Born blind and discarded like refuse, Ezzar Igni's life began in cruelty. His parents, convinced that a sightless child was a curse, abandoned him to the river’s cold embrace.But fate intervened. A knight named Casimir, , found the infant and took him to the temple, raising him as a ward.
Under Casimir’s stern guidance, Ezzar trained in both faith and war. Though blind, he became agile. His senses sharpened to uncanny levels, his awareness compensating for his darkness. Yet, even as his body grew strong, his heart grew bitter.
He could not ignore the cruel joke of his existence: fate, the very force he was taught to revere, had made him unwanted and blind. He listened as his fellow acolytes described the world’s beauty — the glittering night sky and though he smiled, jealousy gnawed at him. If he could see but once, that’s the sight he would beg to behold. His resentment toward Fate itself festered like a wound. Itspun every thread… so why had it spun his so poorly?
At eighteen, when called to swear the sacred Oath to Fate, Ezzar rebelled. The ritual was ancient and symbolic: each initiate was given a ceremonial coin, inscribed with the sigil of Fate. In the ceremony, the coin is placed on one side of a great scale, opposite a heavy engraved ritual stone. By Fate's blessing, the scales would balance if the initiate was truly ready to devote their life to her service. But Ezzar, chained by doubt and unable to surrender his freedom to fate’s decree, could not bring himself to take the oath. He left before placing the coin on the scale — an act that marked his rejection of the path laid out for him.
Casimir, hurt and disappointed, cast him out. Though the old paladin could not entirely sever his loyalty to the boy he had raised, their parting was bitter.
Now, Ezzar wanders as a mercenary and gambler, using both divine power and martial skill when it serves his ends. Overconfident even in hopeless battles, he bets on fate's twists and gambles with his life as though daring Fate herself to intervene. The ceremonial coin he once refused to place on the scales remains with him — his constant companion. In battle or in choice, he flips the coin, leaving the decision to fate, as if mocking the ritual that once cast him out. Heads or tails: a foe's life spared or ended, a path taken or abandoned. It has become his way of letting fate speak, but on his terms.
Though selfish in his dealings, he holds deep compassion for the crippled, the sick, and the unwanted — those cast aside by fate as he once was.
His devotion to fate is a tangled thread: part defiance, part yearning, part spite. He does not worship her with pious faith, but he cannot let go of the hope that fate might yet spin him a better destiny. Deep down, beneath the swagger and the bitterness, there lingers a dream: that one day, by fate's grace or by his own will, he might open his eyes and at last see the night sky shining above.
Until then, he fights, he gambles, and he dares fate to try and break him again.
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