Krasgoth

A warlock cloaked in mystery and prestige, no one (not even Krasgoth himself) knows of his origins. His rich cloaks and finery speak of his wealth and bearing, but the past is by far a mystery to anyone who has seen him. Gambler, entertainer, soft spoken wanderer, mystic, demonic dabbler and velvet glove all in one, Krasgoth has quite literally seen the world, yet remembers none of what he was before his awakening in Brill.

The first stormy night
The first thing he remembers in his life is waking up in the midst of a pouring rainstorm, underneath a windmill in Agamand Mills. Soaked, looking only for cover and avoiding the marauding skeletons, he came to Brill, cloaked himself in a thin cloak and waited out the storm. His memory foggy, the innkeeper asked him if he knew where he was, where he had came from, and what he had done in the past. It was a common problem, forsaken gravitated to Brill, newly cursed or just searching for their bretheren. The trouble was, he had no idea what he was doing, why he was there, or what had happened to him. His skin and demeanor looked pale, but he was never sure if that was how he was in life, or an afteraffect of something that had happened to him. Confused and delirious, he was able to sleep, nestled up in the corner of the inn basement, being unable to pay even for a room. His dreams were tormented, dark visions of evils snatching at his very soul, and several times in the night he woke, sweat mingling with the raindrops on his cold skin.

Starting Anew
Krasgoth woke in the morning, still shaking from his restless sleep. An odd thought occured to him, as he checked his tattered clothes for reminders of who he was, or who he might have been. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a strange talisman that he would remember the rest of his days.