Matthew

Name: Matthew Woolf

Race: Variant Human

Alignment: Neutral Evil


Class: Wizard

Arcane Tradition: Necromancer

Background:

NOTE: Largely based on Szorlok from the Mythica movie series.

He's a wolf in sheep's clothing...get it? Woolf? WOOL-F??? ...I crack myself up.

Sin: Wrath

Virtue: Diligence

In ages past, all the schools of wizardry were not considered equal. While abjuration, divination, and magic of the like were considered part of nature, a tool to be utilized properly…necromancy earned a stigma from the start as being against the Gods’ wills.

At first Matthew started life as a cleric, under the tutelage of the most revered priest in the Sporidian kingdom. Master Gyre was originally a monk whose enlightenment had led him down the path of the cleric later in life. He had traveled far and wide, spreading the word of his God, healing the sick and attempting to end strife wherever he found it.

And at first, Matthew followed Master Gyre happily, sharing the man’s faith…yet silently questioning his morals. He had a hunger for knowledge and a more pragmatic look on life that seemed at odds with the blind faith most clerics assumed. Not to mention his seething fury…bubbling quite often behind a veil in his eyes.

He had always had a bit of a temper.

But he bit his tongue, his anger at certain choices kept at bay by the flicker of faith and hope still nurtured in his heart. They were doing good things…they were helping people…surely these contradictory messages from their Gods were part of the greater good?

Surely no mere mortals had the foresight to see how these decisions would be beneficial in the long run?

Surely...surely…

And for a time, there was peace. If tenuous.

Then Master Gyre took it upon himself and his dual monastery and clergy to protect the kingdom from all perceived threats…and as war with neighboring goliath tribes loomed on the horizon, they began preparations.

Yet it was not enough. The tribes overwhelmed the kingdom’s defenses. People fell by the dozens beneath the roving band’s weapons, leaving carnage and broken families in their wake.

As victory started to slip further and further from their grasp, Matthew desperately attempted to find another way, some solution that would save their people.

Yet without soldiers, it seemed impossible.

The only solution he could think of…was necromancy…

But at the very mention of this foul school of magic, he was scorned, thrown looks of horror as if he were an unholy liche descending upon them.

But Matthew knew the truth. People put too much stock in the flesh left behind after a person’s death. The spirit had left for another plane; these were just empty husks. Why shouldn’t they be put to use?

What good would it do to have hundreds die just to prevent some supposed desecration of the dead? Why not animate the bodies of the fallen, and use them to protect the living? They had fought to do so in life…should they not have the chance to do so again in death?

In desperation, hoping to find a way to save their beloved kingdom, Matthew began to seek out forbidden tomes and scrolls in an effort to learn this supposedly evil school of magic. He devoured all the information he could, practicing in secret under the cover of night, and when he was ready took his solution to his superior.

He pleaded with Master Gyre, his rage growing ever more spiteful and potent as the man refused to consider necromancy as an option.

“If there is no other way, then we will die together,” were the chilling words Matthew l heard as the hoards came crashing through the city gates.

And die they did. Despite their prayers to their Gods, despite their weapons and bravery, and despite their faith…they were all slaughtered.

And all Matthew was allowed to do was watch.

Master Gyre and a few remaining villagers managed to escape…but the damage was done.

Sporidia had fallen.

That’s when Matthew's small flame of hope extinguished itself...and a cold, dark fury replaced it, a howling black hole which no platitudes or prayers for the fallen could slate.

As his heart tore itself in two, Matthew vowed vengeance upon the Gods that had allowed this to happen…and upon Master Gyre for not allowing him to save their kingdom.

He left the huddle of survivors behind and began to travel the globe, his rage growing as his knowledge and skill with necromancy increased. He bid his time, gathering artifacts of unholy power to wield in his quest for revenge. Tales began to sprout of a lone wanderer raising hoards of the undead to slaughter those in his path…decimating entire armies, the bodies of their fallen rising again to bolster its own numbers.

And slowly…ever so slowly…his power grew enough to rival the gods.

So he took the fight to the heavens, bloodying the halls of the Celestial planes, slowly and methodically exterminating each of the Gods that had sat silently and watched Sporidia fall.

And once every single one of these holy beings had been destroyed, their bodies lying broken at his feet…Matthew took it upon himself to become a new god…

And all mortals trembled as a new voice rang out across the known world:

“Bow before me, for I am Death, destroyer of worlds, and I have laid waste to the throne of your Gods.”

THE END

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