Cursed--History of Teo the Warlock

[TeoDeathDealer]

It happened so long ago, ancient history really. No one knows. A family's dire grab for survival during the great tribulation required a great sacrifice, a sacrifice of blood and souls. All that is known is an ancestor made a pact. With whom, no one knows—a mystery of the ages. Good nor evil it was, but other than that, nothing. Long since those ancient times the old gods faded and new one's took their place. Some powers however, never fade, but are hidden within. The family has since outlived its need for its protection. Now, all who display such powers are banned, forbidden to return, or killed.

He was born from a this cursed family who's linage dates to the time of the old gods. Power possessed, power forgotten. It lingers though in the male child linage; not all but in every so many generations. It doesn't manifest itself until puberty. Sparked by fear, anger, or some other powerful emotion, except love. There is no love for one so cursed.

He was dour from birth. His family worried that he was one of the cursed, one who hadn't appeared in 3 generations. Sure enough, as time pasted and he moved into puberty, events unfolded revealing the curse upon him. In accordance with tradition, he was banished--forced to leave the lands of his birth.

With nothing, he leaves wondering aimlessly and without purpose. In search of what he knows not. Starving and near death, he is found by a master warlock who immediately senses the young man's power. He takes him in, cares for him, trains him, grooms him as a proper warlock. He learns the power he possesses is feared by the ignorant and envious of others. The Master was not unkind and life began to seem “normal.” But that was to change...

[TeoDeathDealer]

The Master is a great warlock; too great. He has brought notice upon himself to those whose jealously and envy burn like the desert. It was nightfall. The Master was finishing a spat of letters to which his learned apprentice acted as scribe. Collecting up the papers, the apprentice left to complete the tasks for delivery. Shorty after a loud thunder broke the night serenity. Violent crashes and the familiar sound of invocations shook the castle walls. The young apprentice rushed to the scene to find the Master engaged in magical combat with another warlock, one he did not recognize. His blasts were unlike anything he'd seen. As he rushed to his Master's aid, the old warlock saw the young initiate coming to his assistance and called out to him to run. The lad would have none of it; he launched into his own meager attacks. Each was brushed aside like dust on a mantle. Suddenly, the Master was felled; not dead, thank the stars! But the other prepared a final blow, and the young apprentice leaped without thinking into the path of the hellish sulfur-laden stream of destruction. Oh, the searing pain...like nothing on this plane could produce, shook him to his core. Falling immediately, all he could see was his own flesh melting off his slight frame. Darkness fell upon him.

[TeoDeathDealer]

How long was it? He didn't know. Awakening to the same searing pain as before darkness overcame him, he struggled to move. Where was the Master? His answer was next to him, lifeless and scorched beyond recognition. He continued to lapse into and out of consciousness; how long, he knew not. No one would come, no one ever did. He would die here, laying beside the only father he'd ever known. Suddenly, a rage overcame him—an immense rage of the likes he's never experienced . Who would avenge my Master's murder should I die? Motivated by renewed strength, a strength only such rage can engender, he rose to all fours. With each racking, painful movement, he made it to the door, then to the yard, then to the river. The Spring brought with it cold, icy waters from the mountains and they lapped his charred body providing relief; enough relief to move on. In the coming days, the young apprentice, masterless and alone, tended his deformed and hideous frame. Almost mad at the pain and the sight of the grotesque form he had become, his only motivation was revenge. Revenge upon the warlock who murdered his Master.

[TeoDeathDealer]

Shreds...that’s all he could find. But, it was enough to lead him to the Sword Coast. His answer lies here...somewhere; both the perpetrator and the cure to this constant burning. The hellfire continues to consume him, little by little. He must find a cure and soon. It’s here, somewhere. So far no one seems to know. He has taken up the mantle of Oghma who he hopes will have pity on him and provide the answers he needs. Perhaps the elves in Domar Amar can help. There is also the Lady Rokranan who is called the “Saint.” She may have the power to overcome the curse of the hellfire. Both may be difficult as they apparently distrust warlocks. There is cause to do so. Most are bound in some way to evil. Desperation may lead him to approach one or the other. An intercessor would help. Perhaps the one called Wendel, a priest and fellow follower of Oghma. Whatever the course of action, it must be soon.