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Sucks to hear, but oh well. Just to let you guys know I’m still interested in this, just waiting on some other people to post before I do.
Leith Calder


Leith chuckled nervously at Althalus' comment. "Sorry about that. The thought of that Vitamancer has me stressed." He looked at the gathered group and sighed as Althalus talked about Henri. "I don't understand where this whole issue came from, but I don't think that should ruin this trip. I say once everyone gathers together we go out and explore Shimmerstone. Besides," he glanced at the ring on his hand. "I'm pretty sure I'll get a decent warning about the Shapeshifter, whoever she appears as."

Isn't that right?
Leith directed his thoughts towards the ring.

Darius grunted in agreement. "Sounds good. I have some fights to win." As the man crossed his arms, Leith caught a flash of blue fabric affixed to a part of the Yarosmerean's clothing. An idea occurred to him.

Leith leaned towards Althalus. "You've got those cloths on everyone here for our game, right?" he asked as he nodded towards the cloth attached to Darius' shirt. "That could be another way to allow us to identify the shapeshifter. What say we call the game off and keep the cloths where they are?"
Sophia may have a knighted badger, but Mortimer has a dead crow.

Wait a minute, that doesn't sound right...
So many different people from so many different walks of life. Mortimer watched as the others got reacquainted with coming back to life. Some of them looked disoriented. Maybe their deaths weren't pleasant. Mortimer chuckled. Death was never pleasant. He looked to the redhead when she spoke up and told them all that they had all been chosen by the Pale Lady. It gave him relief to hear that he was seen as a hero by the Pale Lady. He doubted that the stories told of him made him a hero in the eyes of the public. At least his name wasn't linked to his history as Roaming Death.

His gaze shifted to the robed man, who introduced himself as Ffamran. The name didn't spark any memory, but what did was the name Dizarach. Mortimer's book slipped from his suddenly slack fingers into the snow below. He had found the lich's notes before his second chance, and they helped him become the lich that he had been so many years ago. Mortimer bent down and picked the book up off the ground.

Now that Mortimer had a name to use, he searched his book for information. "It's more of a cautionary tale." Mortimer glanced up from his book at Ffamran. "I don't know what your final words were, but miss Beoulve here died in the same battle that killed you. She and D--the lich killed each other." Mortimer looked back down and read aloud the notes he had written down.

"After it became clear that the lich had been using the kingdom of Entei Bahara for his own gain, a tenuous peace was formed between the two kingdoms after many tragic losses, including the first paladin Ravness Beoulve and the prince of Entei Bahara."

Mortimer turned through the pages of his journal. "This peace lasted between the two..." He flipped a few more pages. "For at least seven thousand years after the death of the lich. Of course, the kingdom had changed names and rulers several times throughout those years." Mortimer frowned as he reached the last page of notes. His words had been scratched frantically across the page.

"Due to geographical instability, the kingdom once known as Entei Bahara has been declared unsafe. The displaced have been pouring into Igros. Hundreds by the day. It is unknown how many have survived and how many have perished. Once everything calms down I will-"

Mortimer snapped the book shut. Enough had been said. He clicked his tongue twice and made a beckoning motion with his finger. He looked around, but nothing happened. Creaky wasn’t here. He chuckled. Old habits die hard. "That's about it for Entei Bahara. As for introductions, I am Mortimer Vandall."

From underneath a nearby snowbank came shifting movement and a muffled, panicked cawing of a crow. Then the snow shifted and a skull of a crow peered out from the pile of snow. It let out an indignant sounding cry and struggled to move but it was firmly stuck in the snowbank. It paused for a moment before it cawed loudly at Fiametta, the closest person to it.
As pain filled Mortimer's mind, it occurred to him that his body was whole.

With all the energy that was being used to keep him alive for millennia, him being murdered would have caused all that energy to escape violently, destroying his body and the place he called home at the time. The fact that he could feel the cold and the dull phantom ache of a blade in his side told him that somehow his body had been remade. Maybe someone brought him back to place judgement on him for his "crimes."

Mortimer opened his eyes and sat up. There were others just waking up as well except for one. A woman with a shock of red hair and a sword he couldn't- wouldn't forget. The sword's likeness was emblazoned on the shields and tabards of the paladins of old, just like the one that gave him his second chance. He would have to see if he had anything in his journal about her or the paladins.

His eyes lit up as he watched the interaction between the man in white robes and the woman. A small spark of memory flared to life and quietly died. When the man asked the group about what happened to his people after he had died, Mortimer pulled himself to his feet and retrieved a small, palm sized notebook out his pocket.

Entei Bahara

He directed his thoughts to the book. The cover of the book pulsed gently with a white glow. He opened the book to find all the notes he had on the place. One note caught his eye.

'The Tragedy of Entei Bahara'

"Oh, it's been a long time since I've seen that play. I love tragedies." Mortimer said aloud to himself. Then he remembered where he was, and looked up at the robed man, and found an older man standing next to the man and holding out a jacket to him.

"I have a lot of notes on the empire," Mortimer said as he waved his journal at the man in the robes. "Spanning millennia, when did you die? Better yet, can I get your name? It might have been of note." He asked the robed man.

It was then that he noticed the dead village around him lacking the souls of the dead. Not a single spirit that he could see lingered around. It was almost as if they'd moved on, but with the marks of what happened, there had to have been at least one or two spirits locked in the memories of their deaths, but there weren't.

Mortimer shivered, but not from the chill in the air.
@Lyla alright, I’ve made the small changes to his personality, so you can take a look at it again and then I’ll post it up on the character tab and have a post up.
Well, actually, I was thinking of him using stand in Liches of the more rotted undead so nobody knew what he actually looked like as well as keep up the idea that Liches were rotting necromancers. But those are good thoughts. I’ll make the necessary changes, but other than that it’s good?
Ooh, touché. So what changes should I be looking at making to be able to keep most of his history as is?
Fair enough. Though I should say that these moments of balance were between hundreds or so years of peace where he spent the rest of his time helping the souls of the dead move on.
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