Dorsh Drinks-the-Marrow's page

Should you call his name; a tall, broad-shouldered Shoanti – both hair and face clean shaven – turns to face you. Dorsh Drinks-the-Marrow’s features represent those of a typical Shoanti male – though his life in the city of Korvosa has traded in his posture and attitude for something more common to the Varisians. His attire is uncommon for a Shoanti as well, as he wears dark studded leather – more common to the thief than the barbarian – crowned with a dark hood that shadows some of his face.

The life of a young Shoanti in Korvosa can be tough, more so than any child would deserve, something Dorsh had experienced all too well. His father, a burly man like himself, died a poor man’s death on the unforgiving streets of the city. Dorsh never knew his mother, as she traded in her life for his while giving birth to him, something that would haunt his father for the rest of his days. Unable to comprehend a life without his wife, Dorsh's father turned to drinking. In the end he no longer drank as much from the bottle as it did of him.

Poor, orphaned and with no members of his clan known to him, the child turned to the streets to provide for himself. Life was harsh, unforgiving, cold. The older children roaming the streets gave him no pity and often mocked his heritage, making sure the Shoanti knew his place among those that had conquered his pathetic tribe ages ago. In truth, Dorsh knew very little of his heritage – except that his father often spoke highly of Skoan-Quah, The Skull Clan.

Years passed slowly on the streets. He spent some months with various orphanages, but often moved on by his own volition, the nomadic blood taking it’s toll on him. He cared little for the other children though, as one treated him as badly as the next. Disheartened, hungry and alone he walked the streets one evening – before suddenly hearing quite the ruckus from a trader’s post down the road. A small group of youngsters, no older than himself, had stolen the trader’s purse and barely escaped in doing so. Curious, Dorsh ran as fast as he could after them – not certain if he wanted to aid the guard in their capture or simply intruiged at their skill in the trade.

A few blocks down the road, Dorsh was grabbed while passing an alley – one hand firmly printed over his mouth – followed by a harsh, rugged voice rasping the words: "Silence, little one." That voice belonged to Gaedren Lamm.

Dorsh had heard rumors concerning Gaedren and his Lambs, though he had never dreamed of ever encountering them – or the leader of the gang himself! In return for his obedience, Gaedren promised steady meals, a solid bed and light work as a reward – but only if he enlisted with the Lambs. Dorsh was barely able to stand on his feet at that point, seeing as how he had not eaten for what felt like weeks. He accepted, and spent many years as muscle for the crew.

Though he found little honor in his new career, he felt more at home with the Lambs than he ever did earlier in his life. They did not scorn him for his heritage, they taught him how to handle himself in a fight – as well as paying him with food and a few coins for every heist and shake-down.

Life was better, good even – until one heist that would change his life forever. The authorities were getting tired of Gaedren and his Lambs and patrols where increased on multiple locations throughout the city. Gaedren knew he would have to sacrifice someone in order to get them off his back, and spread word that one of his lieutenants would participate on a heist one midsummer eve. That "lieutenant" was in fact Dorsh.

Everything went wrong that night, when Dorsh was placed as watch while the others pilfered the house of a prominent nobleman in the city. The guards where already aware of their presence, and jumped them before they knew what hit them. By pure luck Dorsh managed to escape, and upon his return Gaedren was furious that he had survived the ambush. To send a message to the rest of his gang, he had Dorsh tortured for days before leaving him for dead on a garbage heap in town – claiming that this was the price for failure.

Barely surviving the ordeal, Dorsh finds himself once again alone in the world. Once again disheartened, he staggered to the nearest inn he could find, renting a room and hiring the aid of a local Cleric to treat his wounds. Weeks passed and Dorsh recovered, perhaps his new-found rage and hatred for the man who repaid his loyalty with blood aided his recovery. Determined to seek out and repay Gaedren in kind, Dorsh donned his armor and spiked gauntlet, seeking to stride off and either get his vengeance or die in the attempt. Luckily, perhaps, he halted when he noticed a small card hanging on the door of his room.

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

Curious and determined, Dorsh left his room and set off to the address – perhaps he was not alone in his new purpose in life; to find and kill Gaedren Lamm.