Of Choice and Reason
Warrior Assassin trying to live a life of his own
How he survived his early years, he did not know. All he could remember was the endless brutality, the constant training, everything an attempt to mold him into the ideal puppet to their wills. He was told that he had been bought from his mother, the only living family he had at the time, when she was begging on the streets for a bite of bread for them to eat. He was told that he should thank them for giving him a better life, something to work towards, something to strive for. Zelran was a name they had given him as well, one he only kept so that when they caught word of his deeds, it would be that much more of an insult.
The assassin’s guild had taught him much, but he never enjoyed it. He was always an outcast, even among them, due to his dark heritage. Born with this strange connection to the plane of shadow, he had a small innate ability to make them bend to his will, which he learned to use at an early age to help his actions remain unseen. Although it was a considerable asset for an assassin, being different from everyone else meant that he was the target of nearly every joke, insult, or prank that was played among him and the other children there. Some were in fear of his ability, others quietly respected it, but most were jealous of his advantage and let that turn into anger. Even among the instructors there were those who were jealous of his ability and used that as an excuse to punish him and make his trials that much harder. Remembering this and knowing they were more evil than he was forced to be was his only consolation when the masters made him fight them to the death.
The guild was fairly notable in the areas they operated, mainly due to them quelling any competition before they could make a name for themselves. They took contracts on any life, as long as the payment was right, though they specialized in those who might otherwise cause trouble for the guild, even killing some especially troublesome individuals without being hired to do so, usually handing those missions to the children they were training.
Zelran couldn’t remember how many people he had killed under their forceful hand, on threat of several straight days of torture before they let death take him, something they showed the young ones time and time again whenever they had cause to inflict that punishment. Three years past, he had finally found his chance to escape by stowing away on a ship traveling to a distant land that he had never heard of. Upon arrival, he tried to put his past behind him and start anew, but those hopes were dashed when another of their assassins came for him. Zelran barely managed to fight off this adversary, but at the cost of the few friends he had made, and quite a few others that this madman had decided to kill just for the fun of it.
Ever since, Zelran has been living his life one village at a time, staying long enough to make a bit of gold, leaving when he feels he would be well-known enough for the guild to get word of him being there. Quite frequently this has only happened due to him stepping in and at least attempting to foil the work of the guild when they were attempting a hit, his way of exacting revenge against those who ruined his life and forced his own damnation. After being forced from his last home by yet another attempt on his life, some nostalgia found him wandering back into the port town of Calenshar, where he had first arrived at this land.