Born and raised in Rharne, he was a normal, average youth. He played with the kids his age, running through the streets of Rharne, especially the one's their parent's told them not to.
Like many kids his age, he dreamed of being a Knight, or a Champion of the Immortals, or a Hero atop a slain beast, or a great King....
Years passed, and the fantasies dulled. Their dreams came down to match their aptitude, or their efforts grew to match their dreams. His friends became bakers, merchants, herbalists, a few even took the leap and joined the ranks of the Knights.
But as the years passed, and the dreams dwindled, Netzach found no dreams left of his own. He wasn't sure what he wanted to be. In his heart he aspired for greatness, much like his childhood dreams of Kingship or Heroism. But greatness in what form? They were all far from his grasp, and the abyss in between would not be bridged by any amount of mere effort.
Slowly, he found himself trying to settle uneasily to a simple life. He ignored his friends offering to teach him how to learn to set up a stall or small shop. It seemed far too... tame. He ignored his friends urging him to apprentice under them, and learn a trade. He had no interest. He ignored his father, a Lightning Knight retired, even as he goaded Netzach to join the Military. The Lightning knights weren't for him. Too much effort, too much risk.
He learned to run odd jobs and errands, shifting from workplace to workplace. He never quite settled down, wanting something new. But he never pushed himself, feeling the effort to be straining.
Despite the lack of effort on the surface, inside he churned and bubbled. He felt an immense drive to do
something, but what?
As he felt his dreams dwindle, his heart grow cold, another feeling arose in him. Like the buried corpses of his dreams slowly churning and turning into something malignant and spiteful. His gaze grew harsh and piercing, his expression fixed and cold. He felt lost, nothing pushing him forward but a strange sensation.
"I deserve more than this. I am more than this. I am no mere clerk or peon. I am meant for something far more"
His heart growing colder, he began to push away everyone close to him. Some form of grand desire began to grow in him, unknown even to himself, and he found himself having to suppress his true feelings more and more.
"They won't understand. They are too happy living their little lives, satisfied with their little lots"
He came to the startling realization; He wanted something for nothing. He felt he
deserved it. It called to him from the abyss of his heart.
"If only you had enough power. If only you could do more. You have so much you want. You want more than any of these sheep. You deserve MORE"
All of this culminated with that fated day with an old necromancer.
One day at the Copper Prince, he was dared to a drinking game. His ego hurt and goaded by insults, he set himself to prove his 'Manhood' and 'Rharnian blood', whatever that meant.
Unfortunately for him, when he blacked out, he woke up in the presence of a Necromancer. Apparently he was found face down on the outskirts of Rharne and was mistaken for a corpse.
The Old man peered over him, bemused that he had spent so long trying to raise a living human. Netzach was less amused, kicking and screaming, trying to find escape. Despite not knowing how to fight, he did whatever was needed to survive, clawing, biting, thrashing like a wild animal, and rolling on the blood and flesh covered ground. The Old man laughed, intrigued by how he was not frozen by his fear and the hopeless odds, but fighting against it with everything he had. He was, however, quickly subdued and brought before the Old man. Suprisingly, what was in Netzach's eyes was not fear, but anger. Pure unadulterated hate, no longer having to be held back. A feeling of envy in his eyes, as if to say
"If I had your power, It wouldn't be me on the floor right now."
So the Old man offered it to him. He offered him to be a necromancer, just like him. As he glanced through his personhood with his Attunement, he saw that Netzach was a person with a voluminous hatred for his fellow mortals for their complacency, and great ambition, measured equally with a misplaced sense of pride and arrogance. A desire, above all else, to be unique, to be
powerful. Fitting, for a necromancer's apprentice.
On one hand it was clear to Netzach that if he didn't take this deal, there was a good chance he would simply be killed and turned into a thrall.
On the other hand... the Old man's words were tempting. Even as he lay there held down in the dirt by rotting thralls, the Old man goaded him and tempted him with fantasies of great power, to rise above all and be feared by all of life.
A mixture of self-preservation and dark temptation fuelled his next decision. The old man reached out his hand, and he took it....
![[Approved by Pig Boy]](.//images/icons/cs_ok.png "[Approved by Pig Boy]"){kind=icon}
Name: Netzach Embersoul
