Pallor Mortis

[Gouster]

((Hi, though i'd create a bio for my new alt Pallor Mortis. Well, not a bio, more like a background. Its good to have a little story behind a character that you play. I dont RP but, my toons feel more "real" if there is a story behind them with individual goals and such for their adventuring lives.

This is something that come up the last hour i was thinking about it. I wanted to name him Rigor Mortis but unfortunatly the name was taken. I dont really know much about the lore of ebberon, but it doent matter since the story is still very vague.Anyway though i'd share it with you lot))

Pallor mortis (Latin: paleness of death) is a postmortem paleness which happens almost instantaneously (in the 15–120 minutes after the death) because of a lack of capillary circulation throughout the body. (wikipedia)

THE STRAGGLE WITHIN

Pallor is not the name that was given to him by his parents. In fact he does not remember his real name. He has no memories of childhood. He doesn’t remember his parents, where he was born and grew up. Day by day his memories fade while his anticipation grows. He must find the others.

That’s all he knows. He does not know why. It is a burning thought embedded into his mind.

3 Names.
Algor
Rigor
Livor

He knows nothing of them. Where they are, who they are or why he must find them. He knows that it is imperative that he does. His life depends on it. Life? Hah.

He hasn’t eaten in weeks. He doesn’t feel hungry nor thirsty. He grows more pale every single day. It’s a curse. It must be. But maybe, if he finds them the curse will be lifted. Or at least he will get some answers. Maybe his memory will return. Maybe…

He has no choice. He is a stranger in a strange land. Stormreach. Although he does not know his origin, he is sure he is a stranger here. This place doesn’t feel like home. How could it be? Tall impressive buildings and devices of magic everywhere. Strange creatures so tall in height, and dark in colour, some with pointy ears and blood red eyes. This place is like a kettle that boils a stew of every ingredient there is. Lately he sees a lot of his own kind in the streets of Stormreach. But he doesn’t speak to them any more. No dwarf remembers him, knows him or even heard of him. Pallor Mortis. What kind of name is that for a dwarf? they ask Where are you from? Why are you here? Questions that he cannot answer. He can handle the prejudice when coming from the other races but he cannot stand the contempt from his own kind. It makes him feel more strange, more desperate, more helpless.

In the few weeks that he has been in Stormreach he visited every place, asked every inhabitant and adventurer he met but noone knows or even heard of these names. It is clear that they are not here. Not in the city. But Stormreach is the start. It must be. He “woke up here”. He was either brought here or whatever happened to him, took place within the city walls. But he must leave now. They are not here. Not in the city. He heard from adventurers of other places, nearby of leagues away. He must search everywhere. But where to begin from? Having absolutely no clue, any place is as good as the next.

He exited the city but within minutes he was attacked by black wolves. He barely made it back in one piece. He didn’t even manage to kill one. He felt weak and mad at himself. The axe on his hand felt good though. He knows he is a warrior. Or has been. He can even handle two of them. He is just so weak. Still.

He saw a party of adventures outside the gate to the Searing Heights and asked them to join them. With them he will be able to leave this city. The wolves won’t be problem for a party of six. But they laughed at him. They had no use of him. They told him he is too weak and he looks funny carrying those two axes. That he is dressed like a farmer and he can probably find better gear in the garbage by the Auction house.

He was mad at them for insulting him, but he knew they were right. He could not even fend off a few wolves. He just made it back alive. ALIVE!. The though struck him like a blow. He looked at his torn clothes, his bloody arms and legs. Blood. He can bleed! Whatever bleeds can die. And what can die is alive. A surge of hope and joy went though him. He smiled and started laughing out loud. The others looked at him in disbelief. Is he mad? They thought. Crazy dwarf, he laughs at our insults. They turned and left, but a small creature, a Halfling, told him this behind his solder.

Go seek Goodblade. He might have some work for you. Run some errands. Take your reward and buy whatever armour and weapons you can afford. Train hard. There are some people by the fountain that can help you when they feel you are ready. Make your presence known in the city. Help the Houses and ask for their favour, Then you might be able to leave the city. Good luck. Looks like you’ll need it.