SpaghettiLord

Fraeori had simple beginnings. Being born to a single mother in the high city of Okarn'thilln and latching onto his nordic lifestyle from a young age. At the ripe age of 32, he joined the royal guard. He rose through the ranks and was a staple fighter. Fraeori was different. He learned that through devout following of his Patron, which he was always looked down upon for having. He gained abilities far beyond the average fighter. His staple weapon, an average sword given to all the soldiers Fraeori used with skill and proficiency. He Gained visions from his patron. A calling to an item, his own holy grail. It could change shape and material. Be thrown and called back. Used as a spellcasting focus. Fraeori was consumed with the passion of finding it and nothing prevented it. One day, he encountered nobility who’s daughter got caught in some hot water. She had been framed a fellow noblemen’s death to usurp his throne and instead got lash back from the high capital. Now she was on the run. Fraeori ever thoughtless, Ran with her. After all, his servitude was to her father. In this point of rebellion. It appeared he fell out of favor with his patron and lost his title along with the abilities his patron granted him. He started from the ground up, learning magic through other means while traveling. He encountered many different cities and town. Traveling from Haelun’or to Sutica and every kingdom or faction in between. Growing his collection of connections and helping people. Although now he seems as if his purpose was lost. What he has left is hope. His hope to regain favor with his patron, Hoping to find his long-forgotten weapon of many shapes, Hoping to find a family where he belongs, Hoping to forge a tale not one other could blaze. Having to start anew on his magical studies.