Draelar was once the star pupil of his monastery. Mastering many
techniques that the elders of his order had barely begun to understand, by
the time he was just the age of 10. He was truly dedicated to his training
and lived his entire life for the acceptance of his uncle who was the
grandmaster of the monastery. Despite his achievements, and the accolades
bestowed upon him by the other masters of the school, his uncle would seldom
even look at him let alone show him any affection. Undaunted by his failure
to complete this seemingly insurmountable task of receiving his uncle's
acknowledgment, Draelar began pouring his entirety into honing his skills to
their pinnacle.
His meteoric rise through the ranks of the school past those who had been
stuck in their positions for years soon gained him many rivalries, and even
more enemies. On the day of Draelar's 15th birthday he was approached by
one of his favorite teachers and was told. "I have seen how much you crave
your uncle's acceptance. I have a way that is assured to get you into his
good graces." Draelar, enraptured by this possibility, began to listen to
his master's plan to gain favor with his uncle.
Strings were pulled, and soon Draelar was granted an audience in front of
his uncle and the entire monastery. He was to give a performance of his
knowledge of all of the katas of his monastery. Just before he was to start
his master pulled him aside. "Drink this young pupil. It will burn your
throat, but it will give you fire within to complete your task with
transcendence." Draelar quickly quaffed down the elixir his teacher offered
him, his face grimacing as the fire scorched his throat and set a flush to
his cheeks.
The performance of his katas were perfect and his movements were fluid and
divine at first, but as he continued he began to stumble. His vision began
to waiver, and he glanced over to his teacher and he saw a wicked smirk
across his face. Fear began to take hold of Draelar, and he began to wonder
if he had been poisoned. He finished his final katas and knelt in front of
his uncle and await his evaluation, knowing instantly that he had failed.
"What have you been doing these past 15 years!?" Boomed his uncle's voice.
"I have been told you are one of the most dedicated to training, yet this is
all you have to show from your years of study? You look like a buffoon!"
"BuuUtt, UuncLe! YoOuU d'n unNerStanNnce! HHiive baen pOiiSonNed!!"
Pleaded Draelar. But he was met only with a snarl that split his uncle's
lips. The grandmaster monk stood and walked towards his nephew. Anger
seething on his face. "You dare to come before me no better than your drunk
of a father? First he runs off to be with a snobbish Elf and then becomes a
drunkard and abandons his castaway on MY doorstep so that I have to feed and
house the useless thing! "
Draelar stared at his uncle in horror and his heart fell into his stomach as
he saw a backhanded slap coming his way. He stumbled back drunkenly and
felt the air whiz by his head as his uncle's blow barely missed his face.
Instinctively Draelar struck back. As if in a trance his body moved of its
own volition and he realized to his dismay he was about to strike the
grandmaster. Barely able to pull his punch at the last second and take most
of the force out of it, he still connected. Immediately he sensed the
change in the room and realized that he had just given all of his rivals an
excuse to kill him.
His only thought was self preservation, and he knew he had to flee urgently.
He put every bit of training he had into his escape, and with the adrenaline
and the alcohol pumping through his veins he remembered very little of his
flight. Running until his lungs burned and felt as though they would erupt,
Draelar soon realized he was lost. He had never before ventured away from
the monastery.
He began to wander the lands of Serin not knowing what to do next. One day
he was wandering down a city street when he was assaulted by four local
thugs. An Innkeeper watched from his stoop as Draelar made short work of
the thugs and called out "Hurrah! That was quite a show you put on there!
I could use muscle like you! How would you like a warm place to sleep, food
to keep yah fed, and enough grog to keep you warm no matter what the weather
be?" With that question Draelar began his new life of tavern brawls and
intoxication.
Description:
Before you is an unassuming man. There is nothing at first glance that
makes him stand out from any other. Plain brown hair is mildly unkempt and
cut short enough you notice his ears pointing through the curls. His skin
is an auburn hue denoting hours spent under Serin's sun. At first glance he
looks gaunt and malnourished. You get the sense after further inspection
that his condition is not from poor diet, but the result of countless hours
training his body. Callouses cover the gnarled knuckles of his hands. His
muscles twitch as if he is struggling to constrain his body not to start
fighting. Something about the way he stands suggests violence and danger
are but a second away. Yet there is also a serene calm about him that
bespeaks altruism and serenity are his true demeanor. Eyes of a bright
green seem to shine lambent as he smiles at you. He bows in a welcoming
manner and opens his arms and hands showing he means you no harm.
