A Brief History
When Rylin was young his parents joked that he was born under a good sign but that the gods had mistaken him for another child in the womb. Rylin always seemed to get the short end of the stick in most every day affairs. The last picked for games, the most likely to end up injured and the least likely to escape a scolding. Late adolescence wasn’t much of an improvement; training day in and day out to follow in his fathers footsteps and join the city guard, failing to pass proficiency tests, always two steps behind everyone else, the patsy that was guaranteed to lose his money in the local dice game.
His parents started to acknowledge his misfortune as something serious and wrong with his soul and began to take him to worship the gods of the Sovereign Host every week. They’d find themselves giving offerings at least twice a week, rotating time between Dol Arrah and Olladra in an attempt to cleanse his soul and let luck find him again. Little help it did; Rylin was unable to be accepted into the front guard when Fogdown was asked to send people to the warfront. His father would set out for war and Rylin was forced to stay behind and care for his mother.
It was during this time that Rylin was first introduced to the worship of The Shadow. He had met a man who explained to him that not all people are blessed by the light; that some people are blessed by The Shadow within and their souls find the darkness as something to enrich every day of their life. Rylin hardly subscribed to any common belief at this point; change was around the corner. He paid homage to The Shadow for a month before the day came.
The Day of Mourning. It happened so quickly that most didn’t even know anything had happened. Rylin, however, felt every moment of it. Pain, grief, sadness, rage; He lay in bed, struggling to breath as countless emotions rushed over him. 24 Hours of agony before he could finally rest; in his dreams a void spoke to him:
“Feel the darkness and be saved. Your fortune is stolen away from you by the others. Take back what’s yours and be saved. The Shadow finds you worthy; serve me and their blessing shall be your blessings. Take from them as they took from you and give to yourself. Find The Shadow and you shall be saved.”
When he awoke he felt refreshed, calm, safe. Out of the corner of his eye he saw strange markings in the mirror; he then noticed that his entire back was covered in strange black runes he did not recognize. This was the sign he had been waiting for; this was his salvation. From this moment on he would be devout; He would find The Shadow and his salvation.
It was 4 months later that his mother and he would be notified of his fathers passing on the Day of Mourning. It was little surprise when the news finally came. Rylin had begun his research in deciphiring the message from his dream; Who were these others? What had they taken? How could he get it back? When he was not researching he would worship. Since accepting The Shadow in his life he had begun to find himself a new home. It was amazing discovering just how many worshipers of The Shadow were hidden away within the city. After roughly a year of research, he found the first clue he was looking for; The mark on his back, a Dragonmark? It made no sense. How could he be a bearer of a Mark of Warding; he wasn’t part of House Kundarak; the dwarves never allowed anyone else into their lineage. It made no sense. The anniversary of the Day of Mourning was upon them, a true Day of Mourning was upon them, his father gone. The night before; the void came to him in his dreams again; it had been a long time since it had last spoken to him:
“Your fortune remains unchanged. They take from you again because you have not taken anything back. You bear their mark and yet you have yet to claim your right. Misfortune befalls you now; perhaps next year you’ll find yourself more fortunate. Take from them, so that they won’t take from you.”
When morning broke Rylin found himself in a sweat; this dream was different from his usual, he found no peace or calm, but distress and anger. He didn’t understand what any of it meant. It made no sense. It wasn’t until he went to greet his mother that it all clicked; her body, still in bed, lifeless. They had taken from him again, now it made sense. They had taken from him before, they had thought nothing of it because his father suffered the same fate as all the others, now it made sense. They had left their Mark, they had left their calling card to show that they had been here; now it made sense. Rylin could finally feel The Shadow within himself; perhaps he hadn’t found his salvation yet, but he knew he needed to find retribution first. Take from them; take back what’s yours; take and give to yourself. Now it made sense.
In the 3 years since his mothers death, Rylin left Fogdown and set out to research House Kundarak and also to better hone The Shadow. He looks for any opportunity to hurt the House, gaining favor and fortune as he does. His first year is squandered looking for clues amongst the wastes of the Day of Mourning disaster grounds.
The remaing two years were spent in preparation. Finding a mastersmith clockwork engineer, he studied for two years the workings of House Kundarak mechanations, vault locks, obsessed with finding a way to topple their organization. He also used the opportunity to study defensive equippings (armor, shields) and to learn ways of better concealing his armor. After he had exhausted every possible resource available to him he decided it was time that he head back into the city; more opportunities to plot his revenge.
30 years of age, Rylin stands 5ft. 11in. tall, a slender build of 170lbs. Messy medium length sandy blond hair and a relatively clean beard without sideburns. His eyes a rich hazel tone, his cheeks gaunt, large shadows underneath his eyes as though he’s had countless sleepless nights. A large brown cloak surrounds him entirely from the neck down; am obsidian black jeweled broach clasping it at the neck, just inside of the cloak. Underneath his cloak he wears sleek, form fitting black plate armor; his left arm holds stiff at his side, his heavy shield strapped vertically to his forearm running along the length of his arm from shoulder, just past his fingertip, the blade of his sword secured within it, the hilt visible at the fingertip.