S.P.I.R.E.: Sharn Private Investigation and Risk Elimination
Orc warden with a flat affect, a good work ethic, and a taste for gourmet food.
Theras is big, even by orc standards. His greyish skin has an almost pebbly roughness to it, like his entire body is covered in a thin layer of callous. His hair is black, lank, and of middling length. It looks like he chops it off himself with a dagger whenever he thinks it's getting too long, because that's precisely what he does. His eyes are red, deepset, and empty. His manner is slightly disquieting. He lacks the bluster of most orcs, preferring to stand by silently until needed. He speaks without emotion, and his face is almost always an unreadable blank. The only time he seems truly happy is when he's eating the most expensive, elaborate thing on the menu, which he does whenever he can afford it.
I am not from the Shadow Marches. Nor am I from the Eldeen Reaches. I am from the single worst corner of Khorvaire: The Demon Wastes. My tribe were not there to worship the demons, nor to make sure they stayed sealed. My tribe simply lived there, gathering what few plants were hardy enough to survive that hellish place, and preying on any animal that our hunting parties came across. Yes, that includes the two-legged kind of animal. My tribe probably served me meat from every creature in this tavern, from the rats and cockroaches on up.
Yes. Even some of your people.
I ate demon, as well. Clever prey, and dangerous, but when you’re on the edge of starvation, no prey is too deadly. It was the demon meat that did us in, in the end. Our biggest kill was also our last; it poisoned us, left us weak. More demons came while most of us were too weak to fight back. All but a handful of us died. Myself, my uncle, two females, and another warrior I hated. We argued about what we should do. I remembered what some of the kills we’d brought in over the years had said; other places, over the mountains, better places. The others wanted to stay. I let them; one of the females came with me. She didn’t make it over the mountains.
She was killed by a bunch of adventurers, actually. Prospectors headed into the Wastes. They assumed we were hostile, after they shot at us, we were. She hurled herself at their human wizard, accidentally carried both of them over a cliff. I trudged up, beat the machine fighter they had until it stopped moving, and was about to start on the cleric when their halfling decided to try and hire me.
I figured, “why not?” I wasn’t up to much else.
So I guided them into the Wastes. I was alright at it, and better at keeping them alive when the things that live there tried to kill them. Like my uncle. I didn’t kill him, no. Even I’m not cold enough to murder the last of my own blood. I did beat him senseless, though. We found some shiny rocks, dragonshards, and brought them back. I followed them all the way back to Sharn. This, I figured, had to be the better place that kill was talking about; wealth, power, women, food. So much food people let it rot in the streets.
The prospectors tried to get me to sign on again, but I’m never going back to the Wastes, not for a job anyway. So, they sort of passed me off to S.P.I.R.E. I keep people from getting killed for a living now.
Beats the shit out of eating rats and demons.