Mikhail Dierso hails from the hinterlands of Morsgrad, having lived most of his childhood as a street urchin in the alleys of Morsgrad. Mikhail has led a particularly tragic childhood, his father was conscripted into military service and was presumably killed in action during the the Battle of Hangman’s Bridge. After recieving news of his father’s death, Mikhail was disowned by his mother after remarrying to a wealthy Hansetian merchant, leaving him to fend for himself on the streets. Matthias would live the next few years of his life as a scavenger, taking what charity he could from the upper castes of Norlander society. Eventually, the social climate of the mountain kingdom became increasingly hostile to beggars, vagrants, and petty thieves and he was forced to take to the country roads out into lands unknown.
Mikhail would hold a strong grudge against the Holy Empire of Oren, and could never fully forgive himself for leaving his old way of life behind. Miserable as it was, Morsgrad was always his home, and it gave him a sense of belonging. After a few years of traveling through the various kingdoms of man, Matthias found new revelation and purpose in upholding the sacred tenets of the Red Faith. Fully aware that even a slight mention of the Red Faith would invite suspicion from Canonist society, he began to practice his faith in secret, and rejected Canonist dogma. Mikhail would continue to live as a vagrant, traveling across the lands of Arcas, until finally claiming sanctuary at the Cloud Temple, where he has since led a quiet life in the shadow of the monastery. That is, until now.
I reach out to grab the man’s hand, and greet him with a firm handshake.
“Well met, friend. You seem to be a keen fellow, seeking out such an outsider as myself from the rest of the bazaar…” I slowly began to feel a sense of unease about this charming stranger. Perhaps his smile was too wide, or his grip was too tight, but I felt as if whatever interest this gentleman had in me would soon take a more sinister turn.
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