Wraith

History
If he was going to further his research, he was going to have to throw himself in headfirst. To do that, he had to get into the good graces of a Plague clan- not the easiest thing to do. Plague dragons were notoriously harsh and survivalistic. Often times one would have to prove themself, in some way, that they were worthy of living amongst them. And that was just what he intended to do.

His warpaint had long since replaced the softly glowing runes of his Archmage days. Living on his own in the Wasteland had been a test of his endurance, and the potency of his magic. He was glad he had studied everything he could about the magic of life, or the death that filled this place would have taken him long ago. But now he was willingly about to walk into this claustrophobic tunnel, torches deep within giving it a feverish red glow. The Devil’s Pit.

When he arrived in the Pit, auras guiding him through the labyrinth, he could only marvel at the carnage above him. Someone was already amidst a challenge, two dragons tearing into each other. He took a place on a low hanging outcrop, not yet wanting to draw attention to himself.

He glared at the savages around him, cheering for blood, for death- but he admired their tenacity to live in this place. To defy death. To occasionally… come back. He wanted to know their secrets. So when the victor was decided, he flew to the middle of the arena, a pit of rot bubbling virulently below him, and howled a challenge to anyone willing to respond to it.

His powerful magic destroyed the challenger, though not without gaining a few new scars of his own. The female skydancer, whose body had hit the wall and fallen, lifeless, ignored, he kept his eye on. Her death would not be in vain.

He had plans for her, more than if she were still alive.

He took his victory with a wide, cruel smile on his face, pleased as the howls and cheers resounded through the circular chamber. They did not cheer for him, no, he knew that. They cheered for death- that was who led them, of course. Because everytime a challenge was completed, no matter who was his hand, Death always won.

With his warpaint he gained the title of Wraith, which he decided was far better than Wrenseth. He had many memories of that name, but it did not send chills down the others’ spines as Wraith did. He gained a reputation. His magic was feared and revered amongst many who did not dip into the arts as he did. Those who fought with claws and teeth thought him a demon- and though many did exist within the tunnels- he was not one of those depraved creatures. He was an ex-archmage, born from stardust and imbued with the knowledge and tutoring of some of the brightest minds he had ever known. But they did not dally in dark arts, things he desperately craved to know but were forbidden from his touch. “No true discovery was ever made without risk,” he had told them, and with that came his exile. He took it, feeling his hypothetical shackles to that place, to those dragons, break. If they would not support his interests, he would fulfil them alone.

Months later, he stood surrounded by candles and rot and magic, and before him arose the dragoness he had killed in his challenge. “Abaddon,” he called her, that slavering, mindless, ravenous thing, “my angel of death”. One success, the first of many to come, and the necromancer could not be more pleased. About
A powerful mage, Wraith has made it so he specializes in necromancy and other dark arts. He is ravenous for knowledge, collecting tomes and scrolls of any information he can find, constantly seeking to expand his mental library. Holds a high position in the clan, however rarely participates in the Pit, often too engrossed in his research.

Abaddon is his pride and joy. His first successful resurrection, he is currently working on ways to restore her ability to talk. While she can function to the point of processing energy, he wants more out of his creations than just that. Conversation would be a great starting point, and after that? If he could command them, it would make his job of finding even more info easier. That, and he could certainly do with a little more help around the lair.

Maybe he shouldn't have chased off his apprentice... she was useful when it came to cleaning up messes.

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