GameBanshee Forums

From an early age Ehren was singled out among his peers for his fiery red hair in the village
of Cumberland. On an errand one day for his alcoholic father, a couple of the older village boys,
trying to impress a suitor, decided to tease Ehren. Whoever could make him cry first was the
winner. Ehren was confident with his physical form and nothing anyone could say would bring him
to tears. His mother, however, was another matter. As soon as she was mentioned Ehren’s eyes
turned to steel, covering his rage within.
The smarter of the oppressors saw the young boys’ mood darken and stopped what he was
saying, realising he may have crossed the wrong line with his last comment. The dumber one,
lacking the perception skills of his associate kept on with his bombardment. Each word was
stoking the inferno in Ehrens’ heart and at last he reached his limit. Remembering the bottle of
potent liquor his father had sent him to collect, his arm grew taught as he swung it with a rage
only a berserker could attain at the dumb persecutors temple. It connected with blast of glass
shards, the older lad sent sprawling.
Ehren’s heart turned to ice as he realised what he had done. His face a picture of sorrow,
it quickly changed to confusion once he looked at the boy he had struck. Apart from being on the
floor and very surprised he seemed none the worse for wear. No blood, nothing. Seeing vengeance in
the smarter one’s eyes he quickly turned and fled only to be grabbed by what felt like a claw. He
whipped round ready to plead for his life only to realise it was the village priest who had
apprehended him.
“Come, child,” said the priest. “We have much to discuss.”
That night Ehren poured his heart out to the priest, Wycombe, as he revealed himself to be.
Wycombe had witnessed all that had transpired and had been granted an insight into Ehren. He had
shown great control in not lashing out much sooner, but poor judgement by not walking away.
Wycombe was nearing the end of his days and in need of an apprentice. Ehren, with some moulding,
was that apprentice. He moved in with Wycombe, leaving his father no issue since they were never
close. His mother had died soon after birth. He was taught the ways of Pelor, the Sun God, and leant
how to control his temper in the pursuit of good.
The day came when Wycombe passed away. On his death bed he handed Ehren a package and said,
“I wasn’t always an old man. I see your strength of body and heart and I envy you. Go now, into the
world, seek out injustice wherever you see it and burn it at its core. Remember . . . Temperance.”
Wycombe’s last words echoing in his heart, Ehren set out from Cumberland to make the world
a brighter place. The package contained Wycombe’s legacy, The Temperate Star. With the half-dozen
years of tutelage Wycombe had bestowed upon him, Ehren was confident in his ability to wield the
mighty Morningstar, with reserve, in his quest for justice.
Months passed that felt like years and Ehren roamed the land helping all those he could, yet
his life lacked purpose. Nothing he did seemed to affect the grand scheme of the world. His blazing
passion was guttering. Eventually rumours started circling of a virgin-eating king far to the West
in the scorching land of Karnakiid. Ehrens’ birth land, Tormany, was considered hot, almost arid but
Karnakiid was in the highest echelon of hostile environments.
This, thought Ehren, is what my life has been building up to. With new ire in his heart and
purpose in his stride he set off for Karnakiid.
Again months went by, yet this time with speed. Every step closer to Karnakiid was a step
closer to destiny. The city walls came within sight and anxiety gripped Ehren. He steeled his resolve,
squeezing his moist palms into fists and paced to the city gates. He entered the city and a great
roar rose from the masses choking the streets; “The King is dead!” And so is my purpose, thought Ehren . . .