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- Oct 16, 2024
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- #1
Born to a Plumekith mother who delighted in his Garuda bloodline but explained everything with such baffling vagueness that he grew up thinking destiny was just “a thing that happens if you flap hard enough,” he entered life with innate grace and an otherworldly presence he never fully understood.
His mother celebrated his celestial traits openly, though in ways that rarely made sense to anyone. His father contributed far less in terms of mystique and far more in the form of a criminal reputation that hung over the household like a moldy curtain. Whether roguish talent runs in blood or trauma is anyone’s guess, but he learned early to move quietly and observe others, even if he never mastered actual lockpicking.
A formative moment came when he met an undead woman during his adolescence. Instead of reacting with horror, he was struck by her calm dignity, her defiance of mortal limits, and the unsettling beauty of stillness without decay. She told him of Urgathoa, patron of indulgence, immortality, and liberation from the constraints other faiths enforce. The encounter left him spellbound. He devoted himself to studying Urgathoa’s teachings, pouring over community libraries, stolen scrolls, and whatever theological scraps he could find. His zeal drew the attention of a local cleric, who promised a grand feast beyond mortal understanding. From that point on, the pursuit of Urgathoa’s unrestrained divinity became the center of his life.
His eclectic training blended the quick, quiet movement inherited from his father’s shady past with the divine insights he studied obsessively. Magic came naturally, though divine channels alone felt too rigid. He turned to eldritch techniques after discovering a forgotten codex hidden inside a collection of funerary recipes. The text described ancient methods of shaping raw arcane force through instinct rather than doctrine. He embraced it immediately, seeing it as another way to reject the limitations of conventional power.
Physically, he remained slight and wimpy, with a tendency to withdraw into routines and hyperfocus when overwhelmed. Socially, his flat affect and blunt manner often made others uncomfortable, which conveniently ensured he wasn’t bothered unless someone wanted answers on obscure theology. His lack of charm became a kind of shield: people left him alone, and he preferred it that way.
He fights from a distance, relying on the crossbow because, in his view, bows demand an athleticism he simply does not possess. Snowball is his favored attack spell; its precision and cold bite serve beautifully for hidden assaults and unexpected openings.
When the call to join the crusade against the Worldwound came, he went not out of heroism but inevitability. Every prophecy, every omen in his studies, every strange dream whispered that his path intersected with the rising demonic threat. And if Urgathoa’s design lies somewhere within the catastrophe, then he intends to witness it firsthand.
His mother celebrated his celestial traits openly, though in ways that rarely made sense to anyone. His father contributed far less in terms of mystique and far more in the form of a criminal reputation that hung over the household like a moldy curtain. Whether roguish talent runs in blood or trauma is anyone’s guess, but he learned early to move quietly and observe others, even if he never mastered actual lockpicking.
A formative moment came when he met an undead woman during his adolescence. Instead of reacting with horror, he was struck by her calm dignity, her defiance of mortal limits, and the unsettling beauty of stillness without decay. She told him of Urgathoa, patron of indulgence, immortality, and liberation from the constraints other faiths enforce. The encounter left him spellbound. He devoted himself to studying Urgathoa’s teachings, pouring over community libraries, stolen scrolls, and whatever theological scraps he could find. His zeal drew the attention of a local cleric, who promised a grand feast beyond mortal understanding. From that point on, the pursuit of Urgathoa’s unrestrained divinity became the center of his life.
His eclectic training blended the quick, quiet movement inherited from his father’s shady past with the divine insights he studied obsessively. Magic came naturally, though divine channels alone felt too rigid. He turned to eldritch techniques after discovering a forgotten codex hidden inside a collection of funerary recipes. The text described ancient methods of shaping raw arcane force through instinct rather than doctrine. He embraced it immediately, seeing it as another way to reject the limitations of conventional power.
Physically, he remained slight and wimpy, with a tendency to withdraw into routines and hyperfocus when overwhelmed. Socially, his flat affect and blunt manner often made others uncomfortable, which conveniently ensured he wasn’t bothered unless someone wanted answers on obscure theology. His lack of charm became a kind of shield: people left him alone, and he preferred it that way.
He fights from a distance, relying on the crossbow because, in his view, bows demand an athleticism he simply does not possess. Snowball is his favored attack spell; its precision and cold bite serve beautifully for hidden assaults and unexpected openings.
When the call to join the crusade against the Worldwound came, he went not out of heroism but inevitability. Every prophecy, every omen in his studies, every strange dream whispered that his path intersected with the rising demonic threat. And if Urgathoa’s design lies somewhere within the catastrophe, then he intends to witness it firsthand.
