Simo Munden's page

About Simo Munden

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Simo was born to a common soldier, Thom, and a minstrel, Elise, three years after one brother, Sam, and nine years before one sister, Gabrielle. As such, he was raised around weaponry, armor, siege engines, and fortifications. Most people would have assumed him to be a shoe-in as a soldier once he came of-age. They'd have been right, were it not for the gunsmith he apprenticed himself to before he'd even seen ten summers. Seeing what advancements were being made in the world of warfare, Simo assured himself that he would never serve as a run-of-the-mill soldier. He didn't think their standard armor would hold out well against whichever kingdom first managed to fit their entire army with pistols and muskets.

He didn't vow it to himself, but he did make himself a promise that he'd learn everything he could about firearms. Gunsmith Winch, a surly Gnome that could almost always be found tinkering with some modification he wanted to apply to a firearm or two, became Simo's master and was grateful to have an apprentice to take over the daily workings so that he could attend to his workshop projects more often. It took nine long, boring years before Winch was finally satisfied that Simo had learned all that Winch was capable of teaching him about firearms.

Of course, nothing good lasts forever. In an accident the details of which Simo has completely repressed, his younger sister was shot and killed. He refuses to recall how it happened. He remembers that it was the day of an official ceremony for Winch to proclaim Simo a Gunsmith in his own right. The next think that he remembers is waking up in one of Kelorav's inns. It didn't take him long to gravitate towards the Kelorav Watch and begin taking on the more exciting assignments. Simo's quick reflexes and better aim ensured that he was quickly moved into the Raven Watch where the daily routines and the odd assignment were more than enough to keep his mind off of home and Gabrielle.

On the night of the Event, Simo was returning from his weekly pistol-practice, otherwise known as gathering ears for bounty - it didn't make much, but combined with his time with the Raven Watch it kept his skills sharp and his pocket full enough for his tastes. The light, whatever the source, had Simo entranced; he couldn't have moved from his spot just inside the city limits if he had wanted to. The only thing that he really understood was that something legendary was about to happen.

He woke three days later in his bed in the Raven Watch barracks, alone. The Ravens worked in shifts, being alone in the barracks was nigh impossible, and yet it happened. Simo went out in search of the Guard on Duty only to find the entire building in near chaos. He grabbed one of the Ravens running by and tried to get some idea of the situation. The younger man, one of the new recruits that constantly filter into the Raven Ranks, turned pale as Simo forced him to stop and talk and before Simo could get the question out completely, he told Simo that it was easier to go to the tavern and find out for himself. "Listen to what the people are saying. You wouldn't believe me if I told you..."

It didn't take even the five minute walk to the tavern for Simo to understand what the other Raven meant. Magic was real, sure, but the stories that people are coming up with now just seemed ridiculous. And frightening. Ordinary folk suddenly developing extraordinary abilities was unheard of, even in legend.

Simo aimlessly wandered the streets for several hours, hoping to come upon someone who could confirm the rumors. As he walked, he noticed that crowds seemed to part in front of him. Entire groups of people shoving their way through the crowds to get away from him. He did not understand. Simo considered himself a friendly enough person; even his battle garb, dual pistols hanging at his hips, did not often cause this kind of reaction except amongst newcomers to the city.

As Simo turned down a nearly deserted alley, aimlessly wandering the city street trying to come to grips with what the people were saying, his thoughts were interrupted by a faint, recurring "poof" that seemed to be getting closer. Mere seconds after that realization, a tiefling blinked into existence just out of arm's reach before disappearing again. When the tiefling re-materialized, Simo heard an explosion nearby that sounded like gunfire. It was only when the mutated tiefling crumpled to the ground that Simo noticed that he had drawn and fired his pistol. Rather, a pistol. He had never before fired, much less owned a pistol this powerful. Simo could tell that it was built by a master. Sleek, polished steel formed everything except the grip, which looked like it was carved from bone. Along the barrel were little green flecks that only showed up when you looked at it in a certain angle with the light.

Curious, Simo pulled out and inspected the pistol holstered on his left hip. Almost identical, minus the green flecks.
"There's something else off about these weapons. They seemed to have an afterglow... that's reaching up my arm... What in the Nine Hells?"
Simo holstered his weapons - not noticing that there was another cartridge already in the chambers of both weapons - and rushed to a mirror, appalled to find that the afterglow was not limited to the weapons and his arms. It reminded him of the afterburn that would appear behind his eyelids after looking away from something bright and directly into the darkness. It followed his movements, with just enough of a delay that he knew he was not imagining it. When it reached his face, it looked to Simo that it was emaciated or even skeletal in nature. You could almost see the teeth in the image's grin. Everything about it was a sickly, pearly green except the eyes. The eyes looking back at Simo from the mirror were black as the abyss. He didn't realize that those weren't the eyes of the image. Were anybody with a decently developed lexicon to describe Simo's new appearance, they would have called it surreal.

Simo ambled away from the tiefling corpse, with the continuously growing hole in its chest, wondering what he could have done - or will be called on to do - for the Lady of Graves, or worse one of the Demons presiding over Undeath, to have given him these abilities.