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| - Current Age: Twenty As far as I can remember my family as been cursed when dealing with magic. The mother of my mother was a low level sorcerer called Esna. I say low level because nobody wanted to take her as an apprentice, something about wild magic and having no control over her own power. So she decided to teach herself by spending most of her day watching wizard and sorcerer and reading whatever she could found about magic. Esna wasn’t able to do much with her magic, but she new a lot for a simple peasant. One evening, while my mother was asleep, she was sitting down and getting ready for her daily reading, as she lit a candle using one of the few magic spells she could actually perform. Something went wrong and the flame grew out of proportions and out of control. It did not take long before the old wood house started to burned, Esna took my mother and carried her out of the house only to look at what should have been a simple spell, was now an unstoppable force of nature consuming half the village. The next day she was arrested and kill under the charge of practicing magic without been properly train, burning down half a village and ironically a brand new temple dedicated to Mystra. My mother, Elissea, was left alone to survive at the age of 11, living in the street of a city brought down by her mother, life was not easy for her. After a couple months barely surviving, she decided to go in a bigger city where nobody would know her past. Elissea was bless with an astonishing beauty and decided to use this gift from the Gods to live. Because of her beauty she was not that simple prostitute, but more of a gift to some of the richest and most powerful member of this great city. But one day the Gods played a mean trick on her, she became pregnant of me. My father, she told me, was a priest from a temple of Mystra and did not approved that my mother decided to keep me. The priest was afraid that having a child from a prostitute, even an upper class one, would jeopardize is favour with the Goddess of magic and is reputation. After recommending killing the child and menacing her of never again work in this city, the priest left. My mother often described this moment as volcano erupting after sleeping so long that nobody knew it was there. All she can remember is saying word she did not understand and pointing at the leaving priest, out of her finger came lightning bolt the colour of her anger… black. But what can the rage of a newly mother protecting her future do against the protective ward of a priest and his goddess blessing? She told me that at this moment the time slowed and she could see every dark bolt moving snakelike toward the priest, but as soon as it touched him the bolt came back right at her. Everything went black. She woke up several hour later, unmark, lying down on the floor of her room, the priest had left several coin at her side. For the next nine month her life was hell… back on the street, with almost no money, no business and always wondering what happen that faithful day. Why didn’t she have any skin mark or even pain? The answer came with me. I had burn marks all over my body and to add to my pain my skin was dark grey, the same colour from the her “Rage bolt”. Than it hit her, the angry Goddess must have decided to punish her true me for attacking her disciple with her own weapon. Things went down from there; nobody wanted to do business with her because of what I was, witch herself did not even know. She tried everything possible to cure me from her curse but nothing worked and nobody wanted to help. Desperate time call for desperate measure. My mother as a child, spend a lot of time watching her mother studied. She even learned a thing or two about magic; witch could explain the “dark bolt”. She remembered reading about wizard summoning abysmal creature to help them create powerful potion and items. After trying asking every wizard and sorcerer in the city for help in her quest to free me from her curse and been rejected by every single one of them. She decided to do it herself even tough she new it was an almost impossible thing to perform and could be fatal if she make a mistake. So she spent almost a year reading books, asking questions and getting the ingredients for the summoning. On one warm night of summer she was ready. She find out that only powerful wizard could perform such act and control the summoned creature. She decided to summon the easiest one: an Imp. If newly wizard could summon them as familiar she could probably summon one and ask a simple question. After several hours a small demonic figure appeared. She asked is name and than asked him: “ Would there be a potion or a spell that could make my son look different than this?” The imp knew my mother was no wizard and was irritated to have been summoned by a commoner. He decided to not answer the question. So Elissea desperately conclude a pack with the demonic figure, freedom on this plane in exchange of answer. That got the Imp attention, and after a moment of reflection he accepted. With a ray of hope and good fortune in her life she quickly collected all the ingredients necessary for the potion that would give her son a chance to live a normal life. I don’t remember the taste of it, neither the colour nor anything about this part of my life, but she told me it must have been awful because only the smell was good enough to give her nausea. The imp was long gone when time was come for me to take my “cure”. She new immediately that something was wrong with the potion when nothing happens to me. My skin was still grey, the scares were still there and I was still ugly. It was not until the next day that my mother saw a difference. Even tough Imps are the easiest to summon, and probably the smallest too, they are evil creature from another plane and really smart especially compare to a desperate mother. It’s only when she saw the tips of a tail on my back that she understand her mistake. She assumed that the Imp would know she wanted her son to look human; the Imp knew the mistake in wording the phrase and use it to is benefice. In a way he did what she ask of him, now people would not notice my skin at first or my ugliness but the devilish tail in my back. He also made me different; I was not ugly anymore but scary ugly. It did not take long for every priest in the city and is council to notice me. She got arrested and brought in front of justice. Even though she told the truth about my father and what she did, they did not believed her. She was accused of “sleeping” with a demon and giving birth to the atrocity that was I. She got branded as evil worshipers and forbade to ever setting foot in any civilized city or village in the big country of the Vaasa, under penalty of death. I think they never branded me thinking that my appearance alone would have that same branding effect. We did not lived in the wild for long, only three month after leaving forever the presence of man, elves, dwarves and all other races, my mother and I got capture by a band of trolls, she told me that ironically we got saved from horrible death by my appearance. The trolls though I was a baby demon or something like that, so they took us to there camp to show their prize to their leader. The leader saw me as a gift from their Gods; they used my mother as a slave and decided to train me into being, what they believed, a powerful weapon for their tribe. Elissea died a few week after our abduction, trolls like fresh meat and she was useless to them, the images and sounds of my mother getting eaten alive by frenzy trolls will mark me forever. In the days before her death she told me the name of the imp that trick her and wrote on pieces of skin her story and the one of her life. I think she knew she would not survive much longer. I kept those pieces of skin all my life; even thought I could not read them yet since she was the only one writing and reading in common language. It’s amazing how quick you learn to survive when trolls, that see you as a lunch half the time, surround you. Almost every night I would crawl in my mud hole beating to death by angry trolls, to wake up the next day in time for another beaten. They did not know magic nor stealth, what they know was rage and blood. Trolls are a force of chaos, strong enough to ripe the head off a man with a single swing and gifted with a healing factor that could heal them from almost any wounds inflicted by the enemy. Since trolls are so strong they don’t tend to carry small weapons for their sibling. The smallest weapon they had was a long sword; witch for a 5 years old kid is pretty heavy. By the age of 17, armed with my great sword I was strong enough to hold my ground against several trolls in a fight. By 19, I decided that the time had come for me to avenge the death of my mother. After a long night of celebrations to there trolls like Gods, the tribe was sound asleep under the effect of all the alcohol they had drank. I burned them all, the few that manage to get up were slain by my great sword and burned to ashes. I don’t remember much of that night, all I know is I was overcome by a rage fuelled by the images of my dear mother getting eaten alive. Rest in peace mother. By noon, I left the ashes of what used to be my home and my own personal hell. I hate the Gods for what they did to my mother and me. I am not afraid of death and I do believe I will die a horrible death just like the one of my ancestor. But before I die I will have kill the Imp, which cursed me and my mother with this tail; the selfish priest responsible for my appearance and the Goddess of Magic Mystra. How do I kill a God, I do not know but I will hurt her, by killing her disciples one by one, until Mystra is the only one left.
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