Hot. Dry. Narrow minded.
Those are the words that spring to mind when Nadil thinks back to the time he spent in that damnable desert monastery.
Born a weavers son in the holy city of Gurat, Nadil was content with living a simple life of hard work and familial bliss. All the was to change though. As he reached adolescence at the remarkable age of twenty, his skin dried and cracked, his eyes turned yellow like the desert sun and he started to display mystical abilities. Seeing this as a sign from the gods, his father immediately sent him off to the Order of the Thrice-bound Spirit, one of many such monasteries dotting the Zho mountains. Here, it was revealed to him, through many years of meditation and herb induced trances, that his soul was not of this plane of reality. Inside his being, his very essence, lay the soul of a shaitan, an earth spirit. This revelation changed everything...
Many of years later, Nadil had grown tired of the monastic life. The fact that he was a shaitan bound in a human body, had granted him a near reverential status within the order. This strained the erstwhile pious Nadil, who did in no way enjoy being the focus of devotion. The feelings of resentment grew, and finally reached a furious crescendo when he realized that he could project an image of his soul onto the material plane. With his new found powers, Nadil forcibly escaped the monastery, and fled to his half forgotten home in Gurat. But there, only sorrow was to be found. His years away from home had been far more numerous than he had realized. 57 years. 57 years since his kind, pious father had sent him away. In despair he fled Gurat, now a foreign city to him, and joined a caravan bound for Katheer.
Several years later, after much travel throughout the eastern end of the Inner Sea, Nadil found himself in the Foreign Quarter of Absalom, on the steps of the Grand Lodge itself, hoping that the most eclectic gathering of peoples on the face of Golarion might just have a place he can call home...
