Information

Sepulcrum
Legacy Name: Goodboye

The Graveyard Blob
Owner: Tab

Age: 6 years, 1 month, 1 week

Born: April 7th, 2018

Adopted: 6 years, 1 month, 1 week ago

Adopted: April 7th, 2018

Statistics

• Level: 46
   
• Strength: 10
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 16
   
• Books Read: 16
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Graveyard Shift Errand Runner

If a headstone had a face... If it could tell you a story about the life laid to rest below, oh the seats a graveyard might have. This, for instance, is the story of a dead man named Enoch and the tale of how I came to hear it. It happened centuries ago and begins in the Undercroft. I was hardly a young woman at the time. Armed with my tomes and roots I wandered into the cemetary of Helaric's Covenant. I was determined to speak to the dead.Driven by ego in foolish pursuit of magics lost to time. I envisioned myself a rebel, an innovator, a hero in my own story. Perhaps we all do.I merely chose the first marker I saw in a secluded corner of the sanctuary for Helaric's long dead. These were graves centuries old. The slabs of rough cut stone were gnarled by time and whatever stories had been carved into their faces had eroded long ago. Sat atop the weeded earth, I placed out my things. Mere feet below me the worm rotted bones of the deceased vibrated with powerful intention, much to my ignorance. Dutifully, I recited the wordcraft I had found tucked away in one of the books placed too high for notice in Helaric's ancestral library. I was swiftly descended upon. Souls rose to match my chant not only from the grave upon which I had settled, but from all those closest. They appeared in shuddering half-forms and encircled me. The old language died on my lips. I was so certain the circle I'd erected for protection would do just that, but that was foolish. The first gnarled hand to reach through the barrier swept across my face, phalanges sharp like razors. I remember the warmth of blood spilling down my cheek. Gripping a hand tight to the pain. Feeling my ankles grabbed out from underneath me. Then the sensation of falling through the earth. Where I awoke was a pitch realm called the Undercroft. Face to face with my savior, though I did not realize that at the time, I screamed powerfully. Enoch's soul was horrifying. Mangled by his years spent below. His jaw was absent, leaving raw tendons dangling from within what might have once been his mouth. Eye sockets hollow. Ribs protruding from moth-eaten rags. I believe my terror did nothing to soften his treatment of me. His voice resounded inside my head as though he were screaming, though his form as he appeared to me could not speak. I was thoroughly berated for my naivety, for the risks I had taken by performing the ritual. He promised to return me to the surface once the others had fallen back to rest, but only if I swore never to return.Of course, I swore. Of course, I lied. Thus began my tutelage under the Enoch Ephgrave. Once a reknowned Necromancer. Now reduced to an untethered soul wandering the pitch place. It became my mission to free him. To tell his story. To tell all of their stories.

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