Name: Shealtiel Avshalom
Class: Servant of Sheol
Abilities: Spiritual senses, command undead, animate dead, exorcise undead and demons, heal wounds, fear aura, body regulation, death magicks (all powers inflict some degree of bodily strain, proportional to the power of the spell.)
Items: Purification Filter, Medial Interface Device, Interdiction Badge
Physical Description: 57 years old, 5' 9” with hunched shoulders, sickeningly thin. Thinning white hair which he wears long; he shaves the top of his skull where he has begun to bald. Faded green eyes. Dresses only in gray, usually in a woolen robe. Wears a heavy dark violet mantle and carries an ebony walking stick.
Background: Before the Eschaton, Shealtiel (though he went by a different name, then) had just completed schooling in theological studies. Born in Acre, he came from a well-off family and was raised to be shrewd, doubting, and critical. For most of his life before the End Times, he was an acolyte of the ancient mysticism of the Qabalah and a deeply spiritual individual.
When the False Prophet came, and when the Beast razed Old Jerusalem, Shealtiel's family were all killed in the carnage, or were later lost in the nuclear chaos of Battle of Armageddon. He had been studying abroad in Greece at the time, and was spared the brunt of the catastrophes.
Since then, he has renounced his previous faith and become terribly bitter. He mourns for his family and the life he once had. When he heard the whispers of Sheol calling to him, he heeded them eagerly, hoping to commune with the spirits of his loved ones, but to his dismay, they were not within the Realm of the Dead.
Too late to escape the chilling clutches of Sheol's magicks, Shealtiel instead embraced them, and has taken to wandering the desolate earth, fighting against Abaddon's hordes wherever he finds them. He has lost count of how many spirits he has sent shrieking back into the cold darkness.
But this private war has taken its toll on him, body and soul. He is aged beyond his years, and finds no joy in life. Trust comes slowly to him, and he usually avoids large settlements, as he is able to sustain his body with his magicks for months at a time without needing to eat or drink. When he does venture into cities, he always makes himself available to the local militia, should an attack occur.
His name, which he chose upon forsaking all he once knew, means “Asked God for Peace”.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.