Thagya’s hatred of defilers borders on
obsession, but no one knows the real reason why. Until
recently, he succumbed to depressions that arose from his
wife’s betrayal. Thagya compulsively dwelt on the memory
of his wife in the arms of a defiler. Could he have
prevented their union? Avoided driving her away to the
accursed defiler? Could he rekindle their relationship?
In time, Thagya escaped the spiral of depression and
accepted the loss of his wife. To this day, he maintains that
a defiler murdered her. He will never publicly acknowledge
that she has chosen a new life as an apprentice defiler. If
any of his comrades suspect the truth, they respect Thagya
too much to confront him.
Except for Alliance business, he seldom leaves the
Alliance’s underground headquarters. He avoids close
relationships with others, keeping even his trusted advisors
at arm’s length. A loyal halfling, Horga-at-Horg, provides
his only real companionship. His interests include not only
magic, but military history, engineering, and mathematics.
Thagya finds solace in nature, and his compassion for
animals nearly equals his contempt for defilers.
A gleaming obsidian pedestal rises from the floor of
Thagya’s spartan quarters. “That pedestal,” he explains
grimly to new initiates, “awaits the head of the sorcererking.”
Stooped, haggard, and pasty fleshed, he looks more like
80 than his true age of 54. One eye remains permanently
dilated (the result of an injury), giving him an unsettling
gaze.
Personal hygiene ranks low on Thagya’s list of priorities.
He seldom bathes, his clothes hang on him like rags, his
beard grows in shaggy strands, and dirt cakes his long
fingernails. Horga-at-Horg urges him to take better care
of himself, but Thagya dismisses manicures, shaving, and
similar activities as a waste of valuable time.