Cedric

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Information

Player: Vrahn

Character Full Name: Cedric Aurilen

Character In-Game Name: Cedric

Nickname(s): N/A

Association(s): Darkshire, Stormwind

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Race: Human

Class: Necromancer

Age: 65

Sex: Male

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown

Weight: 145

Height: 5'11

Appearance

In the public eye Cedric wears dated clothes, a reminder of old times past. They are stylish and formal, aristocratic in nature, and the subject of rigorous care. He usually wears a monocle on his right eye, tight leather gloves regardless of being inside or out, and carries an ornate silver pocket watch, perhaps an heirloom of sorts.

When in private he does not dress to impress, his clothes a simple hooded robe that at times echoes feint arcane markings of a greenish hue. Underneath the brown hood he wears a cloth facemask to hide his identity, and carries a heavy wooden staff.

Personality

Cedric is a selfish man obsessed with his own mortality. He fears death above all else and lusts for the knowledge to prevent it. He seeks wealth, influence, and power to the exclusion of all else. He is ambitious to the core and will do whatever is necessary to secure himself and his assets in these shifting times. Life in Darkshire has left him with little empathy, he is tough, grim, suspicious of all, and carries a pessimistic view of things.

History

The flame grew and abated on the tip of the candle, washing a warm orange glow across the old oak desk under the window. It was dark and a storm raged outside the old manor, the small window that overlooked the forest was battered by sheets of rain, visibility was poor, and no doubt outside it would be cold. It was late in the year and soon the rain would turn to snow, but not today. A stack of papers was placed neatly in the center of the desk, evidently part of some book as the leather coverings were stacked off to the side, as well as the thread to bind it. Nevertheless it was not yet complete, the ending was abrupt and left more to be told but it was close, very close…

They say knowledge is power, perhaps had I known then what I know now I would have more readily agreed to follow him, but I had been skeptical at first, it was fear, but soon it gave way to curiosity. I was heir to a wealthy estate, but came into it all too early. Naturally my father had never expected that a simple banquet would lead to his demise, it would have been mine too had I not been bedridden with a pox of sorts. I can still remember the night when a messenger told the town of their plight, for that was around the same time the skies had blackened, and our village became what it is now. In any case it is all irrelevant, what is important is that I document the comings and goings of a man who became known to me simply as Christopher.

Christopher was an older fellow, he dressed in clothes that were well dated, and his tastes were for things of the past, if I could pick any word to describe him it would have been antique, for the man had more knowledge of the past than I could garner from all of my father's libraries. Some of the simpler folk of the village ignorantly began claiming that the man was in fact not a man at all, but an elf, or a dragon in disguise. Of course this was not true but they were right about one thing, the man was not as he appeared to us, for he never revealed much of his past, and whenever my father had it in him to interrogate our guest it would seem that he invariably ended up being the one interrogated. All we knew was that he was not from Grand Hamlet, or Duskwood as it is now called, but hailed from the far north.

Christopher had originally arrived with another man whose name I never learned, though it was clear from their conversations that this man was a servant of sorts, in exchange for a hefty donation to our estates the men were allowed free use of the guest chambers in the basement, leaving us largely to our own devices. We returned the favor naturally, though it was impossible not to notice when the men would disappear for long periods at a time. It was not until a month after their arrival that one night Christopher appeared at our doorsteps alone, he explained that his companion had suddenly needed to depart on urgent business and would not be returning, though he thanked us for our impeccable hospitality on his behalf. It was only after his disappearance that Christopher started taking a keen interest in our lives. When he discovered the collection of arcane books within our libraries he immediately set himself about reading all he could get his hands on. He became overly intrigued in my own studies of the arcane though this never posed a problem for me, he was a better listener than any I had had in the past, and told me that he himself was an avid practitioner of the arcane arts, wishing to see examples of my talents. My foolishness and vanity is evident now, and my childish tricks were weak and unimpressive. I was untrained and knew little of the arcane subtleties, but after my sad little show he questioned if I had a desire to learn more and I did, for I wished to learn far, far more. He took it upon himself to supplement the knowledge of our family library with his own, forcing me into many long nights reading and practicing, it seemed as if there would never be a true end, the man simply knew too much.

It was around the time of my study that things had become darker, and for the first time we saw creatures that were unlike any we had seen before. The concept of undead was something few understood and even less were aware of. The peasants came to believe that their ancestors wished revenge upon them, though Christopher had told me otherwise. Undead were the product of a strange branch of magic, though he never referred to it as magic, nor arcane in nature, that caused the dead to walk again. This abhorred the townsfolk, and to that end I presented the same opinion to others, though I will write here that even then the concept excited me. Power over death itself was of course the answer to everything, for what greater threat is there to man? What other threat cannot be halted, and will strip you of all meaning, all success, and all knowledge? Yes, power over death was indeed the answer, and I still do not regret my choice to leave the town.

I have neglected to mention that my family had gained much of our wealth in trading, we ran caravans from Stormwind to the Grand Hamlet and back again, and it was at this time that they began to come under attack by these new undead, to make matters worse only our caravans seemed to be plagued with this theft, causing my father’s fortunes to wane. It did not matter who he sent to guard them, none of the mercenaries ever returned, and it was not long after that undead dressed and outfitted with our stolen wares began attacking travelers on the roads. Soon we were subject to the superstitions of the villagers, even going so far as to curse us, calling my family corrupted and cursed. Everywhere we went we were treated with distaste, and before long I could want nothing more than to get out of this place.

It was my good fortune that on the night the nobles of Grand Hamlet were betrayed by Medivh that Christopher came to me and bid I leave this town with him, he said there was nothing left for me here, and it was the truth. The debt that our family incurred would soon force the sale of our estate, though it was evident the villagers wanted us gone more than the creditors, for pickets were frequent at our gates, and idle threats of being driven out were a regular occurrence. So I went with him, and on the night of my departure a great fire swallowed the Aurilen manor, burying my past amidst flame and ash. When I would return later to the place my house once stood, I would see that the remnants had been looted and cleared, all my possessions that I had not taken that night were sold off by Ello Ebonlocke and used to fund his ‘Night Watch', an incompetent force that did little to halt the corruption of Duskwood.

It does not matter, I know now that I carry no love for the people of Duskwood, fools who dare to hope in the belly of darkness. I will simply focus on the art, as Christopher has taught me.

The page abruptly ends, seemingly with no space to continue. The desk lay covered in loose parchment and ink, perhaps in time the author would revisit it but for now it lay uncompleted, a testament to a past that had so nearly been forgotten…