Editing Dross (section)

= Background =
Noble, Scion of an Ancient Bloodline, Urban

Dross grew up in the bad side of town, but in a rich home. His cloth merchant parents had plenty of money, but were uncaring and greedy. His artistic and adventurous spirit made him an outcast amongst outcasts, but he didn't really mind. It made good material for ballads and songs, and Dross would rather spend his time carousing and playing shows at inns than learning how to take over the family business anyhow.

The tiefling was pretty good with a lyre, and was doing alright, despite being the proverbial blacksheep. That is when his visions started.

At first he thought it was just heavy comedowns off of all the drinking and recreational drugs. He'd black-out and hallucinate. Dross would be in the middle of the second chorus of "Strangers boots at my hearth" when everything would go silent, and then he'd slip into a hazy land of heat and fire. There would be other tieflings around him. They wore expensive vestments, and intricate armoring. And they never called him Dross; always something else, like Kargath or Versumga. These slipvisions always involved violence. Beatings. Lashings. Fights. Always.

And then he'd snap back into reality, having passed out on the barroom floor, with curious patrons standing around wondering about his seizures.

Dross tried to cool down on the shinsta grass and the drinking, but it didn't help. The daydreams became more and more vivid, would last longer and longer His hallucinatory tormentors began cursing his Bloodline, calling him a traitor for signing a treaty with the humans. Calling him weak, a thinblooded pissant of a half-deamon. Dross fought back.

But when he snapped out of his vision this time, his hands were crimson red, as was the dagger in his hands, and at his feet lay his dead half-brother. So Dross fled from his family, and has been on the road ever since, doing what he knows best. Drinking and singing for money. Trying not to think about the visions too much.