The Reluctant Necromancer

“I just wanted to be an herbalist like my father…”

Abel Mortarson
Archetype: Spell Caster..............Race: Human
Motivation: Proof of Worthiness
Style: 3...................Health: 6
Primary Attributes:
Body: 2..............Charisma: 1
Dexterity: 2.........Intelligence: 4
Strength: 2.........Willpower: 4

Secondary Attributes:
Size: 0...............Initiative: 6
Move: 4.............Defense: 4 (5)
Perception: 8......Stun: 2

Skills:.......................Base....Levels.......Rating.......(Average)
Athletics.....................2.........2..............4..................(2)
Craft / Apothecary.....4.........2..............6..................(3)
Linguistics.................4.........1...............5.................(2)
Magic: Necromancy...4.........4..............8..................(--)
Medicine...................4.........2..............6..................(3)
Melee.......................2.........2..............4..................(2)
Survival....................4.........2..............6.................(3)

Talents:
Magical Aptitude: Necromancy
Burn Reduction: – 1 total Burn Damage

Flaws:
Depressed
Vow, Aid the Helpless

Weapons............Rating......Size.......Attack.....(Avg.)....Cond.
Quarterstaff.........2N...........0............6N........(3) N.....Good
Dagger................1L...........0............5L.........(2) L.....Worn

Armor..............Def.........Str.........Dex........Cond.
Leather............+1...........1...........--.........Good

Languages:
Ascondean, Cushu, Loslolin

My Story:
Admit it, when you see a small animal like a kitten or puppy padding in the wake of a child, you can’t help but find it adorable. Yeah, you heard me right! Now shut your chuckling before I END YA! Ahem, as I was saying, it’s innocent events like this that get us out of bed in the morning; they once proved the world hadn’t gone to shit…before it really did. Yes, yes, my point is that it’s all the more horrifying when such events are corrupted. Take my own childhood for example: One day I too was followed home, a pleasant little farming community it was, by a stray cat…that apparently had died three days before. It wasn’t until we had an obnoxious vagabond visit our village that it became clear what called the kitty back. I guess he was trying to impress one of the young ladies, for I can’t think of any other reason someone his prime would want to challenge the Bog Beast. Being young(er) and stupid, I want to see him slay the monster, so I followed him. And what do you know; his sword was as sharp as his tongue. He emerged victorious; broken sword in one hand, jaw of the monster in the other; hail, hearty, and (unfortunately) cocky as when he first came to our happy village. It was later that day as the men and women folk celebrated with the hero that a shrill roar sounded from the wood. It was the Bog Beast or what was left of it. Opened, impossibly large wounds covered it, yet it still moved. The young man fought valiantly, but this time the damned thing won’t die. It’s now relentless strength and endurance quickly over its challenger. Just then, as it posed itself to deliver the final blow, strange understanding came to me. I felt something, a pulse, a vein of life force that extended from me to the beast. Observed all this in a detached manner, I promptly quashed it. The beast stiffened, shrieked, and fell dead. I had no idea what I just did, but the reactions about me told it was nothing pleasant. “Necromancer…” the first time I heard that word is when people I had known my whole young life looked at me in fear. That young man swiftly rose to my defense, making sure none harmed me as I was dazed by Burn. The youth guarded us that night as we left and until we reached the border. He was a good man and I have no doubt if he still lives, that is unchanged. We lived in the Loslolin Territory for a while. Father piled his trade, becoming even more prosperous due to the constant power struggles of the families. I made my own fair share of flecks, shiners, gilders even; you wouldn’t believe what some will pay in order to speak to the dead…or their reasons for wanting to do so. Perhaps this is why I loath politics. My parents did not ever abandon me, even as I fought to control a power that could have struck both of them dead in an instant. So, when I came of age, I did the only thing I thought that could possibly repay their kindness. We had since moved from the swampland, through Penury, and finally to Ascondea. I bought them a small abandon shop with money I’d saved for years. Then a few nights later, I left. This was the only way for my parents to have peace; my gift would always stigmatize any around me as wicked. I traveled for weeks before coming upon an old cabin upon a hill, deep within a dense forest a few miles from Sal Kallar. I made my own and lived the life of a reclusive herbalist. I aided those who could not afford the cities healers, doing what little I could to create a balance against the sin of my existence with good deeds. Then the Night of Fire came, I thought that my time was done as I felt all magic twist, warp and burn. I endured. And then during the Long Winter that followed, I thought again many a time death had come for me. But some pragmatic folk saw a use for me. Thus here I sit, rambling. I guess one or more of the gods or goddesses have a plan for me. What kind of plan? That’s what has me worried…

So, questions, comments, anything of that sort?

A good starting character; I like the concept of him being saddled with powers that automatically ostracize him regardless of his actual actions or attitude. The background gives us a definite picture of the character's personality.

My one suggestion would be writing something to describe his Motivation, specifically what actions or situations would allow him to get Style points.

Hullo, 7explorer,

I rather like the character, and the background that you set up for the character is quite good and evocative of the setting as well as giving readers of the character an idea of why he is as he is. Nestor was right about the business with his own abilities ostracising him from the village, but this seems to be a common element at some point for most Necromancers, unless they hide their abilities.

Good stuff!

One of the things I like best about character generation is determining what initial learning and growth arc the character is travelling before the events of the campaign deflect them onto a newer, (and hopefully better) course.

How will this character be used in your game? What sorts of things are you wanting to do with it? How do you imagine it might change/not change if fate conspires to let it live out its days unmolested?

Very interesting background on the character! Ever since I started reading the Desolation books, I have wanted to create a Necromancer. I like where this character can go.

I think it is interesting that the Necromancer ability comes upon him suddenly as opposed to more of a "learned" Tradition. How does this jive with the world setting in general? I mean, is the difference between being a Sorcerer and a Necromancer more of a genetic one, in that the person is only attuned to the Weave in that one special way? I was more under the impression that it was something one learned, but I do like this twist.

I have been playing it both ways. Some people are more attuned to certain Traditions and learn them naturally or with little effort (genetics) and some learn them and it takes them quite awhile to get a hang of it. The difference usually being that those that learned it tend to be more static in their spells as they have built up a repertoire as opposed to the natural learners who are a bit more free-form. Doesn't limit the characters, just what I've noticed.