A Necromancer's Choice

      As the Goblins invaded the Dwarven kingdom of Thi'Betor year 1103 of the 2^nd Era no accounts of the events that took place at the capital of Maso Betorim, the last stand of King Daeken, survived. When the Goblin horde breached the gates no one got out alive, or so the Dwarven historians write. One month before the inner walls were soaked in the blood of both Dwarves and Goblins a series of extraordinary events took place that can only be found retold in one peculiar book, the chronicles written by a certain necromancer.

      The invasion was a fact, by 1124 all bastion in the north had fallen to the seemingly unending flood of Goblins. They had cut of the remaining resistance from the rest of the kingdoms and were now forcing them to retreat to their last stronghold, the capital, from where they would have no where to run. In all tunnels the Goblins were gaining ground fast, raiding all chambers with settlements in them. As the horde completely encircled the last stand all seemed lost. No Dwarves had been able to stand against the relentless Goblins, but their new enemies feared not death.

A Necromancer's Disciple

          In the far east of the Dwarven Mountains, where the Black Ridge stretches south-east, casting its shadows upon the Old Alliance-Road, rises a high menacing dark claw. Mag-Ogor, the Mountain of Darkness, has always been home to a large variety of terrifying creatures and the 2^nd era was no different. Back then, when the Alliance had recently been forged, living corpses roamed its highlands and lurked in its many caves, all answering to their master; Arthom, Garfereas a'Har.

          The winds were howling outside the mountain and their screams reached the heart through all the cracks and openings in the mountain's slopes. Through one of these tunnels a man walked, shadows played with the light from the torch he was carrying on the walls around him. Tall with black hair, proud posture and a longsword in his belt, a thin face with determined eyes, all these descriptions could fit any noble of the Indorim but there was something darker behind his cold eyes. He walked as if he knew the dark caves like his own home. He knew he was followed, and now he also sensed a presence in front of him, but he did not stop.

A Necromancer's Path

         During a harsh winter in the early 2^nd Era a boy was born to the widow Ameni in the small village of Deepwell. Being as pale and cold as he was, no one expected him to survive his first night. But as a late spring reached Deepwell and as it turned into summer the young boy Keemon seemed as healthy as any other of the children around him. But everyone knew something there was different about him, something that was wrong.

         As he grew up he never lost his pale skin or cold blood. He was a skinny boy with two tired ice-blue eyes and a thin face, framed by light grey hair.

         It took several years until something happened.