Ashtael

Name: Ashtael

Faction: None

Race: Human undead

Personality: A shy man, not wanting to bother others especially not with his necromancy, but quick to defend his practices if questioned. He has an odd value for life that is unexpected for someone of his trade.

Appearance: He stands at around 5'8 with an underweight build. He wears grey robes with intricate markings related to necromancy written on the edges of it and the ends of the sleeves. He often keeps the hood up. He has eyes that have no color to them. They are literally just pupils and the bloodshot whites of his eyes. His skin is very pale, resembling that of a corpse almost about to decompose. His right hand is completely skeletal, but the place where it cuts off being skeletal is kinda oddly fades in transition, so like the cut off point seems magically to have a fading effect to normal flesh.

Category (Spirit, spells, or strength\*): Spell

Army role (Optional): None

Weapon of choice: None

Fighting skill + Physical capabilities: He has little physical fighting capabilities, but specializes in necromancy. While he can do other magic, he especially is great at necromancy.

Magical group (Ex: Frostkin, Shadowbrother) (Optional): Shadobrother (specifically skeleton brother)

Bio (Optional b/c honestly I know I prefer to lay it out in the RP but if you want to put it in it's probably easier for me): He was a child when he first started doing necromancy. He had an odd attraction to the old stories, but instead of being frightened, he was intrigued. A wandering trader came by that had an odd book on the subject. He took it and secretly studied it. He tried it, raising old pets like his dead cat named Milo. His practices, when found out, frightened his parents and the townspeople, and he was eventually disowned at 16 as his parents couldn't deal with someone they thought was unholy in their family. He left, devastated and confused. He never hurt anyone so why did they hate him? He thought this as he walked away. A 4 years later and he was living, just barely. He traveled around to not anger people, not too fond of his practices, but never was actually a bad person really. Eventually though he stayed somewhere for a bit too long. Town guards approached him under suspicion of a necromancer in the city, and he confessed, not wanting to lie. The town was heavily religious to a god against necromancy. The guards immediately sentenced him to death and fought him. He did offer some resistance, and tried to cast a spell to end this quickly, but an arrow to the heart killed him mid casting, warping the spell in ways he could never imagine. He then awoke in a corpse pit from the city. The arrow was still in his chest, but he was alive. He was confused, but then realized he wasn't breathing or blinking, and he didn't feel hungry as he did before. He pulled the arrow out of his chest, but felt no pain and did not bleed. He knew that somehow he was undead now. He cast a spell to see if necromancy could fix his walking corpse. It took time but it worked. That's when he noticed something. The flesh on his fingertips seemingly disappeared into dust, leaving a skeleton. This was his curse. He escaped death once, but now the more he used his seemingly enhanced necromancy, the more skeletal he became. He can only guess that if he fully succumbs to the curse he will become a mindless undead.