Melanthius's page

Discerning features:
-Four large scars run diagonally town the right hand side of his face over his eye and toward his ear, the tip of which has been torn off. (These wounds were suffered at the hands of the Dretch overseer whom Melanthius fled from in Drezen. They took an unnatural amount of time to heal, and the clerics who took him in could do little to prevent the scarring.)
-Numerous scars adorn his back and torso. Some are simple lash wounds, but the most horrific ones seem to be carved into his flesh. They are words written in the Abyssal language; a dozen or so which read as the names of former masters.
-His right hand bears a mark in the shape of the symbol of Sarenrae. At first glance it appears to be a burn, but closer inspection reveals the lines are too neat. This symbol appeared on Melanthius' hand after he drew the scimitar from its sheath in Drezen. He didn't relinquish his hold on the hilt until he was delivered to the priests in Kenabres. They took the blade, recognising it as a powerful relic and when the weapon finally slipped from his fingers they noted it had left its signature.

Personality
Melanthius spent his childhood without a significant role model. Struggling to survive among the chaotic hierarchy of a demonic settlement forced him to suppress his emotion, and he has carried this trait through to adulthood. Although he practices kindness in all affairs, he still displays a tendency to revert to a stoic and unfeeling demeanour under duress.

His oath to Sarenrae is of paramount importance to him, in particular the tenets of redemption. This creates a contradiction of beliefs within the young warrior; on one hand, he hopes onto offer the same salvation he received to his enemies. On the other, he knows firsthand the depravity and deceit that the demons of the wound are capable of. This has led to some confusion within the tiefling, and is often the subject of his nightly meditations.

Overall, Melanthius has worked hard to earn his place among the Sarenites. He accepts the fact that his heritage is often a point of contention, and acknowledges that this means he must go above and beyond to prove his virtue. He refrains from preaching his faith, preferring to let his actions speak in place of words. He longs for the day when he can feel the sense of belonging that his comrades take for granted, and as such he is fiercely protective of his allies.

Excerpt - Journal of Rosalynd Durante, Vanguard of the Fourth Crusade
3 Arodus 4695
Gods above, what have I done? Three weeks ago, I was setting out on a routine patrol. Two days ago I was looking forward to a bath and a hot meal. Today, I find myself in my quarters with a child. I use the term child very loosely; truthfully, I am beginning to grow fond of the little bastard and it feels wrong to continue referring to him as “demon spawn.” We found him out in the woods, half a day’s ride from town and pretty beat up. As I write these very words he is curled up in front of the fire, half of his head wrapped in bandages and his belly bloated from what seemed like the first decent meal he has ever eaten. He is cute, in a horrible sort of way. At first glance I mistook him for a swarthy human, or maybe half-elven child until he set upon me. His face was torn up with claw marks down the right hand side, and half of his ear with it. He was dripping with blood, and screaming all of the abyssal curse words I’ve ever heard. It was the eyes that set him apart though; one look from those acidic green orbs and I knew straight away he was born of the wound. I saw hurt and desperation in those eyes, and I guess that’s when I started feeling sorry for him. He dragged his sword behind him as he ran at us, and took a pretty wild swing at me. A swift kick to the knee sorted him out though, and as he lay there screaming and crying I felt the slightest twinge of pity in my heart. I couldn’t bring myself to stick the poor boy, and leaving him alone and wounded would have been a crueller fate than death. Plus, when Keledor reached down to take the sword from him it flashed brighter than an angel’s halo. He thinks it may be some kind of relic, though it wouldn’t take a genius to figure that out. The hilt of the thing is shaped like Sarenrae herself. I’ll take him down to one of the temples tomorrow, I’m sure the Sarenites will have a place for him.

Eventually, the visions led him to a ruined temple of The Dawnflower. During a routine day of foraging among the rubble seeking baubles for his master, he found the object which would lead him to his freedom. Wrapped in a dirty blanket, he uncovered a scimitar of masterful construction. As the young tiefling drew the blade, the dretch overseer tried to snatch it greedily. A blinding flash burst forth from the blade and a voice seemed to whisper to Melanthius; “Go!”. Taking heed, he fled past the blinded demon and into the woods. He ran until his legs could no longer hold his weight, and when he collapsed he began to crawl. It wasn’t until he crossed the West Sellen river that sleep took him.

With nothing but the sword in hand, Melanthius followed the river south for weeks. He foraged whatever food he could find, always looking over his shoulder in case of pursuit. When he finally reached Kenabres, he was fearful of approaching the strange and foreign city. He stayed within the surrounding woods, and before long a routine patrol found him close to death. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for days, and when he finally awoke he was in Kenabres, at the temple of Sarenrae.

Life among the Sarenites was good to Melanthius. They taught him many things; the common tongue, swordplay, the tenets of their faith and most importantly, kindness. He thrived in his newfound environment, but never truly felt at home. After a few months, he requested to leave in order to make his home outside of the city. And so it was; by day he would attend service and lessons at the temple but by night he was free to roam the wilds. He found solitude among the forest, and the time to reflect taught him much about himself.

Melanthius became an adept hunter, developing his skills both as a faithful member of the church and a hardy warrior. His burning desire to prove himself to the citizens of the town which had saved his life led him to enlist in the crusades, where his skills and knowledge have served him well in the hunt for demonkind. His greatest challenge is yet to come; an assignment to the one of the mobile supply and reinforcement patrol groups.