Fasci

Fasci, known as Dadra Zarott as an infant, is a feral wanderer of the Conglacian wildernesses, as well as a well known urban legend among the Conglacian people. He is also a survivor of Drakhor's slave-soldier training camp.

## Life Summary

### Events of *Beyond Redemption* (1207-1220)

Dadra was born in northern Inon during the early 1200's to a human father and a half elven mother. He had fair skin, and inherited his rich blue hair from his mom and his golden orange eyes from his dad. He was blessed with loving and compassionate parents who wanted nothing more than to nurture him and see him grow, and if circumstances were altered, his life would have very well been extremely different. But as destiny would have it, he was doomed to a fate that no one could either forsee, or hope to stop. Around a year after Dadra’s birth, Conglacian raiders emerged from the horizon to wreak havoc on his humble little village. One particular Conglacian, Svakir, broke into Dadra’s home and kidnapped him, murdering his mother and brutally scarring his father, both mentally and physically. Svakir sought to make the little boy his slave, and that was exactly what he’d do.

He brought him back to his home village, Torunt, a cold, desolate town where the boy would grow for the next several years of his life. The boy did not have much to do but think, as even the slightest annoyance of his cruel master would result in a beating. And witt all his time spent pondering about his life, he could not help but imagine what mode there was to his boring and painful existence. What more resides outside the miserable little shack he was trapped in.

One day, when his curiosity had reached its peak, the boy snuck out of Svakir’s house to go explore. During his exploration, he came across the rotting corpse of another slave child around his age, lying on the ground. However, with his unhealthily limited exposure to the outside world as a whole, he did understand the concept of death, and mistook the boy as some sort of motionless mute. Even so, this was the first time the boy had ever seen another person of his age, and he happily recounted this moment as the time he made his first friend. One particular thing he liked about his new friend were his long and pointy elf ears, something he had not seen many times before, and came to admire.

More years passed, and soon, a man came to Svakir’s door. This man’s name was Drakhor, and the fear Svakir emitted through his brutality, Drakhor emitted through the cold lack of it. He was chillingly calm, stern, and confident, but just as sinister and evil. And that scared the boy in a way he hadn't known before. Drakhor was Svakir’s superior, and he had come to enlist the boy into a slave boot camp, to become one of Conglacia’s future warriors. Svakir tried to resist, feeling as though he had waited for years and years, and the boy had just now grown old enough to perform actual slave tasks, but now he was being stolen away from him. However, Svakir’s resistance proved futile, and the boy was taken to the camp.

On the way there, the boy met many more children of his age also set on the same path of fate that he was. He shyed away from interacting with any of them at first, but that changed when he noticed one child in particular. She had long, pointy ears like his friend he knew from long ago. This seemingly small relation she had to his old friend gave him the courage to go and talk to her, quickly making friends with her as well.

The next years in the boy’s life were long and grueling, as through his training under Drakhor, he somewhat broke out of his shell of perceived helplessness by becoming more and more of a real fighter. However, no amount of training would mentally and emotionally develop him in the way that he really needed. He was around 14 years old at this point, but on the inside, he was still the same little boy living in that miserable shack long ago. It was here at Drakhor’s camp though, that the boy learned what death really was. He was very shaken and unsettled upon learning of it, as the thought of a living being simply ceasing to exist was a very heavy thought for him to handle. In his time alone, he even began to ponder over whether the boy with the long ears, the first friend he made, could have been dead. But time and time again, he brushed away the possibility. Each time he looked back on the memory, it was a little different. A little more lifelike, the long eared boy was. He even recalled him saying a word or two at one point. He couldn’t have been dead, no way.

However, things came crashing down for the poor boy soon enough. On a training excursion one day, a pack of rabid beasts attacked Drakhor and all the children. With all the skill and years of experience Drakhor held under his belt, he was more than capable of fending them of for not only himself, but for all the children as well. But he didn’t. He killed any beasts that attacked him, but only watched as they attacked the children. The boy was in a panic. The children he had been training with for years were being slaughtered around him. Countless thoughts were racing around his head, but only one could be heard above all the rest. Run. And run he did, far far away.

For several days, he survived out in the cold, desolate tundra that is Conglacia. His skin turned a sickly gray, and his hair morphed to a faded purple. Despite his conditions and circumstances, something in him was keeping him alive, keeping him bound to his torturous existence. He needed food. The snow around him could sustain his thirst, but he was starving. He crawled in any direction he could, just hoping to find anything at all. And as fate would have it, he came to the spot where all of his peers had died.

Bodies of beasts and children laid sprawled across the frozen ground. Most bodies were only found missing parts, if not, found as only limbs. He couldn’t bear to look. The sight horrified him. But he was so hungry. So, mind numbingly hungry. He did not think about what he did. He did not want to. He went on like a savage beast, until he was finally satisfied and full. And when he looked down, he saw the face of the one friend he had made here at the camp. The girl with the long ears. Every memory of the first friend he had made came crashing into his head. He knew now without a shadow of a doubt that boy was dead. A corpse. Just like the one he was eating from now.

The boy vomited onto the corpse of his old friend. He cried. He cried and cried tears of anguish. He screamed in complete hatred of everything. He hated the cold and unforgiving land he had known his whole life. He hated the cruel and brutal masters that had tormented him every day. He hated the few friends he had made for being in his life just to cause him so much pain by leaving him.

But most of all he hated himself, for he was who he blamed for all of it. He hated himself for not fighting back against any of the torture he let himself endure. For letting everyone he had ever cared about die. And for being lower than he ever thought he could be by eating from their rotting corpses. He tried to think less and less from that point on. Thinking caused him pain. He would only act, act on the primal instinct that he had ignored his whole life. And it was stronger than ever.

Multiple strange deaths have been recorded in eastern Conglacian villages during the next couple years. Death is not uncommon in Conglacia, and even cannibalism is widely practiced throughout the country, but the sightings of a feral gray creature in areas with high amounts of cannibalized corpses have many villages worried about what might happen next. At the time being, the creature has come to be known as Fasci, or Demon in Conglacian, and multiple villages remain vigilant in hopes of catching it once and for all. None have been successful.

## Physical Description

Hair: Faded purple (originally blue)

Skin: Sickly gray (originally fair)

Eyes: Golden orange

Height: 6'0

Horns: No

Tail: No

## Biographical Information

Status: Alive

Sex/Gender: Male

Race: Human

Subrace: Quarter Elf

Nationality: Conglacian

Continent of Origin: Inon

Biological Father: Martys Zarott

Biological Mother: Kuenan Zarott

Age in Deita: 13 (1220)

Age in Years: 15 (1220)