ALIAS: Mortimer (when he was alive)
AGE ‧ DOB: 220 ‧ 11.06.1272 DR
GENDER ‧ PRONOUNS: Male ‧ he / him
SEXUALITY: asexual ‧ single
RACE: undead wood elf
OCCUPATION: druid / wizard
HEIGHT: 6’2”
BUILD: mesomorphic; lanky
HAIR COLOUR: black w/ green highlights
EYE COLOUR: black sclera; green irises
COMPLEXION: pale ivory
FACE CLAIM: N/A (in-game model only)
Short, swept black hair with bright green bangs partially covers his left eye. A lanky, meek physique; wiry arms, stringbean legs gives doubt that he could lift even two jugs of ale above his head. Freckled visage asymmetrically dots across high cheekbones. The elf before you adorns himself in black robes embroidered with gold decorations that pops his ivory complexion. Black scleras house bright green irises. Twisting vines, originating from his neck's nape, spiral up under his jaw, diverting paths to outline the contours of his face and up his temples.
POSITIVE TRAITS: caring , attentive , respectful
NEUTRAL TRAITS: straightforward , absentminded , mellow
NEGATIVE TRAITS: blunt , apathetic , neurotic
GENERALLY SPEAKING: He is blissfully obedient, apathetic, cynical, and deadpan; has a dry sense of humor. Straightforward, despondent, blunt, and willfully ignorant. He’s the comic relief character embodying gallow’s humor.
ALIGNMENT: true neutral
TEMPER: melancholic
LIKES: cats , lying in shallow graves , starry skies
DISLIKES: boisterous revelry , being touched , insensitivity toward undead
GOAL: seeking personal atonement, mortice embarks on an arduous journey that constantly tests where his balance between life and death lie in terms of spellcraft. should he defer to his birth rite, the gift of nature may bloom wildflowers over decayed, weathered bones; on the other hand, persuaded by this line of thought, using myrkul’s “gift” bequeathed unto him through his necromancer master appealed to mortice’s insatiable appetite to exact revenge. thus, the latter option drives his motivation to look for assistance in carrying out said plan.
MOTIVATION: mortice is a recruitable companion in Act 2. Tav and co. can find him standing in front of the entrance into a hidden grotto. gnarled tree branches curling inward, the bark warped and contorted violently, corrupted by the magic that plagues these accursed lands.
If Tav agrees to aid Mortice in quelling the restless spirits of the hidden grotto, then Mortice will lead them to what was once a vibrant Druidic grove, now a husk of its former glory. Its beauty stripped away by necrotic magic.
After defeating the spirits that haunt the druid grove, Mortice will lament that he has no purpose to serve after fleeing from his necromancer master to which Tav then offers for Mortice to accompany them on their travels. Mortice initially refuses, but later can be found meandering the camp late at night into the next morning, deciding to join the group.
IN-DEPTH PERSONALITY: Mortice moves through life with the calm efficiency of someone who has long since stopped asking why. Orders are followed not out of loyalty or belief, but because resisting would require energy he refuses to spend. His obedience is blissful in its emptiness—a quiet surrender that lets him drift through chaos untouched. He listens, nods, and complies, wearing apathy like a well-ironed uniform. When things go wrong, as they inevitably do, he meets disaster with a flat stare and a comment so blunt it borders on rude, delivered in a voice so dry it could preserve fossils. Cynicism isn’t a worldview for him; it’s just the natural conclusion of paying attention for too long.
As comic relief, he thrives in the margins of catastrophe, puncturing tension with gallows humor that lands not with a punchline, but a shrug. His jokes aren’t meant to cheer anyone up—they exist simply to acknowledge how bad things are and move on. He’s despondent without being dramatic, funny without trying, and willfully ignorant in the way a person might close their eyes during a crash, not to deny it’s happening, but because watching won’t help. He states grim truths plainly, lets them hang in the air, then carries on as if that settles the matter. In a world full of panic and passion, he’s the steady, sarcastic reminder that none of this is new, and it probably won’t end well—but hey, at least it’s consistent.
WYLL RAVENGARD: one-sided crush.
ASTARION ANCUNÍN: friendly
GALE DEKARIOS: neutral
SHADOWHEART: neutral / bordering on friendly
MINSC: neutral
JAHEIRA: neutral
KARLACH CLIFFGATE: neutral / bordering on friendly
MINTHARA: neutral
IN-GAME STATS
LEVEL: 10
STATS: STR 8, DEX 15, CON 13, INT 15, WIS 16, CHA 8 (subject to change as i cannot find his original stats)
PROFICIENT: Intelligence and Wisdom Saving Throws, Simple weapons (though primarily uses his skull staff), Light Armor, Medium Armor, Animal Handling, Arcana, Nature, Medicine.
FEATS: War Caster, Resilient
CLASS: Druid (circle of the moon) / Wizard (necromancer)
RACIAL: Poison Resistance, Trance, Fey Ancestry, Dark Vision
BACKGROUND: The Haunted One
CURRENT EVENTS:
What is your character doing currently that gets them involved in the Party? — Providing medicinal support, stays up at night keeping watch, inputs his opinion whenever he’s brought into the party (ex. wanting to not go through with raphael’s deal, anything that pertains to / hints at slavery mortice is strongly against).
Are they tadpoled, when do they meet the party, who are initial or past connections that get them involved? — They are not tadpoled, they meet in Act 2, Gaslowe Grimalkin, his master, can be interacted before/after encountering Mortice, asking the party if they’ve happened across “[his] missing asset/property” and “to be on the lookout for it”.
COMMON KNOWLEDGE:
What are a few things that characters might know about your character? — He’s undead, he collects oddball objects and puts them in jars, he’s always self-deprecating, he respects the dead and abhors unconsensual Speak with Dead spellcasting, puts the emotions of others before his own, he’s a runaway servant.
What are some things that might have come out about your character that others can base interactions off of? — there is an ankle brace that gaslowe bound to mortice via enchantment that lets the necromancer subdue and dominate the undead’s mind at will. It has yet to be removed. (Planning to expand this particular bit soon–there is some conception of a dialogue interaction where the party confronts Gaslowe after the first two interactions with him, causing him to retaliate by re-awakening mortice’s insatiable hunger for flesh).
PLOT HOOKS/GOALS:
Where is your character going? — To overcome being his own worst enemy, and learn to accept his undeath rather than rejecting it and accepting that nobody will ever love him / appreciate him. That undeath is not a curse, but a second chance to live again, and for himself this time. To unlearn bad habits of self-loathing and wallowing. To be independent, and acclimate to this newfound freedom.
SECRETS:
What are some closely guarded secrets about your character? — The major one, at first, is his undeath. Afraid of persecution, and, potentially, murder. But, if the party doesn’t react negatively towards that, his next guarded secret is who truly took the lives of the druid grove he once called home–the same undead elf that walks among the party.
— what was once a father and husband now is the shell of a man who spends two centuries wandering in aimless trajectory, carried by the winds of fate to guide his path–help find him purpose. However, his conscience was once fractured and nigh irreparable; his healing after tasting freedom is a slow, yet gradual progress. Some scars can never fully mend.
— yesteryears of when in undying service to his master, a bloodied field of leaves and twigs illustrate chaotic scenery, carnage wrought upon by their former disciple of nature. stone tribute marred by deep scratches, living quarters ransacked savagely. tranquil no longer were his branches, forevermore stained in the blood of fallen cohorts. familiars’ morsel decorate once unblemished soil; families lacerated from head to toe.
— his separation from gaslowe grimalkin was discreet in the night, if one could discern time from within the shadow-cursed lands. Away from moonrise towers, from the cultists that lurked within. To return whence he came before the curse’s affliction–his old grove.
— soulless gazes and sunken features haunt his ever waking nightmare, plaguing his sense of reality with tangible delusions. Haunted by the lives he took in his blood-soaked hands.
— frenzied when famished, cryptic when cynical; cold when composed, and reserved when responding. mortice is a myriad of descriptors depending on whom you asked. all opinions chiefly relay a “mundanity about [him]”.
— after the finality of his village’s existence, his necromancer master orchestrated the Forgotton Grove, wherein mortice, and a small sect of raised druids, ensure there is sufficient death than life so that balance may be achieved within the natural world. He promoted mortice Archdruid.
— engrossing himself in trivial affairs of the dead, whereas some oft noticed interactions with the living resulted in self-deprecating remarks. reminded of his prior status as one necromancer’s servant, hence all he’ll ever be. an author’s past novel dredged up becomes his staple label.
— aided by adventurers as they traversed the shadow-cursed lands, mortice elects to join them, albeit reluctantly. They responded to his plea to help quell the lingering vengeful spirits of the grove he once called home. Feeling morally obligated to return the favor, mortice provides his services willingly.
— dragging his feet along the group’s journey, his help at camp is seldom at best. operating under the assumption his skills are needed solely for surgical procedures, or for medicinal care. in social situations, mortice will interject with dark witticism during serious discussions, be they concerning morality, philosophy or society. showing a disturbed sense of humor.
— he fancies the simple things in life. extravagant parties are not his forte, nor are luscious gifts or satin silk. yet indiscernible are these preferences when one looks upon his Druidic regalia—a physical antithesis to his laidback lifestyle and nonchalant demeanor.
— wiry arms covered by leaf-studded epaulets and vambraces, kept always to each side respectively. shoulders slump in perpetual slouch, coupling his hunched frame. head naturally cants to one side. when upright, he stands at six-foot four-inches. pale complexion compliments dark cosmetics surrounding a lake of glossy ebon scleras; harboring bright green pupils that stare blankly at naught. bags underline tired eyes.
— in undying service to his master, a bloodied field of leaves and twigs illustrate chaotic scenery, carnage wrought upon by their former disciple of nature. stone tribute marred by deep scratches, living quarters ransacked savagely. tranquil no longer were his branches, forevermore stained in the blood of fallen cohorts. familiars’ morsel decorate once unblemished soil; families lacerated from head, to toe.
— soulless gazes and sunken features haunt his ever waking nightmare, plaguing his sense of reality with tangible delusions. an ordinary creature that aimlessly moves in a muddied mire, seeking purpose.
— frenzied when famished, cryptic when cynical; cold when composed, and reserved when responding. mortice is a myriad of descriptors depending on whom you asked. all opinions chiefly relay a “mundanity about [him]”.
— engrossing himself in trivial affairs of the dead, whereas some oft noticed interactions with the living resulted in self-deprecating remarks. reminded of his prior status as one necromancer’s servant, hence all he’ll ever be. an author’s past novel dredged up becomes his staple label.
— there on his present conundrum arises: forced tadpole insertion via ocular region. ceremorphosis inevitable, mortice begrudgingly accepts his fate. Unfortunately, his newfound company did not.
— dragging his feet along their journey, his help at camp is seldom at best. operating under the assumption his skills are needed solely for surgical procedures, or for medicinal care. in social situations, mortice will interject with dark witticism during serious discussions, be they concerning morality, philosophy or society. showing a disturbed sense of humor.
— between the finality of his village’s existence, and his abduction aboard the mindflayer ship, he, and a small sect of Druids, orchestrated the Forgotton Grove, wherein they ensure there is sufficient death than life so that balance may be achieved within the natural world. He proclaimed himself Archdruid.
— he fancies the simple things in life. extravagant parties are not his forte, nor are luscious gifts or satin silk. yet indiscernible are these preferences when one looks upon his Druidic regalia—a physical antithesis to his laidback lifestyle and nonchalant demeanor.
— wiry arms covered by leaf-studded epaulets and vambraces, kept always to each side respectively. shoulders slump in perpetual slouch, coupling his hunched frame. head naturally cants to one side. when upright, he stands at six-foot four-inches. pale complexion compliments dark cosmetics surrounding a lake of glossy ebon scleras; harboring bright green pupils that stare blankly at naught. bags underline tired eyes.
