Tales of Almar
Mahlachor was born originally under the name Gregory Smith. Abandoned and orphaned early on in his childhood, he soon found himself in the company of the Magus Assemblage; a group of elite magic users. Mulling about their ordinary lives of wealth by day, and practicing the profane under cover of the night, Gregory was brought up as their servant. The young Gregory spent his time preparing the caster’s unspeakable rituals as well as cleaning up…what remained when they were finished. Upon trying to tap into an enormous wellspring of arcane power, something went wrong. The portal used for communication with the other side widened, deamons and horrible masses of congealed flesh poured through killing and eating all they encountered. Only Gregory survived the onslaught, using the corpse of the Assemblage’s leader to conceal himself. When all appeared to be over there was a voice calling to him. The voice sounded neither friendly or heinous, gripped with curiosity he followed it to where the portal remain open and very much active. In a instant Gregory saw plains of bloody flesh, giant serpents that slid rivers of fire, and much more that plain language just cannot describe. All at once he was filled with an immense feeling of strength. A single word rang out through his mind, no not a word, a name, Mahlachor.
As the sole survivor of the incident he was also the only benefactor of the Magus Assemblage. Using his newly acquired wealth he sought to leave his past behind him. Gregory lived a good life and a long one at that. Eladrin are known to live for over 300 years but Gregory had past that mark nearly a century ago and he still felt as he had when he was young. His mind continued to return to the day that altered his fate. Had something changed in him? He had to pursue this, he had to know. Gregory Smith died, and Mahlachor came to be.
Under his new name he began to research exactly what it was the Assemblage was trying to contact. After reading countless dusty tomes containing near forgotten knowledge Mahlachor had scarcely read more than a reference or two to something that had power as he had witnessed. He began to delve deeper, practicing the eldrich arts himself. He found himself to be very talented at magic, often preforming difficult rituals or incantations with his first attempt. Mahlachor began to understand that only magic could provide that which he desired. For many years he shut himself away seeking knowledge, expanding his abilities. He knew that contact with that foreign entity had changed him, there was no denying that. Mahlachor’s understanding and control over magic was beyond that of any mortal he had seen, including his former masters. This was no longer a concern to Mahlachor, now he only sought to reconnect with the entity, it was just a power source waiting to be tapped.
Finally Mahlachor discovered a way to communicate with the entity. He assumed this was the same measure that the Magus Assemblage used, however he was much more powerful than any of those fools were. He could maintain a safe connection for a small price. His eyes. Mahlachor gouged them out with not a thought in his head other than the power waiting for him on the other side. Using his own eyes as a reagent he completed the ritual, seeing their plane as they do. Familiar visions filled his mind, fire, death everywhere, power. He focused in finding the source, the thing from which all came. Mahlachors shade traversed the hellish plane like a bird drawn to the song of another. For a brief second Mahlachor was before a writhing mass of tentacles surrounding something very large and circular, some tentacles had claws the like of a crab on the end; others had grapevines of eyes. It began to fade. It almost looked like blistered skin, pussing, oozing. Everything was getting fuzzier making it near impossible to set focus on the mass. His mind could not comprehend what was before him. He was going mad.“I made you, mortal, bow to me.” it hissed at him. “Mahlachor I granted you this strength, I spared your life, you are mine to control. I can give you power, the very might that you seek. Pledge yourself to me.” It’s voice was dissonance to the ears. Mahlachor knelt in front of the blurred shape that was before him, “I accept”. In an instant he was spat back into the world of the living. At first he suspected he had looked at the eldrich entity for too long as he could not see, but then he immediatley remembered how he had gotten to it in the first place. He chuckled, he got his power at the price of his mortal eyes, it was little cost to him.
Magic became his new eyes, Mahlachor could see in such a way that his old concept of vision was thrown out the window. His new vision allowed him to react faster, notice something sooner, and inspect details finer. He was at no handicap despite his appearance. However spending that much time in ones head is never good, soon Mahlachor sought powerful artifacts to enhance what he could already do. For hundreds of years he spent his time scouring the lands searching for staves, robes, dragon bones, gems, swords, anything imbued with a powerful magical energy that he could use. There was also the thought hanging around in the back of his mind. The one that seemed more insane the more it crossed his mind. Could he have that entity’s power? Was there a way to siphon it? He had to think this through,to be absolutely sure it would work before trying. Failure would certainly mean something far worse than death.
Mahlachor had seen the rise and fall of kings, the times of wealth and the times of poverty. He’d stalked the lands for nearly two thousand years and soon he would ascend to be their god. Mahlachor had found a way, a way to take the entity’s power for his own. The entity hadn’t lied when it offered him power, but now Mahlachor had outgrown his training wheels. He wanted the power of his master. Gathering his reagents together he was well aware that this may be the last time in a “mortal” body. Doing away with the eyes had done him just fine, who’s to know what this is to bring. The preparations would take him a few hours, after that the incantation for the ritual would last days, maybe even weeks. If all preformed correctly Mahlachor the rest will take care of itself.
In his conquest for items of magic power Mahlachor had collected much. Among the stacks upon stacks of books and gems lie an egg. When he happened upon it in a bazaar the man selling it told him it was a dragon egg, that with the right magical coaxing it would hatch and soon be a tool of his rage. This interested Mahlachor and he inquired about the price. The man’s response was much too high and distasteful to Mahlachor, he had the money and much more after that but he enjoyed “working” for things Later that night he crept back to the bazaar, approaching where the man lay asleep clutching his egg. Uttering a single word Mahlachor killed the man and took the egg from him. Despite his attempts over the years this egg has lain dormant. He assumed the egg was in too close proximity to the man, and whatever was inside died along with its original owner. However by tremendous circumstance and chance the egg did indeed hatch, while Mahlachor recited his incantations for the ritual. From out of the egg bounded a Dragonborn runt. Immediately taking a liking to its new home the newborn began running and bouncing all around. In its playful efforts it effectively fell from one of Mahlachors bookshelves landing on a rune drawn out before the entranced man. The rune began to fizzle and pop, fire shot from cracks forming inside of it lighting Mahlachors robes on fire. Mahlachor turned his head toward the flames briefly and in that second the portal opening before him writhed tightly together. In another instant a loud explosion of magic overtook Mahlachor. When he awoke he knew not who he was.
Closest to the edge of insanity now more than ever. He knows his name and his power over magic, but he does not know what brought him here. The constant struggle in his head, a battle over memories. What happened to his eyes, and more importantly why can he see without them.