Malthorn's page

Malthorn stumbled as he trudged through the forest. How could he have been so stupid, he was lucky all they did was tied him up and leave him to his fate. Joran had whispered in his ear before they left to just be patient, so he'd waited and before long the ropes fell from his wrist as if by magic.

The older human had taught many apprentices over the years and had taken Malthorn under his wing when he came back from his last trip home, last year. That trip had become a whirlwind of memories none of which Malthorn could completely put in order; but best he could remember. His dad had over the dinner table, told him of the deal his great-great-grandfather had made, and later come to regret. Had warned him that the haunt that plagued his family had returned. And the house had burned down, from which he run with only memories of something dreadful; his family lost forever. Distraught, when he'd reached his wits end that night he cried out to the gods for revenge, and something had answered him in a whisper.

He was granted powers with promises of more to come should he learn to use what he had, and they were helpful flames of fire from his hands, bolts of pure force at his beck and command, and the abilities to understand anyone talking around him or find there weakness and know where to attack them. His superiors had trained him to infiltrate the enemy, and his spells gave him the fighting chance to escape should he get in a bind.

It had been going well up until about two months ago. He'd got the feeling something was following him, not a great feeling when your the one supposed to be sneaking around unknown. He'd looked behind him several times noticing a shadow on the wall, yet when he arrived nothing could be found, no footprints and no light to have thrown the shadow. but gods last night he finally acted on the impulse to act when he saw the shadow. He's turned and a fanged creature's shadow was upon the wall and moving closer; he'd readied a blast and when something material finally showed itself he closed his eyes and loosed the bolt. Only to open them and find his captian laid against the wall knocked out cold and his seargeant looking at him with mouth agape. He'd tried to plead his case but to no avail, he was released from duty and left tied up in the field they'd camped in the night before. Warned not to follow them.

Howls rang out through the woods, some close by and other farther away answered them, although they all seemed to be drawing closer. He knew better than to press on through the night but desperate men man stupid decisions and this might truely turn into his worst. Loosing a bolt at the bushes nearby that were sporting eyes, he was rewarded with a yelp and the sound of a hasty retreat through the foliage. Ahead there appears to be firelight, a welcome sight that was. Yet would he be welcome? Black hair, yellow eyes and red skin many avaoided him as a devil and stumbling into a camp after dark he might well be sporting a crossbow bolt as opposed to a wolves tooth in his backside.
"Hello in the camp, weary traveler seeking safety from the wolves..."