I was born in the depths of Cloakwood Forest to the elven ranger Lethariel Thorne. My father was never part of my life, and my mother refused to speak of him, warning only that some names were better left forgotten.
As a child, I witnessed a vampire massacre my village. Forced to hide while my mother fought to protect me, I learned that monsters often wore the faces of nobles and travelers rather than beasts. From that day forward, Lethariel trained me to survive in a world where courage mattered more than strength. She taught me to wield a blade, track unsavory creatures, and above all, judge people by their choices instead of their blood.
When Atwaad was fifteen, my true nature revealed itself. After a near-fatal encounter with a wolf, my wounds healed unnaturally fast, and I was overcome by a terrible hunger. My mother finally told me the truth: my father had been an ancient vampire who had deceived her before she escaped while carrying his child.
Rather than giving in to fear, I swore I would never become the monster his father was. I refused to let my cursed blood define my.
Four years later, tragedy struck again. The ancient vampire returned, seeking to claim his son. As the vampire closed in, Lethariel attacked and held him off long enough for me to escape into the forest. Her last words were not a grand prophecy or heroic oath, but the same advice she had repeated throughout my childhood.
“The world has enough monsters already. Don’t help it make another.”
Now twenty-two, I’ve spent the last few years wandering the edges of the Wood of Sharp Teeth, protecting isolated travelers, hunting wolves and other foul beasts, and surviving by my sword. Though still young and inexperienced, I’ve earned a reputation among a few villages as a dependable if unconventional protector. I distrust authority, bend rules whenever innocent lives are at stake, and believe no one is beyond redemption until they choose evil for themselves.
Recently, while following the trail of a mysterious creature through the mists, I lost my way. The fog swallowed the familiar roads, and when it finally cleared, I found myself approaching the city of Baldur’s Gate. Deciding my trail had gone cold I ventured into the city to find food and lodgings. Not long after, I found himself standing before an unfamiliar tavern that showed some promise of entertainment, known as The Lusty Strigiforme. Whether fate, the Mists, or something far darker guided my there, I cannot say.
What I do know is that every journey begins with a single step… and every monster, no matter how powerful, can bleed.
Welcome to the Realms 