My Story

My name is Kahvan Necroruler. My family can date its roots back to an overambitious S'kra Mur necromancer who changed his last name and tried to take over the world. His first creation, a zombie, killed him...::cough::...yep.

Life began for me on the island of Ratha. My father was a trader, my mother an avid treasure hunter. Needless to say, I was often left alone. Sitting around at the house was quite a boring task, so I became curious about mostly everything I saw. My father was very wealthy, and had collected a great number of treasures in his lifetime. Most of these were exceedingly dangerous and thus, always locked away. I often watched as our cleaning lady, who also served as a nanny of sorts to me and my sister, cleaned the artifacts. She never made contact with them. She merely opened the cases, muttered a few odd-sounding words, and gestured. A small gust of wind would kick up and remove all dust from the treasures. Looking back, I can see these cantrips for the cheap tricks they were, but at the time, magic amazed me.

From then on, magic was my main interest. It remained so even as I started my education. The human-elven war, the Empire, and the rest of history was a bore. Most of my time was spent dwelling on magic. If only I could get my hands on a single tome...

When I was eight, my father was killed my Pirates. He had been ignoring their threats, and he had paid the price. His ship went down, and with it, my mother, my sister, and our family's money. I left Ratha shortly thereafter. My parents had moved there, leaving the mainland, and as a mainland S'kra, I felt no special connection to the place.

I wound up in the crossing, and wandered the middens for a while. It was a particularly bleak winter, that year, and I was not prepared to deal with it. I went through the gate, braving the city for the first time, and sough refuge. I found none, and eventually collapsed.

When I was unconsious, a wealthy human woman discovered me half-buried in the snow. She took me in, and after learning that I had no family and no home, I was lucky enough to be adopted. I lived a rich life after that. I was finally able to study magic, and did so eagerly.

At 14, I was nearly old enough to go out on my own. It was then that my life was again turned upside down. I awoke to hear a scream in the night, and charged downstairs to investigate. I saw the most horrific sight of my life. My new parents had been slaughtered. Standing in the center of the carnage was a suit of armor, black as night, with a sword even darker. It moved toward me, slowly, and I began to back away. I stepped on something at that point. A small toy, belonging to my parents' only real child, lying in a pool of blood that was also hers. The four-year-old's frozen eyes stared at me in horror.

Whoever it was that said anger can only impair a warrior in a fight was very, very wrong. I charged the hellish warrior, claws and fangs bared. I leapt upon it, and began to tear individual pieces off. It threw me back, and held out its hand. I couldn't figure out what it was doing at first, but then I felt _something_ tear at my soul, and I swear to this day that it got away with some small portion of it.

I returned the favor with a fire shard, which knocked back the creature, giving me time to rush in and disarm it. Wielding the strange blade, I felled the monster like a sapling.

I picked up the doll, sheathed the sword, and walked out through the door, having lost an entire family for the second time.