Character History:


Quiet, refined and eloquent, trained in the arts of high society. Reserved and patient, adamant hunter. He doesn't mind doing dirty work, nor getting his own two hands dirty. Believes in the necessity of evil, of doing what needs to be done. Alcanor will not hesitate to kill any who disrespect him or those he feels kinship towards. Al loves to interrogate people, especially when he is able to use pain to garner information. He aspires to be an Inquisitor or powerful Necromancer, though secretly, and hopefully, wishes to one day become a Lich. At times, seems entirely devoid of empathy and emotion, mainly in times of interrogation or when he deems it neccesary to live rather than die. Keeps quiet about his past, and does not trust very easily, suspicious of certain types of people. Al worships the evil god of Chaos (Daggon), and takes time to make an offering/prayer. Alcanor harbors a great dislike for law abiding citizens, especially witch hunters and paladins. Relies upon betrayal and defection to stay alive, and especially likes taking hostages. Loves the outdoors, paramount of all is hunting, followed by fishing. He sees no real right nor wrong, only what needs to be done, regardless of the consequeces. Alcanor might serve a powerful necromancer or mage, as he does aspire to always gain even more power. One weakness that he can not help, is his need to pray to his god Chaos (Daggon).

As of recent events, Alcanor showed his true colors. Sent upon "a wild goose chase" in his eyes by his mother. At the onset, he set foward, under the guise of a hunting trip, traveling towards the newly conquered territories of the Rynith Empire. Many a day passed with little to speak of, if anything at all. A flock of birds flying south at an odd time, a relative lack of wildlife, and a strange sense of... quiet. Alcanor mirthed at this foolish errand, having been sent on some exploratory hunt for the undead, for those that his dear sister had come into contact with. As mild annoyance began to sent in, he came across a group of travelers, of... well armed free lancers in his eyes.
So he played his part, the traveling hunter. Bored, tired, and in need of company. And like fools, they took him in. Though, of course, they had their suspicions. Alcanor began to travel with them, learning what he could from them, and taking notes. From what his sister had related, these were indeed the people that she had met, and called friends. He watched them closely, making sure to keep low. Rarely did he fight, not wishing to show the extent of the evil that burned in his heart and soul.
The group came upon a small settlement, and began to delve into the troubles that affected the area. Alcanor, found the situation to be rather amusing. These people, if one could call them that, were little more than sheep, happily awaiting slaughter. They spoke of some... watcher, a grand protecter who was there for them and kept them safe. They acted like scared rats, hiding out in a partially sunken ship. Alcanor chose to stay silent, merely watching the procedings of the group leaders. Here and there, he would notice a relatively decent person, but for the most part, little more than country bumpkins.
His real side ache came from the witch hunter, that dammned fanatical Light worshipper. Svar, Svar could see right through him, but perhaps something stayed his hand. A hand of luck, of "divine" grace. He tried to avoid the Witchmueller for the most part, only speaking his mind when the group came to him for insight into the profane. Into evil, as it would seem. He helped them only out of mutual neccesity, to survive himself. Much conflict still arose, including a now ever present scar that resides on his right palm, "lovingly" gifted to him from Svar.
With the progression time, Alcanor acted more and more for himself. From stealing sacred artifacts neccesary to a ritual, to simply trying to sell out a turn coat. The Dark Lady, or whomever she was, had power to offer, and he glady accepted the mission to gain it. Alcanor seethed with vicious joy as he stole the items, knowing all too well he would be jepordizing the lives of the pathetic refugees.
He kept a low profile, sticking to the shadows, making it seem like he were innocent, that he had just as much to lose as everyone else. Though, he did have to tip his hat to the dark forces at work. Poisoning the food, using the people as hosts... deliciously evil, even though the pain itself was wracking, like having magma in your stomach. At the final battle, Alcanor finally played his hand. Upon slaying a warder, of course, with help from others, he raised the fallen fool as an undead minion, the truest perversion to any creature, but more so an elf. Daggon, if he were watching, would have amused at this. Alcanor used his new minion to attack his once allies, siding with the dark creatures of the Badlands, but, seeing that things could turn just as well, took his leave, leaving his new-found allies to their fate.
He ran to the hill behind the encampment, taking time to recollect himself, and to plan out his next course of action. While he stood there, a member of Urthen forces appeared from thin air. He was clapping, amused and what it seam, rather impressed. The officer, smiling, offered an out, and a position, a new... freedom. Alcanor took it, taking this chance to increase his power, to become even more skilled in his dark arts. The officer placed his hand upon Alcanor's shoulder, and in a flash of earth and soil, they were underground in a tunnel system. Then a flash of light, followed by another, a teleportation spell. And thus began the long journey to his new home, Urth.