Black as night, Vikander is a silent, sullen, shadow.

A pure blooded Friesian, his coat is a glistening ebony with not a single hair of white, allowing him to blend and weave with the shadows that make up the hallways of the Den. He stands at an average height, as is common with his breed, topping at a humble 15.3 hands high. Waves of thick black curls tumble down his neck and frame a surprisingly handsome, alluring face, his noble features found undeniably attractive to both mare and stallion alike. Vikander’s eyes are a piercing stare of ice blue, a strange hollowness dancing behind his otherwise bright and breathtaking eyes. Both his expression and mannerism can be quite severe and brunt at the best of times, but that is simply his neutral state of being. Not to say, of course, that his handsome visage can’t be swept up in charming, eager smiles and knowing eyes, but rarely when engaged with a stranger.

Vikander has a strangely noble and elegant build, but hardly would one see it with how he moves. When he moves, he does so at a shuffling pace, almost hunched over himself as he clutches his books and tomes close to his chest. Eyes averted, he focuses on the path in front of his hooves as he walks, rarely meeting the gaze of the individuals he pass.

Reclusive; Vik prefers to tend to his own devices and enjoys his silence. More often than not, he’s holed up in his workshop within the Den, covered in expensive inks, soot from experiments gone wrong, or various excrements from different components.

Socially Awkward; perhaps it was the loss of his beloved wife and daughter that altered Vik’s mind, poisoning it with rot and ichor, leaving him marred and broken and the shell of his former self. Perhaps he was simply always this way. Regardless of the cause, Vik is awkward and inept in most social situations, stuttering over his own words and more than often needs to be pulled out of, in his opinion, ’unsavory conversations’ by the ever watchful Aghavni or August.

Obsessive; to him, his work is everything. A man fueled by the desperation of loss, he has a bit of a ‘one track mind’, obsessing and focusing entirely on the fine intricacies and components needed of a rather complex spell before solving and ultimately mastering it, only to move on quickly to the next.

Forgetful; a bit of a klutz and terrible with remembering the most mundane of things (to eat, to bathe on occasion, to sleep, realize he’s been wandering for an unknown amount of time and cannot recall where he is, etc.), Vik tends to just accept his forgetful nature, knowing that in the end, none of that is truly important. He will never, ever forget a component of a spell, however, knowing each and every segment and incantation by heart. Just as well, he will never forget the sound of his wife’s melodic voice, soothing and beautiful, nor forget the sight of his daughter’s cherubic face.

Eager to assist and help out to anyone in the Den; despite his shortcomings, Vik really does have a heart of gold, even though he honestly has no idea what to do with it. Oftentimes the individuals he helps would rather he not, given his tendencies of fumbling with almost everything he touches.

Intense; despite the fact that he is anything but, Vikander can oftentimes come off as ‘intense’ or ‘intimidating’ simply by his rather blank-faced demeanor.

Soft-hearted; akin to a bleeding heart, Vikander truly is a good guy. Once upon a time he probably believed in the underdog, believing in the goodness of the world, but since the death of his wife and daughter such ideals have left him. He still believes in a goodness of the heart, however, and while troubled and struggling at times, he does his best to achieve it.

Imposter Syndrome; he is a talented mage and magic user, yes, but Vik believes himself unworthy of the praise or recognition such talents reward him with. The losses he has suffered have tarnished his own self-image to a near imparable degree.

Survivor’s Guilt; due to the death of his wife, Elisbet, and their daughter, Lieve’tel, Vikander is plagued by what many call ‘Survivor’s Guilt’. The knowledge that he survived when they did not is a stain to his mind, and perhaps one of the underlying causes of his self-neglect and general despondency.

Bookish; a very learned fellow, Vikander’s well of knowledge runs deep. Back home there was not a book that he hadn’t read, choosing instead to relax with a nice book than most other forms of respite. Just as well, he is also a pool of what some would call ‘pointless knowledge’, able to recall particular events or dates that truly hold little importance.

Loyal; somehow, despite everything, loyalty formed in his heart. What was once a contract has formed into something more, becoming a deeply rooted loyalty to the Den and the White Scarabs. After all, the Proprietor had promised him the tools and money necessary to achieve his goal. Why not pledge his loyalty in return?

“Summer, Year 500;

Today was a nightmare.

With the king dead and the throne usurped, I quickly ushered Elisbet and Lieve'tel to the shipyard along with a number of other citizens that managed to flee before the backlash of war could strike us all. To stay meant imprisonment or death, perhaps worse, and I could not risk such a fate to befall my beloved wife and daughter, so we fled, boarding the vessel with a number of others.

I have little to regret, I must admit. All of my studies, my life’s work, my concoctions and spells, lost because of a petty squabble blown completely out of proportion. As tragic as it is, I cannot let myself grow lost in it. At least I was able to obtain my spell books before we departed, and even then, I would trade every ounce of magic within my very veins if it meant keeping Elisbet and Lieve'tel safe.

Mid-Summer, Year 500;

Elisbet has grown ill, too fatigued to lift herself from her sick bed. I worry for her. She has always been so frail, so sickly. Bringing Lieve'tel into the world nearly took her from me, but through medicine and her determination, she persevered. Now… Now, I fear the worst. There is little I can do to help her other than ensure that she is comfortable. The supplies on this wretched ship are sparse and few, and we do not know how much longer we will be at sea.

Lieve has developed a cough similar to her mother’s, and I realize now, as this pen shakes in my grip, that I have never truly known fear before.

Late-Summer, Year 500;

Oh, my precious, beautiful Elisbet… My heart cries in grief, in agony, my body wracked by the most terrible of anguish as our souls were ripped apart by the cruel, unforgiving skeletal hands of death. I cradled her against me as she breathed her last breath, watching those beautiful eyes of gold close one final time. I could scarcely believe it. In a way, I do not truly remember what had happened after she was gone. The memories are there, yet so very faint.

Magic. The familiar, intimate bond that I had swelled and pulsed through the cabin. It would protect Elisbet until we arrived. Lieve’s cough had gotten worse. She, too, could hardly rise with such illness and lethargy coursing through her. I cannot lose her, too. I won’t survive it.

Late-Summer, Year 500;

The remaining light within my life has been snuffed out, and I am falling. There is nothing left.

- There is a break in entries, the journal forgotten. -

Winter -I believe?-, 500;

Novus. That was where we landed. I recall little from that time, nor can I recall how I wound up where I’ve been spending my days. The local pub along the dockside have become my usual haunt, where I drown the memories of my beloved Elisbet and my beautiful Lieve'tel. They’re so close, but… Once, I’d had hope. With my gifts in the arcane, endless and powerful as they were, I could cheat death itself and yank them away from it’s cruel hold, bringing them back to me, yet this damnable land stripped me of my abilities. I could not bring them home.

It is only now that I can think with a clear head. How much time has passed since we arrived? It’s winter, now, the taste of wine and whiskey heady and sour on my tongue. Even now, I am chasing the high of a lingering hangover, but my mind is far more clear than it has been in many moons.

A man of sorrel and crimson approached me yesterday. Senna. He promised me what I could no longer do. Perhaps it was the burning drink that caused me to spill my hidden truths. Senna did not judge or ridicule. He stared at me with those unnerving scarlet eyes, smiled, and then offered to help me. He claimed that he could give me the money and space to continue my work, that he could assist me in regaining my lost magics, and that I was welcome in his domain. Through Senna’s assistance I could bring my wife and daughter back. He did not wait for my reply, but handed me a small card and told me to contact him, should I accept.

There was never any doubt that I would.”


From then on out, Vikander joined Senna, and a year later the White Scarab was formed within the heart of Denocte. The warlock assisted with keeping the glamours and spells surrounding the Den up and running, scribing spells and potions for those who needed it, and as promised, he was given his own chambers and workshop. No one else, knew, that hidden within the Den itself were the magically preserved bodies of his wife and daughter, because one day, Vikander knew he would have everything that he needed to bring them back to life.

Soul Weaving

Parvus: ‘Dead Sense’ - Vikander has the ability to sense whenever dead spirits and lost souls are near, which enables him to use them for his magic.

Discipuli: Through manipulating the energy belonging to the souls of the dead, Vikander is able to ensnare each soul and create basic enchantments to simple items; jewelry, trinkets, small weapons, etc. At this tier Vikander is also able to weave the departed souls of creatures and equines back into their original bodies, but it has a 25% chance of success. Regardless if it is successful or not, Vikander will suffer severe physical exhaustion for half of an IC season.

Vexillum: More attuned to his magic at this tier, Vikander finds his enchantments easier to handle and create. By now he is able to create stronger enchantments for a varied selection of items; larger weapons and shields, armors, outfits, etc. In terms of returning lost souls to their bodies, Vikander now has a 50% chance of success, and the duration of his physical exhaustion has been cut in half upon success.

Periti: At this tier, Vikander is close to mastering his skills, but not quite. At this level he can enchant almost any item that he is provided with, and the enchantments can now be quite strong; storing magic for a one-time use, offensive/defensive spells, etc. Just as well he now has a 75% chance of successfully returning a departed soul to their original bodies, with only a week of severe physical exhaustion.

Dominus: Finally, Vikander has finalized his craft. A master warlock and arcane enchanter, the limits to his soul-binding enchantments are few and far between. From small, unassuming trinkets to large, elaborate sets of armor, he can infuse almost any form of enchantment into it. Simple or complex, nothing is out of the realm of possibility for him. Bringing back the dead by returning souls to their bodies now has a 100% chance of success, but he may suffer one or two days of exhaustion before shaking off the after effects.

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Outfit: An acolyte's robe, simple and modest. Beneath the robe itself are a set of leather book-holsters that wrap around the man's shoulders, used for carrying two spell books beneath the robes, as well as pouches for components and clasps for scrolls.

Enchanted Necklace: A simple pendant upon a silver chain, it was enchanted with Vikander's magic prior to entering Novus. The necklace itself has captured the voices of his wife and daughter, and whenever he wills it, can replay their words over and over again.

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