He was a beloved noble in the kingdom he called home — renowned for his wit, hospitality, and impeccable taste in art, fashion, and fine tea. Despite his aristocratic status, Elias was deeply empathetic, known for charitable work and advocating for the downtrodden.

But death, as it often does, interrupted everything.

Elias succumbed not to age, but to a mysterious wasting curse inflicted upon him during a plague he volunteered to help fight. Yet, he did not stay dead. In his final hours, desperate and alone in his mansion, Elias reached for a forbidden tome—a relic gifted by a peculiar traveler who had warned, “This path preserves… but it changes.”

What returned from that study was no longer Elias in full. Now a skeletal figure animated by necromantic energy and bound by half-remembered emotions, he emerged wearing his finest top hat and cloak, more stylish in undeath than most living nobles could dream of.

Despite the decay, he maintained his refined demeanor, speaking with cultured charm, sipping imaginary tea from real porcelain, and hosting soirées where the guests are... less talkative (reanimated skeletons dressed in ruffled coats). He remains obsessed with art, beauty, and the rituals of civility—even if his aesthetic tastes now lean toward the macabre.

Yet something darker lurks beneath his civility. Necromancy is not a gentle art. Whispers fill his mind—some ancient, some of his own making—urging him to embrace his dominion over death. Though he tries to be kind, every reanimation chips away at the man he once was. He wants to help, to protect, to uplift—but now he has the power to control, and that temptation grows ever sweeter.