Toludin remembers little of his childhood. He was born into a wealthy, but socially excluded and eventually exiled Judian merchant family which never lingered in any particular place for too long. He remembers vague images of crossing sandy dunes, open steppes, tropical coasts, and deep dark oceans in long caravans and fleets. Having come of age, he inherited a small trading empire from his parents, but upon their mysterious death at sea, the enterprise was suddenly beset by a myriad of unscrupulous competitors, and promptly ruined.
Toludin spent what remained of his fortune on drink, gambling, company, and some other, rather ‘esoteric’, sensations. He managed to steer away from the darker elements of debauchery, keeping his moral compass pointing towards the side of good, however, his travels had taught him that morality is very much defined geographically.
Later in life, he learned that his ancestors were Wayfinders who used their craft to carve a piece of the pie for themselves and their own, while eschewing external partnerships and investments; a decision which got them assassinated on one of their journeys. Toludin would swear that this revelation came from a Daemon standing in the crossroads outside some nameless tavern after a night of heavy drinking. The next morning, he awoke in the middle of an open field, under an unfamiliar sky.
Opiates may have clouded his memory, but he doesn’t care much for the past anyway, and even less so since his arrival to this new, foreign land.
