You see Mayor Walkar Wellington. He appears to be a Human. He is tall and appears to be mature. He has brooding, very dark-ringed clover green eyes and pale skin. He has a short, shaven head of strawberry blonde hair. He has a muscular face, a small nose and a trimmed strawberry blonde beard and numerous scratches and claw marks along his neck. His right arm and hand are skeletal and thin crimson veins twist across his cheeks. Specks of red light periodically flicker along his crimson breastplate. He is in good shape. He is wearing a long grey leather cloak, a golvern-bound black lantern shield, a smooth grey leather satchel, a shimmering dark crimson breastplate, some black plated steel arm greaves, a large silver-stringed sack, a wide mesh axe harness, a pair of black leather trousers, and a pair of steel-toed boots.
Walkar's mother died when his younger sister was born, driving his father into alcoholic rages which he took out on her. Finally, one night, many years later, Walkar acted to protect his sister, which led to the accidental death of his father. Walkar was then put into the Jantalarian army where he eventually marched on Wehnimer's Landing under the command of Baron Hochstib. In the battle, Walkar refused to kill a helpless woman in the street, so he was wounded by his own brothers-in-arms and left for dead, where he was nursed back to health by a local townsperson.
Years later he joined the Town Council of Wehnimer's Landing and in Eonatos 5110 he was elected as mayor, succeeding Mayor Stennis. In 5111, Walkar was framed by Grishom Stone for the murder of a prominent Landing citizen named Colson and chased out of town. In early 5112, Walkar returned to help the Heroes of Wehnimer's launch a final assault against Grishom Stone. Upon his return, Walkar was in the possession of a crimson breastplate that was given to him by Elithain Cross. The armor was revealed to be cursed, and while it kept Walkar from dying, it also fueled his rage, began to darken his moods, and just recently caused the flesh from his right arm to melt off, leaving only a skeletal arm behind.
During the climax of the Talador invasion Mayor Walkar ordered all of the Taladorians in the camp raised after the army had been defeated. Standing with Sir Cryheart the city largely refused, but not all. Others accompanied Mayor Walkar to an area near the Elven village where the Taladorian camp was stationed where he set to burning and killing indiscriminately. Sir Metadi, Sir Bristenn, Geijon, and others confronted Walkar and later engaged him when he wouldn't cease killing non-combatants. He was eventually killed and his neck severed by Geijon Khyree that took a turn for the worse. With his rage uncontained and his powers beyond his control, Mayor Walkar was warped into the abomination.
He then raised all the dead in the vicinity and marched his undead army on Wehnimer's Landing. He toyed with the defenders until retreating south into the Dead Fall Forest or Walkar's Woods that was predominately made up of the blood trees that had spread throughout the area.
He would initiate multiple attacks on Wehnimer's Landing and one upon Solhaven that the military of Vornavis and adventurers responded to and deflected. He was melted down to his armor by the Hall of Mages Wizard Malvernus, but he reformed and retreated.
Collecting items from the Wyrdeep forest and preparing alchemy supplies through a recipe provided by Grishom Stone the abomination was returned back to his cursed state and restored his sanity with the warning it would return as his rage and power was used.
Upon his return to his senses, he laid low as to not expend his energy or become enraged. He did, however, defend the city of Wehnimer's Landing in a significant capacity during the climactic battle with Elithain Cross, Althedeus, and the forces of darkness.
Walkar Wellington passed away the following evening after the death of Elithain Cross. He said his goodbyes while chopping wood with his friends and residents of Wehnimer's Landing. He was eulogized by the Landing priest and buried in the Temple graveyard.
The following letter was written by Walkar to his sister shortly before his death.
It has been awhile since I have sent word. You above all understand, words and ink have never been my strong suit. I am sure news will reach you of what has happened north of the Empire, and perhaps you'll hear of it before even receiving this letter, which means you may never wish to read this at all. It is my hope you still do, because this will be my last. I have regained some shred of my humanity again. I know you will hear stories of the monster I became. I know you will hear tales of the horrors I brought and the death I ushered in. All of it is true. Every last word. I wish I could tell you I was a victim, but I allowed arrogance and hatred to blind my actions and decisions, and in doing so I opened the door to allow the darkness in. I fought it for so long, I truly did. But in time it became too much, and now in retrospect, I know that the carnage and tragedies I caused even while I struggled are forever etched in history, and nothing I do now can change that." I would dare say sister, that perhaps even your Goddess may look upon my deeds upon death and cast me aside, surely I wouldn't be permitted beyond the gate into any kind of peace that I no longer deserve. As stubborn as I can be, I will not fail to ask you to pray to her on my behalf. Perhaps she will honor your virtue and heart. I am sorry I never sent for you, to visit and see this town that is my new home. I think it is better that you were away. I think it was safer. You will no doubt hear of what happens to those I love. I worry even now, that when I die, what kind of pain will I still bring about? Do you think she will move on? Or did I bring her suffering in life, and will only leave her with more in death. Will her heart heal as easily as she can with wounds of the flesh? I cannot be certain. I wish you could have known the people of Wehnimer's Landing, and seen the town for what it was, when I was still here to show you. Even if you come now, after all of these years, it will not be the same. Even as I write this, there still exists so much division. The shadows have been stopped, a horrible fate has been averted, and Cross is dead. Even without seeing any of this with my own eyes, I know it to be true, because the glow of my armor is gone. But with all victories, there comes a cost. Were my death the only price to pay, I would gladly welcome it. But more than dying, I fear for Wehnimer's Landing. I fear that the fractured hearts and minds that the shadows divided and manipulated will not recover. I fear that the heart of the town, that has now been splintered into so many slivers it is almost impossible to count, will turn further inward with paranoia and cruelty. The streets of Wehnimer's hold so many walks of life, each with their own unique song to be heard. Our enemy was successful in one thing, and that was isolating the many. The shadows shattered friendships, stirred up mistrust and betrayal, and we all danced by the pull of its wicked strings. No one escaped that. No one was left without even the smallest tarnish. I am worried that the town will leap at every shadow, misjudging allies and friends, while blindly ignoring new enemies. I am worried that the lessons we should have learned from our conflict with Althedeus will be ignored, and history will simply repeat itself. I do not want the countless lives lost, my own included, to be in vain. I do not want the fires and destruction of yesterday to simply have been placeholders for the next ones. I do not envy those who will take over after me. It is not an easy role, to place more importance upon the people we serve, than on our own emotions. Too often I fell victim to my rage, to the anger of the here and now. Had I a chance to do things over again, I would, and differently. Oh Abygail, despite my uncertainties, there are still sparks of hope in my dying heart. I know some will mourn me, and some will never forgive me. They are all perfectly right to do either. I know when I am gone, the town and people will continue. No one person is Wehnimer's Landing. That is where my hope comes from sister. While my apprehension is certainly founded, I like to dream that the town can be rebuilt out of the ashes of this conflict. Not simply with new walls and buildings, but with a renewal of hearts, a rekindling of friendships and a rejection of evil. It is my hope that the wisdom of acceptance rises above the words of poison. I used to be so selfish. I used to think that I had sacrificed so much for this town and its people, who were often ungrateful, or too blind to see it. I have never been a bigger fool in my life. Historians may look back on my legacy, and I cringe at what they will see or say. Some will claim I was a great leader and warrior and a man of action. Others will say I was stubborn, irrational and eventually, an abomination. Both descriptions would be accurate, but I worry what people will remember the most. I worry which path won out in the end. For each life I saved with defined leadership, did I not just squander it away when I allowed myself to succumb to darkness? I allowed a ship full of imperial enemies to return to their homes after we captured them. They had been sent with the intentions to attack us. A measure of good, was it not? Except at my weakest point, when I lost all control, I left in my wake a bloody and fiery path of destruction, countless innocent lives lost. My sacrifice has been nothing in comparison to those around me. To the townspeople of Wehnimer's Landing. No one felt the burden of my decisions more than they did. What would your Lady Winter say to that? How would she judge me in that? Elithain Cross is no longer a threat. Althedeus, the shadows, are no longer a threat. I am no longer a threat. I won't lie. A part of me had hoped that by some miracle or chance, that when Cross died, I would still live. I had wondered, perhaps even prayed, that the curse of this armor would carry on, even if for a little while longer so I might see another summer, or steal another kiss. None of this is happening, and none of it should. Colson buried his son, he had no promise of a second chance. Now he's buried next to him, and countless others. More victims. More lives ended by my decisions. Why would the heavens deny them a second chance, and give it to me? I suppose in that, there is indeed justice. Death does not discriminate. My hands are tired. Even breathing is a chore. I have written more than I should, and I am sorry. I did not want my last words to you to be of weakness. I wanted you to know that I loved you, and our mother. I have never blamed you for her passing. I have never blamed you for our father's blood on my hands. We have both made difficult choices in this life, my journey is simply shorter than yours. I hope you are well, and I hope you will one day find love. I have experienced it, and while only for a fleeting moment in my life, I will cherish it until the end. I only hope you will know it for much longer. Do not lose sight of yourself in the service to others, I beg of you. My people are still recovering from the gruesome battles of last night. Despite the outcome, the streets are not filled with cheering. Many are tending to the dead and wounded, many are digging through rubble, and many are looking to me still, foolishly, for some kind of command. Some kind of order. I cannot be their leader anymore. I am a shell of the man I was, and they would do well to bury me quickly and move on. They would do well to restore that promise of greatness that this town can know. I am going to miss them all. Everyone who stood beside me, I will miss them. Everyone who stood against me, I will miss them. Their hearts, their passion, their mutual admiration and love for Wehnimer's Landing. I will miss Winston. It breaks my heart to think of what will become of him. He has never known life without me. Even now he snores loudly in the corner, oblivious to all of this. When he wakes, I will likely be gone. I hope he will be cared for. No, I know he will be. I can hear the townspeople at work, many of them already out in the fields, clearing trees with a purpose. That's all we can do, isn't it? Learn and rebuild. Heal and restore. I do not know how useful I will be out there. But I'm going to try. My axe holds enough blemish, I wish it to know something better before the end. I haven't much longer, even as I write, my hands shake and I know it is my vision and not the candles that are dimming. I'm going to go join them now. To chop down some trees. It is not a grand heroic finale to a hardened warrior that we had always read of. But it is the most fitting I can think of. I have no control over my legacy, or what people will say of me, or remember about me. But I can decide how it will all end. I do not want to gasp my final breath stuck here, in a shrinking office overlooking a troubled town. I want to be out there, among my friends and loved ones, regardless of any differences. I want my last breath to touch the open air, and I want to know that no matter what I've done, my last moments in this world were spent rebuilding the promise of a town I held so dear. Goodbye. With love, Walkar.
Behind the Scenes
Mayor Walkar's grave is located in the Temple Graveyard in Wehnimer's Landing. It is a smooth granite headstone (CLEAN, ATTEND, HUG, PRAY, SALUTE, and TOUCH to interact with it).