Vashner

Vashner Melson
Status	Active
Race	Human
Gender	Male
Guild	Necromancer
Instance	undisclosed
Relatives	Andue Kantia-Melson, Echosong Kantia, Meribia Zinjine

Summer, 403 years after the Victory of Lanival the Redeemer

It had been ten long years. Ten long years since he left the Empaths. Even longer since he left the confines of his adopted family home in Riverhaven. His brother, long in his adventures, had joined the Paladins. “Father would be proud of him,” he scoffed to himself. Father was always a fool. Vashner thought to himself, He chained himself with duty and wrapped himself in patriotism – “Hard work and Glory to the Baron,” he would often say.

He wrenched the limb of his prey out from its socket with a sickening crack.

… and where did that glory get him? Ten feet under like all the rest. The only inevitability or guarantee in the realms is death. Only the few manage to gain exception. Adventurers, chained to the Immortals whims. What of the merchant and those not strong enough to gather their required sacrifice? Where was Kertigen when our father passed? Was his experience, his loyalty to his home, not enough or Him?

He plunged his serrated dagger deeper into the flesh between the joints of the creature’s hip.

“And what of our mother,” he growled to himself sawing flesh from bone, “Was she not worthy when she was cut down by goblins?”

So many lost to The Starry Road.

Vashner sat up from his kneeling position over the desiccated corpse of the goblin. His arms to his side and sweat beading down his face he gazes up blue skies. The tall grass of the grasslands tower over the kill site. The summer heat and sound of cicadas are overwhelming. He gazed down at his work – this creature. “Goblins, you deserve less than this,” he said, “In life you were ugly, irrational, purposeless.” He gazed down at his work and pondered to himself.

“Were you a family man?”

He asked the corpse casually as he plucked out its eyeball. Admiring the sample he quickly stowed it away.

“Did you provide for them?”

This goblin, whether it be a king or a pauper, a hunter or a craftsman, a Baron or a Prince, it mattered not to him. All are equal in death, and like any other creature in death it would hold the key. The Answer. No one person, merchant, or adventurer, would ever be dead and forgotten again – Immortals be damned. The work must continue, and travelling this road of discovery alone will be much longer.

It would be decades before the road he traveled became more crowded…