Jacob Swift ran alongside his father, Robert Swift, to the trading post in Nashkel. A city just beyond the border of Amn. He noticed a peice of paper laying on the ground. He knelt down. Picking it up. Odd words, odd symbols...He softly began speaking the words. Trying to figure it out. Suddenly a bright light appeared in front of him. He cried out. Attracting his father's attention, who saw the light floating before him. His father ran towards him as fast as he could. While Jacob fell backwards. the light fizzling and dissappearing. He shivered...His father grabbed him. And could not believe it. His son was untrained in the arcane arts. That he'd managed that much was nothing less of a miracle. He had to be taught!

It took much of their family savings. But His father managed to hire 'The Mage' to tutor him. He'd had a little left over from before his wife had dissappeared. 'The Mage' was a strong wizard. knew much of the ways of spells. Sadly, he'd struck his head. And this geat Elven mage had forgotten much of his life. All he had left was his spells. Jacob did well. And after four years. He was working on most of the cantrips. Unfortunatly, now in order to get food on the table, and keep up his son's lessons, he had to work from sun up to sun down. Basicly, he would get home. Eat. Try to speak to his son some, and then collapse into bed.

One night, Jacob awoke. Hearing a scuffle in his father's room. He quickly went to it...Peeking inside. Only to find his father fighting to keep his blood inside his throat. Four men were busily searching his room. "Dammit, didn't you say this sod was rich?" "Had to be Charlie! He's got his son learning wizardry!" "Then why're they in this shack?" "You stupid git." Another said. toeing his father's body, who finally had succumbed to the blood loss. "They're keeping theives and tax collecters away." "I s'pose." The leader turned. "HEY! there's his brat! Maybe he knows where it is!" He stabbed at his arm. Jacob managed to dodge aside. And then suddenly felt an amazing energy he'd never felt before...Shouting out words he'd not yet learned. Manipulating magics that he'd never seen before. Powerful spells. A flash of light, and a wave of red energy flowed around him. Striking them all. Another one sent out another wave of energy. one fell over, clutching at his head as he suddenly died. The rest were barely alive when he finished it, three spells cast in rapid fashion. Pointing his finger at each target. They fell over. Their hearts stopped cold by the powerful magic...He fell to his knees...the magic that had flowed through his body made it tingle...he groaned softly before standing up.

He carried his father's corpse to the temple. The priest shook his head. "His body is too damaged...I cannot bring him back." Jacob stared at him...He'd heard of many more miraculous things happening due to divine magic. And this man was saying he'd not bring his father back? It was just a slit throat and several stab wounds. The funeral was hell for him...Watching his father's corpse slowly lowered into the hole. He made a vow. He'd bring his father back. Anyway possible. If the gods were willing to hand out such powerful spells to any cleric with half a brain...Surely, the art of arcane magic held something stronger...Better. His mentor gave him a scroll. And he exhumed his father's remains...He magically preserved it using the power hidden in the scroll. Sadly, he was discovered before he could find out much more from his mentor. He was chased out of town, deemed an abomination by the same church that had failed to save his father. And his childhood friends, as well as their parents chased him out of the town. Four years have passed since then...

His young body was not used to such powerful magics. Let alone the necromantic kind that he had spat out so much...It was that magic that saved his life. But as payment, it changed him. Permenantly. His skin paled. Until it looked like he might be a vampire in disguise. But he traveled much in the day, so no one ever suspected him of such. And his left arm. The arm through which many of the spells had been directed through. Slowly began to rot off. Once he realized this. He wrapped his arm in cloth. Attempting to keep it hidden from view. He was already in danger, due to himself studying the necromantic spells so much, attempting to find the power that would go past the spells of the divine. That would bring his father back. Whole, complete, and himself. Not some shambling corpse. Not some lich. Whole and alive... He despised this power that he had shown. He hated it. But he had to use it for now...Until he brought his father back. Then when he had that...all this power could go rot in the abyss for all he cared...