Deified Necromancy: He practices a very unique form of necromancy, one that has not been seen since he first discovered it and put it into practice. He does not force souls or magic into the bodies of the dead to animate them, though he does have that capability. Instead he convinces the subject to commit their souls to him in death, much how a follower or cleric of one of the six gods of the pantheon would in order to go to their promised heaven when they die. Once the subject dies he is the only entity with a claim on their soul, and so he decides what happens to that soul, naturally he keeps whatever promise he made to that soul, like any proper deity would. If he offers them rest, he gives them rest, if he offers them a chance to return, then he allows them to return to their bodies or another available vessel.

Warrior King: In life he was a great warrior, he led his men with near godlike charisma and leadership, his battle strategies were complex and effective, he inspired his soldiers to follow him with fanatic loyalty as a result. He was said to be invincible on the battlefield. Exaggerated of course, but the only defeat he ever felt in his life was the defeat that ended his life, and it was not a battle fought with a sword in his hand.

Crowd Master: He is an expert at public speaking, eloquent and professional to a degree that rivals any public crier or priest of the gods giving a worship sermon. He knows what makes people tick, he's studied human nature to the point where it was almost an obsession until he learned exactly what to say in any given situation to make things work his way. Through this skill he has met some of his greatest allies and friends.

Undead Nature: As an undead he is magically resistant to normal, un-enchanted weapons. Magic effects him normally. Negative magic and energy from the void can heal him. His strength is enhanced with the traits of the undead, making him twice as strong as he was.

Sorcerer Spellcasting: His undeath has gifted him with the powers of necromancy and the litchdom, he is able to cast spells and use the powers of death and the void to serve his purposes. Aside from this litch like ability he is granted power from the souls that now reside in his demi-plane, giving him a renewable daily harvest of magic and providing succor and strength to his undead body that would otherwise require souls, blood, void, or negative energy to fuel and power.

Aspect of the Mummy Lord: [Rotting Fist] - If he so chooses, his skeletal touch can cause a living creature to be cursed with rot, that will slowly turn them to dust as they rot away.
[Dreadful Glare] - If he removes his mask and bandages so they can see his eyes, his gaze can cause magically induced terror that could also leave the victim paralyzed with fear.
[Blinding Dust] - He can summon the dust to rise around him to potentially blind those near him.
[Blasphemous Word] - He utters a cursed word that can only be translated by the divines, it holds no meaning in normal language but when he speaks it everyone who hears it has a chance to be stunned.
[Whirlwind of Sand] - He's able to transform into a whirlwind of sand and travel very quickly for a short distance before reverting to his original form.

Undead Nature: In spite of his true nature and his source of strength, he is still undead and vulnerable to magic and enchanted weapons and items, but he is especially vulnerable to holy and fire magic. While in his undead state he is completely devoid of any emotion or feeling what-so-ever. While he hides this well it does effect his dealings with the living.

Curse of the Alzaaeim: Because of his crimes against the gods themselves, he has been cursed by what is called the "Curse of the Alzaaeim". This curse is what makes him an undead, denying him access to his own heaven that he created and further increasing his power from there. He still receives a daily supply of magic from the followers that have passed on into his demi-plane, but he is unable to access a majority of the abilities that would be attributed to a god receiving worship and souls.

In life, Kalia Oro Khastan was the god king over a nation called Djedi Akhmis. It was a beautiful metropolis civilization that rested in the Amol-Kalit Desert. It was centered around the intersection of two rivers, the Baal-Duru and the Baal-Asha. Water was the lifeblood of their capital city, but a blood that flowed with good regularity, and if this lifeblood ever became scarce there was always good trade to make sure nobody was left wanting.

Again, Kalia Oro Khastan was worshipped as a god king in this culture. The kings in this land were always seen as on par with the gods of their pantheon, the heads of the priesthood, the man-god that alone had the power to rule their lands.
This was sometimes thought to be superstition set up by the religious and zealous, but even the most shrewd of critics couldn't deny that the kings of this land were blessed in some way.
But Kalia was no fool, he knew the truth. He was an abomination birthed by magic for a military experiment under the previous king, the experiment failed when they learned that, as Kalia grew older that he could not be controlled, he conquered the system, won his freedom, and then killed the king.

One would think that such an action would prompt a swift and brutal response from the priesthood, and even the people of the land, but these people saw this a sign from the gods... who could kill a god but another god?
So Kalia was made the new king, and the land saw prosperity that they had never seen before.

Kalia was born through a magically assisted union between a human and a giant, a process which neither parent survived but left Kalia alive as the product. He was larger than any other baby and as he grew he became larger than any other man. From the day he could talk he was tested for both the art of war and the art of sorcery, which he showed incredible aptitude in both which shaped his life from then on. He was trained rigorously in combat, strategy, and magic casting.

This is what he was taught but he learned so much more, like how to read and predict what a person would do, not just in combat but in politics as well. He was an avid student of human behavior which served him well throughout his career as a slave soldier. He pleased his superiors and overseers well before they had the chance to get mad at him for any transgression. By the time he was a young adult he had ascended through the ranks till he was second only to the high generals of the kings armies, and by that time he had even the generals figured out and practically in his pocket.

His coup was a quick one, and well warranted by all accounts. The god king at the time was a tyrant, while his rule was blessed with the gods he used it to work all manners of evil upon allies and enemies alike, unjust law was locked in stone, rebellion was on the horizon. But instead of a long and bloody civil war, a single bronze skinned giant entered the palace full of guards that were his friends and nailed the king to the throne with a spear.
The laws that had been set in stone were broken, new laws were created. Slavery was outlawed, and while the people grumbled at first, they soon saw the merit of the free system and all turned a profit.

His rule was long and prosperous, as a god king he made allies with many neighboring cities and absorbing many into his growing empire. Those that refused to befriend this growing superpower were ultimately conquered for their defiance and then brought into the fold of this empire of Djedi Akhmis.

WIP

During his reign his people worshipped him as a god, but he knew the truth. He loved his country and he loved his people, but he was not what they thought he was. Powerful? yes. Charismatic? yes. A good leader? yes. But a god? no. This left him dissatisfied with himself, and nearly paranoid. Would his people accept him if they ever learned that he wasn't a god? would they ever trust him? would his friends leave him?

At his core he was a good man, and he greatly desired the love and acceptance of those around him, the feeling of acceptance and belonging were staples that kept him thriving.
But now he was worried as he could feel age creeping up on his powerful body. What kind of immortal dies of old age?

He delved into ancient secrets, ancient magics said to be older than the very bones of the world itself. Eventually his search led him to study the gods themselves. Their blessings were real, they could be seen and used, where did their powers come from?
During his rule Kalia had been instrumental in undermining cults to evil gods and demons. How did demons and gods give mortals their powers?
The answer would have been obvious, worship of course! but then... Kalia had that, but he felt no power coursing through him when his people paid homage to him and wasn't even close to the power of a god.
What else did they have that he did not? this was a quandary that ate at his thoughts day and night.

Kalia didn't find an answer until two more years had passed. One of his closest friends had died and he listened to the ceremony as the priests commended his soul to the gods. That's when it finally dawned on him!
Souls!
The gods were offered souls that pass on into the afterlife that the gods themselves prepared for them. What do the souls do there? What else makes sense? The souls are bound to the god they are given to, the gods then use the power of that soul to fuel themselves.
Kalia could imagine the gods laughing at him, they knew the secret of their power the whole time and probably watched as he searched through volumes and scrolls to find their secret, but it was in the reasoning of his own mind that he found the answer, and now it was his turn to laugh back.

He knew spells that would allow him to create a dimension of his own design, he would use that to formulate his 'heaven', the paradise for his followers who pass on committing their souls to him for eternity. He was eager to try it, to receive his first soul and feel the power of the gods flow through him, but he tempered himself with patience. He told none but his most fanatic followers of this power at first and kept it hidden, especially from the priesthood. If anyone knew of his true ungodly nature it was the priests, and they were the most likely to report his sacrilege to the very gods he hoped to steal souls from.

He bided his time, grew his influence among the people, convincing them quietly through his growing cult, his friends and his closest followers. One by one souls were pledged to him until all but the priesthood and a few of his friends whom he was afraid to offend were covered by his claim.
When the time had finally come it was on the field of battle in the middle of a field soaked with blood. He could imagine one of the gods of war reveling in the power being sent to him in droves and it nearly sickened him, though he could also imagine that same god wondering why he only received the souls of their enemies.
He held the body of another friend, his confidant and the calming force in his life. His friend, Najiib, was dying, and now was the time to save the soul of his friend from the gods.
"My friend and ally, my brother in blood. Pledge your soul to me, Najiib." Kalia pleaded with him as blood pumped out of a sucking chest wound.
"Pledge your soul to me and live on after death. Together we can undo the injustices of the gods and take back what they stole."
To the horror of the gods, Najiib accepted. The soul went to a different paradise and Kalia Oro Khastan felt his power grow.

As his power grew his follows could feel it, they drew upon the strength he promised them, and with each casualty where a man died with his name on his lips he gained the power to fulfil that promise and more. He felt his power go out to his army, but it was the power of a god, not of a mere magic caster. He received back whatever he gave, non of his gifts returned to him empty.

However the retribution of the gods was swift, Kalia realized he tipped his hand too soon. He could have spent several more years growing his following and filling his paradise quietly without the gods suspecting anything, but in his eagerness he forgot his patience. The gods were ancient, with who knows how many billions of souls resting in the afterlife to give them power and influence. Kalia was woefully lacking in power and had no chance to defend himself. He was cursed, killed, diminished. No god took his soul, he was doomed, struck down by divine wrath right there on the field of battle.
His body was brought back to the city of his birth, Djedi Akhmis. On the order of the gods the priesthood used their powers to turn the entire metropolis into a tomb city, locking everyone within caskets, alive or dead as punishment for pledging their souls to a mortal.
Kalia's body was mummified and locked in a casket in the deepest dungeons of the royal palace that was now the center and headstone of the massive grave. The tomb was sealed and guarded by traps. There he lay dead in his ornate coffin, with all of his wealth and worldly possessions buried beside him, not in preparation for the trip to the underworld, but in condemnation of a being that will be doomed to damnation. The sands of time covered the once great city, to be lost for all eternity.

But the gods made a mistake. They did whatever they knew to do in order to punish that nation, but as his people died their souls went to the afterlife he promised, and thus gave him power in his final moments.

The sands are struck once more by an intense windstorm, the powerful gale blows the sand at flesh rending speeds as the dunes shift and change as nature ordered. As the sand eroded away the roofs of ruined towers slowly became visible, ever so slowly the towers rose from the desert as the burial place of an ancient civilization was once again revealed.

The tomb shook as dust was disturbed from thousands of years of airless stillness.
The crumbling labarynth of halls, great halls, tombs, passageways, alcoves, treasure rooms, and armories were blasted with the displacement of fresh air with the stale air of the dead.

"Where is my soul?"

Kalia awoke in utter darkness, wrapped from head to toe in cursed burial wrappings that had long ago lost what magic was left in them. He lay in a sercoughigus made especially for him and his great size. Kalia tore his arms free of the bindings with ease and lifted the lid of the coffin, chains held the lid in place. With a powerful shove the rusted chains broke and he sat up.
He was surrounded by his personal treasure trove, all of his earthly possessions gathered into one place.
And a series of decorated urns with fancy lids that he knew with a sinking feeling could only be holding his internal organs
Freeing his legs he stood up and wandered the room. Someone took great pains to seal off this room specifically, if he didn't have inside knowledge of the secret passageways and hidden doors he might never have found the exit. The wall slid open to reveal another room, this one full of ancient traps, the hieroglyphs telling a story, and a warning of what happened to those that defied the gods.
He absently touched his face and realized that it was still covered by his burial mask and funeral wrappings, but he could see just fine. Being dead was strange, he didn't feel anything. No pain, no discomfort, no hunger for even the flesh of the living.

After retrieving his weapons and armor he wandered about the temple, avoiding the traps and the nearly drained magical guardians. Sand was everywhere, pouring in through the air holes and eventually the windows as he ascended through the palace. All along the way he saw the bodies of his people, buried in row after row of coffins, some decorated according to last wills and testaments as befitted the wealthy, others faceless and nameless.
Perhaps if he used some of his power he could allow them to return to their bodies, but the strategist in him told him to wait. There is no telling how long he had been dead, what kind of world did he live in. Outside was the shifting desert, who knows what lay out there or beyond?

If he was the least bit responsible, he had to investigate before he put his people into danger. So it was into the desert he went, he didn't shamble like a corpse, in fact from a distance one probably couldn't tell that he was a mummy, save for the burial wrappings that wouldn't be noticeable from a distance.
But trouble came for him as he walked into the raging dust storm, he felt no pain as the sand struck him, so he didn't worry too much about it. But ever so slowly the sand began eating away at his body, tearing the desiccated skin and flesh from his bones as his remaining burial wrappings hung in tatters around him. He now walked through the desert, a cleaned and white skeleton animated by some power unknown by even him, though he hadn't yet put his mind to the mystery.

As he traveled the shifting sands were no stranger to bones, as the dunes shifted like the sea in the wind bodies were revealed and hidden by the waves, long ago battles were fought here and the dead left to the elements. The sun baked away any remaining semblance of flesh and he was truly like any one of the corpses he passed by.
When night fell he came upon the first sign of living civilization, a fire to the east. He went to it and found the travelers sleeping with an inattentive guard.
They were a small trade caravan, so he was able to easily steal some new clothes and articles of clothing to cover his towering grim visage.
From there matters improved for him, he found a city called Vel Anir that settled on the edge of a great forest, and from there he was able to pass himself off as an adventurer which allowed him to make some decent coin, as well as the opportunity to travel and see this new world for himself.

But all the while a question nagged at him... "Where is my soul?"