Alignment: Neutral Evil
Class: Bard/Blackguard
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Venerated Deities: Oghma, Bhaal, Myrkul
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. While most may find aesthetic pleasure in the stroke of a brush or the melody of a tune, Ambrose always saw art in the splatter of blood and the wail of a death throe.
Ambrose’s “unique” eye for the arts was manifest at an early age. Not content to draw simple pictures in the dirt with sticks like his peers, the young boy would instead silently watch as maggots slowly engulfed an animal carcass in his village’s nearby woods. This is beauty, he’d think, and a smile would light on his lips as he reflected over the writhing mass of white grubs.
Before long, the gnarled branches of a dead tree and the myriad bruises on a pock-ridden face inspired the young Ambrose to create his own works. He was particularly elated digging his skinning knife into the flesh of a recently felled animal. The final whisper of breath that would escape from the creature and the vibrant crimson hue of its entrails were masterpieces to the boy. And as he grew older, he continued to perfect his craft.
Naturally, Ambrose’s tastes became increasingly difficult to hide. He was no fool, and knew that openly expressing his attitudes would only cut short his budding career. Thus, he was forced to be creative. Hunting with the other village men, a poorly placed arrow could lengthen the death of the local fauna. The final minutes of his suffering quarry were like the best acting troupe’s play to Ambrose. Death was the ultimate final act. And what was mistaken by the villagers as poor talent with the harp was actually the purposeful missed notes of a skilled musician. Ambrose, of course, enjoyed the sharp screeches of his discordant instrument.
As with many great artists, Ambrose soon outgrew his humble home. Sword at his waist and harp in his hand, the young man sought to sow his craft along the Sword Coast. The next years were trying, however, with no sane innkeeper willing to part with gold to a man who missed as many notes as he hit. Ambrose turned to adventuring in order to get by and quickly found that the pitiful howls of an injured goblin or ally alike were a symphony to his ears. He now seeks to continue his passion, searching for slaughter, death, and disgust wherever and however he may. Ambrose wishes to be surrounded by his wicked beauty and would be quick to plunge his sword into the heart of a man if presented the safe opportunity, if only to revel in the dying soul’s expression of absolute anguish.