[reserved spot]
*posting to see if I can manage it or if Iddy's just the one with problems*
Thaeos Longstrider was born in Silverymoon, the son of a Ranger father. His father, simply passing through the town, was never seen by Thaeos again. His mother, being a local tavern maid, provided for him, but never had much interest in actually raising him. This allowed him to grow up as he wished. Because of this, he grew up to be a solidly independent person. He rarely made friends, mostly for the fact that he was never much around those of his own age, preferring instead to be exploring the woods, ever further away as he grew older and more confident. Because of this, he never really had many bad experiences, nor overly good ones, with people, and left him unwilling to freely engage in conversation with those he was not familar with. As he grew older, the feeling of 'being alone in a crowd' grew stronger for him, and he found himself drawn to the wilderness that much more. While not totally unable to make friends, his friends are few and far between. Even among his friends, he's considered quiet, and has an odd sense of humor, often finding amusement in situations, rather than banter. In addition, because of limited experience with others, he often doesn't 'get' the banter of others, though he understands not all things are said in seriousness.
Thaeos considers those friends as extremely important, for they are the few he can trust. He often goes out of his way to help his friends, but rarely anyone else, unless it's to help an innocent save life or limb. He's of the mind that if someone can't bother to help themselves, why should he be bothered to help them? Though, this sometimes leads him to ignore those who could use his help, he'll never ignore a child. As long as the person is making a visible effort to help themselves, however, he'll gladly give over his help if asked. Due to the training he gets later in life, he's begun to believe in the solid need of the Law, keeping those he can safe, and willing to assist others in upholding the Law, if such doesn't interfere with his current goals.
Thaeos soon found the city of Silverymoon stifling to him, and was set upon by wanderlust at a young age. Knowing the surrounding lands of the city to be fairly safe, he began disappearing into the lands for days at a time and spending his time in the city watching the travelers come and go. Around his 15th year, he came across a bear in the woods. Knowing how potentially dangerous they could be, Thaeos was wary, but unafraid. He had often seen the Rangers in the city walking and working with such animals. This was his mistake. The bear mauled him, leaving his face scarred, four large gash marks across his face, from his left temple to his right jaw.
He managed to escape the bear, and staggered back to town, blinded in one eye which had be torn apart by the attack. At the edge of town, he collapsed, and almost bled to death, until he was found by one of the militia patrols who were just leaving for a normal patrol route. Finding the bleeding boy, they rushed him to the nearest guard area, which had a Cleric, having him healed. Luckily, the Cleric was able to restore his eye, but the healing left him scarred. After resting, he returned home to his mother, who was worried by the scarring, but as he was alright otherwise, took no great interest in it. This event gave him respect for the militia, and he slowly began to watch the guards as they trained near-by.
After making friends with the guards who saved him, he began to get drawn into the training, and eventually joined the militia at the age of 17. The initial training was difficult for him, as he was used to roaming on his own, and not listening to anyone except his own desires. The combat training was just as hard for him as well. He had never really learned to fight, as he was often in the woods instead of the city, where fights in taverns were more readily had. Eventually, though, he did find his niche in training, and excelled at it. The skills he taught himself while wandering the land were refined by the training, and he was assigned as a Scout in the Silverymoon militia.
After completing his training, he was assigned to a post in the Rauvin Mountains. Through his posting here, one of his duties was to patrol out and track the bands of Orcs and Goblins. A year into this posting, he was out on patrol with his squad, following a small group of Orcs. After trailing the Orcs for 2 days, they were ambushed early in the morning by two bands of Orcs. Though they killed a number of Orcs, their fighting retreat cost them casualties as well. Only 3 of the 5 members of his patrol made it back to the post. His patrol attributed their survival to Thaeos' delaying and hit and run tactics, though these cost him as well. He was moderately injured, and had to be sent to a larger posting for recovery. Upon his recovery, he was given orders to a new post; The Cold Wood.
He was to spend 2 years in this new posting, having many run-ins with the Wood's ettins, often working with the Wood's tribes, and learning wood lore from them. It was during this time that Thaeos' scouting skills became developed, as well as his style of combat. Without the skills as a stand up fighter, he had difficulty fighting against the ettins that frequented the woods and quickly found ways to incorporate himself into the flow of combat, without hampering those who were patrolling with him by using a style of hit and run tatics. He would flow around the tide of the Melee, darting in close enough to make a sure shot, and then orbit back to the outskirts of the fight looking for his next shot. Using this method of combat allowed him to employ his speed and his bow in all fights, where his strength and skills lay. Through trial and error, he found ways to employ his skills of stealth in ways that allowed him to harry, lead, and harass his targets to where he chose, giving the members of his patrol time to find a solid defensive position and be ready. Often, this made a great deal of diffrence, allowing the patrol to have extra time to prepare and choose the place of battle in their favor. After his service at the posting was up, he was once more rotated to a new post; The Moonwood.
Spending the rest of his term of service inside Moonwood, he was placed in a small outrider post in the northern quarter of the forest. Though occasionally assaulted by the resentful lycanthropes, his remaining two years here were served fairly quietly. He often spent his time in the woods running patrols and training with the Rangers of Silverymoon, furthering his own experience, but never quite connecting with nature the way they did. While not one of their own, the Rangers he did train with often respected him more than they did his fellow militiamen due to his skill in the woods. Often, he would surprise and out maneuver the Rangers during their training in the woods. This, while earning him great respect in the small circle of Rangers that frequented the woods, also earned him some ire from them as well. This was mostly because he would often flow through the trees and over terrain that the Rangers had an intimate connection with, but could not seem to master it quite as well as he could. Though, they took solace in the fact that beyond this, he was as blind to the flow and song of nature as everyone else. Time came and went with many skirmishes with the People of the Black Blood, but few true battles, and soon his service ended.
After serving his full term of five years, he chose to retire from the guard. Upon retiring, he was bid farewell by few friends, never having made many in the first place, always preferring to be out, instead inside with his fellows. Though his skill in the woods earned him having his name mentioned in the circles of the Druids and Rangers, they were never truly concerned with someone not of their own enough to make effort to approach him for anything outside of the Militia. Having nothing else to fall back on, no real contacts, and no real desire to return to the simple house he grew up in, he used the money he had saved from service and bought sturdy, reliable gear. Leaving his aging mother with enough of his savings to last her a while, he took to the road with his wanderlust again. Though having no real connection to his mother as she was often distant, but never cold, to him, his time in the Militia taught him a sense of duty, he often sent a portion of his earnings to her, hoping to keep her comfortable in her aging. Though disconnected from his mother, he often dreads the day when he will receive word of her failing health, and be forced from his wanderlust for her final days. Wanting to visit new lands and types of terrian he'd not yet encounted and learn their secret paths, he left the Silver Marches and headed toward the Coastal City of Amn, hoping to find passage to the farther reaches of Faerun.
Unknown to Thaeos his mother, Ahlana Longstrider, used the gold he gave her from his savings from the military, along with the gold he sends her bi-monthly to buy the Inn she once worked in, The Golden Stag. Thaeos continues to send her money, however, and will continue to do so until he retires.
Like most of his kind, Thrall was concieved in unfortunate circumstances. Abandoned shortly after birth, he was taken in by Elric Silverhand, leader of one of Waterdeep's many thieves guildhouses. An effete elf, he saw the value in having a brutal half-orc bodyguard that could be raised from birth to be utterly loyal to himself. Indeed, he chose the name Thrall quite deliberately to reflect the infant's position. As far as Thrall was told, his mother died in childbirth. Whatever the truth may be, it is unlikely to ever be revealed, so long after the fact.
While Thrall's education was spotty at best, his coldly analytical mind, at odds with his orcish heritage, helped him pick up a great deal from the thieves he was raised around. This attitude suited Elric just fine - explosively raging Orcs are ten a penny, but there's something far more unnerving about a coldly disciplined warrior within that brutish frame. To say nothing of how it reflected his tight leash over what he considered little more than a beast.
For his part, Thrall was content with life, never knowing anything different, and for the most part being respected by the other thieves. By his early teens he was being trained in earnest in the art of inflicting pain, his tutor being a sadistic Duergar outcast in the employ of the guild named Dorn Grimspire. Thrall was an apt pupil, at least, taking readily to Dorn's cruel instructions both in fair combat, and how to properly cripple one's foes when the situation calls for it. Even now Thrall considers it a mark of pride that the vast majority of scars on his frame come not from his enemies, but from his trainer.
From the age of fifteen, Thrall was considered a full member in the guild, accompanying Elric whenever he went on 'business' and applying a violent edge of persuasion when the situation called for it. It was a simple life, at least for Thrall, never having to worry about anything beside following orders, which generally consisted of "Hurt that person," and of course the standing "Kill anyone who threatens Elric," which saw increasing use over the years as the guild's position came under threat from a rival institution.
Things came to a bloody head in Thrall's twentieth year, when open war between rival guild's was declared in the back alleys and rooftops of Waterdeep. Unfortunately for Elric, his large and intimidating bodyguard was of little use when one of his food tasters was magically charmed into poisoning his employer. Thrall of course cut the betrayer down as his employer/father figure choked and died from the fast acting poison, but by then the guildhouse itself was under attack.
Following the lead of his colleagues, who valued their lives more than loyalty to a recently deceased employer, Thrall fled the burning manor on the docks of Waterdeep, the life he knew going up in smoke. Directionless, he found himself doing little besides frequenting taverns, getting in fights, and running up an increasingly dire tab. Perhaps it was a blessing, then, when a press gang entered one of his haunts and decided the strong Half Orc would make a valued addition to their crew. While it took three strong pen to subdue the drunken Half Orc, when Thrall next awoke, it was to the sea breeze aboard the sloop Ravage, patrolling the Sword Coast in search of pirates.
While not exactly thrilled with his current situation, Thrall had little choice but to adjust to life at sea. While not much of a sailor, he did prove his worth on many a boarding action against Luskan pirates, earning the favour of his captain, a grizzled old swashbuckler by the name of Kern Windrivver. This was reciprocated, with Thrall deciding to stay on board after the ship next put into port, and becoming first mate after two seasons of sailing. The structured navy life suited him well, and his captain was a canny fighter, worthy of respect.
After two years at sea, however, Thrall had had quite enough. While he didn't find his job objectionable, he quite simply missed the land beneath his feet. So, on their next return to Waterdeep, Thrall departed the Ravage, returning to the city to found a new life. Having no interest in joining any thieves guild with his own shattered, and not particularly wanting to join the City Watch, having had many the violent encounter with them in his youth, Thrall set out his stall as a bounty hunter, preying both on former colleagues and enemies alike.
The life of a bounty hunter suited him, starting mostly by prowling his former haunts in Waterdeep's seedier districts, he soon found himself taking contracts which saw him ranging far and wide to neighbouring towns and cities. It was this travel that fired Thrall's wanderlust, knowing from his time at sea that Faerun was a huge place, this was his first time to truly experience it. And so he began to wander the land, taking mercenary work and bringing in the odd bounty wherever he found it.
And it is this life that finds him now, far from Waterdeep, in the Southern city of Saradush.
Seraphin was a happy little girl, born into a normal goldsmithing family. Her mother a daughter of a trading house, had died in childbirth, leaving her in the care of a nurse and her father, who rarely left work. Her nurse was nice enough in her youngest years, bringing up the child that looked so much like her dead parent like any upper class girl. It wasn't her fault that her bloodline held the traces of a vile taint, that had lain dormant for centuries. Nor was it her fault that their progenitor had taken a sudden interest in these children of his, and how sickeningly normal they were. They needed to be killing things, spilling blood in his name, so he could feel each victim's loss and pain, and the killer's lust and hate.
Oh, but the creature was patient, it had waited centuries already to bring this about, what would another decade and one lost little animal of its own blood matter? And so it set things in motion, first settling at the ear of Seraphin's father. Green and black whispers of envy and darkness poisoned his mind, ever so slowly. Nothing Seraphin did was right, never graceful even, or as sure as her mother before her. At first, it seemed like he would be paying more attention to his daughter, a godsend to the little girl who had no one but distant relatives and a nurse to confide in. Such time though, was not a blessing, and instead a curse of abuse, degrading and punishing the small black haired, caramel skinned child.
Years passed, the abuse intensified, becoming more violent, the delusions of her goldsmith father growing even farther into whispering rumors about his daughter, the 'little bitch who couldn't do anything right' even as Seraphin struggled and struggled to attain a perfection she couldn't achieve. It somehow nose dived as she turned thirteen, and underwent physical changes. Alongside blooming womanhood came a lightening of her skin and hair, a milky complexion even fairer than her father's, and hair the color of silver. Her eyes even worse, were blood red, and for an instant as her father struck her each night, they seemed to pour blood into the whites of her eyes and the pupils, creating cloudy red orbs with only shades of crimson to differentiate.
Learning to sneak was hardly a stretch in an attempt to evade her violent parent. Her father began to lock her inside so that she 'wouldn't taint his good name', Seraphin began to read more and more, or as much as she could with the few books her father kept, or her aunt had given her in tutoring. The infernal creature was rather disappointed at this violent but sedate relationship, things needed to change. And so the people of the town turned on Seraphin's father, or at least he thought they did. Kill that mostrous daughter or take your filthy self out of the city. His progenitor allowed only one recourse.
It was hardly a fair fight, that hellspawn had plans for dear little Seraphin, very lovely ones, weren't they? The deadly intended father found himself paralyzed as his daughter beat him with a miniature harp her mother had kept, and garroted him with one of the strings released from it's wooden frame when it broke over the death intending father.
Standing over her father's bloodied corpse in her silent home, Seraphin had her last fully rational moment for a few years: She had to leave, she had to run, to get out of this place as quickly as possible. Gathering up her posessions, and whatever money or easily saleable items she could, Seraphin departed that night. No one bothered to look into the home for a while, and by that time, she was long gone.
A message courier provided relatively cheap help at removing her from the area, and when he tried to take more than money from her, it was an easy enough venture to kill him, so unaware of what a fourteen year old girl might do. Some money and a horse added to her inventory, Seraphin made much better time to Waterdeep, a city large enough to disappear in.
It was in that bustling metropolis that she settled, or at least as much as one such as she could settle. Her time spent reading, drawing, and writing provided something of an income: An urbane scribe named Freidr that didn't mind the albino-esque appearance, or taking in a young and talented woman to be an apprentice-assistance. Capable of writing in six languages, Seraphin provided a needed boost to Freidr's business, and she didn't appear to mind when asked to watch his grandchildren by his son and daughter-in-law, who ran an apothecary next door. Living in an apprentice's space behind the shop, she indeed seemed quite settled. She did seem to take oddly long walks each night, but that wasn't so strange, was it?
The unfortunate truth is that despite her settlement with Freidr and his family, Seraphin still saught that which she'd felt killing her father and the courier--a sensation of absolute control, of the warmth of a human body beneath her and struggling for its life, and her snuffing it out. Walking well away from Freidr's well off family establishment in North Ward to her hunting grounds in the Dock Ward or Southern Ward, Seraphin stalked and prowled, visiting the lowest dives she could locate in a search for 'worthy' targets. She found them in those that accosted her, out of sight, out of the minds of the watch and other patrons, as with ferocious and unsuspected violence, she tore the life from each one with wire or blade. Eventually it became a pattern, a link that no one would follow: 'The man walked away with some young girl, didn't look to be over fourteen'. Most thought they got what they deserved, and it could hardly have been such a child's doing, right? Seraphin certainly thought so.
This continued for a time, slaking her bloodlust at night, returning to work on manuscripts and watch rampant children not her own in a workroom where her albino complexion wouldn't bother customers. She began to grow content and settled, though, more willing to let the bloodlust pass and spend more time with 'her' children and the family she'd adopted.
This of course, was not at all what her progenitor had wished, she was to be a tool of death and bloodshed, she was to spill lives for him, so that he could drink their blood, their fear, their hatred, and her anger. How to bring back those glorious days, though, when she'd let the backalleys run deep with blood, and the mere sight of her could make some flinch for an instant? Those damned little ones had ruined it all! ...And perhaps that was the key to it all. As the children grew, and began to wander past the house, Seraphin hovered protectively, even armed, and she had rarely mixed any elements of both lives, even so much as wearing the daggers she killed with around the children. And so the evil beast formed a plot, a very sickening one.
It was just another night, a few hours after Seraphin and their real mother had put the kids to bed, that one of them got up, chasing a wild dream into the night. The child never came back, rather, a corpse fitting the age, but otherwise unidentifiable was found in the harbor some three days later, brutalized in every way imagineable. Freidr's son and daughter-in-law were grief stricken, Freidr himself, had never looked older since his wife died. Seraphin on the outside seemed to be an unmovable, rock like pillar of support that kept the family together, and tended the dead child's siblings while the others recovered. Such would only last a short time however, for as soon as she saw her family whole again, Seraphin's own grieving began. It came not in a flow of tears or her own pained sobs though, but a river of blood, and the horrid screams of everyone she could imagine doing such a thing to 'her' child.
The dock ward became a place of horrors, mutilated, tortured, or simply disfigured victims of Seraphin's revenge and need to insure it never happened ever again driving her to new heights of violence. The night was not a time to be out and about. Seraphin's progenitor wallowed in this, up to his neck in blood, hatred, and fear, a veritable glutton's feast of the stuff brought on by his descendant and tool.
It was here however, that he made a mistake. He appeared to his 'child' in her sleep, an offer of more power to carry out this revenge, to become more powerful, a 'higher' animal of the planes, rather than this shunned, weak body provided her by humans that couldn't bring nearly the feast they both desired. It was in this dream that Seraphin was forced to realize, forced to accept what she had been accomplishing. Less had she been protecting her children, more just...murdering. Rejecting her ancestor, but stuck with the desire for control, and the realization the less she killed, the more this...monster would force her to kill. It was a darker three days for Seraphin, refusing to see anyone at all, living by night, and whispering to herself of what might be, and what could've been. In the end, she bid goodbye to her family, set upon providing enough bloodshed for her ancestor without losing control to the vile creature, and removing that danger from 'her' children. Leaving Waterdeep, she provided her services as a capable killer and stalker wherever she went, as long a the target was suitable, and otherwise with little prejudice towards good or evil.
Notes: I kept whether she was descended from the Abyss or the Nine Hells intentionally vague, along with most other facts about her 'old friend'. What she considers 'suitable target' follows mostly along the lines of 'evil', 'abusive', and 'over-ambitious'. My guess as to most of her work so far would be 'internal politics' of low level thieves guilds or other organized crime. Maybe the occasional revenge killing.
Exactly nine hundred and forty three years ago, a powerful cult lured a misguided young maiden into their ranks. They told her they were worshipping a once-powerful, benign god, the protector of orphans and strays, and perhaps they honestly believed in their words. She eagerly participated in the ceremony to resummon him back to their plane, from which he was said to have been banished by devils angry at all the good he's done for its inhabitants.
The devil that appeared never told them his name, or anything else, really. He just slaughtered all of them save for Nebesnii, the young maiden in question, who had been used as a focus for summoning him. She survived the encounter, and that was the beginning of what later became known as the Nebes family line. It's not actually known whether this act of summoning served as the catalyst of the Last Great War of Narfell, as the savage combat between demonkind, dragons and humans came to be called in Maz's family scrolls, or was an attempt to balance the scales, but she has her suspicions.
Some of Maz's progenitors have been blessed with an uncanny affinity with the element of water, while others were known to have unnatural powers over temperature. She privately figures the stories of them, told within the family, have to be underrated. It's either that, or her family's been hiding the truth from its younger members, and she wouldn't put that past her dear relatives either. After all, she has moderate powers over both, and doesn't see herself as that much different from her ancestors.
Speaking of family, Maz has a twin sister, Relly. It's not really her name, but Maz's called her that ever since they were children, and it stuck. It probably contributed to Relly hating her with a passion, but being a backstabbing bitch like the rest of the family couldn't have hurt, either, Maz figures. In either case, she doesn't miss her twin much, and is fairly happy to have left her back home to deal with problems that used to be her domain as the ostensibly oldest child.
Maz doesn't really want to be the heir. Certainly not if the rumors of repeating that ancient ceremony to 'return glory to the line' are true. And hey, adventuring sounds fun, so why not do it? Preferably, somewhere far away from her family, especially since there aren't many places to hide from them in her home country. If necessary, she can always pull her weight selling her scrolls, she believes. It's not like she has a special aptitude towards physical labor, and propositioning the mentally-weaker sex doesn't appeal to her. It doesn't help that she's never been that popular, of course, but Maz tends to attribute it to her decisively inhuman looks on an otherwise completely human face and body. Her eyes are just a bit too blue, and her skin's a tad too white, and the hair the color of the sea.
Strangely, her sister never had any problems, which contributed to the icy hatred Maz holds for her in her heart. No, due to being the 'baby' of the family, even if only by moments, she always got everything she wanted. And Relly wanted to learn archery, which meant Maz had to frequently be her target. That sucked, sure, but she remembered to steal her sister's favorite crossbow on her way out. She told herself it was a part of her disguise, so she'd be let out without question, but Maz honestly thinks she'd have taken it anyway, if only to spite Relly. Plus, it's a really nice crossbow.
And since she'd spent so much time being introverted and studying old, musty scrolls left by her countless ancestors, it felt like a shame to leave them behind. It's not like anyone would really appreciate it, and Maz felt they could be useful in evading pursuit. It might be nice to study them some more once she has the time for it, she figures. Some might call her kleptomaniac, but she doesn't care for that description. If people leave stuff in the open that other, smarter people can put to much better use, then it's pretty much the duty of the aforementioned smart people to the world to help natural selection along and better themselves in the process. Too bad not everyone can be as enlightened as she, Maz often laments.
She rarely thinks about her parents. All she remembers of them is the two doting on her sister and then disappearing when she was still very young. Maybe they're still alive somewhere, perhaps residing in one of the branch houses, but Maz has spent her entire childhood at the main house. If they are alive and can't be bothered to see her, she can only hope to return the favor. Surely, if the elders of the family had done something to them, her parents could at least have gotten the word out, Maz believes.
Maz really dislikes how anyone she knows immediately thinks 'Fire!' when they think of magic. In fact, she likes to say that ice is way cooler, and not just for the pun of it. She's determined to prove that to the world some day, and has been for a very long time. Ever since she first laid her eyes on a pair of sacred scrolls inscribed by her ancestors, mixed in with the rest of her normal reading material towards her magical education, in fact. She couldn't really comprehend what was written on them, except that it was done with ice and it was very, very awesome. Those two scrolls were part of the loot she took with her when she ran.
Blue tends to be Maz's favorite color, if only because she can't escape it whenever she looks in a mirror. Very early on, she had a choice -- dislike her appearance or embrace it whole-heartedly -- and she chose the latter. She also liked looking at what pictures of cats she could find as a child, but is partial to some lizards as well. Maz is surprisingly bad at swimming, but mostly due to a decisive lack of formal training than a shortage of talent in that area.
Despite her relative seclusion prior to her escape, Maz does know that her family has a somewhat high standing in her land of birth. She's pretty sure an outsider wouldn't have heard of them, but anyone living in the proximity of the main house seemed afraid of the Nebes name. It probably saved her from some beatings by the other children early on, before she learned how to do flashy if ineffective spells to warn them off. Somehow, though, she doesn't think it was due to her family's generosity or its giving nature. She wouldn't be surprised in the least if they had a large hand in the control of the underworld -- the figurative one, not the one with all the demons. Though, again, she wouldn't be too surprised either way....
Sigmundr Ingvinr was born in a mountian village built into the cliffs of the Spine of the World. His village was destroyed when he was only a boy, no more than eight years of age. His village was set upon by a Frost Worm, and utterly destroyed. While watching the monster rampage through his village, Sigmundr got his first glimpse of the clergy of Tempus. A group of five Clerics had been traveling through the mountians, looking for a suitable creature to fight and test themselves against. Knowing of the village, but not having close contact with it, the clergy were traveling to it to restock their supplies and found it under attack.
Charging into the village, they relentlessly attacked the creature, eventually killing it, but losing two of their number in the fight. Sigmundr saw the entire fight from his hiding place in the basement stairway of his destroyed home. Facinated with the power the Clerics wielded, he began to steadily question them as the clergy led the few survivors to their temple. With his parents dead, and few of the survivors able to support themselves, much less him, the cleric took his interest in Tempus as a sign and sent him out of the mountians to Waterdeep, to either learn of the temple, or be on his way. He set out with a small group of clerics and refugees to the city, eagrly questioning the holy men, and often asking them to train him to become stronger. Amused with the boy, the clerics agreed, and started training him with basic strength exercises and teaching him the scriptures of Tempus.
Once in Waterdeep, he joined the temple of Tempus with the help of the clerics he had traveled with. Growing up inside the temple, Sigmundr became a devout follower, almost a zelot during his combat training. Growing up with the warrior-priests made Sigmundr into a very rough and tumble person, though with a cheerful and helpful attitude. Upon attaining his ordination, at age 18, into the priesthood, he set out to bring the holy power of Tempus into the lives of the people. In celebration of his attaining priesthood, Sigmundr had his priestly vestments, a simple white sash, the symbol of Tempus emroidered on the free hanging end of it, enchanted to ward off dirt and staining. As a parting gift to him, the clerics of the temple gathered togeather and enchanted the scripture of Tempus which seemed to be ever-attached to his hand upon his arrival. The enchanting created a powerful object of defense. Attaching a leather strap to the spine of the book, through which he can slip his hand and keep grip of the book, he uses its enchantment to shield himself. Taking the money he had saved up, he bought himself a suit of armor and a sturdy weapon, from the smith who helped supply the temple with training gear. Using the last of his savings, he had the armor enchanted by his fellow clerics, to further protect himself. After arming himself, he set out, traveling from each temple he could find to pray in his pilgrimage.
Dorrin Marthas is the eldest, and only son, of his mother Sarah Marthas. Dorrin grew up being part of the lower nobility of his town, having owned a portion of land, from their grandparents being well-to-do Calishite merchants. When Dorrin was seven, one of his cousins began visiting their manor to learn etiquette from his mother. His cousin, a small, pale girl with red eyes, was introduced to him as Seraphin.
Having been raised by his mother in a rather traditional manner, he understood it was expected of him, as the eldest and only son, to watch over his young cousin, and took to the task as he believed was expected. At first, it was uncomfortable for him, as he couldn't quite relate to the seemingly quiet and meek girl, but he kept at it. His mother, after watching his oddly determined and hard actions in his task, told him it would help if he tried to become friends with Seraphin, instead of just her guardian. Dorrin, thinking hard on his mother's words, then ran to Seraphin and dragged her across town, with her softly protesting, to the village market place, where he bought her a bushel of what would later become one of her favorite treats: cherries.
Taking the cherries and stealing away into the near countryside, they sat and ate the treats before starting to play games. After a few rounds of children's games, Seraphin suggested hide and seek, and there they hit upon their favorite ritual; playing hide and seek, while trading cherries to keep score. As the years wore on, they became true friends, even going so far as to beginning to call each other brother and sister after an over heard comment from one Dorrin's mother's friends. When Dorrin was fifteen, his aunt received horrifying news about his 'little sister.'
Having expect Seraphin to arrive in a few days for another visit, he had been testing out a new spell to entertain her with. While practicing, he heard his mother's exclamation of surprise, then outrage, he quickly entered into his home, only to find his mother in a rage. After calming her down, Dorrin found out that his uncle, Seraphin's father, had been murdered, and reportedly by Seraphin herself. At first, Dorrin flew into a rage due to the accusations, not believing his little sister could be capable of such. He left that night, to confront those still at Seraphin's family house. While not getting the full story from those around the area, he did learn of dark rumors of abuse and violence, and even an attempt to murder Seraphin, all stemming from her father.
Having painted himself at least a partial picture of what had happened, Dorrin was forced to admit that Seraphin had, in fact, murdered her father; but with a vast amount of good reason. Worried about what could happen to her if the authorities found her, if she were still in a bad state when the did, he began to try and find her. After figuring out the most likely place for her to head would be Waterdeep, he tried to cover up what few traces of her path he could, before returning to his mother.
After explaining what he had learned to his mother, he presented her with the fact that he wanted to chase Seraphin down, and help her as best he could. His mother, while still harboring some slight resentment for Seraphin for killing her brother, listened. While she did not like it, she was forced to agree that if what he had learned were true, Seraphin did in fact, have reason to kill her father. Having taken a distant liking to Seraphin, she agreed to let Dorrin go after her, and would use her influence and contacts to help him, as well as a certain amount of access to the family coffers.
Setting out for Waterdeep, Dorrin began trying to track down Seraphin, and as time went on, he became more and desperate to find his little sister, often hearing dark stories of her passing, and meeting few, but darker, people who had actually interacted with her. However, while in Waterdeep, he discovered one thing that kept his hope for his little sister alive; a family in Waterdeep had, in fact, known her. After the monumental task of getting this family's trust, he learned that Seraphin had been employed by an elderly scribe; the grandfather of the family. After learning about the death of one of the family children, he became all the more concerned about how his cousin was doing. With the help of the family, again picked up the near non-existant trail continued to follow her, until he hit upon stories of her doing low level mercenary work.
Following these stories led him to a rebuilding town named Saradush, then across the desert, and into Darromar, then again into Calimport, where her trail once more died down. And there, he began to hunt for clues once more.
Appearance
Appearance is such a fleeting thing, when your form can be changes on a whim. However, in what he assumes to be his 'natural' form, Grendel is a male human of indeterminate age - he looks rather weathered, but at the same time has a youthful vitality about him - and average build. His skin is a very dark brown, and while bald, his eyebrows show that his hair is black. When in this form, however, he prefers to conceal himself behind thick robes swathed around his body from head to toe, with only his eyes exposed so that he might see.
Biography
Grendel does not know himself. His memories only begin several days ago when he woke up in a form not his own, deep in the deserts of Calimshan. Confused and ignorant of his true nature, he searched around, finding little but the clothes on his back, and a strange twisted black staff. Collecting his bearings, he was startled to find that the staff would shift its shape in his grasp, transforming itself into other weapons. Experimenting on this, Grendel soon found that his clothes, and even his flesh shared this astounding property. Furthermore, he found several other items within the folds of his garment, as pockets seemed to form and vanish of their own volition.
It was during this experimentation that he discovered what he assumes to be his 'true' form, as his flesh shifted into that shape after several hours, seemingly of its own volition.
Not sure of what to do or where he was, Grendel nonetheless felt a desire to travel West, across the trackless dunes of the burning desert. He made good time on the journey, disovering yet more forms that he instinctively knew that made the journey faster and more tolerable. Furthermore, he had a seemingly natural aptitude for finding water and food, even in such inhospitable terrain.
Eventually, he arrived at the city of Calimport, though he did not know its name. Astounded by the multitudes of people here, Grendel instinctively sought to avoid drawing attention to himself - masked in the all covering robes of a desert Bedouin, he carefully attempted to learn more about the world he must have somehow forgotten. Needing currency, his mysterious attire once more proved its usefulness - within were several strange obsidian gems which he was able to sell, using the proceeds to purchase equipment and supplies.
His most important possession now is his journal, an obsessively kept collection of observations and recollections - if he forgot himself once, it could happen again, and he is determined to ensure that next time he will at least have a frame of reference for all his knowledge. Said knowledge seems to still lurk in the dark corners of his mind, even without context - Grendel frequently has strange flashes of insight and memory, knowing things that he cannot remember learning. All of this goes into his journal, hoping to bring sense to the jigsaw puzzle of his existence.
Any clues or hints as to his previous existence are eagerly pursued - alas it is extremely difficult to find information on the past of someone who could have worn any physical form he (or even she? Grendel has discovered he can assume a female form just as readily as a male one) desired. Nonetheless, this is his goal.
As for his name, Grendel was chosen almost on a whim - a character in a Bard's song he listened to in Calimport. It has no special meaning, and is merely a label. He knows that his true name is yet to be discovered, and in the knowing of names can be found Power. He does not know how he knows this, but it is unquestioned. And perhaps in knowing his true name, he will once again know himself. If only he knew were to look...