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.

Following the Path

Being exiled in a strange land is hard, but as a young adult male, with his martial training, and the presence of a new god filling his mind, Triyan prospered. He etched out an existence in the surface city of Seringale, avoiding hostile attention by heeding the expectations put upon its occupants set forth by their laws. Taking his desire to shed blood in honor of his new god outside the city proved little hindrance, finding much forest life and settlements of savage creatures established nearby. Countless were the bodies bled out in those first months, all in honor of his new god, with each bloody death he felt further approval from his new patron, and the dark powers blessed upon him grew in strength. Yet, he still sought a closer connection to this god who had noticed him so closely, and learned of a shrine dedicated to the surface worlds god of blood and plague, hidden within a dark ancient keep. He never for a moment had to question, that this was the same deity who now watched over him, as he could feel its affirmation within his body and mind. Clearing through a small cadre of guards outside the keep, he forced his way inside, endlessly searching down black tunnels that seemed to run forever. He kept moving, never stopping for an instant, until he finally felt a tug in his mind, leading him down yet another passageway within the keep. Here stood a shrine to the god Davairus, and he knelt and began to pray, and while he could feel his gods presence, he could feel no sign of approval for his worship here, in this place. Grimly he stood, stripping the armor off his chest, until he was naked from above the waist. No whip did he have, in order to honor Davairus with self-flagellation, but he did not hesitate for a moment, picking up the blood crusted spiked flail he'd been using to deliver offerings of blood through the massacre of his victims. Gripping the haft of the flail with both hands, his first swing sent himself sprawling to the ground with the spikes still embedded in his back, and the taste of blood on his mouth. Undaunted, he stood, and carelessly ripped it free from his back. His second blow was no gentler, landing in almost the identical spot as the first, he could feel the spikes penetrate deep within his body, and black spots swam across his vision, but he did fall this time. The pool of his own blood around his feet was already a generous amount, but again he swung his flail, his third blow striking close to his spine, and nothing he could do would stop his body from reacting with spasms as he fell to the ground again in convulsions, nearly biting through his own tongue. Standing again, he picked up the flail and swung back again, with sheer determination albeit weaker than before, landing the spiked flail head across his back for a fourth time. His mind registered a flash of pain, and the world went dark. Triyan awoke, small braziers from around the shrine dimly illuminating his surroundings, though his eyes had no problem piercing the darkness of empty hallways around him. He felt physically weak, dizziness threatening to engulf him in blackness again as he attempted to stand. Cold air flickered against his back, and he could feel the pain of its contact against open wounds. Around him though, the ground was spotless, his shed blood unaccounted for. Nor did new blood drip off him, as severe as the wounds in his body felt, nothing was draining from them anymore. Kneeling, his began to pray anew, and now a rush of approval and acceptance flooded his mind, bringing back some energy to his body. He shifted from kneeling to laying prostrate, strange and unknown dark words spewing from his mouth, extinguishing the lights around the shrine. A fresh wave of pain suddenly rushed through his body as the skin upon his chest flared angrily, and the smell of burnt hair and meat became apparent. The shock was too much for his already weakened body, and blackness overcame him again. Awakening yet again, he found himself no longer in the halls of Tyr Unguld, but within the well lit streets of Seringale now, lying on his back in front of a temple to the dark gods, his body aching as fiercely as ever. The burning across his chest had not subsided, and for the first time he noticed the new markings across it, of of a tarantula and a scorpion locked in combat. Climbing unsteadily to his feet, he saw an armed acolyte nearby guarding a building connected to the temple, watching him closely. He tried his best to straighten his back, and slowly brought himself over to the entrance way. The acolyte stared at him with its crazed demonic eyes, and without another word stepped aside. Without a glance backwards, Triyan walked deeper into the entrance way.