Lord Rhodar Von Glauer

• Biographical Information

  An undead (vampire)
  Died May 3rd, 1749
  

Watching the Dunmar Fellowship infilitrate his lair, Rhodar von Glauer thinks back. He can still remember his days among the living. He joined the Eyes of Vedmakov out of a sense of patriotism, he supposes. Misguided, it turned out.

In those days, the Rodyna Okolov was strong. The eyes and the shield, people said, Okolov and Morozmir, the watchers and the protectors, the heart of the defense of Ursk against the dragons of the north, always seeking to reclaim their power, to rise again in another great host, to see another Vimfrost take all the north.

He took to the magic of Okolov so easily. Even now, the Watcher’s Magic flows through him. Those fool adventurers don’t realize he has been watching them since they set foot on Drachen’s Peak, waiting patiently. They have shown skill and cleverness - they will make good lieutenants. No slow cold death in the snow, their minds consumed by Putrid Agnes, for them. A death of servitude in his army is what they deserve, and will get.

With his Sight, he advanced quickly. A boy from a tiny village in the foothills - from nothing, really - was soon taking the oath, and the binding, even being talked about as the next leader of the Rodnya Okolov. The one thing he misses, sometimes: the vast scope of his Sight back then, powered by the krev. Watching the whole of Ursk from the high towers in Vedmakov, seeing the plumes of magic, the occasional hole in the Morozmir wards that signaled a fool to be dealt with, being able to close his eyes and still see the pulsing waves of the krev flowing across the land....that was something.

But, how little he knew even then. Until he took the final step, and realized it was all a lie. His power was not his, was never his. It was always Ursk’s, and only for Ursk. The Rodnya Morozmir was too clever. The krev - the mighty krev, the arcane upwelling, now was a millstone, a noose around his neck. He had come from nothing, and thought he was growing strong, but it was all for naught. He was instead growing into a servant, utterly bound to the people who sacrificed for him. He was not free, even a little, not free even though he was the leader of the strongest Rodnya in Ursk. He could feel the iron walls of duty closing in fast, changing him, infiltrating his mind, and he had to escape.

He had his Sight, and somewhere there must be a solution. It was a little, nagging thing that gave him the answer. A petty hedge witch, who had made some kind of promise to a fiend, she knew not who, but it gave her power, and strength outside the krev. She was nothing, a pointless plaything for the devil. He, though, was far from nothing. She had to die, of course, but in her death, a deal could be made. Freedom, and eternal life, the only cost a price he would never pay, for he never planned to die. He even grew to love the taste of blood.

*He grins, in the darkness, eager for new blood to fill his ranks.