O'rion

Born: Marpenoth 22, 1466 DR

Height: 6' 8"

Class: Barbarian/Forge Cleric

Occupation: Mercenary

Alignment: Neutral Good (now), Chaotic Neutral (formerly)

Orion is a dragonborn, born in the Tymantheran city of Djerad Thymar in the year 1466 DR as Medrash of the clan Yarjerit. His father was Kilhadur and his mother is Valvayla.

Following his birth, as is customary of the dragonborn, he was raised by his father, Kilhadur Yarjerit, and was brought up to follow in Kilhadur's footsteps as a mercenary.

Kilhadur's moniker, the Orcbane of Tymanther, extended to the guild he led. As the name indicated, the group specialized in combatting Orc and Goblin invasions and infestations. At the time that Medrash was officially inducted at age 11, there were four members. They were: Kilhadur and Medrash Yarjerit, human crossbowman/ranger Hunter Mullholland, and human swordsman/paladin Machtdiold Kane.

By the time Medrash was 17, the group had swelled to eight members. Half-eleven mage Nerissadi Darksbane, dwarven axeman/fighter Vicben Togarsaxe, human swordswoman/fighter Irienys Droverson, and human druid Seaward Falconsflight.

Early in 1484 DR, the Orcabane of Tymanther was contracted into the army of Skyclave in High Imaskar to assist in combatting a large orc/goblin army, led by Brorlok the Arrogant, that had been observed gathering strength to the east in the foothills of the Dragonsword Mountains.

Two weeks after the guild had arrived in Skyclave, on the 9th day of Ches, the Orcbane of Tymanther, deployed at the extreme left of the counteroffensive, performed a vastly successful flanking maneuver that caused the bulk of Brorlok's forces (largely comprised of goblins) to panic and flee eastward from whence they came. Over half the force were either surrounded or later chased down and slain.

In the wake of this resounding victory, Kilhadur charged Medrash, whom he hoped would succeed him as leader within the next decade, with leading the group to the enemy camp a few miles to the northwest to plunder it and flush out any remaining foes, while he himself decided to rest, having sustained a significant, though not lethal, injury during the battle.

By the time Medrash and the others arrived at the camp, it was the middle of the afternoon. They quickly searched the camp, and took everything of value they could carry. Then, when searching the tents, they came across one that was larger than all the others, near an exceptionally dense thicket.

Upon investigating, they were shocked to find none other than Brorlok himself...fast asleep.

Hardly able to believe their eyes, they briefly considered taking him alive...but Hunter, who had had a deep sense of foreboding from the moment they'd arrived, immediately advocated killing him on the spot. Most of the others agreed.

But Medrash who, even as a child, was arrogant, battle hungry, and lustful for greater glory, and who was now becoming addicted to his growing fame and had become ever more prideful for it, decided that killing Brorlok as he slept was unfitting of his 'code of honor'.

In reality, Medrash was eager to cement his own name by either personally killing or else defeating and capturing Brorlok himself.

But as Medrash advanced forward, Brorlok produced a hidden Warg Whistle, and summoned his five pet wargs...all of whom had been hiding in the thicket near the tent.

Within seconds, before the group had even realized Brorlok was awake, the wargs overtook Nerissadi, killing her before she could even begin to fight back. Irienys fared better, killing one and severely wounding another, but was ripped apart by the beast before she could kill it.

The moment that Nerissadi screamed out her last breath, Brorlok rolled over in his bed, tossing a throwing knife directly between Hunter's eyes, killing him instantly.

Meanwhile, the four surviving wargs entered the tent, and in the chaos, Brorlok escaped. Machtdiold, Medrash, Vicben, and Seaward successfully killed the wargs without suffering severe injury.

At this point Medrash, arrogant and prideful though he was, was genuinely and utterly distraught at the death of his three comrades, Hunter in particular.

Despite this, he noticed at that moment the way Machtdiold, too stricken to utter a single word or cry of despair, was looking at their fallen friend. The three of them had always been very close, though both had been closest to Hunter.

It was then that he knew that Machtdiold's feelings towards Hunter were beyond those of mere friendship. And there he swore his unending vengeance upon Brorlok for all three of them, and to a lesser (though only slightly) degree, for Nerissadi and Irienys.

A few minute later, as the survivors prepared to report back and make preparations to hunt down Brorlok, Kilhadur and a group of 40 Skyclavian soldiers arrived, having not heard back from the group when expected.

Kilhadur was distraught, though acknowledged that at least part of what had happened was horrifically bad luck, and expressed his surprise that Brorlok was clearly far more intelligent than anyone had given him credit for.

Nevertheless, he was furious with Medrash for having made such a poor initial decision that allowed for these events to take place. He expressed disappointment that Medrash had not bothered to investigate the thicket at all, and that he had clearly forgotten that orc leaders often did keep wargs as pets.

However, while angry, Kilhadur made it clear that his mistake would not lead to his son's expulsion or disownment...though Medrash suspected, even then, that his father fully intended to tell him that he would, from now on, train Vicben rather than himself as his successor...but this was never to be confirmed.

For at that moment, came the revelation that Brorlok had played them all for fools. Charging down from the north were no less then 110 orcs and goblins, led by Brorlok himself.

For two hours, the battle raged. Medrash, consumed by blind rage and hatred, slaughtered every single enemy that came within striking distance. And once he found him, zeroed in on the subject of his most violent loathing, Brorlok.

Medrash, though mighty, had pushed himself to the breaking point and several times only narrowly averted death. Nearby him, Machtdiold, Seaward, and Vicben all struggled to survive the unending waves of enemies.

Seaward eventually fell first, then Machtdiold was severely wounded, and forced to watch in abject horror as Vicben fought against four orcs at once as he called frantically to Medrash for aid. But Medrash, so utterly deafened by his mad lust for Brorloks blood, that he trampled upon the corpse of Seaward without ever noticing it.

Then...even as Brorlok crumpled to the ground, dead at last, Medrash continued to uselessly bludgeon and mutliate the body of his vanquished foe...as Machtdiold, who screamed with all of his rapidly fading strength for Medrash to stop his pointless efforts, watched helplessly as Vicben collapsed nearby. Victorious against his multiple opponents, but too exhausted to even stand, the once mighty dwarf was promptly disembowled where he lay, no longer able to even defend himself, by another orc.

And Machtdiold cursed Medrash with what he thought was his dying breath as he lost consciousness.

Medrash, at last coming back to his senses, joyously sought out his comrades to tell them that the others had at last been avenged...only discover Seaward's corpse right where he had defeated Brorlok. Then, although rendered a near unrecognizable pile of gore, saw the remains of Vicben nearby. And watched in horror as Machtdiold's nearly lifeless body was carried from the field. Then, mere moments later, was informed that his father, Kilhadur, had been killed at the very end of the fight, having been severely wounded at several points, but survived...only to be the very last of their 13 casualties to fall.

The orcs had taken far more, 36, but it mattered little. For scouts later reported that an even larger cluster of orcs and goblins had been spotted to the far north.

It appeared that the victory that day had been a feinting maneuver. The real attack was yet to come.

The forces of Skyclave rapidly fell back to their defenses around the city as dusk fell. Then as the last light was fading, the attack commenced. The forces of Skyclave held fast, but the attack was overwhelming and began to take its toll.

Medrash, in the throes of a grief and despair, the likes of which he had never known, frantically sought out Machtdiold.

He was relieved to find his friend alive, proclaming his profound relief...only for Machtdiold (who had once been the kindest and noblest of the Orcbane, the one most preoccupied with what was right and just, and who had always vehemently protested killling for purely pragmatic reasons) to nearly bleed himself to death trying to leap off the bed, push aside the healer, and strangle Medrash with his bare hands, screaming with near insane rage at the top of his lungs that he would kill his former friend.

Even as the healers forced him back down, Machtdiold stared balefully at his former comrade, and proclaimed, his voice now an eerily calm whisper, that if they ever saw eachother again, that he would kill Medrash.

It was then that Medrash realized the feeling of having...nothing. All his friends...dead, or wanting him dead. And to add insult to injury, his honor, the most valuable possession of any dragonborn, had been stripped away...his reputation in ruins, with many of the Skyclavians, having personally witnessed his blind crusade again Brorlok at the expense of his comrades, expressing their disdain and disgust with him very openly.

But even worse, he now realized that he was truly alone. His only surviving friend wanted him dead. What was left for him now, but to die in battle. A glorious, heroic death was certainly an appealing thought...but Medrash no longer felt that such a thing was likely. In any case, better to die fighting than live in shame.

Thus he rejoined the battle just as things began to look bleak, no longer caring if he survived...until he saw an opportunity to redeem himself...not his status, but his own soul.

The center was just about to crumble in, when Medrash broke away from his suicidal crusade. Seeing an opportunity to rally a defense and pull a feigning retreat maneuver, he rushed over and managed to convince the highly skeptical but utterly desperate officer at the head of those troops of his improvised plan's feasibility.

With the feigned retreat, the orcs and goblins quickly began to form a bulging pocket in the dent they had created. Foolishly, rather than continue pressuring the flanks, the enemy began to concentrate on the 'breakthrough' in the center, converging tightly. At which point the flanks of the Skyclavian line moved forward and around the rear on either side, completely enveloping the enemy from the rear, while the 'routed' forces at the center, who had reformed just out of sight, suddenly reemerged, surging forward with Medrash in the lead, closing the trap like a lid.

Not one orc or goblin survived.

Though still heavily regarded with suspicion by many, Medrash impressed enough of the Skyclavian leadership to actually be offered an officers commission if chose to stay in Skyclave.

But Medrash, still wracked with grief and guilt, and wanting to put as much distance between himself and Machtdiold as possible, flatly refused, only accepting the gold he had initially agreed to be paid, and refusing to accept the shares that his fallen comrades would have received, requesting that all the other shares be given to Machtdiold.

And thus, Medrash departed on the first ship out of the city to Gheldenath and the road leading west from there.

For weeks, Medrash wandered aimlessly towards the northwest, generally avoiding overt dangers, but otherwise not caring where his feet took him, only stopping in his home city to purchase supplies before leaving it behind forever.

Thanks to some friendly genasi, he was able to make it safely through the hostile country of Akanûl.

But as he wandered along the edge of the Chondalwood Forest, through the Vilhon Wilds, he began to be plagued with horrible nightmares. Completely alone, having forsaken all company, Medrash began to go mad from the awful visions that began to plauge him during the day as well as night and the terrible loneliness of his isolation.

The nightmares were always the same. He saw all his friends die, while he, full of a rage his waking self no longer possessed, refused to help save them.

And he understood then...

It was not that he hadn't seen their deaths...he had simply ignored them in favor of revenge. And was that revenge entirely for the earlier death's of his comrades? Or was it just as much the soothing of a wounded ego? His own ego...

When Medrash realized this...he sought out an appropriate location to do what he knew he must. Eventually he found it at the side of a ravine near the easternmost tip of Chondalwood, calmly impaling himself through the entrails with one of his own javelins, intending to stand there and bleed out slowly until his inevitable collapse would send him tumbling to his death. And this he did.

So ended the 18 years of Medrash of the Yarjerit clan on that day, exactly one year and day after the day he'd lost everything.

Or was it the end?

He awoke to find himself being healed. Then saw the face of the half orc as his sight returned.

Initially too weary to fight back, he simply said that if he intended to to kill him, the half-orc had best do so.

The half-orc simply laughed softly and told him not to strain himself too much.

A week passed. At last he was well enough to stand. All the while, he thought of how to kill his 'generous' host, certain that his purpose could be nothing less than nefarious.

Once he was well enough to wield his warhammer, the dragonborn demanded that his host explain himself. After all, he'd never met an orc or half-orc who sought to help another for any good reason...if indeed they could be bothered to 'help' anyone.

His host merely answered that he hadn't had the chance to speak to, much less befriend, any setient being for years. When the half-orc offered to let him leave unchallenged, the dragonborn nearly accepted. But found himself feeling unexpectedly curious, and stopped.

Another year passed, and the dragonborn at last took his leave. Despite having met the wisest and greatest friend he would ever encounter, he decided that the isolation of the wilderness was not for him, and longed for some measure of civilization once more.

Despite this, it was with considerable bereavement that the 19 year old dragonborn left his friend Elgeon Urthadar to his solitary, yet far from empty life.

Elgeon, just like the dragonborn he had befriended, had been a fierce, hot-blooded youth full of both bloodlust and thirst to prove himself.

But his bloodlust had been the result of a bitterly lonely childhood, in which he'd had to steal, and sometimes kill, to eat and survive...all because he'd had the misfortune to be born at all.

The thirst to prove himself had manifested in the desire to be feared and respected, much like the dragonborn himself had sought to be...but through doing evil rather than good.

He had follow he same path that many half-orcs find themselves following, because the alternative was a life of struggle and isolation at best...and at worst, being tortured and lynched for simply existing.

He became a thief and a raider, one much sought after by other bandits due to his magical prowess and vicious misanthropy.

But then one day, he had been wounded during a raid. And found himself at the mercy of a human family...who brought him back to full health before allowing him to leave, despite knowing who he was. During that time, he had nearly grown fond of them. Though not enough to avoid relaying to his then gang about what valuables they had.

Still, he made one rare request; that none of his rescuers be harmed.

To make a long story short, his request was ignored, having likely not been taken seriously anyway. When he found out, he was enraged enough to murder all of his former associates.

He then recovered the unspeakably mutilated and violated bodies, and carefully buried them, side by side, carving out their names on slabs of rock.

To make another long story short, he gave up his life as a marauder, and nearly surrendered his life itself out of grief just as the dragonborn had...only to be stopped by an elderly lone traveler. Said traveler had talked him back to sense and hope, before going on his merry way. He never asked the name of his savior...though he rather suspected he didn't need to.

In the days following his choice to go on living, he began to realize a great truth that was both damnation and salvation all at once...and with that truth, came acceptance...and with acceptance came greater strength than he had ever known.

Elgeon had said his epiphany went something like this...'What has been done has been done, cannot be undone, and may never be forgiven, and I must learn to accept that fact...just as I must accept the full responsibility of my actions. I will carry the burden of my transgressions until my dying day...but the weight of it shall not drag me to despair and damnation. I will carry it upon these, my shoulders and rise...stronger than ever in mind, in spirit, in soul, and in body, knowing that I will never again allow myself to fall.'

These were words the young dragonborn took to heart as he travelled onward.

Though he begged Elgeon to come with, and promised to protect and speak for his friend from both evil and overzealous 'good' alike, Elgeon merely smiled and refused, having more than once seen people sacrifice their reputations at best and their lives at worst to protect him from suspicious and angry villagers whenever he had tried to assimilate. It was for that reason that Elgeon had chosen to live in his near complete isolation.

It was then, with great reluctance, that the dragonborn took leave of his friend and continued his trek westward.

During the time he had spent in eastern Chondalwood, the dragonborn, deciding that Medrash had died back at that ravine (indeed, Elgeon had told him that he HAD been officially dead for a moment when Elgeon first attempted to save his life), rechristened himself 'Orion.' Though not a dragonborn name, he decided that he was above relying on his heritage to define himself anymore. After all, he'd befriended Akanûlian genasi (something that would make his otherwise tolerant and friendly father turn in his grave), been stripped of his honor, had tried to kill himself out of grief and madness, and had been saved and reformed by a half-orc.

And thus, Orion was born from what had once been Medrash.

After two years of trekking and wandering, he made for the city of Baldur's Gate and once there, sailed across the Sea of Swords to Norland of the Moonshae Isles, settling in the capital of Rogarsheim.

There, he took up blacksmithing under the apprenticeship of an elderly dwarf named Vicros Onyxarm. When Vicros passed away three years later, Orion was named his successor.

However, within the next five years, Orion found that his life was frustratingly stagnant...but was unwilling to simply leave the business out of respect for his late mentor...until along came a female halfling, Fhavyre Gladdenstone, who was already an experienced blacksmith, but had been forced by tragic circumstance (her old business had been plundered and burned down during a bandit raid, and the fledgling village had been totally destroyed and later abandoned by the few survivors) to seek business elsewhere.

After a year of working together, Orion could see that Fhavyer was, by far, the superior craftsman, and having been moved by her tale, decided she was more deserving of the shop's ownership than he...especially since the wanderlust and the desire to fight and protect others had taken hold of him once more.

And so, in the year 1495 DR, Orion forged a new warhammer, bade Fhavyer and his other friends farewell, and sailed back to Baldur's Gate. It was there that met and befriended the earth genasi Flint Igneous.

Together, he and Flint, along with various companions that came and went, traveled to Bur Hollow. There they saved the town, first from frogfolk in the Battle of Silver Mist Run, then from orcs and goblins during the Battle of the Baldur Pike and the Battle of the Smoking Cavern. In the time between these events, they also took down a cell of the Cult of Talona that had threatened Baldur's Gate, earning them the recognition of the Flaming Fist guild.

Afterwards, they set up a small guild of their own, Sunhammer, in Bur Hollow. But while on one of their missions...something strange occurred.

Orion woke to find Flint gone, and himself...in a place he didn't know. After wandering a short time, Orion miraculously found Flint, alongside a group of strangers, near the mouth of a werewolf cavern. Except...one member of the group wasn't a stranger.

Machtdiold Kane, upon seeing his hated former friend, immediately prepared to fulfill his oath of vengeance, but was stopped by Flint and also the vampire hunter Ezmerelda D'Avenir, the latter of whom angrily threatened to kill both Orion and Machtdiold if they endangered the group's goal; the destruction of Lord Strahd von Zarovich.

Strahd, Orion was told, was an immensely powerful and wicked vampire who exerted control over the entire realm of Barovia, the place to which Strahd's power had brought them. Orion, furious at the idea of such a vile creature being allowed to live even a moment longer and also desiring to return to Faerûn as soon as possible, immediately and eagerly agreed to help.

Despite Machtdiold's seething rage and murderous desire for revenge, both he and Orion continue to work together alongside the others for the present time, with Machtdiold grudgingly agreeing to wait until they've returned to Faerûn to settle his accounts. Nevertheless, he senses that Machtdiold's 'promise' is tenuous at best.

Orion has often thought of Machtdiold as his personal reaper...and fully believes that Machtdiold's rage against him is thoroughly justified. While Orion has learned to forgive himself and move on with his lesson learned, he does not expect...nor feel that he deserves...anyone else's forgiveness...especially Machtdiold's.

His greatest fear is not that Machtdiold will kill him...but that he will kill Machtdiold. As he feels he as good as killed the others by failing them, the last thing he wants is to actually have to strike down, with his own hands, his only companion to survive that terrible day. Despite that fear, Orion remains determined to fight for his life should it come to that.