- Aug 30, 2004
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Age: deceased at age of 37
Nationality: Varesian
Physical description: Isaac's once fairly short hair grew while he rotted in his grave, going to the point where it was now just below cheek-length. It's gone straight and slick, and lost most of its old brown color. His skin is a deathly gray, but many parts of his body are bare to the bone. His arms around the elbows, most of his legs from the knees down to his ankles, his contorted spine is partially bared at the base of his neck, and the area around his mouth has rotten away too. He no longer has eyes, just empty, usually glaring sockets.
Clothing: Schatten is usually seen dressed in a beat up, faded dark blue vest, leather trousers, and a set of rough leather armor on his body. He wears a short, faded red cloak, and an elegant cloth belt that he'd stolen early in his career. Its long since faded in beauty, much as the wearer has.
History: Isaac Schatten was born the illegitimate son of a barmaid, a birth that earned him insult and injury for the better part of his life. He lived in the streets, often stealing when his mother's pitiful wages weren't enough to keep him fed. She of course had no idea of this for several years. He got into scraps on a regular basis as he grew older, and his heart was bitter from the beginning, most will say.
His adult life is filled with grand tales of nigh impossible heists, daring infiltrations, and masterful assassinations, but all were done with cruelest intent, by most ruthless mean. He is no noble thief. Isaac Schatten was a murderer and burglar who began his trade out of necessity, and pursued it out of addiction to adrenaline and the rush he got from a newly pilfered trinket, or yet another perfectly slit throat.
But like most notorious criminals, Schatten met his end at the hands of the law. He fell after his hand slipped in the act of a daring escape, and while he survived, ended up breaking a leg. He was unable to flee from the pursuing city guard, and thus was captured and promptly hanged. His grave was left unmarked, for he was put in a tomb reserved for criminals who were deemed undeserving of any sort of honorable burial.
One fateful day, many years after Isaac's death, a Necromancer by the name of Sir Cornelius Godric Pellinore, a powerful Archlich, visited his tomb late in the night. His motives and intent were carefully planned and deliberated upon, and Schatten's corpse was hand-picked from the unmarked bodies in the tomb. After a very complex spell was woven by the Necromancer, Isaac Schatten's body and mind rose up to life, relatively unphased by the newfound lack of its immortal soul. After all, most who knew his name would tell you Schatten HAD no soul. What he DID find disturbing, though, was that though he thought and moved again, he was suddenly bound to the will of this haughty Necromancer who loomed over his rotting form, his open-faced help making the Lich's eye-sockets look as if they were contorted into a glare, matching the skeletal grin on his skull to form a very, VERY disturbing smile.
"You shall serve well, Isaac Schatten, Assassin Extraordinare." Cornelius said haughtily.
Isaac cursed bitterly at him, demanding, "What've ye done with me, ye posh bag of filth?! Why'm I alive agin?!"
"You are not." Cornelius replied smugly, stroking his chin with a skeletal finger. "You are Undead now, and I have risen you with a VERY special purpose in mind. Not to worry... you shan't be asked to do anything you didn't LOVE doing in life."
Isaac tried to retort and draw his dagger to face this smug heretic, but he found his now-clawed hand to be stuck, and his jaw was locked.
"Death will fix your feet, that you can't walk. And lock your jaw, so you shan't talk." Cornelius recited maliciously. "And until your service to me is completed, you shall not receive Death's gift of rest. Your soul burns in hell, I'm sure... do you really have anything better to do?"
Isaac sat up, realizing to his perplexion that he was able to move freely so long as he wasn't trying to harm Cornelius. He reached for his belt, but found nothing, and looked up in shock to see Cornelius holding up a leather backpack.
"Your weapons and tools? All recovered or replaced, rest assured. I wanted you to be ready to operate at maximum capacity, friend. You'll find everything in here."
The rogue reached up and bitterly took the bag, sifting through to find his elegant dagger, with a blade of silver and steel and a handle made of pearl. It was his prized possession, and he quickly set to putting it back in its holster on his belt. Second was the largest object, his old scimitar, still notched from cutting bone or clashing with weapons. He then found his old strangle-cord, a set of lockpicks that looked even better than his old tools, a few vials of poison, and a belt of throwing daggers.
Proudly, Isaac donned his old equipment before putting on the last piece, a rough leather breastplate that Cornelius had brought along; much like the one he wore in life.
"...I guess this won't be so bad." the Undead scoundrel said in his thick peasant's accent, narrowing the flesh around his sockets to form a wicked grin. "Tell me... what's the job, lad?"
Nationality: Varesian
Physical description: Isaac's once fairly short hair grew while he rotted in his grave, going to the point where it was now just below cheek-length. It's gone straight and slick, and lost most of its old brown color. His skin is a deathly gray, but many parts of his body are bare to the bone. His arms around the elbows, most of his legs from the knees down to his ankles, his contorted spine is partially bared at the base of his neck, and the area around his mouth has rotten away too. He no longer has eyes, just empty, usually glaring sockets.
Clothing: Schatten is usually seen dressed in a beat up, faded dark blue vest, leather trousers, and a set of rough leather armor on his body. He wears a short, faded red cloak, and an elegant cloth belt that he'd stolen early in his career. Its long since faded in beauty, much as the wearer has.
History: Isaac Schatten was born the illegitimate son of a barmaid, a birth that earned him insult and injury for the better part of his life. He lived in the streets, often stealing when his mother's pitiful wages weren't enough to keep him fed. She of course had no idea of this for several years. He got into scraps on a regular basis as he grew older, and his heart was bitter from the beginning, most will say.
His adult life is filled with grand tales of nigh impossible heists, daring infiltrations, and masterful assassinations, but all were done with cruelest intent, by most ruthless mean. He is no noble thief. Isaac Schatten was a murderer and burglar who began his trade out of necessity, and pursued it out of addiction to adrenaline and the rush he got from a newly pilfered trinket, or yet another perfectly slit throat.
But like most notorious criminals, Schatten met his end at the hands of the law. He fell after his hand slipped in the act of a daring escape, and while he survived, ended up breaking a leg. He was unable to flee from the pursuing city guard, and thus was captured and promptly hanged. His grave was left unmarked, for he was put in a tomb reserved for criminals who were deemed undeserving of any sort of honorable burial.
One fateful day, many years after Isaac's death, a Necromancer by the name of Sir Cornelius Godric Pellinore, a powerful Archlich, visited his tomb late in the night. His motives and intent were carefully planned and deliberated upon, and Schatten's corpse was hand-picked from the unmarked bodies in the tomb. After a very complex spell was woven by the Necromancer, Isaac Schatten's body and mind rose up to life, relatively unphased by the newfound lack of its immortal soul. After all, most who knew his name would tell you Schatten HAD no soul. What he DID find disturbing, though, was that though he thought and moved again, he was suddenly bound to the will of this haughty Necromancer who loomed over his rotting form, his open-faced help making the Lich's eye-sockets look as if they were contorted into a glare, matching the skeletal grin on his skull to form a very, VERY disturbing smile.
"You shall serve well, Isaac Schatten, Assassin Extraordinare." Cornelius said haughtily.
Isaac cursed bitterly at him, demanding, "What've ye done with me, ye posh bag of filth?! Why'm I alive agin?!"
"You are not." Cornelius replied smugly, stroking his chin with a skeletal finger. "You are Undead now, and I have risen you with a VERY special purpose in mind. Not to worry... you shan't be asked to do anything you didn't LOVE doing in life."
Isaac tried to retort and draw his dagger to face this smug heretic, but he found his now-clawed hand to be stuck, and his jaw was locked.
"Death will fix your feet, that you can't walk. And lock your jaw, so you shan't talk." Cornelius recited maliciously. "And until your service to me is completed, you shall not receive Death's gift of rest. Your soul burns in hell, I'm sure... do you really have anything better to do?"
Isaac sat up, realizing to his perplexion that he was able to move freely so long as he wasn't trying to harm Cornelius. He reached for his belt, but found nothing, and looked up in shock to see Cornelius holding up a leather backpack.
"Your weapons and tools? All recovered or replaced, rest assured. I wanted you to be ready to operate at maximum capacity, friend. You'll find everything in here."
The rogue reached up and bitterly took the bag, sifting through to find his elegant dagger, with a blade of silver and steel and a handle made of pearl. It was his prized possession, and he quickly set to putting it back in its holster on his belt. Second was the largest object, his old scimitar, still notched from cutting bone or clashing with weapons. He then found his old strangle-cord, a set of lockpicks that looked even better than his old tools, a few vials of poison, and a belt of throwing daggers.
Proudly, Isaac donned his old equipment before putting on the last piece, a rough leather breastplate that Cornelius had brought along; much like the one he wore in life.
"...I guess this won't be so bad." the Undead scoundrel said in his thick peasant's accent, narrowing the flesh around his sockets to form a wicked grin. "Tell me... what's the job, lad?"
