It all started just outside of Narmans when Cult of the Ever-Blooming Goddess manifested an Eidolon. The priests of Belo, their culture heavily in tune with that lunar god, decided this was dangerous enough and tried to dismantle the cult. Surviving the purge and stealing away with the eidolon, Itli wishes to find a place and a people willing to hear the promises of Meliae the Gracious. While Meliae is still a young goddess, the entity needs worldly power shepherded to her to grow in strength. Whether that's through actual experience, some kind of ritual or through accumulated worship, he's dedicated to cultivating this entity and growing its power.

Perhaps a new deity of nature, raised by mortals, would be more apt to intervene in the fate of those mortals, germinating in the land more fecundity and prosperity. Having a visible, powerful entity that can effect great change in the landscape my inspire faith and hope in the people. Itli is uncertain how he may attend to his goddess competently, however. Should he bring this hope to the people freely? Ask of Meliae to give to her followers freely, without recompense or worship? Or does he demand it of them? If you want to feed your family and keep your fields and livestock healthy, then you have to pay homage to Itli, and by extension, Meliae the Gracious. After all, its hard to argue with the promise of abolishing hunger and a utopian garden for the price of your unerring devotion.

Both the Meliae and Itli were raised and indoctrinated at a "young age". So Itli ,who was used as the anchor for the Eidolon, believes himself an integral devotee and high priest. While Meliae thinks there's something wrong with the wilds of the world, that mortals and the wild places can coexist, but they need someone to guide them and harmonize them. Meliae believes she's the right deity for the task.

Meliae, the Gracious One

Anything worth doing, is worth doing in the face of a little danger.

Kirith spent his early years surrounded by his two best friends and his brother, forming a bond of kinship and fraternity which would convince even the shrewdest hermit that these young Oropin held a bond that transgressed mortality. Despite the massive discrepancy in age between Kirith and his two best friends Kalgdaeel and Seekragh, his brother Argdyulf, the quartet was inseparable, participating in games together, getting in fights together, and causing general mayhem – the band of brothers couldn’t be beaten. The much older Argdyulf took on the role of protector and mentor of the three young Oropin.

Then, one day without warning, his brother left. Kirith was five years old then and his world came crashing down around him. No one knew why Argdyulf left or where he went – outside of the caldera upon which Kataigis rests is incredibly dangerous, after all. Any that were able to lend aid assisted in the search efforts. For nearly three weeks, the entirety of the island was scoured but there were no signs of him.

Kirith took it upon himself at such a young age to look for Argdyulf – sneaking out under the cover of night alone in hopes of finding his brother - failing to understand the consequences and dangers of traveling alone within the greater caldera. As the night grew to dawn and he was outside of the reaches of Kataigis, he was beset upon. Flying high in the sky, circling its prey, a massive, winged bird – one of the rocs that typically torment the islands caught in the tempest that crashes against the Drakkebak islands – found its prey. It crashed upon Kirith, talons spread wide slashing and maiming his right side and scooping him up with peerless precision. Being crushed by the massive talons of the roc, Kirith began to lose consciousness. Not but mere moments after he was swept off the ground, he felt an impact and then a peculiar lightness. He was falling – fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty feet before slamming into the ground, breaking several bones. As he stared into the sky, the rising sun cast an eerie glow upon two massive, winged creatures fighting for dominance. One, a shocking blue color, the other, tawny brown. As his eyes fluttered into unconsciousness, Kirith wondered to himself “have I witnessed a battle between gods?”

 Kirith had awoken some days later with a mangled body wrapped in bandages. The moments he had witnessed had changed him both physically and mentally. The next several years of Kirith’s life were spent primarily within the confines of his family home. He had trouble eating, sleeping, thinking – his every moment was racked with the images of that day. The fear of the open sky overcame Kirith to the point that he couldn’t even participate in the communal meals hosted by the Oropin of his neighborhood, preferring to instead peck at his food from within his home. Though Kalgdaeel and Seekragh would visit him, their presence only made him resent his deep-rooted fear even more.

“Kirith,” his father said one day “my father once gave me some advice that may help you. He told me ‘Creatures of this world all live and die at some point, but what has made them stand out? What mark have they left on the annals of history which bears their name? Go bear your mark on history or die a simpleton and a fool.’ I think, Kirith, that what he meant when he told me that is that the fear of death is something that everyone has consuming the very air around them. The trick is closing our hearts to that fear, so that we may make something of ourselves, that we may engrave our names on the tablets that record our deeds with pride. I think, Kirith, that what you went through was a horrifying ordeal, but I think you can move past it. You are stronger than your fears. I know that you will engrave your name with pride.” With a pat on Kirith’s leg, his father left Kirith to his thoughts. These words weighed heavily on Kirith. He closed his heart to fear and took a step outside.

The next several years allowed Kirith to blossom into an adolescent who was skilled but lacked direction. He tried his hand at a great many things, but always keeping up with his studies. Writing and fishing became a common pastime for Kirith and of course sport – particularly wrestling. Kirith excelled in barehanded combat and martial arts, finding a deep focus within himself that allowed him to drive back the lingering fear he held within himself.

Kirith had also found that he had a knack for stonework. His first attempt involved him haphazardly and absentmindedly carving away at a stone that he had found while watching the livestock with Seekragh one day – a small totem in the visage of his brother whom he had lost many years ago. The totem was well crafted with lines that very obviously captured the essence of who his brother was. He proudly displayed his creation to whomever would pay him any mind. He continued working at his craft while studying other sculptors of Kataigis, eventually being offered tutelage under a sculptor from a nearby neighborhood. This, however, would have to wait until after his Khaidoro – his coming-of-age ceremony.

By some happenstance, he had overheard his father and his uncle – a Drakkgebor born Oropin who was not related by blood – speaking of years past and speaking of the fame his father once had. It was to be implied that his father was somewhat of a celebrity perhaps in some other city at some other time who had feigned his own death in some fashion. These were the few bits of conversation that Kirith had managed to stitch together in his eavesdropping.

When it came time for Kirith’s Khaidoro, there was a grand celebration. The boy whose fortitude was as sturdy as the stone he worked reached his seventeenth birthday. Since His two best friends had birthdays close to Kirith’s, they decided to celebrate their Khaidoros together – they were still an inseparable trio after all. 

After the celebrations, Kirith was offered a choice: study under the guidance of the sculptor which had offered him tutelage or venture on his own and see the world. Kirith took some time to ponder this decision – it would shape the course of his future, after all. 

The morning that he had made his decision, yet another gut-wrenching blow hit Kirith. His two best friends had vanished without a trace. The memories of the loss of his brother came flooding back to him, wracking him with guilt and sorrow. He asked his uncle to charter him to Kagorn, to seek his destiny and his friends.

At the age of 4, a young Vexbalg named Kazador was seperated from his parents and lost in the woods just NW of Eastreach. His family searched for days but alas, the boy was nowhere to be found. What they didnt know, was that this was because he had already been found. Unfortunately for his parents, a dwarven couple were returning to Hul along a similar path and came upon the kid just mere hours after they were seperated. Not knowing what to do, they took little Kaz with them. And after weighing their options, the couple decided to raise him alongside their newborn boy. The boys are encouraged to follow in the family's footsteps and tinker their lives away for the betterment of the clan. Kaz, having a harder time than his brother when it came to inventing,  would neglect his tinker's tools in favor of sneaking out and roaming the alleys of Hul. Using his Vex shapeshifting abilities, he'd stir up trouble and use his silver-tongue to walk away from said drama unscathed and uncompromised. When he came of age, he was graciously granted his own clan pistol, a tradition of his adopted parents' clan. Maybe it was the security of being highly-skilled with a black powder weapon, or the pride that came with being a "Human" who rightfully owns a traditional clan weapon, but he quickly started using other faces less while commiting his rabble-rousing. Opting instead to relish in the chaos, he'd announce himself as Bishop, A human sporting a reflective silver mask and a leather armored coat. After making quite the name for himself, he was approached by one of the bigger clans, Runeguard, who offerred him money and status. All he had to do to recieve it, was "cause a scene here" or "have a conversation over there". Desperate to elevate his own clan's status and eager to reap the social benefits of working for the "big dogs", he agreed. But after years of subterfuge and political hijinks, he received a letter from his supposed birthmother, simply saying they should meet and have a chat. And so he set off, in search of answers to some long forgotten questions.

My optimism wears heavy boots and is loud