Jorban Dallas, patron of the Dark Lord of Tyranny

[Foomanchu]

Born and raised in Amn, Jorban Dallas lived with his father. The two of them lived alone in the scummy trader district of Athkatla. His father was a black market dealer, dabbling in all sorts of rare and highly illegal stuff. Their run-down shack-of-a-house was littered wall to wall with items that looked like junk to Jorban, yet his father would sell these things to rich noblemen for vast amounts of gold only to pay off his debts to –other- rich noblemen.

Jorban was never schooled. Instead he was left to run free with the other children in the area, causing mischief, but when it was time for another sale, Jorban would be stuck in the house with his father to make sure nothing … bad happened. Even as a young boy Jorban was taught to fight. He slowly learnt the lessons Morri Motto taught his father when he was young.

As he grew larger, and stronger, his father grew older, and weaker. Jorban became a very proficient fighter and well known in his area for keeping the worst of the worse out. His father knew of his son’s talent and used it. Jorban would always accompany his father during a deal, but now, instead of being a pity item, he was a bodyguard.

Any black market salesman will tell you that keeping your protection on –your- side of the table is key, but apparently Jorban’s father hadn’t heard this. Jorban was often mistreated by his father, who never once showed an once of love towards him. From the outside, all seemed well, but the neighbors knew there was turmoil in that house when the doors were shut. Often, his father would hit him, and yell at him, telling him that whatever he did was not good enough. Nothing was ever good enough.

The time came when Jorban wanted an answer. He wanted to know about his mother. He was almost a man now, and his father up until now, had avoided questions of Jorban’s mother. In a heated argument one night, he finally demanded answers. Quivering under Jorban’s rage his father resisted. “No matter what you do, no matter WHAT! I will tell you NOTHING about that whore!”. With these words, Jorban’s hatred hit a peak not reached before. In a fiery rage he murdered his father with his bare hands and fled.

*to be continued*

[Foomanchu]

Immediately after killing his father, Jorban left Athkatla. He headed to the east on foot by the cloak of night with nothing more then what he could quickly throw into his sack. With no knowledge of the outside world, he had no clue were the nearest town was. He ran through most of the night, stopping only for short breaks, until he came across a hollow in the forest. There he slept, or at least, tried to sleep.

During the night he awoke several times, startled by his dreams. Dreams of his father, dreams of what he did. Every time he tried to sleep, the dreams would come back to him. After only a few hours of restless sleep, the sun rose, and he began his journey again. To the East.

He came across a small farming community near the end of the second day. The people there were nice, and helped him without asking any questions, providing food and shelter. Jorban thanked them all for there kindness and explained that it was not necessary as he was just passing through. Still they instisted. Late that night, a horseman rode in to the small community. Jorban woke up at the sound of the horses footsteps. He could hear the horseman talking to the head farmer at the front door of his house. “There is a murderer on the lose, have you seen anything strange or unusual lately?” asked the horseman. Before the farmer could even respond, Jorban was already out the back door and running once again. This time, he ran until he collapsed.

As he lay in a field, miles away from the farm community, the dreams came for him. They taunted him, teased him for what he did. The dreams would never let him forget what he had done. As time wore on, and Amn slipped further and further away, the dreams only got worse…

*to be continued*

[Foomanchu]

It had been almost a year since that day. A year spent hiding in bushes, avoiding towns, and stealing from farms. The dreams were getting worse, more violent, more disturbing. They were no longer about his father’s death, they were about –him-. Finally, Jorban decided it was time to stop hiding, and time to get help. He decided that the next town he reached, he would settle down in.

After a few days hike, Jorban came across the city of Ormath on the Shining Plains. As he entered the city, he noticed nobody seemed to care he was there. Finally, he had run far enough away from the past that it couldn’t catch up with him. Or so he though. After asking around a bit, he was directed to a healer in the northern-most end of the city. Eager to be relieved of his horrid dreams, he rushed towards the healers shop. As he neared the old building, which slanted to the left like an old rickety barn, he suddenly felt something run up his back and drift into his skull like a cold cloth being pulled across his body. Then…darkness.

Jorban awoke floating limp in the middle of what seemed to be a violently swirling bubble. His vision was foggy as he tried to make out the beings outside the bubble. One seemed to be a faceless archer, with dark armor, and a long bow that seemed old and used. Beside the archer, a monk…Jorban, but he seemed much older, and battle worn. Across from them he could see a man who’s presence commanded attention and respect, wearing red and black armor, seeming to preach to the two as if preparing for a fight, but his face, like the archers, was a featureless empty space.

Suddenly the swirling bubble tightly surrounding Jorban exploded outwards, dropping him to the ground. He coughed and gagged for air as he got up. Looking around him he saw an old man in even older robes, and a guard, who’s bulking armor reflected the sun with a brightness that made Jorban’s eyes squint and tear. Behind them, the slanted house…he was back in Ormath.

*to be continued*

[Foomanchu]

Jorban rose to his feet watching the old man who’s lips were moving but spoke no words. His hearing slowly faded in as the guard began to talk. “Sir, are you okay? Sir?” Jorban tried to respond but he felt to weak to move. Balanced by the old man, who looked as if he’d break under Jorban’s weight, he hobbled to the aged shop and leaned against it.

The two men let him regain his composure before continuing, then the questions began. The guard asked were he was from, and why he was there. The old man asked what he had eaten, and what he remembered. All the questions came so fast Jorban became dizzy. He felt tired, exhausted, it was no time for questions. The guard became irritated quickly, demanding answers, and the old man just kept coming up with more personal queries. Sick of their non-stop pressure, Jorban lashed out and yelled at them “I DON’T KNOW OKAY!? I DON’T KNOW!! LEAVE ME THE HELLS ALONE!!!”

The guard was about to draw his sword when the old man stopped him. The old man calmly told Jorban “You were laying there for the better half of an hour Sir. Without us, who knows what would have happened to you. I think you owe us an apology”. Jorban calmed down and apologized to the two men. “Great, then let’s continue your session inside my shop. Time is money you know!” the old man said as he rolled his palm open towards the door of his shop. “The longer it takes, the more it will cost you.”

Jorban’s gaze slowly tilted up to match the old man’s. “Money? You want me to give you money? What did you do for me old man? NOTHING!”. Disgusted with the old mans greed, Jorban pushed the guard out of the way and ran out past the house, heading north, away from Ormath.

*to be continued*

[Foomanchu]

How could men so greedy, so gluttonous, have so much? Why has currency taken over the lives of so many? Why has society let money and greed corrupt its inner workings so much that murders and thieves walk freely in the streets, and noblemen seek to overthrow the very governments that seek to protect them? What was wrong with everyone? How could we let this happen? So many questions, and no answers. Jorban headed north from Ormath disgusted with society, and his anger only grew.

No matter how much he tried to focus on the troubles plaguing Toril, he couldn’t drown out the thoughts of his own troubles. As time wore on his dreams became less and less frequent, but now…he was tormented by the visions.

When the visions came, a cold fear would roll up his back and shock his skull, then everything would turn to darkness. Moments later, he would wake up, floating in a hazy semi-conscious state, watching himself from the outside. When he had seen all the vision would let him, he would awake on the ground were he last left off, minutes, sometimes hours later.

Every time, the visions were different. He saw himself meet friends, make enemies, and grow old. Every time, seeing something else, one more piece of a grand puzzle. Not knowing what to believe or make of the visions, Jorban accepted them as glimpses into his future, but they were not welcome in his mind as they showed him a future he didn’t want to live through. Then came that fateful night…

*to be continued*