Triyan the Holy Shaman
Triyan created on 17th of April 2020, and is currently 24 years old (104 hours played).

Title: the Holy Shaman
Gender: Male
Level: 50
Class: duergar shaman

Background history:

  1. The Beginning of the Path - posted at 2020-04-26 04:54:58
  2. Following the Path - posted at 2020-04-26 06:00:42
The Beginning of the Path
Triyan was born on a day of troubling signs, several of the underground lakes his people drew water from were discovered to be fouled by disease, all creatures inhabiting the waters were found dead floating in the lakes, their bodies decomposing at a speed far beyond natural. Added to this, several of the pregnant rothe in their herd had all birthed stillborns that morning, and the female cattle themselves died terrible deaths, bleeding from their orifices. While his clan was not a naturally superstitious lot, terrible omens often brought back more primal practices, and several newborns and virgins of the clan were sacrificed to the old gods in hopes of appeasement. Triyan himself was spared such a fate, as his mother gave birth without any aid, and concealed his birth for weeks, being of a much more sensible mind than her fearful kinsmen. Triyan's father had been killed several months prior, while escorting clan merchants through the underground warrens of their out many of the able-bodied males of their clan. Without Triyan, any sort of financial support for her lands. The words spoken to her had been of an ambush by a neighboring duergar clan, which had wiped from her husbands family would cease, so she concealed the exact date of his birth more for her own benefit than Triyan's. His upbringing and schooling was average in nature, his mother neither cruel, nor loving, raised him with the intent of him helping support her own comfort. He began instruction in the temples by their priests, as all children did for some period of time. It was not uncommon for their gods to answer the prayers of their people for simple things, such as healing small wounds, or curing illnesses. Any particular abilities as an acolyte of their gods was overlooked, as none of his works stood out particularly. He received instruction in other fields, as a proper duergar would often find themselves in different roles throughout their life, be it soldier, assassin, or merchant. Triyan maintained his daily prayers to his gods over the years, as did all of his clan, and often small signs were given, to let him know his words were answered. While serving as a bodyguard for merchants, much as his father did, his role brought him to the surface world for trading with people of the open lands. Daily prayers during his time on the service left him feeling empty, as if no one was watching over him anymore, his gods offered him no signs of their presence. At night, he prayed more fervently than ever, even practicing self-flagellation, turning his back into a bloody slab of meat time and and time again, out of pure desperation for a sign from his gods. Finally one evening as he finished his nightly prayers, his thick blood pooling on his back from his new routine of self-flagellation, something answered. Several of their caravan's lizard mounts pitched furiously before spasming to the ground dead, their blood spilling out of all of their orifices to collect into a pool before Triyan. A humanoid form gathered from the pool, stepping towards Triyan, it reached out and rested its hand against his chest, leaving a bloody smear. Then with no warning it collapsed towards him, a small flood of crimson washing across his ankles as it lost its form. The commotion of dying mounts did not go unnoticed, and several others from the caravan came upon him moments later, seeing him clearly involved in the unnatural phenomenon layed out before them. Things as these never end well, as the duergar people are often prone to assuming the worst of someone in these situations, and it was all Triyan could do with fast words and fearful threats of violence to force the compromise of exile over death from the others he was with. He soon found himself walking out into the dark with only what he wore, with caravan fires and the angry, fearful shouts of his people at his back.


Gray lusterless hair hangs off this dwarf's scalp, shaved on the sides and back with only minimal length on top. Whereas the gray of his hair is like dirty smoke, the gray of his skin is more like ash, with a heavy overtone of white to it. Large wide ears hang off the side of his head, angled outwardly enough to be sensitive to the gentlest of breezes, which cause them to twitch violently of their own volition. His nose is quite large with flaring nostrils, tufts of hair peek out from them. He has no beard, but rather a mighty handlebar moustache with a small patch of hair under his bottom lip. His red eyes are quite small and sunken into his face, with dark discolorations around them. Short, yet quite thick arms hang off his stocky frame, the palms of his hands are wide, but the fingers themselves are quite short and stubby. His legs are short, even for a dwarf, and one would be hard pressed to guess where his knees are, as a slight paunch of fat hangs over his waist, partially concealing them.

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