006 – Necromancer

Magic is dying in our world. It is still here, lingering, radiating in shattered places of long forgotten battles of arcane dominance, but it is once again receding into the depths, seeping into the world dankest, darkest places. Harder to find, tougher to focus, scarce in amounts. Even the strongest students of the thaumaturgical sciences can now mostly do simple cantrips and small spells, drawing at every drop of energy they can muster. Some say the magic flees from the Dreadwake presence, afraid of its corrupting touch. Others claim it is the Sky Folk from the Tear that reap it, extract it for their purposes. And other still claims that it is being hoarded by the undead lords of the deepest underworlds, accumulating the fleeting energies like a dam, bottling it, weaving it into their machinery and runes and stones. Bidding their time to awaken, to fuel new mockeries of life into the corpses of the countless dead civilization, piling in layers of servile soldiers just waiting to be risen from their eternal slumber. Those are the necromancers, the dark-dweller who twist the energies of creation into something malignant, cankerous and plain evil – a buzzing source of unholy vitality that denies the right of every living thing to perish. They fight for immortality, no matter the cost – and trust me, the costs are always hefty, be it in the ruinations of their mortal frames or utter corruption of their minds and souls.