Lord Desideratus Constantin Lycurgus Xenophon, Ehrkun of Gorizda, Sixth of His Name (aka Betty)
An unsavory, and undead, Usbezhi noble hell bent on rescuing his great-great-granddaughter's (who's body he currently posseses) soul from the Underdark
My story is a grim tale, at best. I was born to a minor, noble house of Usbezhuan, a land populated largely by anti-theist, human psionics. Unfortunately for me, they possess a rather hostile disposition to the magically-inclined, and even more so to necromancers, such as myself, but more about that later.
My youth was very short, I came to lead my House early in life. My father, Erhkun Desideratus V, would have let our lands burn, for all his care. When he wasn’t exacting revenge for his faults and failures upon me, he was far too preoccupied with gambling our province, Gorizda, into catastrophic debt and would have rather plowed every whore in the Usbezhi Kingdoms than attend court. I cursed him with a particularly potent and magically resistant strain of, I forget, either leprosy, gangrene, plague. In any case, he died miserably. On the other hand, my mother was a most loving woman, but an exceptionally poor regent. Our ministers convinced her that undermining our name and title were the best course for the realm. I had Almos, my then-living manservant, unwittingly serve her evening tea with hemlock, her death was peaceful. The ministers were ravaged by zombies. Their listening compatriots were most amenable afterwards.
I was a stern, but fair, lord. My people were fed and defended, infrastructure was renewed, and I had managed to settle my father’s debts. Like any good Usbezhi, I sought to minimize the influence of gods and demons on the Material Plane. Being the plaything of a petty celestial-scale infant did not sit well with me. However, lacking any psionic potential, I saw the utility of magic and became quite adept. Necromancy, particularly. To say my subjects took exception to that, when the subject was broached, would be a gross understatement. They saw fit to have me poisoned, shot, stabbed, hung, stretched, disemboweled, drawn and quartered, and burnt at the stake. Imaginably, most of my works were destroyed afterwards.
While my physical vessel expired, I continued to exist, though banished to the Underdark. The experience was hardly pleasant, even if I could remember more, I would rather not revisit the details.
Finally, the present. Evidently, one of my progeny, found one of my lost works. An addendum to a core grimoire. I must give credit where it is due, my great-great-granddaughter is bold and most clever to decipher my works and extrapolate a facsimile of one of the most sophisticated rituals known to men or gods. Yet reckless. Had she considered the risks involved with the ritual, I doubt she would have attempted it. In attempting to wrest me from the clutches of Lolth, the ritual backfired and cost her dearly. Rather than true resurrection, she inadvertently traded her own soul for mine and all of its associated benefits.
I am bound and determined to rescue her, for she has not the spiritual fortitude nor contingencies that I had prepared in the event of my death. She will not last long. The odds are not in her favor and I am hampered. The ritual was incomplete, much of me is still there. There are vast chasms within my mind that were once rife with arcane knowledge. Distressing. Regardless, the Underdark is no place for little girls. There is no time to lose.