingers and he was herded on towards the next settlement on a path of conquest alongside his old friends and neighbours.
As each town and village fell, the army of the dead grew. Ghol found himself one among thousands in a horde of shambling, mindless undead, going wherever their masters bid, overwhelming those that stood against them by sheer force of numbers.
But Ghol was not mindless. He was aware of everything around him; aware of the rotten, empty shells stumbling along beside him, dragging their weapons in the dirt, and how he was different from them. Somehow he was still capable of reason, he realised, and this filled Ghol with both elation and fear.
Fallen that retained some of their intelligence were in a dangerous position. The warrior-leaders of the horde, the Death Knights, guarded their position jealously and wanted no competition for their monopoly of control. Anything deemed a threat to them was dealt harsh and final punishment. A second death at their hands was final.
The only rivals to the Death Knight’s power were the Necromancers. Despised by the knights, yet crucial to the continued existence of the undead army, these dark magicians were marginally more tolerant of those that retained a spark of intellect.
Ghol watched for a long time before selecting the necromancer he felt might accept him. Cabraxis the Shriven had fallen out of favour with the leaders of the horde; his host was small and his magics much depleted, but he was still a wily and treacherous being. A younger Death Knight, Black Ulbator, had slain Cabraxis’ only apprentice in a challenge to his power. The necromancer had survived, but only barely. He was old and weak, and knew his position was tenuous in the horde’s hierarchy and this made him vulnerable.
Ghol approached the necromancer’s flayed skin tent nervously. Carrion cawed at his approach. Cold fingers ensnared his ankles from beneath the thick mist that hugged the marshy ground, holding him in place. Skeletal guards appeared and lowered rusty spears to bar his path. Only then did Cabraxis emerge from his tent to scrutinise Ghol closely.
‘What do you want, worm?’ asked the ancient necromancer. He was shorter than Ghol, shrivelled and pallid, but his eyes held a dark power that even Ghol could recognise.
‘To learn,’ Ghol replied as boldly as he dared.
Race/Class: Undead Necromancer
Experience: 178,578
Level: 17
Copper: 419
Silver: 87
Gold: 79
Mats: 133
Special Items:
Professions: Friar, Enchanter
Magic specialisations: Shadow, Earth,
Level 0: One handed Short, Loot Chest, Mana Band 1
level 1: Mana Band 2, Mana Band 3
level 2: Shadow Spell - Paralysis, Arcane Spell - Arcane Sigil
level 3: Cannibalism, Mana Band 4, Bless
level 4: Shadow Spell - Trance, Small Polearm
Level 5: Raise Undead, Earth Spell- Root
Level 6: Fearless, Arcane Spell- Silence Caster, Mana Band 5
Level 7: Exorcism, Dead to Arms
Level 8: Shadow Spell- Pestilence, Mana Band 6
Level 9: Reanimate, Arcane Spell- Dispel Magic, Mana Band 7
Level 10: Earth Spell- Boulder Smash, Mana Band 8
Level 11: Minor Mana Enchant, Earth Spell- Earthquake
Level 12: Infectious Disease, Arcane Spell- Spell Block, Sermon
Level 13: Shadow Spell- Domination, Earth Spell- Acid Spray
Level 14: Artisan Mana Enchant, Resurrection
Level 15: Reflect Damage, Army of Darkness, Desiccation
Level 16: Master Enchanter, Enchant Weapon: Stone
Level 17: Arcane Spell: Elemental Missile, Arcane Spell: Death
Level 18:
Ghol Vordak- Biography
‘Fallen? Hah! Don’t make me larf. I din’t fall. I was pushed...’
(Ghol Vordak, overheard upon entering The Hangman’s Rest)
Ghol Vordak remembers very little about his warm days. A sight or sound might trigger fleeting images- of a cottage by a stream or a village drawn around a mill like chicks around a mother hen. Sometimes he recalls the laughter of children and a woman’s smiling face, but that is all. No names come with these images, and no warmth is gleaned from their remembering.
He does remember the plague, however, and the terror that followed. Whole families succumbed to it and were laid low in the ground, only to rise shortly after to prey upon their neighbours. He remembers digging and then lighting pyres when it was learnt that this worked. But then the weeping sores appeared over his own body, and the pain truly began. The children’s laughter stopped around about then, and so did the smiles on the pretty face that Ghol has sworn never to forget.
Ghol rose from his own shallow grave as an expendable pawn. Around him, his old village lay in smoking ruins. A rusty old sword was thrust into his stiff fingers and he was herded on towards the next settlement on a path of conquest alongside his old friends and neighbours.
As each town and village fell, the army of the dead grew. Ghol found himself one among thousands in a horde of shambling, mindless undead, going wherever their masters bid, overwhelming those that stood against them by sheer force of numbers.
But Ghol was not mindless. He was aware of everything around him; aware of the rotten, empty shells stumbling along beside him, dragging their weapons in the dirt, and how he was different from them. Somehow he was still capable of reason, he realised, and this filled Ghol with both elation and fear.
Fallen that retained some of their intelligence were in a dangerous position. The warrior-leaders of the horde, the Death Knights, guarded their position jealously and wanted no competition for their monopoly of control. Anything deemed a threat to them was dealt harsh and final punishment. A second death at their hands was final.
The only rivals to the Death Knight’s power were the Necromancers. Despised by the knights, yet crucial to the continued existence of the undead army, these dark magicians were marginally more tolerant of those that retained a spark of intellect.
Ghol watched for a long time before selecting the necromancer he felt might accept him. Cabraxis the Shriven had fallen out of favour with the leaders of the horde; his host was small and his magics much depleted, but he was still a wily and treacherous being. A younger Death Knight, Black Ulbator, had slain Cabraxis’ only apprentice in a challenge to his power. The necromancer had survived, but only barely. He was old and weak, and knew his position was tenuous in the horde’s hierarchy and this made him vulnerable.
Ghol approached the necromancer’s flayed skin tent nervously. Carrion cawed at his approach. Cold fingers ensnared his ankles from beneath the thick mist that hugged the marshy ground, holding him in place. Skeletal guards appeared and lowered rusty spears to bar his path. Only then did Cabraxis emerge from his tent to scrutinise Ghol closely.
‘What do you want, worm?’ asked the ancient necromancer. He was shorter than Ghol, shrivelled and pallid, but his eyes held a dark power that even Ghol could recognise.
‘To learn,’ Ghol replied as boldly as he dared.
