Cleric of Kord who will never let his past repeat.
Daath was a young teen living in the ruined wastes of Neo Membastia as part of a temple devoted to no one god, but an ideal of non violence and harmony. The priests opened their halls as a commune to the displaced and homeless, though never allowing weapons or objects of the sort inside. As such, Daath grew knowledgeable only in the ways of healing wounds, not in causing them, and would not have had need of such things if it were not for one dark night. The moon was high, but only slivers of light could peek through the dark clouds that blanketed the night sky. Shadows of unseen strangers darted here and there on the grounds surrounding the house of safety. Tall, human like creature, covered in hair with dog like faces and armed to the teeth came prowling up the steps of the temple. Then, with a flick of its claws, the raid was on.
Bursting through the doors, screaming and howling out cries of battle, the large band of Gnolls streamed into the stone cloisters and began their gruesome work. Anything shiny or edible was thrust into bags and satchels, while anything soft and fleshy was rent asunder. The unarmed priests and defenseless travelers never stood a single chance. Room by room, hall by hall, the beasts left nowhere unchecked. Daath, terrified by the bloodshed, had taken refuge in his dormitory and sat cowering in a dark corner. Screams assaulted his ears, steel ringing against stone as it passed easily through unprotected bodies filled his head. Then, softly, he heard the pat-pat-pat of someone drawing near. Poking his head from his hiding spot, he saw his mentor, a patient and kindhearted man who wouldn’t harm a Kobold, stumbling towards him. Instantly jumping forward, he caught him as he fell. The sight of this beloved friend, now lying in his lap with an axe buried in his back and blood making an ever broadening crimson stain was burned into his mind. So he did not see the Gnoll stalking into the room, and barely registered as it raised its hand. But he felt it. He felt as the razor sharp claws dug deep furrows into his face, felt the hard stone catch his head as he collapsed to the floor, and finally felt his consciousness slipping as he watched the beast race from the room to hunt more prey. He glanced at his dead companion one last time, then the darkness took him.
It must have been several days since Daath had been knocked out, for when he came to the sickly smell of death nearly had him wishing he had stayed asleep. Unsteadily getting to his feet, he stepped over the rotting corpse of his mentor. Mechanically, he wandered the halls. A depressing and heavy silence hung on the air, mixed with the stench of decay. Bodies were everywhere, mostly travelers and priests but one or two Gnolls were also among the dead; apparently a few of the wayfarers did not heed the rule of no weapons. It mattered not, for always by these dead attackers were the bodies of men with weapons held in their hands and wounds thick with gore and dry blood. Not a single of the few healing spells he knew could do a thing now. Taking what supplies he could find that escaped plunder, which was a little water and some scraps of stale bread, he left the temple and its memories quickly. His mind never stopped as he wandered blindly about the wastes. He had felt so useless, he’d left his companions to die. of course he would have been of no help, there would have been no use healing in the midst of such a slaughter. His mentor lying dead in his arms, the beast that clawed his face sneering down at him, the images played over and over. He walked for a day and a half down the road leading toward what others claimed was another commune, even forgetting he had brought sustenance as he doggedly pursued these claims. As the moon rose on the second day, Daath came upon the steps of a great stone building. He collapsed once again, only half noticing the strong men in robes rushing down towards him.
Once again, Daath rose from a resting position, though this time in a soft bed and with a friendly face gazing down at him. “Welcome to the Hall of Kord, my young friend. Whatever it was that got you left quite a mark.” Grabbing a nearby mirror, Daath looked at himself in shock. Deeply scarred upon his face were three deep gashes, the largest barely skipping over his eye, and was flanked by two smaller ones. The beast must have thought it would bleed enough to kill him. A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the real world. “Come young priest, there is much to do.” In the following weeks Daath learned that the raids had not reached this temple, the Gnolls feared them greatly. The men worshipped the god of battle and strength, and were fierce warriors. They welcomed Daath into their order, teaching him ways to protect himself. How to fight, how strategize and, to his surprise, how to protect others. Daath had been taught that to fight was to kill, and to kill was a dark sin. But here, he learned that to fight could also be to protect, to ensure safety for others. With this knowledge, and his will to never allow his past to repeat, he became the greatest priest the temple had seen; not for his personal fighting prowess, but for the fervor in which he defended and strengthened his allies. Fighting alongside Daath was to fight beyond ones peak, he made sure of that.
“Fear not my friend, Kord’s fist will not abandon you this day!”