This Necromancer hails from Thornhold, north of Waterdeep on the Sword Coast. Once was a member of Fenders Brigands ( grave robbers, lead by a Half-orc named Fender ).

They were hired to desecrate an ancient tomb of a forgotten battle mage. After a costly battle with three separate waves of lesser undead skeletons and a nest of blood thirsty carrion crawlers, the band that once was 25 strong were down to 12.
Fender, his lieutenant Harrod ( a shifty eyed human thief from Baldurs Gate), Mavalak and the 9 remaining men.

When they finally came the center chamber they found their prize. A jewel encrusted sarcophagus stood against the far wall with litters of treasure strewn around the room. Upon entering a trap was triggered and four men fell to the floor having been sprayed with acid from the mouths of gargoyle statues along the walls. Their cries echoing through out the tomb. Much of the treasure was destroyed in the process. The survivors quickly and carefully divided up and began to collect the remaining loot.
Fender, Harrod and Mavalak move to the sarcophagus. As they approach their torches reveal the body of a war torn battlemage whose name has been forgotten to the ages. In his right hand a mighty sword and in his left......, the sight almost knocks Mavalak to his knees!
The Scepter of Tarquinn, a most unholy instrument of dark magic. A broken femur from a Grand Vampire Lord adorned with a glowing red gem topped with a ivoryl Baatezu skull.

Fender and Harrod are blinded with greed as the quicken their pace towards the evil rod. They fallout into a footrace to the artifact as Harrod trips his long time boss in effort to have the Scepter for his own. Fender hits the ground hard, cursing, as Harrod reaches the lip of the box and laughs whole heartedly as he reaches down to gather his new weapons. Only to receive the mighty sword in the face as the corpse reanimates as a terrifying lich. Harrod's puzzled and horrified look spoke volumes as he slowly slid down the length of the sword and hit the ground with a sickening wet gurgling slap.

The lich turned his attention to the unaware grave robbers hard at work gathering his possessions. A light grew in depths of the orb atop the wicked scepter. As the light grew brighter Mavalak could feel his life-force being drained and relayed to the scepter. With a scream the light, brighter like a small red sun, focused into single thin beam disintegrating all it touches. One by one they fell to this wicked weapon as Fender cried out to warn his men.
The lich's crackling laughter filled the room and his mind. Having finished of the last of the men it turned towards their masters. Fender jumped to his feet and his magical war hammer seemed to appear in his hands as he ran yelling a fierce war cry towards certain death.

Mavalak scrambled to his feet and let off a barrage of lighting bolts to help his friends effort. He did manage to hit the lich in the head causing it to stagger for a moment as Fender smashed into the undead beast. The war hammer slamming into the lichs wrist as it tired to fend off the half-orcs attack. The scepter fell to the ground seemingly purposely rolled to Mavalaks feet. As he lifted this almost weightless weapon, his mind raced.
The lich cried out in anguish and it’s undead gaze fixated on the scepter now in Mavalaks hands.

Fender howled as he swung his +4 war hammer relentlessly against the lich, who appeared marginally unaffected by the damage. Ever moving towards the specter. A stab in the ribs and a sonic blast sends Fender flying into Mavalak, disrupting his incantation. They regain their composure as the lich perpares for another sonic barrage. Standing with his left hand on Fenders shoulder, Mavalak restarts the incantations for his most powerful spell when a voice began to speak in his mind in a language he does not understand. To his horror he realizes he was repeating these words and a surge of power traveled though his left hand and erupted out of the scepter in his right hand, burning a path in between. Fenders agonizing screams are muted by the ecstasy of power.

A massive explosion echoes through out the tomb. The spot were the lich once was now a burning scar and the lifeless husk that once was Fender crumbles under its own weight.

Now Mavalak now stands alone amongst to debris. As the moment replays itself in his mind he looks down to see his right hand smoking. Still clutching the scepter, skin burned away and the bones exposed. But no pain, just a soothingly evil sentient voice of the scepter in his mind, assuring him it was all worth while.
There is no limit to his ambition with the strength the the artifact bestowed upon him.

The Scepter knew it was time for a new master, having had completely drained it's former owner.

The scepter contains the soul of a ancient Vampire Lord and draws its power from all life around it including in part the wielder. The fact that with every spell the caster move a little closer to becoming a lich was of little consequence compared to the power revealed!!!!!!

One of my most beloved characters I played as a teen aged D&D enthusiast

Head: Kratos( gods of war)
Body : Gandalf the gray ( LOTR)
Right hand & spell book : Xaltotun the Undead ( Conan )
Staff: Thick twisty tie with lighter gage wire wrapped around , fodder from spawn weapon and costume jelery
Not sure were the scepter came from.
Hood: Jyn Erso (SWBS)
familiar : adolescent Wyvern ( Game of Thrones )
Dagger: Drax the Destroyer (ML)