Born in the small human village of Haarlock's Rest to the local smith and his wife, Magnan's life was thought paved out for him. He would grow up, learn his father's trade, marry and then die, most likely to disease, an accident, or a wild animal. While others in his town languished at the thought of being stuck there for the rest of their lives, the somewhat simple lad found it a comforting thought. Already rivalling his father in height before he even hit puberty, Magnan found a sort of beauty in the simple life of a town smith, spending day and night together with his father, creating horse shoes, fixing spades and generally maintaining the tools around the small farming village. It helped that the young man's prodigious strength and tolerance for pain allowed him to learn the craft easily, and he could tell his father was proud each and every time he managed to outdo his old man.

However, this all changed. Almost fully grown, Magnan and a few other young members of his village had been sent off to acquire goods that couldn't be found within the sleepy hamlet (in his case, raw iron and even some mithril), and after two weeks of journeying the group found themselves making their way back to their home, only to find it aflame and butchered. Buildings crackled and popped as the wall of heat hit them all at once, roofs caving in on the houses they had one protected and sending out waves of sparks. Corpses littered the ground, but the young man ignored them all in favour of ditching the cart he had been helping to pull and racing towards where his now caved in home was. Dashing into the burning building, the young smith ignored the heat with practised ease as he burst through a burning and collapsed pillar, closing his eyes against the scorching spray of embers, only to open them again to the sight that would change him forever.

His mother's body lay burning, stretched out along the floor as if reaching for something. Forcing himself to tear his eyes way from the woman, Magnan followed the direction she was stretched out in, and found himself weak at the knees as he came across his father's headless corpse. The body was clad in grey armour, still clutching its weapon even as the rest of the body slumped against the wall. The young man took a faltering step towards the body, but found himself wavering as the heat finally caught up to him, forcing him to flee the building and run out into the night.

He would later learn of the orc raid upon his town, and that it wasn't the only one. He was told that the human military was mobilising, was told that he should take time to grieve, was told that he needed to slow down. He didn't listen. Instead, he took the metals he had brought with him, metals meant to help the now dead town, and he did what he did best, going to work at the steel with hammer and tongs. Day and night he worked, in the silence of the forest and the darkened ruins, alone as the others fled to the capital. He ate when he found he could not go anymore, and then returned to his work. Eventually, what emerged from the husk of Haarlock's Rest was a revenant, something hellbent on destruction. But... it did not last. As Magnan made his way along the borders of his people's kingdom, he found his goal of hatred slowly being replaced by one of love. He cared more for the people he protected behind his shield than the enemy he swung at, and eventually, over the decades of battle, he found himself hailed not as a butcher as he had once wished, but as a defender. A guardian, for those that could not defend themselves.

Eventually, the man turned legend became too much of a problem for the orcish hordes, and one day found himself alone and surrounded. One chance was given to him to surrender. He replied in kind. Death visited that day, as paragon and his sworn enemy fought, and the corpses piled high, but eventually Magnan found himself overwhelmed. An arrow pierced his shoulder, a blade took his sight and the legend died with his hands wrapped around the throat of the enemy, smiling at the knowledge that his people were safe. Left to rot in the blood soaked fields, his head ripped from his body, Magnan's legend was set to fade into obscurity, with the only hint to it being the mounted skull on some chieftain's wall.

Yet this wasn't the end. An entrepreneurial necromancer, ambitious and sly, would one day find a tome depicting this battle through the eyes of the orcs and humans alike, and, using the magic that came to him naturally, set off on a quest to not only find, but bring Magnan back from the veil of the dead, to serve as his bodyguard. One does not know how the necromancer managed to find his missing head, let alone get his hands upon the skull, but what is known is that Magnan arose from his grave, whole and bound in his armour, to the sight of two corpses. A dark robed man and a peasant woman, pale and sunken in face, the man clutching two very familiar items. Gently moving aside the deceased, Magnan moved to place his sword and shield in their rightful place before burying the two. Instinctively aware of his new nature, the ancient warrior set off to see just how much time had passed, and to continue his work.