Burned Cleric of Ashtus
I am the youngest of three children. My mother had me late in life and died giving birth to me. My older brother and sister, twins, hated me and blamed me for her death. My father was a guild member and, being the only parent of three children, was not around much as he worked hard to support us. In the small amount of time I spent with him, he would recount stories of my mother and tell me how beautiful, caring and pious she was. Sometimes I had the feeling he was using me just as much to keep her memory fresh as to educate me about her. It always stuck with me how fervently she worshiped her god and how thankful she was to be bringing me into this world, calling me her little blessing. My father made sure I knew that my mother’s death was not my fault, but, thanks to my brother and sister, I had my doubts.
Growing up I studied the faith with a determination to find a god I could serve faithfully and redeem myself. Having little guidance, in my teens I researched devil worship, and would practice chants and minor spells at home. One day our father left for work and never returned home. My brother and sister blamed me for his disappearance, claiming I had joined a cult and banished him to a different plane of existence. When investigated by the local authorities, my research was discovered (bad timing on my part). My fervent reproaches and grief over the loss of my father gave my siblings the chance to have me declared insane and have me committed to a local asylum.
I became obsessed with redemption. With no one on the outside I could trust, I had to find my own way out so I could find my father. I knew he was still alive. It was during my incarceration that I learned of Ashtus, an ancient god who had been deemed blasphemous – a devil – by zealots who supplanted his beliefs with their own. I befriended a group of his followers who were wrongfully imprisoned for their fervent belief in this ancient god. They longed to spread his teachings and bring salvation to the world. I studied his teachings and prayed daily; I had finally found my god of redemption. We vowed to one day escape so we could spread the word of Ashtus and restore his good name. Shortly after our escape, our group was attacked by religious fanatics and all but myself were killed. I was only able to escape after being literally branded a devil worshiper; I bear the mark of Ashtus upon my head. I fled the city, alone and with a singular focus: I live to spread the world of Ashtus and foster redemption wherever I can. I am driven to find my father and redeem myself.