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Dread Necromancer in my game?
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<blockquote data-quote="DM_Jeff" data-source="post: 3345814" data-attributes="member: 3687"><p><em>Here's some in media res. The situation: Grace is a necromancer from Cyre who discovered her inherited powers very young (she spent the last 5-6 years in Stormreach). She's currently a student at Morgrave University in Sharn. Thiose familiar with the city will also know of a place there called the Nightshade which offers a tavern experience for those involved in necromantic dealings. Here's a snippet, if you like, there's more where this came from</em></p><p></p><p>Grace bowed her head, turning away from the pale faces and back to the bartender. His arms were still folded, but his brows were separating into two again as his scowl lessened by slow degrees. Grace leaned forward, “I need to begin a club or something… There just has to be more people like me. I can’t be the only person in all Khorvare that wants to use necromancy for good. I just can’t believe that…. Do you think I’m the only one…?” </p><p>The lines in the bartender’s faces faded in confusion, but he was spared from answering by someone taking the stool next to Grace. </p><p>She turned her head too quickly to see who it was and closed her eyes when it felt like the insides of her head took too long to catch up to her eyes. She opened them and found a young man sitting next to her. He gave her a small smile and she tried to place his face, he looked a little familiar. </p><p>“I’m Drason Grenier. I’m in your Embalming class…” he looked to the bartender who had leaned back on the far counter and was watching the two of them. “I’ll have what she’s having.” </p><p>Grace blinked to focus and looked over the young fellow. He was dressed in the common student style; leggings, low boots and a tunic. He wore a dark vest over everything with pins down both lapels. They were national and city crests, some of them she didn’t recognize and she leaned closer. </p><p>Drason blushed under her gaze, but turned towards her so she could see the shiny ornaments better. The bartender placed a glass in front of the young man and resumed his place leaning on the far counter. </p><p>Grace stopped examining her fellow student, realizing she was being rude and smiled apologetically, “I’m Grace.” </p><p>The young dark haired man nodded, “I know.” He took a sip from the glass and smiled. His brown eyes suddenly widened and he coughed a little before continuing. “Can you really raise the dead?” </p><p>Grace started to shake her head, but thought better of it, “Not raise, animate, but yes, the dead obey me.” </p><p>He sat back and looked hard at the thin bartender, hoping the man would get the hint that he didn’t want an audience, but the thin gray robed man just smiled and looked back to Grace. Drason sighed, “You must think we’re pretty sick to come here and play at being dead…?” </p><p>“No, I understand the attraction.” Grace paused to choose her words carefully, “Death is a powerful thing. It’s the most powerful force in the world next to love, of course. Most people are afraid of death though and it takes great courage to face your fears. If more people were able to do that then this place would be so busy that we’d have to fight for seats...” </p><p>The thin bartender grinned and his gray eyes took on a far away look for a few moments. </p><p>Drason nodded and smiled, “Why are you taking the class then?” </p><p>“The treatments the professor teaches makes the dead I animate harder to damage.” Grace eyed her drink again and debated taking another sip. Instead she turned to her companion, “You’re a well traveled young man, why are you taking it?” </p><p>He shrugged, “I like to learn things.” He took another sip from his glass and his voice dropped lower, “You really think we’re brave…?” </p><p>Grace nodded slowly. </p><p>“Is that why you come here?” </p><p>“No, I like it that the men here leave me alone.” </p><p>Drason blushed again and took another sip of the bittersweet dark liquid. </p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Grace frowned. “Have you ever been to Cyre?” </p><p>“No, I never got the chance. Have you?” He looked over and saw her smile wide. </p><p>“I was born there. I am not so well traveled as you, but I can promise you that you’ll never see a more vibrant thing than a Cyran city.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, “Every day was like a festival. The cities were always dressed for a celebration with bright colors and music. Once there was a man that had the wanderlust in spades. He traveled far and wide for long periods or short. He entered a Cyran city and couldn’t believe that he’d missed a holiday. He was even more surprised to find out the next day that the city was still the same; bright and festive. The air filled with music and laughter. He decided to spend the rest of his life there. He was my father.” Grace opened her eyes and smiled at the bartender. “That is what Cyre was… an endless celebration.” </p><p>Drason smiled, “It must have been something…” </p><p>Grace looked into his pale brown eyes, “Yes.” </p><p>He looked back at his glass, “So when the day of mourning happened… is that when you decided to become a Necromancer?” </p><p>Grace chuckled softly, “No, I’ve always been one. Even as a child. That’s the other great thing about Cyre. The people considered ‘different’ were embraced as being special and they were cherished like the one of a kind creatures that they are.” Grace noted that the stool on the other side of her had been filled and turned to include to the young woman in black. “Once I brought an undead cat to a birthday party. It was the best time our group of children ever had.” </p><p>Drason laughed, “Did you really?” </p><p>“Oh, yes,” Grace saw the stools by the young woman and Drason fill with somberly dressed young folk. “We were encouraged to try new things, to be as different as we wanted. It was the best place in the world to grow up” </p><p>The young woman in black spoke up, her voice was deeper than Grace would have expected, “How do the dead feel?” </p><p>Grace turned to her; she was a pretty young woman with dark kohl covered eyelids and powdered cheeks. “Are you asking if they feel things or how they feel to the touch?’ </p><p>The woman’s cheeks reddened under the pale powder, “Touch.” </p><p>“They’re usually a bit cooler than room temperature, a bit like stone.” Grace nodded making a decision, “I stay at the university, my animated horse is there in the stables. If you like you may come and touch him for yourself.” </p><p>“Really?” The woman’s eyes narrowed. </p><p>“Of course,” Grace smiled. </p><p>The young woman smiled back and became even prettier. </p><p>The bartender stepped forward, his drawn cheeks were flushed, “Can I come too?” </p><p>Grace smiled, “Yes.” </p><p></p><p>-DM Jeff</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="DM_Jeff, post: 3345814, member: 3687"] [I]Here's some in media res. The situation: Grace is a necromancer from Cyre who discovered her inherited powers very young (she spent the last 5-6 years in Stormreach). She's currently a student at Morgrave University in Sharn. Thiose familiar with the city will also know of a place there called the Nightshade which offers a tavern experience for those involved in necromantic dealings. Here's a snippet, if you like, there's more where this came from[/I] Grace bowed her head, turning away from the pale faces and back to the bartender. His arms were still folded, but his brows were separating into two again as his scowl lessened by slow degrees. Grace leaned forward, “I need to begin a club or something… There just has to be more people like me. I can’t be the only person in all Khorvare that wants to use necromancy for good. I just can’t believe that…. Do you think I’m the only one…?” The lines in the bartender’s faces faded in confusion, but he was spared from answering by someone taking the stool next to Grace. She turned her head too quickly to see who it was and closed her eyes when it felt like the insides of her head took too long to catch up to her eyes. She opened them and found a young man sitting next to her. He gave her a small smile and she tried to place his face, he looked a little familiar. “I’m Drason Grenier. I’m in your Embalming class…” he looked to the bartender who had leaned back on the far counter and was watching the two of them. “I’ll have what she’s having.” Grace blinked to focus and looked over the young fellow. He was dressed in the common student style; leggings, low boots and a tunic. He wore a dark vest over everything with pins down both lapels. They were national and city crests, some of them she didn’t recognize and she leaned closer. Drason blushed under her gaze, but turned towards her so she could see the shiny ornaments better. The bartender placed a glass in front of the young man and resumed his place leaning on the far counter. Grace stopped examining her fellow student, realizing she was being rude and smiled apologetically, “I’m Grace.” The young dark haired man nodded, “I know.” He took a sip from the glass and smiled. His brown eyes suddenly widened and he coughed a little before continuing. “Can you really raise the dead?” Grace started to shake her head, but thought better of it, “Not raise, animate, but yes, the dead obey me.” He sat back and looked hard at the thin bartender, hoping the man would get the hint that he didn’t want an audience, but the thin gray robed man just smiled and looked back to Grace. Drason sighed, “You must think we’re pretty sick to come here and play at being dead…?” “No, I understand the attraction.” Grace paused to choose her words carefully, “Death is a powerful thing. It’s the most powerful force in the world next to love, of course. Most people are afraid of death though and it takes great courage to face your fears. If more people were able to do that then this place would be so busy that we’d have to fight for seats...” The thin bartender grinned and his gray eyes took on a far away look for a few moments. Drason nodded and smiled, “Why are you taking the class then?” “The treatments the professor teaches makes the dead I animate harder to damage.” Grace eyed her drink again and debated taking another sip. Instead she turned to her companion, “You’re a well traveled young man, why are you taking it?” He shrugged, “I like to learn things.” He took another sip from his glass and his voice dropped lower, “You really think we’re brave…?” Grace nodded slowly. “Is that why you come here?” “No, I like it that the men here leave me alone.” Drason blushed again and took another sip of the bittersweet dark liquid. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Grace frowned. “Have you ever been to Cyre?” “No, I never got the chance. Have you?” He looked over and saw her smile wide. “I was born there. I am not so well traveled as you, but I can promise you that you’ll never see a more vibrant thing than a Cyran city.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, “Every day was like a festival. The cities were always dressed for a celebration with bright colors and music. Once there was a man that had the wanderlust in spades. He traveled far and wide for long periods or short. He entered a Cyran city and couldn’t believe that he’d missed a holiday. He was even more surprised to find out the next day that the city was still the same; bright and festive. The air filled with music and laughter. He decided to spend the rest of his life there. He was my father.” Grace opened her eyes and smiled at the bartender. “That is what Cyre was… an endless celebration.” Drason smiled, “It must have been something…” Grace looked into his pale brown eyes, “Yes.” He looked back at his glass, “So when the day of mourning happened… is that when you decided to become a Necromancer?” Grace chuckled softly, “No, I’ve always been one. Even as a child. That’s the other great thing about Cyre. The people considered ‘different’ were embraced as being special and they were cherished like the one of a kind creatures that they are.” Grace noted that the stool on the other side of her had been filled and turned to include to the young woman in black. “Once I brought an undead cat to a birthday party. It was the best time our group of children ever had.” Drason laughed, “Did you really?” “Oh, yes,” Grace saw the stools by the young woman and Drason fill with somberly dressed young folk. “We were encouraged to try new things, to be as different as we wanted. It was the best place in the world to grow up” The young woman in black spoke up, her voice was deeper than Grace would have expected, “How do the dead feel?” Grace turned to her; she was a pretty young woman with dark kohl covered eyelids and powdered cheeks. “Are you asking if they feel things or how they feel to the touch?’ The woman’s cheeks reddened under the pale powder, “Touch.” “They’re usually a bit cooler than room temperature, a bit like stone.” Grace nodded making a decision, “I stay at the university, my animated horse is there in the stables. If you like you may come and touch him for yourself.” “Really?” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Of course,” Grace smiled. The young woman smiled back and became even prettier. The bartender stepped forward, his drawn cheeks were flushed, “Can I come too?” Grace smiled, “Yes.” -DM Jeff [/QUOTE]
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