Arsilen Rowanauld

Arsilen Rowanauld was born a commoner 20 years before the opening of the Dark Portal to parents Dorin and Luvia Rowanauld. Their livelihoods were mundane, though their young son and only child began to hear voices of individuals that his parents could not. Arsilen's supernatural awareness of the deceased began very young, making what should have been a time of development and growth into a stressful, constant sense of paranoia. Merely a boy, Arsilen would profess to his parents that the house would frequently host visitors of unknown lifetimes and origins. With little knowledge of these subjects and too little time to investigate the matter themselves, they sent him away to the Northshire Abbey, so that they may investigate what the matter with him was. Perhaps he was haunted, possessed, cursed, doomed - whatever he was, he was a danger to keep around. The Abbey would help him direct and utilize this gift.

## Childhood

The city of Grand Hamlet bustled and thrived in its time of peace, and life was easy. The wayward explorations and inattentive habits of a young Arsilen were readily dismissed as the machinations of an imaginative mind, the curious spirit of a child. The voices he'd follow and the stories he'd tell were fragments divulged by imaginary friends, bits of storybooks shared with him. The household needed constant attention, after all, and Arsilen never needed the constant oversight most babes needed. Father labored to make sure food was on the table, mother made sure that there was a home for them all to enjoy.

As he developed, the stories never went away, and the disinterest in his schooling became an annoyance. Dorin would outline his expectations, attempt a stern and firm approach, tell him that he needed to be educated so that he'd be his own man one day. Luvia would remind Arsilen that the world is busy and a dangerous place, and he'd have to keep his head out of the clouds so that he wouldn't get swept up and lost in it. Neither of them understood his repeated attempts to explain himself. The voices he'd hear were real, the glimpses he'd catch were nearly tangible, and the thoughts that came to him were not his own.

Children learn to lie, when needs necessitate such skill. Arsilen did not want to deceive his parents, but he was tired of being punished for things outside of his control, tired of trying to live in a mundane world that did not want him. He focused on the spirits instead, and tried to better understand what exactly was going on, what was happening to him. Most who caught his ear were sympathetic, surprised that a child could hear them and understand, and pleasantly surprised at how polite and helpful he'd try to be. Others were angry, their business incomplete and their stagnation between this world and the next all they could focus on. When Arsilen's parents would ask where he went, he'd provide some excuse. New friends, an outing, picking up something for one of them or the house, invited somewhere, completing an assignment for school. These excuses were easy, but not impenetrable.

The truth to it would be revealed when Arsilen came home one day, covered in scratches and extremely large bruises. Now becoming a young man, barely fourteen, mother and father both thought that the apparitions of the past were long forgotten. It had been years since their boy had brought any of that up again, and it was something they preferred to not talk about. But this had never happened before. *Where have you been? What happened to you? Did someone do this?* Questions that he couldn't answer without explaining, without describing the violent specter that took out its rage on him, and Arsilen's narrow escape of it in which he ran all the way home from the woods. But he didn't need to answer - it answered for him, revealing that it followed him home. It tore apart the house, continuing its frenzy as it shredded paint from the walls, scattered pots and pans, split open the windows forcefully enough to shatter the panes, wailed and screamed in agony and desperation. "I'm sorry! I'm trying to help you, I promise, I just don't know how!" Arsilen yelled out loud. His parents were terrified, and took cover underneath the solid kitchen table while their son continuously pleaded with the entity, until it calmed.

It was decided, then, that Arsilen's predicament was real. And it had not gone away. And it could not be dismissed or forgotten, like they had hoped. They sent their son to Northshire Abbey, and hoped that the clerics there would be able to help him. He was not welcome home again until they could cure him, cleanse him of whatever curse this must be, whatever *thing* had taken hold of their only child. Arsilen did not come back.