Date of birth:
5 Mirtul 1328
Tall enough, orcwit.
None of your pissing business.
Common, Alzhedo and Chondathan.
Mercenary and guard for hire.
Mom and dad always said it was my birth that inspired the name of our tavern in Zaz, The Beaching Whale. Bloody hilarious pair of clowns they thought they were. Guess I didn’t have it half bad with them though, compared to how some poor bastard peasants had it in Tethyr. Never told me when to be home like I knew people did with other kids; let me spar with the vermin that came in regularly. Didn’t protest when Dunkin first tattooed me at 13, either. I miss that prick.
Maybe if they hadn’t made me run the kitchen when Trix died I would’ve stayed. The war changed a lot, though. I was 19 when Vortalov’s recruiter came around. The bloke nearly choked on his own spit when he saw me step forward. It sounded good then. “Be the vanguard of freedom” and all that rot. Didn’t know then that Vortalov himself was a parchment-pushing coward who sent others to fight for him while he pranced around in his fancy uniform.*
(* wealthy merchant who, like many others during the interregnum years, was allowed to purchase land in exchange for defending it from more despotic would-be rulers and the numerous monstrous bands that roamed the country.)
After a few engagements I really stepped in it. Turns out officers don’t like being fed knuckles when they act like horny fools. Was given a choice: Prison or volunteer for a “special assignment“. If I’d had one of those fancy crystal balls I would’ve run to the prison, entered the cell, given a smart salute, and closed the door behind me.
But no, not me. “Special assignment, sir” I said. Idiot.
Turns out my special assignment was an assassination squad. Training consisted of getting beat down until you were nearly or completely insane. Once you were nuts enough to follow every order, you were ready for action. We were the ones that did the dirty work. Maybe I’d be ashamed if I could remember all I’d done. They had some beanpoles in robes come in after it was over. Cast some mind wiping spell. I still have nightmares, but I can’t remember all the details.
For three years I followed orders and killed. Guess they thought I’d had enough, or were tired of trying to put a leash on me. I was “discharged” then. Had to report to some fancy officer in robes. He was supposed to erase my memories, I think. Didn’t work though. He was too drunk to do the job proper.
I ditched the knives for a proper sword then. Wasn’t gonna let anyone tell me how to fight or who to kill anymore. Captain must’ve liked that. She knew Dunkin too and took me up north on her ship. I don’t know what it was she’d transported, but the way the Athkatla guards tossed us in the cells I’m guessing it was their firstborn sons on a stick.
The prison’s top dog took a liking to me after he nearly pissed his pants laughing when I knocked out that half-orc twice the size of a troll. The contact he forwarded me to was as corrupt as they come. Took some convincing, but eventually he accepted my brand new blade and a favor in return for a “slip up” that got me free.
Once out it didn’t take long for me to track down the tosser who had my sword. He was heading further north with all the crap he’d gotten from others who’d paid for their freedom too. Turned out I wasn’t the only one wanting to get it back either. On the mountain pass, when I practically already had my hands around the guy’s neck, some pignuts tried to get their junk from the wagon. Made so much noise they woke the second bloke up.
Know what the scabby gnoll-faces did? Said they were only reaching for the weapons on the wagon to save the guard I was about to strangle. Punched that one’s nose in so deep it tickled his brain.
The Nashkel cell was bloody damp. Crap company too. When they cut off my fingers and I asked if I could keep and eat them they at least quit trying to chat with me. Bunch of gullible idiots.
It wasn’t much later that those arse warts from the mountain pass were caught red handed trying to rob some place. Guess the locals figured then that they were a bunch of liars and let me go.
You know the rest.
Need to get enough gold to buy a new sword. I don't really care how I go about it at this point, as long as I can replace this rusty piece of crap. If I want to stick around, I'll also have to make sure people here know not to mess with me. Should try to meet some half-decent folk, just in case. Then I got to find out if that Athkatla cretin is still somewhere on the Coast. I bet he'd love for me to see to that favor I'd promised.
Additional OOC info: