The threads of time are like the strands of a spider's web. There are countless of stories written in the land of Terrinoth alone, but only one shall be accounted here, at this time. I shall not tell the end of this story, if indeed there is an end, nor is it my place to even tell the pinnacles of this story, such as the encounter with the unspeakable master, the zombie king, Vorakesh himself or with the fellow hero Ronan, who some call of the wild. I shall give the story a beginning, but other voices will be needed to tell the tale in full.
Varikas was dead. He had been since the decline of the era of the Elder Kings, for he himself had been part of their demise. He had been a hired blade once, bought to rid Riverwatch of their despot. Though he had been freedom loving it had been coin and not conviction that guided his sword. Thereby it came to pass that he gave his life as well as taking the life from the Riverwatch's line of kings, but was denied the entrance to the High Heavens. A wandering spirit among the many that haunt the places of power across the land. It would be a sad tale if ended here, but unknown if through fate or fortune he gained the attention of a particular powerful spirit being. She was Korina, eternal antagonist of Margath, and less old but far more powerful than the champion she appointed to transcend the barrier of life and death once more. Her will pushed him into the mortal realm once more, with but the one obligation to stop Margath's resurrection through the hands of the necromancer Vorakesh. When Varikas the Dead awoke from the sleep so many believe eternal he found himself clad in his armor, his sword on his right, the bounty he never got to claim in life, three gold coins for the head of the king, on his left, his mind imbued with the knowledge to manipulate the essence of the living and his heart pulsating with the desire to shatter the plans of Vorakesh the Necromancer.