Name: Spectre King Hometown: unknown Race: presumed to be human Profession: unholy paladin/clergyman Age (human years): 421 Height: 6'5" Clothes: rusted and pitted armor over a tattered tunic bearing his family's seal Equipment: small axe and heavy leather vest Faction: Chaotic Aerkgrim van Dawn was nothing more than a mercenary, a mediocre one at that. He fought for several warlords, chieftains, kings and other so-called leaders before meeting his doom in the infamous battle for Darkenheim, a heavily-fortified temple-complex devoted to D'Rog, deity of the restless dead. While scouting the catacombs beneath the burning house of worship he stumbled upon the tomb of Gunhard von Darkenheim, legendary paladin of D'Rog. Being from a poor family Aerkgrim could not resist the temptation to open the grave. He gasped as he stumbled back into the shadows. Within the musty crypt lay the remains of one the most twisted, vile creatures that had ever walked the planet. Aerkgrim quickly overcame his fear however and proceeded to search the body for valuables. After prying a ring off one of the corpse's fingers he started on the gemstone set in the former paladin's helmet. As the fires raged on and the priests were executed above, Aerkgrim's screams mingled with the crashing of walls and fortifications and the cries of more than a thousand souls being slaughtered in the name of good. The undead paladin brushed off the dust of ages after gorging himself to bursting on the blood and life-essence of the mercenary. A small snack, not nearly sufficient to quench his ancient craving for blood. The stupid little man had unwittingly released him from the spell of binding that had been cast upon him so many years ago. It dawned on him that his enemies had probably long since passed away. Gunhard took his War Hammer, entombed along with him and looked to the flame-lit passages that lay before him. It had been long since he had been awoken. The witchfire of undeath howled in his blood, filling him with a lust for battle. He strode forward, towards the flickering, warped shadows cast by the scenes of battle and carnage taking place on the inner courtyard of the forbidden temple. Many a righteous knight was slain on the dreadful night, his skull crushed by the weight of the Spectre King's War Hammer. Blood flowed freely and the screams of the dying resounded against the few walls left standing after the assault. The Spectre King had been reborn after centuries of entombment within the dark catacombs. In a furious counter-attack, the forces of good attempted a last ditch attempt to save the day and indeed their lives, but the power radiating from D'Rog's paladin was the last thing they would feel. The next morning all that remained was a charred ruin, littered with bodies and gore. Gunhard sat in the middle, on the throne he himself had commissioned several centuries before. The battle was over and he had once again established himself as the ruler of the small provence of Couldgarth. Pondering the future it occurred to him that there was little glory in battle anymore. All the opponents that had been a threat to him hundreds of years before had long since passed away. The world was filled with weaklings nowadays. Not a single so-called hero was more than a nagging nuisance to him... Description: A tall man with a regal bearing, Spectre King stands a little over 6'5". It is obvious he was quite muscular in his living days and he still is, eventhough his body suffered under the decomposition normally associated with being dead. He wears tattered armor and a tunic bearing his family's heraldry.