Born as one of the quadruplets of the two most powerful mage nobles of the house of Alavaar, one of the smaller noble houses in Ker'Nor, Indoril and his siblings were supposed to be mages to surpass all before him and raise their house's status. And, the children did just that. Proving to be magical and martial prodigies. All except poor Indoril. Hopeful that he may just be a late bloomer, they pushed him to learn something. To learn magic, to learn anything. The encouragement eventually turned to verbal and physical abuse in hopes that any feelings of hatred or rage would spark the magic that could possibly exist deep inside him.
This, eventually, lead for Indoril to flee from the house of Alavaar, and to a new town.
It was a small, lawless town filled with various outcasts and other Elven rejects.
Reduced from a silver-spooned noble to a mere street rat, it was there Indoril learned, over the next year, that the world wasn't as nice it seemed in the safety of his house's lands. It was there that Indoril learned that cruelty, cunning, and adaptability was crucial to survive.
At the age of 13, Indoril found himself a new family with the rest of the pickpockets and cutthroats. The "House" of Varys. The house part was a little bit of irony, seeing as they were almost the exact opposite of a house. Indoril soon learned that honesty was a terrible quality to have. Beaten raw and bloody and threatened to an inch of his life, Indoril stubbornly came back day after day, week after week, until eventually, his tenacity and will to survive grew on the band of criminals.
Over the next five years "Golden Boy Indoril", a name he earned from his glamorous origins and pretty boy looks, quickly became known throughout the city as the leader of a small group of thugs and quickly grew the influence and power of his house. He might not have inherited his parent's magical ability, but he did carry their cruelty and quick thinking.
Life was harsh, but treated Indoril right. It wasn't until his "family" grew a bit too powerful that the neighboring criminal "houses" decided that they should be cut down to size.
It was the middle of night, on an eclipse, when Indoril heard the sound of explosions and smelled the familiar smell of oil and smoke. It was a slaughter on both ends. It was towards the end of the fighting that Indoril claimed his first real victim. One who didn't deserve it. A real murder. It was an impulsive reaction, a reaction to the stabbing pain in his back. He only meant to aim for the stomach It was as if time slowed down. His dagger found its place in the heart of a young elvish child. A normal wood elf boy. Perhaps only ten. Too young to be in this line of work, too pure to be in dark elf territory. He let go of the dagger, his hands shaking. For a second, he saw himself in the boy. His vision blurred, his body felt damp and cold. He asked the boy for his family's name and why he was here, out of all places. It was also that day that he found out that he really was a late bloomer after all.
And, as he later found out, he was just plain bad with magic.
As the head of the house died during the fighting, they had to elect for a new head. Most voted for the Golden Boy and life continued as normal for all except for poor Indoril. He never forgot what happened that night. For the next year, all he saw in his dreams were the cold eyes of that young elvish boy. He eventually left the town after a year, saying that he simply wanted to take a walk. See what the rest of the world was. It was a lie, of course. He was going to kill the boy's parents, for sending him to this fate. He never really understood why he felt so motivated to do so. Perhaps it was a way for him to feed the hatred he had for his parents, maybe he wanted to fulfill what the boy would want, maybe it was to simply avenge the boy.
He never did find the boy's parents and he never did find the need to go back to his house. Maybe he really did want to take a walk around the world, after all.
Recommended Comments