Arcmaw the Black

Arcmaw

• Basics

  • Race: Human
  • Class: Arc-Necromancer
  • Alignment: Chaotic Evil
  • Deity: Ras, God of Chaos
  • Age: Old, but the exact number is long forgotten - Lengthy practice with the dark arts has left withered.
  • Body Type: Thin, Ectomorph.
  • Height: Five feet and seven inches tall
  • Weight: 133
  • Complexion: Pale - He rarely sees the sun.
  • Hair: Long, grey and black, down to his back. His beard is long as well, similar in color, and fluffy.
  • Eyes: Hazy black, with bags beneath
  • Handedness: Right
  • Scars: Various

• History of the Arcmaw

  As told by a Paladin of Verth..
  "It was twenty years ago. I was a young man at the time, one of the Paladins of Verth, serving as a Knight under the Queen, Velencia the first of the Accessan empire. Charles Poe, as he was once known, was among the scholars who practiced in the schools, of Verth. I did not think much of him at the time - another old fellow who was fond of books, in my mind. Yet, strange things began to occur. People would go missing, without a trace - Vanish, completely from the city. Only to return weeks later, with the appearance of death.. Flesh sunk, meat decayed, hair dry and falling.. Often, they had no eyes. Yet, they still did see.. They became hostile, decayed faces of people we once knew as friends, family.."
  
  "These were dark times. It was only through an investigation by the Knights of the Citadel, that we found Charles to be the man responsible, when we followed him into a crypt, that led beneath the citadel, far under the island. It was there, we found all the evidence of his dark magic. Ritualistic symbols of the rift, and black gems used to hold and keep stolen souls. Which we believe he corrupted, and returned to their original bodies, once they were under his will.. The man himself, was not found that day.."
  
  "We destroyed his cavern, so he could not make use of what he had already taken. Yet, this was not enough. Without him dead, he still retained the knowledge, and the power he had developed through years of practice, and study. The transferal of souls, from an empty nothing, to a mindless vassal, seems to be far too easy for him.. These creatures do not breathe, or think for themselves, nay. They are held under one mind, that of their master, Arcmaw. Hollow skeletons, clean of flesh, began to arise from the shore, and attack our guardsmen, our knights.. Our people. It was then he was given the name Arcmaw, 'Our greatest foe', they called him, as his forces were nearly relentless, and did not offer surrender. They did not feel pain. They did not feel remorse. They only wanted death."
  
  
  "Me and a group of two hundred men boarded on a ship, and trailed the Skeletons back to an Island, far North of all civilized land. A barren landscape, where fire and ash were all that remained. We set out for land. It was quiet. Magma flowed openly through crevices and holes strait through Theriven's crust. We expected heavy resistance..."
  
  "We weren't ready."
  
  "We were lulled into a false sense of security as we approached the center of the Island. This, is where we happened by the greatest, and worst.. Sight, of my life.. An enormous rift, below my very feet, a hundred miles long, and ten wide, I swear it. The whole thing, glowed an eerie purple.. Yet no end could be seen. It was then, we were attacked."
  
  "Droves of skeletons crawled out from the rift below, quickly outnumbering us by thousands. We were well trained, and well armored.. Yet, many fell to despair, as the onslaught went on. Arcmaw himself appeared, from what I swear to this day is merely thin air.. And used magics our men had never even heard of. Spells of pure darkness, that turned men into ash."
  
  "It was I, who rushed the Arcmaw. I was prepared to die, for the betterment of my men. I cut down five of his undead minions in one charge, and made a swing for him.. He took one step back to evade me, and fell into the rift below.. When he fell, his minions stopped their attack, and fell apart, each... By the end of that day, the two hundred that stood, were reduced to a mere twenty.. A grim victory, but a victory it was."

• Appearance

  Arcmaw, the Black The feared, and the loathed - Darkmaw stands at the foot of a throne, within in ancient ruin, preparing to bring forth an army of the damned to his call.