Golarial Merchant the Mummy Lord, Elite Imperial Warlock

Role

Chapter 6

Unimaginable, soul-searing, pain courses through one's body with the initial
burst that feels so excruciating that death would seem to be a welcome
companion. This is an apt description of the beginning to true undeath.
Forget the quiet of the dark room, the multitude of drugs coursing through the
body, or the slight tingle of magic's gracious touch washing over every muscle.
It's the pain that leaves the everlasting mark on those who cross the
threshold into life everlasting, in this way.

Golarial hypothesizes that this pain is the last remnant of true life that is
dissipating the material form in order for the absence of positive energy to
take up residence. This expulsion of positive energy leaves an insatiable
appetite, one that can not be quenched through conventional means. One that
can only be sated by gorging on the energy of the living because of this new
and stronger tie to the negative plane.

With a dimmed form of sensation, largely due to the weeks of drifting among
pain, one further dulled by the chilling, ever-present, lack of warmth, undeath
seems filled with things that need to be re-learned. With so many of the
pieces of what was once life, lost, he revels in the journey to discover more
of his newfound power and in the quest to find ever more potent magics.

Role

Chapter 5

Being out in the middle of nowhere, discombobulated in an underground torrent
of murky water, or magically thrown about the entirety of the lands all have
one thing in common. That's a sense of loss or of being lost. Many people
fear these types of events and would rather live their lives in relative
safety, foregoing what they consider to be possible tragedies for that sense of
security. What they don't acknowledge is that, death or mortal injury could
arise from walking down a street, having a drink of water, or any number of
seemingly innocuous actions that one could take.

Golarial, though his life experiences has known loss, known what it was like to
have possessions taken, the opportunities missed, and felt the pain when they
were gone. He's felt the thrill of discovery of new magic, new locations, new
people, and had each turn out not as he'd imagined, losing that pristine image
forever. However, he also acknowledges that these events, these losses, have
shaped him and his path in life and should be cherished rather than feared,
embraced rather than shunned, and loved rather than hated. Although it may be
difficult for anyone, at times, to realize the significance of these events as
they occur, he tries to embrace them himself and encourage others to do so as
well.

Role

Chapter 4

Graveyards are funny places, they can be calming, peaceful, deafeningly quiet,
but also spooky, haunted, filled with mild nightmares or outright death. To
Golarial, they are all of these things. They remind him of the many losses in
his life, his great cat Arcath, the defeats he suffers when seeking more power,
the missteps associated with his search for knowledge. However, they almost
always leave in him a sense of wonder as to how they can be so much even though
they are so simple.

These days, he spends hours roaming these grounds. Stopping to peak at fresh
dug graves, admiring the oddities of the various deaths of the new and old
tenants alike. On occasion, he pilfers a bit of flesh or bone and takes the
time to experiment with various ways of reforming them into his personal
golems. Often he ponders if Arcath could have stayed with him longer if he'd
held this kind of knowledge back then, so, he delves deeper into the golem
craft in Her memory.

Recently, while strolling the dirt paths of the Galadon graveyard, while paused
to observe a tombstone, he overheard a mourner attempting to console another.
He tried his best to look unconcerned, having recently removed a couple
appendages from the body that was being mourned but his curiosity was peaked
when he heard the name Rahsael... and just like that, it was like someone
sparked a lantern in his head. Of all the areas he's studied, religion wasn't
among them.

Role

Chapter 3

Necromancy isn't exactly how Golarial had envisioned it when he took the first
steps into its depths several years ago. He believes that, at its core, it
gives many advantages to other magical arts, practices and areas of study but a
great many people throughout the land seem afraid of the practical applications
known to the guild. Putting those around him at rest or ease is often
imperative to his craft. On occasion, he has been known to scry the dead, view
or glimpse a wayward spirit, all in an effort to ease people's conscious when
seeking practitioners.

Furthermore, he has put forth some efforts to conceal his in-depth practices of
the art. Throughout the past decade, his intonations, gestures, and innate
talent has seemed to blossom even through the facade. Contrary to many of the
guild, he still wears most of the clothing of his merchant upbringing, though
he often carries a sword at his side, many wealthy merchants are known to do
the same. To him, it's still imperative that the everyday masses still view
him favorably, this increases the chance that he can continue his mercantile
practices and yoke them for every copper he can, increasing his status, filling
coffers, and helping further his training.

One coffer that he's been making an additional effort to buoy is that of the
Imperial Black Sect, of which, he's recently joined. The Imperials are an
ordered sort, enlightened enough that they believe in enforcing order upon the
lands in order to better it. Since he was brought within the ranks by Emperor
Wijara, he hopes to use the citizenry much the same as those whom he deals with
in a mercantile fashion, while discreetly increasing his strength and magic
within the necromancer's guild.

Role

Chapter 2

Blood, it was everywhere, the gaping tear in Arcath's soft underbelly would not
close! As tears streamed down his face, he made his way down the winding and
windy path, back to the city. His beloved cat's life blood cascading down,
across his shoulders. He hurriedly rushed back to his home, collapsing many
times along the way having spent every last bit of his strength from the
mountain descent. His mother was the first to find him, and before collapsing
in exhaustion, he asked for her help.

When he awoke, groggy and disoriented, everything began coming back. Flashes
of the horror of "His" Arcath and he clumsily stood, stumbling around to find
her. Outside, near the community stable, he found them. Several of the town's
healers, rangers, and nature servant were gathered about, though none seemed to
be doing anything. He yelled at them, berating their impotence in the
situation, as he watched Arcath's increasingly labored breathing. His mother
and father grasped him firmly, embracing him as they told him the news. None
of them could help her.

That's when he finally broke. He left the house grounds, tears continuing to
stream across his cheeks and wandered the streets. As he continued to plod
along, a strong scent of chemicals combined with a sickly sweet aroma dazed
him, causing him to look up into the dark hood of a female garbed in dark-gray
robes. Her soft smile caught him off guard and he simply blurted out a plea
for help. With a smile and nod, they made their way back to the stable.

By the time they had arrived, nightfall had set in and the crowd had long since
left. Arcath simply lay under a dingy brown sheet, clearly stained with her
life's blood. The lady said that she could help and that she would simply
require some alone time with her. Elated, and confused, he departed but on his
return only a few minutes later, Arcath was once again on her feet. He crashed
down to his knees, embracing his beloved companion, hugging her with all his
might. The lady then told him that for this blessing, she would require
payment. Concluding their business and having handed over no small portion of
their family's savings, she departed.

As time passed he spent more and more of his time with Arcath. Even after
beginning decay, her eyes glazing over, fur falling out and the smell began to
grow, he tended her calmly. He had makeup applied and anointed her with oils
for the smell. Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever, and one day, she toppled
over to dust before his eyes. Once again, his emotions were a wreck, leaving
him distraught and heartbroken. He searched everywhere for the stranger, the
one that made things better so many years ago, but it was in vain. As it
turned out, the stranger had died herself, and the loss of her sustaining magic
was what caused his beloved cat to fall. Twelve years passed from this trauma
that shaped his present path, the one into Necromantic magic.

Role

Chapter 1

It all began one cool day in the month of long shadows. Golariel, the son of a
human merchant and his bewitchingly beautiful and cunning wife, was out for
some trophy hunting in the steep and rocky mountains, southeast of their fair
port city. As a bit of a showoff, for his fifteenth birthday, he was going to
return from the mountain with enough meat to feed the family for the winter and
hopefully, an enormously horned ram skull.

Although he was a bit of a braggart, Golariel came by it naturally, he was
adept at anything he set his mind to and being endowed with his father's
cunning and mothers grace, he always felt as if anything was within his grasp.
That meant that today, he was coming home with that trophy and his treasured
pet Arcath was going to assist him. Arcath, named by his mother was a desert
tiger and she was an incredible animal. They had done many hunts together and
almost always brought down what they sought. With a little luck, today
wouldn't be unlike any other day.

Nearing mid-day, the sun overhead was limiting the visible distance as it
blazed through some low-lying clouds and fog but just at the edge of his sight,
he saw it. Although it was just a flicker of movement, his heart began
pounding and he motioned Arcath around to flank the prey as he quietly moved
along the rocky ledges. Slowly he crept forward, seeing the beast was facing
away, step by step, paying close attention to any rocky debris jumbling the
path. When nearly twenty yards away, a few loose stones came tumbling down
from above and he saw the ram turn, its ears pricked with caution. With his
cover blown, he signaled Arcath to pounce.

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