As an old man, Constantine still stands tall and manages to maintain an impressive figure that could, and does put many younger men to shame. Measuring 6 feet tall and clothed in the deep purple robes of his order made of the dyed furs of snow leopards, the thin gold trim around the edge being the only telltale sign of his standing within the order. A mane of white hair cascades down his back reaching its small. Of this, he is most proud, not graying like that of other most other men his age.
Now he hides his face beneath a large hood. A marked man. Horrendously scarred.
A disciple of Mathom in his early days after being pressured to join the priesthood, as was common practice among the noble families for the later born. Constantine grew up as the fourth son of a minor noble, the firstborn having signed up to serve with the Empiric Legion, the second to manage the fathers' estate and the third going into medicine.
As a youth he was notoriously lazy, escaping duties whenever he could. Being a nuiscence and prankster. There weren't many he didn't dare upset. Except Cook, you never upset the Cook. This, to his father was disgraceful, whilst at the same time it made it easy to decide which Order he would be sent to. Therefore, he was sent on his way to fathom his future amongst Mathom’s favoured.
It was on this journey that things became ever clearer to him. He’d left his father’s hold just before winter broke, barely 2 days away he found a raven and tended it for the duration of the winter it is now his faithful companion, having stayed with him since. Crossing through fields, almost at his journeys end he came across one of the peasantry. Stopping, he asked the man if he was in need of help, which the farmer gladly accepted, though he thought this extremely bizarre, a man clothed in fine garb, albeit somewhat worn from travel, standing in his field offering to help. Constantine stayed with the farmer for almost a year, helping the man, before deciding that he’d done enough and moving on to the temple.
Upon his arrival, he noticed one of its older priests standing under the main arch, smiling at him. “Welcome, Constantine, I have been expecting you for some time now, I see that you have been busy upholding that which we hold sacred...”
Time passed and Mathom’s influence grew, the young, impressionable rebel, became a devout priest, devoted wholly to his Gods cause: delay. Approaching his 58th birthday, and in declining health, the old man abdicated his post, asking those left to vote, as they always did when birthday drew near, the High Priest’s health worsened.
Author's Note: I'm kicking this out of my in work because it's been sat in there for way too long and I'd completely forgotten where on earth I was going with it. If anyone would like to complete or add to it, you are more than welcome. Just leave a comment or send me a PM/email if you would like to be added as a collaborative author. Cult of Done.
Additional Ideas (1)
He continued to not die for 40 more years before he grew tired of life. He was impossibly old for a mere human and completely bedridden. Death had stopped asking him if he was ready and would not answer his call now that he was. Constantine begged every caregiver who came to him to put him out of his misery, to send him to death via the express lane, but they would have none of it. He then began to beg for revival. "Put my brain in a young body! Transplant my soul! Replace my limbs! If I can't die I want to at least live!" he would painfully croak out to anyone who would listen. Someone listened intently.
One night, as Constantine lay sobbing in his bed, a doctor arrived. The doctor said he could give Constantine new life, he said he could give him back mobility and strength, but there would be a cost. Of course Constantine knew and expected to be the eventual case. He had finally attracted the attention of a necromancer! He was overjoyed at the thought. He said aloud that he would give anything to live again, to breath without pain, to run, to jump, to have the freedom of youth once more. The doctor asked for confirmation, "Anything? Anything at all?" Constantine reassured him, "Yes, yes, yes," until he was nearly out of breath. "Good." Said the doctor as he lit a small oil lamp.
A creature of nightmare stood before Constantine Mauro. A sickly, skeletal man with tight, red skin and eyes like hot coals. He ran a prickly finger of Constantine's lips, "You should sleep now." he said. Then he left.
When Constantine awoke in the morning he was... (A location? A mood? That's all I've got in me for this spur of the moment writing. Anyone able to finish some more?)