The Tale!

‘Tis I, VREILAR THE NECROMANCER! I have come to bequeath upon thou simpletons the TRUE and GLORIOUS tale of my creation! I was born at the tallest peak of the Spine, and imbibed with DIVINE PURPOSE to BEND THE LINE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH to my own TWISTED PURPOSES! Since then, I have traveled the land, leaving CORPSES in my wake and sowing seeds of HATRED and DISCONTENT across the four corners of Arethil!

The Truth…

Mishal Brighthearth was born from the pairing of two exceptionally talented performers. His mother was a juggler, and his father served as the ringleader to a well-renowned travelling troupe of entertainers. Mishal’s life was a simple one, full of humor and good-will. He learned much from his fellow troupe-members as they traveled the long roads of Arethil, picking up skills in many performing arts. Though he truly found his stride when he was introduced to acting.

Whether he was playing a fiercely romantic character in any number of great epics or donning the apparel of a jester and playing himself a fool, Mishal was entranced by the stage. People always said that he’d succeed in whatever he chose to do, and from a young age, he decided that his true passion was for drama.

However, things never go quite as one hopes, and tragedy struck before his dreams of fame could become reality. The troupe decided to set up camp early one evening, and Mishal went to wander the woods and practice for his role in an upcoming comedy-- It was his first lead, after all, and he had to get it just right. He’d be assuming the role of a necromancer who lived alone high atop the Spine, getting into all sorts of hijinks until a young elven maiden came into his life and turned all of his villainy upside down.

Mishal had just gotten his voice to be the right mix of insane and comedic when his nose caught hints of smoke on the wind. Running back to where his troupe had set up camp for the night, the young man found nothing but corpses and burning wagons. His mind went into utter shock, focusing on nothing at all until he came across the remains of the troupe's costuming wagon. He pulled the mask he would have used in the coming show from the wreckage, half-burned and nearly ruined. Without any hope left in his heart, the young man went to find his parents’ cart.

When he looked down upon the scorched remains of their bodies, tears burned in his eyes. His gaze fell momentarily to the crumpled, blood-stained script he clutched in one hand before turning to the mask he held in the other.

In that moment, Mishal Brighthearth died. Or he went away, at least, and the character of Vreilar took over the newly vacated controls.

Vreilar the Necromancer peered upwards from the burnt remains of two strangers, staring deeply into the setting sun. “I am evil now,” he said, voice coming out in a hoarse falsetto of contentment.