The Sword Coast
Human Tempest Cleric of Talos, Storm Sorcerer
Str- 16 Dex- 10 Con- 11
Int- 8 Wis- 13 Chr- 16
Age: 38 years old
Appearance; Blue eyes, black/gray hair with a white streak, fair skin, fresh scar on right side of face
1. Show no mercy to those who prey on the innocent.
2. Never willingly allow harm to come to a child, if it can be prevented.
3. Intelligent beings should never be forced into servitude.
4. A honorable warrior deserves an honorable death.
5. A bond formed by blood and conflict is stronger than all others.
Karthos was found near the outer city of the bustling port metropolis, Baldur’s Gate. Washed ashore, in a crib of carved driftwood, carried by monstrous gales. Something was in the wind that day, something powerful. He was found by a woman, staring over the edge of a cliff into the churning abyss below.
Had the gods finally answered her prayers?
She rescued the boy from icy waves, the hard rain masking tears of sorrow and joy. “The gods have finally heard us, they’ve brought us a son!” she burst through the door, “we can name him after you, Karthos.” She smiled, the widow’s eyes echoed ghosts since passed.
The hourglass of gods can be measured in irony.
Karthos grew up fast, and he grew up strong. He had to. Life wasn’t easy in the shadow of Baldur’s Gate. The lords and ladies lived their lives on the backs of the peasants, who scraped a meager living from the remnants of their excess in the mud and shadows of the walled city. Heir to no great fortune, no titles, Karthos vowed to cut his own path. Life didn’t give people like Karthos chances, they had to be taken by force.
But he wasn’t strong enough to take what he was destined for, not yet.
As a young man, he set out on his own. His mother had passed, sickness and death were common occurrences for the misfortunate. Karthos vowed to return one day. The gilded lords, beyond the walls and high above the city, would know what it was to suffer too. Like the setting sun, the shadow of Baldur’s Gate sunk into the horizon as he forged his path to power.
The light fades, extinguished.
Karthos’ world was plunged into darkness. After weeks of traveling, he awoke to find himself below the pits of the earth itself. Taken in the night, sold into slavery to the Drow. For nearly 3 years, he survived where not even the light of hope could burn brightly lest it be snuffed out completely. Not a day went by that he didn’t plot his escape. Finally, his chance came and he took it. The tunnels rumbled and shook, boulders plummeted, the cavern collapsed around them. He’d survived, sealed off. He crawled over the bodies of the other slaves and his captors. His will alone carried his shattered body. He wandered the tunnels for days until he reached a giant carved stone door.
The light was blinding.
Exhausted and broken, he shambled through the mountains until he finally collapsed.
He awoke to find himself in the motley company of ragged individuals surrounding a campfire. “Finally awake, aye boy?” an old weathered man shot him a sly smile. They were the Crimson Dogs, blades for hire.
By the growing strength of his sword arm, Karthos carved out a name for himself. They traveled the lands of Faerun in the name of glory and the promise of riches.