“In a world where the powers-that-be have reason to fear each other, isn’t idiocy the only evil?”
This was the question the half-dwarf Theobald put to the mainland church of Corea he always knew, and it was ever ignored. But he pressed his question until the priests could no longer bear its coming from a child. He persisted until he was handed over to the reclusive wood-dwelling (and chiefly elven) followers of Thardak, well outside the city.
Here he spent his teenage years, learning his way of the woods. His dwarven friends in the order heard his musings and kept them private; but that elf, that perceptive elf knew that those dwarves had questions. Rowe’s curiosity fermented into almost jealousy before approaching Theobald. Though this was the first time they came to know each other with much depth, the elf’s young, fertile passions started to grow into aggression toward their instructors in the following months. Thinking that the best thing for his comrade was to take the spark out of the situation, Theobald left his woods, left Rowe to the eldar elders, and began to wonder if the Axis’ followers might understand his thoughts…
Within the season, Theobald started at seeing Rowe, of all people, swearing the vows of an initiative under Malroth, the elf’s eyes fixed indeed jealously on the priest’s ceremonial scythe. The months passed, and the aptitude tests wore on. Rowe, all the while, seemed to become much more…eager? or zealous? than back at home. The hour Theobald was sure Rowe was changed beyond retrieval, he ran again – far, this time.
With the stealth he had learned how to hone in the forests, the half-dwarf stowed on a ship headed for the Black Ocean. He became part of the Syndicate in Nara’Tel, rising in the ranks, his name already not unknown in the city, until finding his niche. Theobald had found enough time he thought he needed for the Syndicate, anything he might deem as rest when its time comes, and his own private work;
“You are all in a tavern.”