Farrus Fulgrim

## Characteristics

Around (5’8ft), 140lbs, late 30s, unkempt appearance, fair Caucasian skin tone, jet black hair pulled into a loose topknot, rough stubble and deep crimson eyes. Donned in worn-in leather armor with noticeable repairs of various areas, it appears to be
heavily lived in. Belts and cloth sashes strapped across his torso adorned with equipment that have been accumulated over his travels; leather pouches, bottles and vials containing an assortment of ingredients and concoctions, a small notebook and lantern strapped to the hip. Covered in thick hooded cloak with fur trim to protect against the elements and a large pack slung over one shoulder with adventuring gear and other miscellaneous items. Wielding a worn longbow and quiver and two short swords sheathed on his back.

## History

Born to the name **Asger Von Hagen Fulgrim** at the age of
18 and just out of training, **Asger** was called to arms. The city of ***Dermot*** east of Asger's home city was enduring an
unending civil war and being a neighbouring city, they were called to aid
and purge the dissident force.

After 12 years of the campaign, the conflict ceased, in the grassy
**Planes of *Moore***near ***Dermot'***.
All that was left of the land was a scorched, blood soaked mass grave, bodies
of ally and foe alike sprawled across the once eden-like fields. There was no cheer
of victory on that day, only the despicable realisation of needless death,
killing and sacrificing for a cause that they had forgotten the purpose of.
Only two dozen allied soldiers survived the final battle and as they turned and
began to head to camp, a volley of arrow stuck them down, seemingly from
nowhere. During this folly **Asger** was
struck in the chest with an arrow, collapsing on the damp crimson ground, blood
filled his lungs and consciousness faded.

Sometime later, in what felt like an instant **Asger** regained consciousness however he did not recognise where
he was. Effigies made of bone and talismans hung from a thatch roof, the smell
of rotten meat and incense permeated the air, old crooked furniture filled the
interior, stacks of tomes, parchment and mason jars of strange herbs and
pickled creatures covered every surface.

**Asger** tried to move, a sharp pain struck his chest from the open
wound and then he also realised that he had been strapped to a table. With no means of
escape in his weakened condition dread filled his heart. Hours passed that felt
like days and then a shrouded figure entered and hobbled towards the fireplace.
By the light of the embers **Asger**
saw a silhouette of a horrid cooked nose and
hunched back its form to large a disproportionate to be human, he couldn’t make out too many detailed because the figure was
covered by a black wrapping. Picking up a white hot iron from the fire
it loomed close to **Asger**,
whispering into his ear in a dusty feminine voice, *“You may call me **Beezor Rotthorn**,*
and you are my new PUPPET,” *and as she finished her words she cackled and*
plunged the branding iron onto the open wound cauterising it and branding him as
her property like cattle.

**Asger** told **Rotthorn**
his name was **Farrus**, to avoid any
ties to lead to his family and for the next several
years, **Farrus** was little more than a lab rat. Enduring whatever horrid
curse **Rotthorn** could inflict on his
flesh and forcing him to consume deadly concoctions that would alter his physical
form.

Through her alchemical testing **Rotthorn** inadvertently created a form
of the **Hunters Bane formula**, (*a poisonous*
alchemical concoction that alters a person’s life’s blood, forever binding them
to the darkness). *Upon consuming it **Farrus’** blood felt like it was boiling*
his deep brown eyes turned to a blood red crimson and his veins pulsated in a
black hue as it coursed through is body and then consciousness faded.

The familiar
feeling of a void clasped at **Farrus’s** consciousness
however this time he felt different, stronger, rather than it taking him, he
was able to resist its pull. He had purpose now, a reason to keep on fighting.
A burning vengeance to vanquish the evil of **Rotthorn** and all creatures like her from the world and now with the
Hunters Bane coursing through him, he had the power to see it done.

**Farrus** woke in the dead of night to the pattering of
rain his face. Vision blurred and disorientated he slowly rose to his feet
staggering on the soft, damp, uneven ground, an unbearable stench filled his
lungs.

His vision
returned and he found himself stood in a 30 by 30ft pit beside a huge withered
oak tree with black tangled roots that protruded from the side of the pit wall.
He looked at his footing and saw body parts, dozens of dismembered limbs soaked
in bile of decomposing fluids, and he retched at the sight before him and
climbed out of the mass grave and looking upon the dead, he saw amongst the
dozens of remains, Hailian armour and weapons and he could only assume that
they belonged to the rest of the surviving solders.

His vengeance
brewed and a blood lust took over **Farrus**
as he saw the crooked hut off in the distance, he slowly snuck through the door
and noticed a figure in the bed in the far corner of the room, He stole **Rotthorns'** alchemy notes and several ingredients and upon leaving he set the place a blaze
and fled for the nearest city.

On that day he vowed to make it his
purpose to hunt down and destroy any evil that infects the world as she had.

From then on **Farrus** travelled the land taking on contracts where he could,
slaying monsters, helping others in a similar situation that he was in and
occasionally finding other allies to help learn more about monsters in the dark
and developing the best methods of hunting them..

## Recent Events

Farrus is one of the six Adventurers that respond to the Summons of the Sekken Steiner