Odol Gorroto

Description:
Bio:

“I was born in a time of a conflict between the humans and elves of the northern forests. My father, a balang berzerker conscripted into a conflict for which he had no ties, raped my elf mother in the chaos of battle. A year later, as the conflict was peacefully resolved and my birth approached, he was caught by his own, and offered to the elves as a token of goodwill. They drew and quartered him. My mother was always a fragile woman, and I was a constant reminder of what had happened to her. When I was five, just learning to recognize the contempt everyone felt for me, my mother could no longer stand the constant reminder and took her own life. From then on I was raised by the community, the elders keeping track of me but giving me nothing. I moved from home to home often; some tried to take care of me, but they all knew what I was, and they were poor at hiding their hate. I even found out later that my house name, Gorroto, means The Hated in some half-lost outsider language. Finally at 10 years old, with no families left willing to take me, I wound up in the hands of an elder. A well traveled shaman, he sensed in me natural magical talents, much to the surprise of the whole community. Over the years he taught me to focus and build the maelstrom of eldritch energy within me. For the first time in my life I felt cared for. I thought I had found my place. I should have known I was wrong. On the eve of my 13th birthday, he called to me, saying he had a surprise for me. As I walked into his study, I heard arcane mumbling and found my body suddenly weighing several tonnes, restrained by a magic circle he had etched into the wooden floor. He said he was proud of me; I had finally brought my magical gifts close enough to the surface for him to extract. He thanked me for the incredible boost to his own power it would give him, and apologized for the unfortunate death the process would bring to me. I seethed with rage. I had been betrayed by everyone I had ever encountered, and I finally had the tools to stop it. I lashed out, delved deep into the pandemonium of rage and hate and vengeful lust, and from whence I knew not where I cast forth a violet ray of crackling energy at my former guardian, the one person I had ever encountered who had garnered from me even a trace of fellowship. He was dead before his smoldering corpse hit the floor. His incantation failed, and the backlash inundated me with raw mana, changing me in ways I still do not understand. My whole outer being changed. My hair grew lively, becoming thin fleshy tendrils which bobbed and writhed of their own accord. My once brilliant amber eyes faded to homogeneous dull crimson spheres. My muscles hardened, my skin took the texture and consistency of parchment, and my blood coursed through my veins with a new-found vigor to rival the infamous troll-dogs of the northeast. Having killed an elder, I fled to the desert city from which my father had come. Though some were kind enough to give me a some scrap food or rags, none saw past the monstrous outer facade which I could not help but present them. I could find no employ, though my handicraft was trained beyond the city’s finest artisans. I carved small wooden trinkets from scrap, but none would buy, fearing them cursed idols or some such superstitious nonsense. So again I struck out on my own, venturing across the landscape in search of sustenance and freedom from the fear and hate I had encountered in every face I came across. Hence, my residence in this insular community of similar outcasts.”

Odol Gorroto

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