Two nights ago. A wave of annoyance washes over you as you recall the reason you now find yourself in Neverwinter. You were once part of a renown clergy member from the Order of Mercy, preaching the teachings of the gods. After years of practice, one day you came to understand the true nature of the power you wield. With life, there must also be death. He who controls life controls death. You began to research your theories and bordered a breakthrough. When suddenly, your fellow clergymen, supposed brothers, discovered your research and exiled you from your home. This ancient power was within your grasp and they destroyed all of your work. In your escape, you mortally wound the beloved guard Brantis. Risking capture you rush into Healing Word. Shockingly, your recent commune with darkness has tainted your magic’s. Brantis dies as black bile bubbles from his orifices.
Expulsion removes the honorary title afforded to me from the Order of Mercy. No longer Tyrell Luminary Apostle of the Thousand Winds, I travelled with no name after the events of that night. A man possessed in a fevered dream I wandered the world one foot in reality, the other in the realm of the dead. My sanity fractured, weeks later collapsing into an open grave after being chased out of a small village. I was besought by a vision.
Glimpses of a dark future. Inconceivable beasts the size of mountains bathed in skies of twilight fire. The nauseating sound of freezing winds ripping through the hallowed architecture of Undead Dragons circling high above. A beam of inverted light thundering into the sky. An unnatural rhythm of rattling bones, the rolling hills macerating with throngs of marching Undead soldiers. A voice that is my own, but not my own speaks a language that has not been heard in aeons. I am bestowed a terrible prophecy I am unable to comprehend, but will never forget. Immeasurable agony envelopes the excruciating details of my reality and I slip away.
Awakening five days later barely clinging to life my mind has tainted clarity. I have a new name, Faustus Marrowhart, and a new purpose of rediscovering the dark arts of the necromancer and deciphering the meaning of the dark god’s prophecy. Believing it a road to redemption.
You look up and recall where you are, Neverwinter. You came to Neverwinter to begin your research anew and in the hopes of finding one who understands the power you seek so ardently.
That night you were seeking a room at a local Inn, the Howling Hog. Unfortunately, it would seem that they’re fully booked. Your temper flares and your raise your voice a bit more than you should at the innkeeper.
A tall dwarf overheard your problem and offered you a place to stay, he introduced himself as Gundren.
All he asked in exchange was your help with delivering some supplies. A simple task, barely worth your time, but definitely worth room and board.