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Able Typhonious 12/12
Able, having been bothered by recent events in his loss of memory about his life, decided to wander into the nearby village of Raenol. He felt the presence of others around him but mostly ignored them and shuffled his pale, fat carcas through the street, his face bent down and watching his feet. "What am I supposed to do, now?" he thought. "I'm a necromancer, but was I feared? Did I exist on my own in the wilds? What did I do? Where did I go? Have I ever used my magics before? Even once? All I can remember is having studied... many things..." Able looks up and sees a tavern. "The Belching Green Dragon Inn." he mutters to himself reading the sign. He slowly shuffles his way to the door and lets himself in. He looks around the room and sees a variety of people. He sits down at a table, and pulls some gold peices out of his pocket. He places them on the table and raises a finger for the wench to give him a drink. He then mutters to himself as he is handed a frothy cup of ale, "Let'see if killing some brain cells can't get my memory back." His back is turned to a few adventurers who seem to be ranting about some sacred forest or something. He doesn't really take much note of what they're saying, but he feels a bit curious.
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