Ragnar, the Malignant

In the deep recesses of the Underworld, where the air is thick with the whispers of the departed and the ground bleeds shadows, I, Ragnar, found my calling. It’s peculiar, isn’t it? How a human, flesh and blood, walks the lands of the dead, not as a lost soul but as a sovereign of the dark. My story, like any other, begins with a choice, a moment that defines the rest of one’s eternal existence.

One fateful day, as if guided by destiny itself, I chanced upon a cursed ring containing the imprisoned essence of Atropal, the Soul Weaver, a demon lich of unimaginable power—an encounter preordained by the threads of fate. He promised me power, the strength to bend the veil between life and death to my will. And I, in my hubris, accepted. To free Atropal was to unlock the secrets of necromancy, to command the undead and to peer into the abyss.

Led by Atropal to the world of the dead, I was a living anomaly among the unending legions of the undead. But it was there, in that realm of eternal dusk, that I truly found my purpose. The power to command, to control, to create. It was intoxicating. Atropal, true to his word, offered me the ultimate gift: to transcend mortality, to become immortal. And I accepted, without hesitation. Because to command death is to be free from its shackles, to become something ..more.

So here I stand, Ragnar the Malignant, a necromancer of unparalleled power, a ruler in the land of the dead. My story is one of many in this realm, each as complex and intriguing as the last. But remember this, seeker of tales: in the pursuit of power, in the dance with death, one must be willing to pay the ultimate price. For in the world of necromancy, nothing is given without sacrifice.