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Revision as of 12:36, 2 December 2009
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What a desolate place this is. This article would greatly benefit from the addition of proper images.
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Under Construction This page seems to be Under Construction. Watch out for large groups of Rebel fighters.
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Tel'Ratha did not stand tall nor did he hunch over, he simply was. His face was pale from the years without sunlight and frail from his long years. Though the way his patchy skin was very disturbing the feature that captured most was how his eyes looked. The cold blue menacing orbs were not forgotten by the few who had actually seen him. Though his eyes were the most disturbing his skin would be considered the most interesting. Though the scars seemed to heal it was unmistakable that some of the flesh was not his. Conflicts with both the living and the dead, which when coupled with the onset of hundreds of years, it had all taken its toll on his once young body. As time wore on Tel’Ratha would remove skin from the corpses he no longer had use for and apply it to his skin either through a sort of absorption or by simply removing the old skin and sewing the new skin in its place.
Though his age would seem a hindrance; those who challenged him always ended up as an experiment or simply a bumbling servant. The robes worn on his average frame are thick and long with many folds concealing all his features in darkness. Under each arm are several symbols made in a red material of some kind. He had long ago abandoned the idea of being able to live above ground and work below ground so one day he had taken his belongings and moved into a crypt. It was quiet and was no longer surrounded by those who disproved of his experiments. And so, without outsiders to interrupt him his experiments continued. It was not long before the entire crypt was taken over by his work. What started as a small room of instruments had become a library filled of his books and there were undead of all kinds walking around.
His thirst for knowledge was surpassed only by his secretiveness. Every last one of his books had magical protections of all manors inscribed on them. He would rather all his books burn and knowledge be lost than have fall into the hands of others. People would come to him for his ability to save those on the edge of death and draw them back to life. But as the years wore on, he no longer cared to use his knowledge to help others. "Share my knowledge? Ha! Let them pry it from my cold dead fingers!" he was once heard saying to himself. And that's just what he did. Of the seven he was by far the most secretive. This of course did not apply to his most favored students and minions. Those who gained his favor were privied to secrets of life and death. They learned the common fabric that bound these two sides to the same coin and after being with him no one was the same.