A Dance of Magicks
Preferred Weapon: Dual Long Swords
A short recollection of Thaton’s life so far
Thaton was a boy filled with good intent and a kind spirit, but born to parents with no interest in raising a child. After living a neglected life of mostly raising himself, one day, he came home from a long day spent in the woods to find both his father (a local trade shop owner) and his mother who had become the first female city guard, obliterated along the shop’s interior. Traumatized and alone, he cried himself to sleep on his front porch out of fear of entering his empty house. The next day a passing band of fur traders found him and after learning of the horrors on the other side of the door allow him to travel with them. Taking nothing but his mother and father’s swords, he left his life there behind and headed north.
Over the next few years he traveled and lived with the fur traders. They liked having him around and in return for them teaching him to hunt, Thaton allowed them to sell the furs and meat he collected. Throughout the years, he took to learning many new skills, very quickly and although he could never master tracking, eventually became the group’s best hunter. He loved being in nature and despite being a hunter by trade, the nature liked being around him too, for a while he even tamed a young fawn before returning it to it’s mother. The traders taught him much about the wilderness and how to do more than just survive in it, he learned to enjoy the little things and appreciate what little he had. Unfortunately he was soon left with a lot less.
After leaving the city of Waterdeep, 18 year old Thaton and his companions decided that to avoid being caught in a mid-autumn blizzard they should travel through the Sword Mountains. A wise decision at the time, a blizzard could mean certain death if not treated seriously. What they didn’t know, was that there were enough bandits waiting along the mountain pass to make travelling naked in a blizzard sound like a good idea. Hopelessly outnumbered the traders dropped what they were carrying and broke into a sprint hoping that if they jumped down the steep mountain slope to their side the bandits would let them escape with their lives, they were wrong. As Thaton and the traders slid down the mountain the bandits let out a roaring victory cry and shot hundreds of arrows down the mountain side at the unaware group. To his left and right Thaton watched as his friends, his family; were shot down, their bodies left to tumble down the frosty slope, leaving nothing but streaks of red in the snow before falling off the cliff they were quickly approaching. A hand reached out from a tall jagged rock and grabbed Thaton by the wrist, one of the traders had managed to avoid the cliff by grabbing onto the rock and hiding behind it, but not before he could avoid several arrows to his back. He pulled Thaton onto the narrow ledge behind the rock with him, his last act of kindness to the young man before coughing up blood and falling to the snow. Thaton watched in horror as the last of the trader’s bodies disappeared over the edge.
Frozen where he sat, he stayed there long after he knew the bandits had left. He overcame the immense sadness, rage soon replaced it. He hiked for an hour up the frigid slope with only the thoughts of revenge pushing him forward. A light snowfall had begun as he reached the pathway the bandits had fired down on him from. They left the traders bags, their clothing and other personal belongings strewn across the snowy path. He knew he wasn’t good at tracking but he looked at the snow and could easily see where the bandit’s feet had taken them. They followed the path for several hours but then took off to the right into a cluster of large boulders. He walked through the tight space between the boulders and into a clearing on the other side. He could clearly see their camp, dozens of tents pitched around an enormous bonfire with many smaller fires by the outer tents. They’d picked a perfect place to camp, an enormous bowl shaped canyon surrounded on all sides by jagged, impassable rocks. A twenty foot drop from the rocks on all sides but the one Thaton stood, instead there was a small five foot drop separating him from the path to the camp. He waited there until the campfires died down, by then the snowfall had become much heavier making it difficult to see what was more than ten feet away. Embers were all that were visible from his perch, figuring them to be asleep by now he allowed another hour to pass before venturing into the camp. He entered the first tent silently, the gusting wind covering his entry. A heavy, disgusting man lay before him, as Thaton raised his two swords the man stirred in his bed, the swords came down silently, one to the throat the other puncturing his heart. There was nothing more than the sound of his head falling to the tent’s dirt floor. He left and walked to the next tent, repeating as he did before. He silently drifted in and out of tents, sweeping the camp like a wave of death. Finally, the camp was nearly empty, the last tent was all that remain, a very large tent alone on one side of the large bonfire’s embers. He took many of the untouched chunks of wood from near the fire, to the tent and lay it close to the fabric. He took a glowing piece of charcoal to the line of wood he’d built and held it to the dry wood. Several breaths was all it took before flames erupted, they crawled along the first log, given enough time they’d spread to the tent. Thaton sprinted back to his perch along the canyon edge. He waited between the boulders, blood spattered all over his clothing, for the blizzard, and night to pass. The sun had just begun to crest the edge of the rocks, when the tent caught ablaze. It collapsed inward on itself and a horrifying roar of anguish came from under the tents burning mass. A charred and still flaming figure crawled out from beneath the fabric and wood beams. A massive man, covered in searing metal and burning fur. He collapsed to the ground and ceased movement.
Thaton left the grueling scene through where he’d come. Until that night he’d never killed another man, but fueled with the rage of his now deceased make-shift family, he’d massacred dozens. He was content with his actions, it wouldn’t bring back his friends, but now he knew they could rest in peace. With his heart still heavy he headed north to the city of Neverwinter. Alone again, he found a small abandoned house on the edge of town and set up his new life there. He started working for his neighbor, a blacksmith and armorer. He became his apprentice and learned the trade quickly. Thaton found more work around town to keep himself busy, but mostly stuck to the forge with his new mentor. A year and eight months passed before the dragon came. Thaton was off on an odd job when he heard the roars from the sky. He ran back to the forge to check on his neighbor only to find the building crushed. One, wrinkled old hand stretched out from under the rubble dripping blood as it twitched. Thaton pulled rock after rock, wooden beam after beam off the old man. Finally his body was free of the rubble, but the blacksmith was already gone. He closed the man’s eyes and as he walked away from the scene, saw a popular group of well known adventurers panicking outside a house…