Name: Lord Frodo
Weapon: Scythe - "Grim Reaper"
Race: Undead Wraith
Quote: To THe DeaTH... aND BeYoND !!!
History: "Attack! Attack!" The guards were swarming all over the castle, all still running around on nude feet, after all, it was midnight, and most warriors were fast asleep when the invasion alarm went. People woke up and quickly equipped their battle gear, panicking everywhere. Lord Frodo was sick of this. He gathered several generals, and commanded them to take their squad towards the persuaders. Minotaurs. The ugly, vile, half-bull half-human creatures had always wanted the castle. Well, not really the castle, rather the ground beneath it. Rumors go that in their songs there is spoken of a treasury underneath this cursed monument. The minotaurs were strong. At least three of them could easily destroy two hands full of human beings. The invaders were with hundreds. The castle-force would not last long, and he knew it. He decided to flee, as it probably would be the best option available. He commanded his elite guard squad to escort him safely from battle bounds. They did as their lord ordered
them, and within several minutes they were on their way. The castle was lost. Three nights later, only one man of his elite seven warriors, best trained ever, wasn't slaughtered by the evil bulls. Lord Frodo was out for revenge. But, the lord had not become a lord because he came from a noble family, he was wise. He knew that a counterattack with an army of one man strong couldn't last for several minutes. He probably wouldn't even get close to the castle because the enemies had archers. He would be shot from distance. He and his bodyguard came upon the mound of a dark forest. A man stood in a gaping hole of two trees. "Greetings, my lord." The man bowed down, showing his loyalty. Or so it seemed. The man lifted his arms, enchanting vague words. Suddenly he lowered his arms, and the guard who stood guard next to his lord, suffocated. He reached for his throat, but it wouldn't help. The mysterious human smiled. "Excuse me, lord, but he was only in the way. Let me introduce myself, I am..." Lord Frodo
interrupted. "Nagaloth. I know who you are," he calmly said. "So you know who I am. The more important question is though, do you know my intend?" The Lord had heard rumors about this man, songs, he had even read about him in several books. Rare books though, rare songs as well and rare rumors too. But even though Lord Frodo had never really seen him, he had the feeling he existed. And here was his feeling confirmed. "Many songs and books speak of you, Nagaloth. But they are all different. One tells of you to be a master of nature, the other says you're a psychotic necromancer. You tell me what your intend is. I do not know." The lord was certainly wise, and from the looks of Nagaloth's face he thought the same. "I am a necromancer, lord, though not 'psychotic'. I have waited for this moment a long time. A very long time. I want to train you in the art of necromance." The lord shocked. He suddenly remembered. 'Necromancers are almost always undead humans, being able to cast black magic..' the book had said.
Frodo quickly kept his hand at the hilt of his sword, ready to grab it out of the sheath. "Do not worry, my lord, I will not harm you. As I said, I have waited for this moment a long time. This is serious. Our moment here together will change the entire future. And it has to. Trust me." Our lord gazed at the necromancer, and for some reason he didn't care about his land's population, what they would think of him. He could gain knowledge from this person. Thus the better. "Okay, Nagaloth, I accept your offer. Teach me." Several year later the lord Frodo had become an expertized mage, being able to cast the magic of darkness. He woke up by the sunlight which shined through the window. Nagaloth, his faithful master and trainer in his new trade, stood in front of the doorway. "Come, Frodo, it is time." He quickly put his robes on, and went outside to see Nagaloth. "Lord Frodo, I have told you a lot about Death. It is time to face him," Frodo's face whitened. What did he just say? "I will kill you and you will
challenge Death to a dual. You will win, as your level in magic is much higher then Death's. The challenge will not be about his title, though. No, Death carries a scythe. It is told in many tales, and it is true. Frodo, prepare." Without being able to react so quickly he fell backwards. He felt his insides burn. A horrible death. "See you soon, pupil," the teacher said, "Soon." It was the last thing Frodo could hear. Total blackness was surrounded around him. He did not feel any pain anymore, though. A voice suddenly made him wince. "What do we have here," the voice said, almost seemingly to be all around him. He knew it to be Death. "Show thyself, weakling! I challenge thee!" Death was quiet. This probably wasn't what he expected. Right in front of the lord, Death appeared though. "Hah, puny mortal. You are nothing for me!" The dark cloaked creature, who's face was hidden by the darkness of his hood, struggled forward through the black mass. He seemed confident enough. Time for Frodo to eliminate this
person. As he had heard from Nagaloth he would probably outmatch him, and then he could take his shiny object which he had heaved above his right-shoulder. He cast a flood of simple destruction spells, and Death suddenly stopped. He began screaming, an agonizing scream, but then he fainted, only leaving his weapon and the rest of his gear behind. Frodo had won. He grabbed the weapon with pride, and suddenly was teleported back to the living world. "Welcome back," Nagaloth greeted him. "I see you have won." Frodo opened his eyes and saw that the weapon was actually in his hands. "The infamous Grim Reaper.. Now, my student, you have outmastered me. Your current knowledge is beyond mine. Congratulations." Frodo smiled. "But, I can give you one more advice. I have taught you evil. In the Southern lands, masters of thievery, war, magic and more have gathered. They are the most evil and elite gathering ever. They call themselves the Dark Brother Hood. You would fit there quite nice now, wouldn't you?" The Lord
laughed. Perhaps he would, yes.
Artifact: Soul robe cursed artifact - "maeficus anima commessatio viscus" translation "wicked soul eating flesh".
Description: A murderous soul which has been cursed by "mutatio" transformation into a robe. Once the robe has been put on it can't be taken off. The soul starts to feast on the flesh and the organs of the human untill it dies. When the wearer of the soul robe is alive, the robe detects danger and protects itself and its wearer with powerfull shield spells so that the wearer may die a slow and painfull death. But because LoRD FRoDo has already been in the afterlife, he is already dead and can't die again. The robe stays on but with the price that LoRD FRoDo is flesh- and organless. As an undead he can say: "who needs flesh when you got magic".