An imposing figure stands before you, towering at about ten feet tall, the stench of death is palpable around it. A dark, ragged cloak shrouds most of it from view but it reveals enough that you know that this being isn't even remotely human. Hands covered in scales and rotten bandages poke out from underneath the robes, each finger ending in a razor sharp claw. A reptilian snout protrudes from beneath the hood and two red eyes look with a cold, dead stare.

The scales on its body look like dead skin upon a corpse and you feel a crushing aura of despair following this creature as it slowly shambles forward, its ragged cloak trailing on the ground behind it. From time to time the fabric outlines the body of the creature, revealing muscles strong enough to break a normal human in half.

The voice is the final thing that completes the terrifying image, sounding like it is coming from the realm of death itself.


But in reality...


Issedar is a sickly human child with pale skin and long white hair. He looks no taller than a full grown Halfling or gnome but there is a sense of dread that surrounds him like a cloak. He wears a small robe, tied loosely around his belt, covering most of his lower body but leaving his upper body open to view. His skin is dirty and covered in arcane markings and symbols that you do not recognize. His white hair looks as if it was never washed in his entire life but is still too dry to cling to his skin in greasy clumps. There is a familiar smell of death upon him but upon closer examination it becomes obvious that the boy is still very much alive.

There is something about his eyes that seem unnatural though, as if they were ripper from another being and planted into his sockets. Those were definitely not the eyes of a child.

Issedar was born to a world that no longer exists.

When he was only five his world was overrun by daemons and everything he had know up to this point was destroyed in the blink of an eye. All races that once lived there had their cultures and civilizations whipped out and those that the demons did not devour became slaves to be traded among the infinite pathways of the planes. A grim reminder of what happens when heroes fail in their duty.

For two years Issedar was kept in a cage among others of his kind, being witness to atrocities so terrible and depraved that there are no words for them among the mortal tongues. Slowly all those around him would either die or be sold off to different masters for purposes unknown. Issedar survived, until only he remained but his life too was slowly fading. He had long since accepted his fate, so when he saw a man cloaked in black and wearing a mask over his face he welcomed him as his executioner, having no idea who stood before him.

The stranger bought Issedar and gave him fresh food and water, dressed him in warm clothing and watched over him as the boy recovered. Issedar quickly recovered his health under the strangers care care and while he did not question this kindness he began to wonder what this man had in store for him.

What he did not know was that this stranger was more than just a lucky messenger of fate, he was someone… something that had thousands of names across every corner of the multiverse. The Dark One, Master of Unlife, Shadow of Magic, Lord of the Hungry, Tool of the Cursed Gods but to most… he had only one name. The Necromancer.

The Necromancer. Someone who had fully mastered the dark art and become the most powerful necromancer in all of existence. He had chosen Issedar to be his apprentice. He took him to an empty world that not even the Gods knew of, there stood a black fortress as big as a city and as tall as a mountain. It's dark walls reflected no sunlight and a deathly cold infused the air around it. Back then, when Issedar first stood before its gates it was like standing before a great and terrible beast that looked to devour him.

The boy owed the Necromancer his life and he was made well aware of this as he began his study. His new teacher pushed him to his limits each day, forcing him to read tomes about the nature of death and study the essence of negative energy and its place in the multiverse. The citadel was truly a unique location in that regard, containing more necromantic knowledge and artefacts than any other location in the multiverse. Any necromancer would have gladly sold his soul for the chance to spend even a day within it but Issedar was surrounded by its knowledge every day of his life, always under the watchful tutelage of his master.

From time to time, the two of them would travel the planes, which was another part of Issedar’s education. He saw the grey fields of Gehenna, the burning hellscape of Baator, the glory of Celestia and the wild beauty of Arborea. Places where ideas were made real and Gods ruled over their followers. He had been to the divided continents of Eberron, the barren world of Athas and the forgotten realms of Fearun and seen the lives of people there, something that he himself had almost forgotten. But no matter where they traveled, they were welcomed as kings by the resident powers (the very few who were powerful enough to know of his existence), be they good or evil, all would show equal respect to The Necromancer and his pupil.

But never once did his master take off his mask during the times they were together. Never once id he use his true voice when he talked to the boy. Thus the true nature of his master remained a mystery.

Issedar had grown, having learned more about the dark art than even the oldest liches. Soon his knowledge would be put to the test as he and his master arrived on a distant world about to plunge into the depth of a great cataclysm. Few there were aware of it but someone like Issedar could feel it, as if an icy hand was gripping his throat... The dead were restless.

The duty of The Necromancer was to preserve the balance of life and death across the multiverse. To appear where the dead threatened to consume the living and reverse the tide. Those that upset the balance intentionally for power or revenge suffered unspeakable punishments at his hands. Sometimes, the opposite was true and life would threaten to overcome death, in which case he would step in and do everything that was necessary to preserve the fragile equilibrium, be it cruel or heartless. Issedar would have to do the same. Alone.

Left without the guidance of his master, Issedar wandered the world and acquainted himself with its culture and customs. Many things were new to him, as this had been his first opportunity to truly experience life that he could have led once. Many looked at him with suspicion and mistrust, judging him for his craft, but there were a few who provided warm welcome and shelter to the necromancer. Among them was woman. Zakara…

Where others cursed him for his magic, she believed in him, believed that he had come to save her world. She was not a helpless child and could stand for herself, willingly becoming Issedar’s guardian during his journey. His gratitude to her grew into something that was forbidden, the purest emotion of the heart had no place within the soul of a necromancer but he was still so very, very young and so very inexperienced, not realizing the folly of his desires. And the more he tried to deny himself, the more his feelings began to overwhelm him.

Issedar soon began to piece together the reason why the dead did not rest peacefully in their graves. In ancient times, this world had become the tomb for a necromancer of immense power and for some reason or another, he was coming back to life and with him countless dead all over the world. Zakara and Issedar began their journey just as the cup finally overflows and legions of dead rose to scourge the living.

They found the Tomb deep beneath the ground, a plain sarcophagus lying at the center. Its lid was heavier than a mountain yet every second something would strike against it as if a thousand angry giants had gathered together and punched as one. The hour was now, there was only one way to banish the spirit from this place forever - a willing sacrifice of a mortal soul. Zakara offered herself but Issedar could not bring himself to do what was needed of him. He stalled and hesitated until it became too late.

The lid finally broke and the ancient spirit rose from its confines. Issedar felt his blood turn cold as he looked upon the mummified remains of the ancient wizard, its eyes burning with an unimaginable hatred without anything reminding that it was once human. It opened its maw, where only a black hole could be seen, hungering for souls to feed its bottomless appetite. Issedar and Zakara stood together, frozen in terror as the monster slowly began to float towards them…

Suddenly, the spirit stopped. And it was almost as if a look of recognition flashed in his dead eyes. An old friend... whom he had not see so for so very, very long... A smile appeared on his cold lips.

The Necromancer raised his hand, like an executioner raising his axe. No gestures were made, no words were uttered but in a blinding instant, a spell tore through the spirit. Its body was crushed, its hungry soul was torn to shreds and discarded like a broken doll. To this day, Issedar still remembers the final look in its eyes as it was destroyed for all eternity.

Issedar's master stood behind him and looked upon his pupil. In that silence Issedar was expecting death for his failure but what actually happened was no less painful. Zakara stepped before the The Necromancer and bowed before him. It was a willing sign of gratitude to the one who saved her world.

What happened then would forever remain in his memory.

Years would pass and slowly Issedar was once again consumed by his studies as the memory of Zakara began to grow distant in his mind. Zakara was now forever lost to him. Soon he would be tested upon another was and that time he was successful in his mission.

At the end of his life, Issedar was a wizard of epic power and even as his old body began to fail him, his mind had never been sharper and more focused. He had walked upon many words and could now feel the hour of his death drawing closer and with it, the end of his apprenticeship. It did not matter, he was ready to die if that was to be his fate but his master had other plans in mind.

It was time that Issedar inherited his power.

The Necromancer knew not the touch of time and he was the same the day the two of them met. He looked upon old body and of his pupil and asked “Are you afraid to die?”.

Issedar shook his head in response, understanding that his time had come. And then… The Necromancer reached up to his face and took off his mask. His armor parted and out of the hollow shell stepped a young, white-haired boy with pale skin and grey eyes that pierced into his very soul.

“I will show you the truth behind our existence.” He whispered and with a wave of his hand The Necromancer opened a portal to another realm. With his master leading the way the two of them stepped inside and Issedar saw an endless black ocean stretching out to the horizon. Even the necromantic powers of the fortress paled in comparison to the power he felt in those dark depths.

“These are the waters of Black Sea. They contain the souls of all those that have held the title of Necromancer since the beginning of time. All that have ever inhibited this body will one day join this consciousness. And one day, so shall you, Issedar.”

The words reached him and he turned away from the black waters. He felt his body seize up as his master approached and placed a small, childlike hand on his chest.

“All my powers are now yours.” In an instant he felt his soul being ripped from his body and everything went dark.


When he woke up Issedar felt an incredible pain in his head and raised himself up from the cold floor of the fortress. Instantly he realized that he was no longer with his master and then he noticed his hands, they were not his own hands…

He rushed to the nearest mirror and saw the form of his master looking at him but it was his form now, a small white-haired human boy. Being in control of a new body was a strange and foreign sensation for Issedar. He attempted to cast a simple divination to gain answers about what had happened and instantly he was amazed by how easily the spell came to him. Every drop of his blood, every inch of his flesh felt like it was infused with magic. The power was almost overwhelming.

The Necromancer... he had truly inherited the title.

Upon the plains of a dead world lies a monumental structure known only as the Onyx Citadel. Taller than a mountain and as wide as city, the entire building looks as if it were crafted from a single slab of Onyx. The fortress is built resembling a cylinder, with the walls bending slightly inwards as the fortress grows higher. There are a millions of open arches lined perfectly across the walls but all they reflect to the world is an unnatural darkness.

Only one entrance exists and it opens only before one who bears the title of Necromancer. Not even Issedar himself knows all the secrets of the citadel, only having seen twenty rooms during his apprenticeship. But the Onyx Citadel hides much, much more: lost tomes, ancient artifacts, corpses of dead heroes and even entire locations, ripped from their worlds and transported there to be studied and observed.

This is a place that is waiting to be explored.

OOC Notes: The Onyx Citadel can be run as a generic dungeon crawl with the rewards usually having something to do with necromancy and the secrets of life and death. There can and should be enemies there as Issedar still did not have the chance to assume full control of the place, which he can do after he reaches its heart.

The knowledge of this place is almost non-existent but Issedar has seen it with his own eyes. A grey sky stretches endlessly, no wind blows and the waters remain still, as if in wait for something. Within them are the souls of past Necromancers, all their power and all their knowledge made one. Issedar shudders to think what purpose this place might one day serve.

OOC Notes: If you want to include the Black Sea in the campaign then it should be treated like the realm of dreams as it is not really a physical location (as in, its not actual water) but a representation of pure, concentrated necromantic energy. It should not be used as an enemy or any sort of weapon as it is overwhelmingly powerful (Epic Handbook levels of powerful), instead it is best used as a plot device in certain adventures.

Somewhere out there is the one who brought the Demon hordes to Issedar's world. Does he hate him still or does the past no longer matter.

OOC Notes: This guy can be used as a Nemesis but Issedar will need some very compelling reasons to go after him. I'll leave the details of this NPC entirely up to you.

The one woman Issedar has ever truly loved. Now he had all but forgotten about her. If she is still alive now she is most likely old and wrinkled and how would he even love her with a body like his. No... their past together is best left forgotten.

OOC Notes: It is up to you to figure out how you plan to use her. I don't really know how their relationship ended.

Issedar wields the staff and former loyal servant of his master, Hastus. This black staff has the soul of an ancient demon bound within it and has guided those that have word the title of Necromancer for countless eons. Hastur's desposition is not a pleasant one, especially since he was recently give to another owner but he is loyal and powerful, proving a valuable ally to the Necromancer.

Hastur likes to snack on the blood of sentient creatures and Issedar is all too happy to provide it in exchange for the demon's continued service.

OOC Notes: Hastur is an intelligent magic item and my cohort. Not much else to say except that he is an undead construct with levels Cleric 7/Vampire Lord 3//Sorcerer 10.

The duty of a Necromancer is to keep the balance between life and death. If the dead threaten to overrun a world or another necromancer thinks himself capable of extinguish all life, it becomes Issedar's job to interfere. Most worlds have their own heroes that can take care of such problems but when they fail it is up to him to make sure that the situation does not escalate.

Issedar cannot save every world and thus only has the power to save those that are the most important.

OOC Notes: A generic Save the World(s) adventure awaits! Since it is Issedar's duty is to save worlds that are threatened to be overrun by the undead, this is a quick and easy way to pair him up with another PC that also has a similar goal. Issedar will also interfere if too large a group discovers the secret to eternal life that does not include the transformation into some sort of nonliving creature (aka undead, construct, etc).

Standing taller than any average elf, Alith Anar has the blood of kings flowing through his veins. From early childhood, like any member of the royal line he was privileged to a special connection to the eternal tree of life which gave him vigor and talent for beyond that of his other kin. That tree is now gone and with it, most of the strength that it gave him but the markings it left upon him are still unmistakable.

His sky blue eyes watch the world with determination and an inner desire to set things right burns within them. The sharp contors of his face are both stern enough to force obedience and gentle enough to inspire love. He wears armor forged by the best smiths of his kind and enchanted by its most powerful wizards. He goes into combat wielding a weapon legendary to his people - K'eldyr: The Sunblade, a sword capable of striking down any evil with a single swing.

With the tragedy of their world behind them, Alith stands as a beacon of hope for many but remains a hated enemy for countless more.

The world Haaotar was once wild a beautiful place. It had its fair share of dangers but the splendor of its cultures and civilizations was undeniable. Among them were the firstborn, who were first to inherit the world from the creators and the ones that have doomed it.

Ever since the world began the elves were able to harness a great power, the Tree of Life. From it, they could draw on the energy of the world itself. Despite this, they were never truly able to rule Haaotar as there were simply too few of them. Thus the elven states would remain within their impenetrable forests, almost completely isolated from the outside world and consumed in own affairs.

But all that changed when Moiranel Anar inherited the throne. Like all elves bearing the royal bloodline he had a much more powerful connection to the tree but he was also an archmage of incredible skill and power. He discovered that there was more to the tree than anyone first thought, more than even he expected. It was a dark and secretive research, his findings were puzzling and each breakthrough only raised more questions. Eventually, however, there came time when Moiranel was forced to put his studies aside as he met the love of his life, Laisha.

Their marriage was a day of great celebration among the firstborn and a source of pride for the family from which the girl hailed. With his child on the way, the great mage spent each moment with his wife as she prepared to bring a new life into the world. It was a happy time for all of them and then, finally, after several long months Laisha gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

They named him Alith and he was born on a day holy to the elves, which was seen as a good omen. Everybody came to congratulate the couple on this joyous occasion and the festivities lasted deem into the night.

When dawn came, a terrible scream was what greeted it. Laisha lay dead her soul torn from her and killer nowhere to be found.

A time of celebration was followed by a time of mourning as Moiranel vowed to take revenge upon the murderer but not even his power could find the killer.

Alith grew up strong and smart. By the time he was a teenager he was a proper gentlemen and quite popular among the girls. He was a very diligent student and was always respectful to his tutors and elders. And they in turn were happy to teach him as much as he was willing to learn. By the time he was 50 years old he had become a master at the sword and his skill in magecraft was second only to his father.

Moiranel himself had become more and more reclusive with each passing day. He had returned to his studies and picked up the research that he abandoned years ago. With curiosity he watched as his son was brought before the Sunblade, the holy sword of the elves that only the chose king would be able to wield. Many suspected that Alith would be able to pick up the blade but when the he tried to lift it the sword was too heavy for him to carry.

Soon the relationships between the elves began steadily worsen, as war began to loom on the horizon and Alith did his best to serve as an ambassador it did not prove enough in the end.The armies of the races clashed at the river banks when a great tremor shook the world. The lands shuddered and split apart beneath the feet of those men and swallowed them whole. Clouds of ash filled the skies and fire began to consume the lands. And the heart of it all stood the Tree of Life and Moiranel nowhere to be found.

Alith felt a great pain in his body as his link to the tree was severed but he was strong enough to survive it. Seeing the ruination of the world around him Alith ran towards the palace, guided only by instinct and came up to the Sunblade. Somehow he knew that this time he would be able to life it and so he did. The surviving elves saw him wielding the blade of legend and bowed down before the new king. With a single slash he cut down the corrupted Tree but it was already too late to save the world, so he used the last of its power to open a portal between the worlds and lead his people to safety.

When the elves opened their eyes they stood upon the barren fields of the Outlands, with the great Spire looming in the distance...

Moiranel Anar was quickly blamed for the tragedy that destroyed Haaotar and by association, so was Alith and all of his people. Many other races survived as well and they seek vengeance upon the elves and they will not stop until all of them paid for the crimes committed by their king.

Alith took the worst of this blame, were it not for K'eldyr he would have been executed by his own people but while he holds the blade, his people are willing to follow him. However, those that don't care about elven customs will gladly take the chance to kill the only blood relative of of the hated Moiranel.

Alith will need to find a way to redeem himself and his people, even that means finding and killing his own father.

Adamantine Mercurial Greatsword
Kantian Paladin 10//Sorcerer 10

The holy blade radiates a warm, comforting light is almost weightless in Alith's hands. It also quite intelligent and posses a mind of its own but it does not like to speak of itself or the reason why it had chosen Alith. All that it told him is that it would remain at his side for as long as he remains righteous and pure in his actions.

Alith has a great respect for the blade and its wisdom but he is also worried that he might be relying on its power too much.

Alith is the last remaining heir of the royal bloodline and thus the burden of rulership now falls to him. He will need to find a new home for his people, make sure that they have enough food and water as well as having a place to rest. For now even a temporary solution will do.

Any hunt for his father will be meaningless if is unable to take care of his people and restore their faith in the future.

Among the surviving elves are the members of the royal council, most are people that Alith had known since childhood and who had always remained faithful to his father. Each has a certain amount of power and supporters that are only loyal to them. So should one of them withdraw their support from Alith, at best it will be a great blow to his efforts to rebuild their civilization and at worst it will lead to regicide.

It will be of paramount importance for Alith to maintain their support and deal with any dissidents while also maintaining his own ideal and duties before the gods.

The Sacred Scarlet Adventuring Company is a rag-tag bunch of Prime-righting, monster fighting berks headed by Rain Ever-Dreaming; a speaker for dead and forgotten gods. Founded on the belief in the inherent goodness (or at least usefulness) of everyone and everything; the heads of the company were hand-picked by Rain herself. She fought and bested each of them in combat, each capping off incidents worthy of bardic tales. Their four tenets are Strength, Ambition, Honor and Freedom; each head must uphold all four virtues, and are paragons of at least one.

Rain herself is almost completely inconspicuous, looking for all the world like a particularly destitute priestess. Outside of the eight seraphic wings and radiance, of course. Despite being a hero multiple times over, she is unpretentious, plain, and rather simple. She grew up hated, so she never learned how to be likable. Moreover, solving problems and helping people come as naturally as breathing to her, so she doesn't make a big deal out of it. This leads to her seeming generally lazy and unmotivated, as she prefers to send her allies out on missions rather than work herself. However, she's always planning for the next big score, looking for a major incident to nip in the bud (or at least an excuse to work beat). She was granted the gift of giving life to dead gods by the Violet One Who Dwells Outside; unable to rebuke or deny its power, she decided to put it to good use. She represents the tenet of Strength.

Scarlette is sneaky, spoiled, childish, petulant and prone to delusions of grandeur, acts of theft and wanton destruction. She's also Rain's closest friend and ally, as she was the first major entity that Rain brought low. Her overconfidence was her downfall, as she mistook the shabbiness of Rain's appearance for the shabbiness of her soul. Getting fried by holy light when she was supposed to be at her strongest quickly disavowed her of that notion. She still says Rain cheap-shotted her, even though Scarlette pulled out every dirty trick she could think of in the fight. The prodigal daughter of a long line of vampire nobility, Scarlette expects any plane to bend the knee and lick her boots the moment she enters it. If nothing else, it helps shake up the major powers in a given area so Rain can move in and assess the situation. Willing to say and do anything for power or amusement, she nonetheless stays on the (rather slack) leash Rain gives her. Eventually, she'll find a way to usurp her, but for the moment she can achieve far more with her than without. She represents Ambition, and gets into long fights with Rain over what Strength really means.

Athene represents Honor above all things, but not an honor that relies on other people. Hers is a personal code of service to one's self and to the Right Action. Men can be swayed, ideals can change, but the soul, the personal instincts of right and wrong serves and has served for the survival of all rational beings. To that end, she draws her blade against any guttural injustice and works to cut down the confusion brought on by proctors of alignment. To this end, she even cut down her own sister, who gave herself to the Lower Planes, then bound her soul so the Fiends couldn't use her faith in their ledgers. Ironically, her tireless pursuit to serve this code burdens her with a strong taint of Law. Before Rain fought her to a standstill, she spread chaos and death in ways normal men couldn't understand, which made her Chaotic to the extreme. Daily, she fights with the contradictions in her own heart, using her service to the code and to the Sacred Scarlet as guidelines to life.

Circe is the polar opposite of her still-living sister: where Athene is bound by honor, Circe serves no masters. Where Athene is dependable and solid, Circe is mercurial and capricious. Athene is austere and majestic, Circe is colorful and wild. Athene seeks to follow, Circe follows to seek. A follower of one of Scarlette's cults of personality, she managed to escape Rain's wrath, her cunning, charm, and naivete made her an excellent bargaining chip for Fiendish powers. She grew drunk off of them, fulfilling hedonistic desires to help and harm. After years of revelry, her own sister cut her down and sealed her away, only for Rain to free her in combat. She swore no allegiance to her, but said she would give her any three favors she wished.

{space for rent, background's in description, sorta}

Whenever there's a major incident (any given activity in new and exciting planes), it is almost a given that one of the Sacred Scarlets will be there. If one of the Sacred Scarlets end up there, there's a good chance they'll all end up there. Their collective exploits are known throughout the Planes, and as such they get flooded with requests and pleas for help. Scarlette's been working on a plan to shake up the power structure in Ravenloft and install herself as Queen of the Night, off of tip from a very lucky berk who got Plane Shifted for his insolence. She's kept this hidden from the others, but there's enough heat coming down that sooner or later the blowback's going to hit the rest of them.

The Scared Scarlets can't be everywhere at once, and can't deal with every minor incident that needs solving. That's where the Sacred Scarlet Sub-branches come in; a swelling rank of hangers-on, wanna-bes and possibly-might-bes. They go out and do the milk run missions for the Sacred Scarlets; many die, many more quit after one too many errands. The ones that stick around are loyal, show at least one of the tenets proudly, and are quite possibly insane. From there, the heads of the company pick apprentices to teach the ways of true adventuring. It is the highest honor to be tasked with such a thing, and an even greater one to come back alive from the trial period. One notable graduate from the sub-branch program is Kaguya Yoshitsune, their number one competitor.

A priestess who also claims to be a speaker for forgotten gods. Unlike Rain, her gods are gaining faith through her, as they are animist spirits of great strength. Each of them are infused with powers gleaned from the Violet One Who Dwells Outiside, but to Kaguya the real strength is all her. Will stop at nothing to show up the Sacred Scarlet company. Has a church-sanctioned group of templars, the Sacred Order of the Immortal Moon, which she uses to solve incidents before the Sacred Scarlets do. Holds no real ill will towards Rain, but finds she has grown too soft and lax in her castigation and extermination of the wicked.

Air Genasi Totemist 13

The screaming terror that exists outside of the world, that which lead Rain on the path of calling back those who were dead but do not die, the Violet One Who Dwells Outside is but a perceivable speck of a far greater force. Or that what it claims, at least. It seeks to enhance and monitor Rain and her allies' power to ultimately reap it, so it can bring its full radiance to bear. While it waits, it offers great powers to those who would offer up their souls. Able to manifest things that never were and unleash things that wish to be, it amuses itself with terror and follows its aims in inscrutable manners.

Tiefling (well, extradimensional horror) Cleric 5/Speaker For The Dead 10/Hellwalker 5//Wizard 10/Stranger With The Burning Eyes 10