Necropolis

There was a dragon black as pitch

Who lived in a swampy ditch

But he found a leyline

Sat on it, felt fine

Until he felt the magical itch.

As his arcane mastery grew

Some mages and wizards it drew

There they all found a brother

And uplifted each other

In a spell they were no longer few.

But seeing them age

Filled the dragon with RAGE

Mortal talent and vim

Lost at his mother’s whim

Their souls would be free of her cage!

The dragon studied and tested

In centuries not once rested

For the ones she’d claimed before

And those that would come, evermore

The lock to her prison was bested!

His subjects, liberated of death

Devoted to last, unliving breath

Worked to the bone

Building his throne

To encompass all magical breadth.

The end of their labour was nigh

A miracle for any who descry

His wings unfurled

Spanning the world

Triumphant he soared to the sky.

Among all the differing tales told of Necropolis and his ascension little is shared, but the central theme of an ancient dragon plundering the depths of magic, inspiring mortals all around the world to flock to join him and his defiance against Dracule’s iron grip on the Planar Gates, allowing souls to return from beyond.

Necropolis offers his guidance to any who delve into the mysteries of spellcasting, even those who reject or scorn him. No matter the goal or the means, ambition for great deeds is what unites his followers in their quest for magical power.

Temples to Necropolis tend to lie on leyline crossings and places of power, often near or built into the towers of wizards who seek to be closer to such spots.