DRAVEN SADIKOV.

MAIN VERSEBG3 ╱ DND ﹕  SON OF MYRKUL.

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HOMEBREW INFO ﹕ THE MOUNTAINS OF WYNTHOR.

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A GOD’S DISGRACED SON —MYRKUL’S OFFSPRING.
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RACE. WYNTHORIAN ELF ╱ LYCANTHROPE
CLASS. BARBARIAN ╱ WIZARD
SUBCLASS. BERSERKER ╱ NECROMANCY
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͏͏͏DRAVEN IS NOT A TAV, BUT A TRAVELING COMPANION .ᐟ[ Aiding the barbaric lycanthrope. ]͏͏͏Draven is a traveling companion encountered later after the nautiloid crash. He is found in the Underdark by the beach, surrounded by dead duergar. Draven is stoic in nature, but displays his urgency to get to Gymforge. He explains he is in search of something that was stolen from him. He offers his aid to those that agree to aid him in his journey. At first he is rather avoidant about any details regarding his life due to his lack of trust in others, a tendency of his.As you continue traveling, eventually Draven will explain his cursed blades were taken from him. He gives little explanation to where the blades stem from initially. Draven’s blades are cursed, forged by Myrkul to offer Draven power. Though, Draven’s soul is entwined into the weapon along with the soul hence his urgency to retrieve them. It will also be revealed Draven is a werewolf, cursed by a hag and exiled by his people as a result.His companions are made to believe Draven was once a mere follower of Myrkul, but betrayed his faith and now works as a hired sword ╱ monster hunter. However, once the group encounters Ketheric, it will be exposed that Draven is Myrkul’s heir and that he fought along side Ketheric 100 years ago in the war that brought forth the Shadow Cursed Lands. Draven’s path has been laid out in stone, but the journey consist of darkness and attempted redemption from his haunting past.͏͏͏͏͏͏
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͏͏͏THE FABLED “MYTH” OF MYRKUL’S SON. DRAVEN THE DEATHLESS.“You disgrace me.”͏͏͏
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The Mountains of Wynthor was once a thriving home for a race of giants and high elves. For eons the races lived separately until the union marriage of two royal families. They came together and created an entirely new bloodline. The clan valued power, strength, righteousness. Wynthor consisted of three great clans — Clan Wildthorn, Clan Sadikov, and Clan Vaelen. One seemed to favor the title more than others. Anichka Sadikov. First of her name and soon to be leader of the Sadikov Clan. And as she grew, as she found herself fascinated by the nature occurrence of death. That is when she discovered Myrkul. Their teachings, their beliefs, everything she wished to understand. Despite her duties her to become chief, her life was dedicated to Myrkul.She did everything to get the God’s attention. Even if it meant stripping life away just to garner the God’s eye. Eventually Myrkul did notice and was pleased by her obsession. The god offered the gift — a child blessed to grow within her womb. Myrkul claimed the child would bring Anichka power unlike she would ever known. How could she deny such a gift from a god she dedicated herself to? Her partner, her lover, Qaena, displayed hesitance, but Anichika wouldn’t dare go against the god she strived for. She was subjected to a tortuous ritual in order for this gift to be bestowed. Anichika was strapped to a slab of stone and with a blackened blade, cultists cut sigils into her stomach, right where her womb sat. A green glow erupted from those sigils and with that indicated the ritual was successful. When the time was near, Myrkul would ensure a group of cultists would retrieve her to allow witness to the creation planted in her womb. A gift to her was welcomed with devotion and loyalty, aiding in the perfection of an offspring. Oblivious to what would happen as time went on. It was a healthy pregnancy, no oddities that she caught, nor that Qaena could see. All Anichika could think about was the life that bloomed within her. She couldn’t wait to be a mother.Though she unaware for the child to be born that her life would be the exchange for the infant to live. As her date grew closer, she was retrieved by cultists back to their church. Qaena and a few others accompanied them with Anichika’s persuasion. In a dark cavern, riddled with candle light and a hollow hum, Anichika experienced a violent birth. Myrkul’s voice echoed in her mind and explained her life would be no more in order to bring forth his spawn. Her faith shattered within those mere seconds of realization. Anichika gripped onto Qaena and pleaded for her to keep the child safe. Do not allow the cult to take their child. Though, in the end she feared for her life, pleading the god for mercy as the child tore through her body. She received no mercy. Only a violent death — and born from that death was a monster. A raven haired boy, almost identical to Anichika, screaming as he came into the world.Qaena acted quick. She stole the child from the arms of a cultists while the two other clan’s men attacked and retrieved Anichika’s body. They fled back to their clan. Draven was the boy’s given name. With their return, Qaena explained what happened and urged the clan to began to gather whatever their arms could carry and flee. They would guide the child towards the path of ruling as their new leader as Anichika would’ve wanted. The people of Wynthor had spent the first six years of time fleeing from the cultists. And had finally settled. They fled far enough to make a home for themselves. Evuniel. From the ground up the Wynthorians built their new home. Qaena lead them, raising Draven at her side as her own.The boy resembled Anichika more and more by the day. When Draven reached the age of eight, the cult finally caught up with them. During the day the cultists learned their routines in order to break in and take Draven. One peaceful night fell to massacre in an instant. The cultists slaughtered Draven’s people, offering no mercy as they cleaved through in the name of their god. The cult stole the boy and left Evuniel in ruins. The cultists were tasked to mold the boy into a solider, guide him to the path of darkness and death. Make him merciless. Draven’s memories of his life was wiped from his mind to ensure his loyalty to Myrkul. The boy became well acquainted with pain with the cult. Despite his memory being wiped, he was a stubborn child. Defiant and rebellious. He acted out quite too often for the church’s liking. He was subjected to torturous, defiling abuse to rid this nature from him. Any ounce of retaliation from him was met with a list of punishments. Lashes of a whip to his back, lack of proper nutrition, shackled up away for weeks at a time, and the more frequent one used was to chain him to a post and strike his back mercilessly with a whip.The cult saw Draven as a blessing from their god, but his unruliness was a fault of the being that birthed him. That rebellious nature was bled from him entirely in due time. The cult shaped him into a savage, cruel solider. Merciless and blood thirsty. The church even taught him in the ways of magic. Wizardry came quite naturally for him, but his gift of necromancy was one to behold. With the blood of Myrkul flowing through his veins, necrotic energy was rather potent. During torturous rituals, the cultists discovered Draven was blessed with undeath. No matter severity, he could not die. They knew this would ensure Draven’s loyalty and faith. Finally, a broken in monster. Draven became an emotionless void. Any task given was done without an ounce of remorse, no hesitation. A desperation to gain the approval of his god. He did everything asked of him, no matter how bad it was, he became an obedient solider. Anything to seek the attention of his god. He stood with Myrkul and the army the god accumulated. What his god commanded, Draven obeyed without question. Death followed him every step, happily to provide an endless supply of souls to please the god. His efforts were rewarded by gaining the title of Myrkul’s chosen. And each time he fell, Myrkul would only drag him back from the grave. With every death his power flourished.Tasked with a slaughter, Draven held no remorse as he stood at the center of chaos. Death surrounded him, he was bathed in blood, bodies scattered about. Fire ablaze through a town. All dead in their name. Myrkul had finally their son creation for what he truly was. A monster. Finally, Draven was seen by the being after so many years of bloodied devotion. He was bred for destruction, bred to seek darkness and death. It was all he’s ever known. Myrkul had tasked Draven with many things. One of which being sent to keep a watchful eye over Kethertic Thorm. With the Kethertic’s devotion to Shar, Myrkul wanted to make sure that had someone could make sure things went smoothly, despite Draven having to work under Ketheric.Yet again Draven became an instrument of war. Ketheric and Draven did not see eye to eye, due to Draven himself normally being the one to take charge in certain situations, but he had to abide by Myrkul’s order. When the battle unfolded, Draven fought mercilessly, but the end was greeted with Kethertic’s defeat. As Ketheric’s armies fell, Draven retreated before the curse was unleashed. Draven fled back to Myrkul. His actions were viewed as cowardice, the head of the church wished to punish Draven. His retreat was seen as a failure that deserved punishment. He was strung up and beaten for weeks, granted death each day only for him to return violently each time. Regardless of his devotion, he was still greeted with that same pain.Draven found himself in a sea of doubt. What was this all for if the level of his loyalty isn’t enough? He spent nights dreaming of a life that felt so far away. Nightmares of people slaughtered all around him, him unable to do a single thing. These people held a familiarity, but he could not place them. He wished he understood where these unclear memories stemmed from. The strong sensation distracted him and to worsen thoughts doubts he found himself taken by a high elf a Myrkulite that served under the cult. A beautifully powerful woman. A warlock he had fought along side over time under his servitude to Myrkul. At first the two shared silent, stolen glances at each other. Stares of longing, always shrouded by a palpable tension. Eventually it was the woman who took the first move and sought Draven out one late evening. She found Draven lurking about the lower quarters and introduced herself. Melda was her name and very quickly Draven grew fond of the woman. Never had he experienced kindness in any sort of capacity. She was a bright soul, oddly enough, bringing light to diminish the darkness that shrouded him. She joked about her dreams of exploring the world.Draven spent his nights dreaming of another life with her, wishing for more than the bloodshed he had grown in to. The memories that flooded into his mind only happened more and more often. He was desperate to delve deeper into his mind and understand these memories. In secret, he sought Melda and confided in her with the memories that plagued him. With the aid of magic, she prodded his mind and managed to unlock those memories. And a surge of emotion flooded from him. The cultist slaughtered his people, destroyed his home. Witnessing this, Melda had her explained that her father sought out Myrkul and after the cult killed destroyed her home, she felt she had no choice but to join her father. In that moment it became clear. They must flee. That same evening that managed to slip away and ran until the breath left their lungs. The two renounced their faith and vowed a new life together. He had disgraced his creator god.The cultist searched for Draven, though he knew how to quietly disappear. Months of travel and the two managed to discover whatever was left of Draven’s clan in the ruins of Evuniel. Qaena, the woman who raised Draven before he was kidnapped, recognized him right away — he looked nearly identical to his mother, Anichika. The Wynthorian people welcomed them with open arms and for a time. Qaena explained more of his past when he grew with the clan and more memories started to flood through. Qaena also talked about his mother. A woman he never got to meet and someone whom Qaena loved dearly. She explained that she has been the leader of their clan since the passing of his mother. Qaena told Draven he was born to be their leader, but with their people believing he had died, Qaena took over. With his return peace seemed to settle in, but Draven’s nerves never ceased. Especially when Melda told him she was pregnant. With the news, he knew they could never remained in one place too long due to the cultists.As the months went on and Melda grew closer to her due date, any day now she would birth their child. Draven decided to settle from traveling for a time until their son was born. It was a cold morning when Draven went out to hunt with a small group, but something felt off. Something chilled his bones and the wind whispered horrors in his ear. Within seconds he urged his men to follow him back to their people. Upon his return he was greeted with chaos — the cultists had ambushed his home and slaughgered his people. Whatever was left of Evuniel was set ablaze. His people fought ferociously, but most had fallen. Draven fought his way to his wife who was in active labor. Midwives slaughtered at the bedside. Draven cleaved his way through the cultists and found Melda in her bed, blood pooled between legs and three arrows struck to the center of her chest. He had lost her and the child both in one day.Their people had no other choice but to return to Wynthor and hid away once more. With the loss of Melda, his unborn child, and half of his people slaughtered, he became angry. Angry and desperate. Qaena made every attempt to try and aid him through such a dark time, but she noticed how distant her son became. The depression drove him to the point to seek out the aid of a wretched, old witch of the mountains. She was exiled many years ago for her usage of the dark, twisted arts that was forbidden in Wynthor. He pleaded with the hag to make him stronger to protect his people, but his plea came with a cost. To retrieve power he must be loyal to the hag.Serve under her and she would bestow the power in which he sought. Draven was hesitant, but in his desperation her words swayed his decision. After the death of Melda, his unborn child, his people — his mind was in ruin. The hag fed off his misery and made him her slave. Any task she requested was done without question. Sickening requests and he would do them with a scowl. She often fed off his despair, plaguing his mind with mind with torturous nightmares. One night he attempted to deny her request of slaughter and demanded his part of the bargain be met. The gift of power. Her anger took hold and she decided to bestow Draven with the strength he so desperately wanted.She used her dark magic to twist his body into something beastly. Seeped into his very bones was the curse. She manipulated his soul, twisting it into something wicked. With the curse laid bare to bone, his lycanthrope was born. Draven lost control and the hag sent him into the night. All Draven could remember was flesh tearing away and being replaced by obsidian fur. When he woke he found himself covered in blood and with no recollection of what happened. Of the destruction he caused and the death that was left in his wake.Upon his return to his tribe, he was shaken, bloodied, and reeked of cursed magic. The elders could smell it on him. He had made a deal with the exiled witch. Qaena could not understand why Draven would seek such a vile power. In reality, Draven had no idea what he had gotten himself into. It was far too late to turn back now. His adoptive mother held such a look of disappointment in her eyes, enough to shatter Draven’s very being.The council of the Wynthorian people made the descion to banish Draven. He was seen as weak for seeking out such a vile witch for power. Qaena pleaded with the council, claiming Draven’s intense loss drove him to his decision. The council did not care. Draven had to leave Evuniel. He was and always will be a beast. A monster. Now Draven finds himself trying to keep what remains of his clan safe, away from the cultists, trying to keep his mind from falling apart. His anger drove him back into the darkness, back to Myrkul.

WYNTHOR ( WIP )The mountains of Wynthor.

Built deep into a mountain is a place called Wynthor. Once a plane that harbored both giant and elven folk alike and overtime created an entire new race.They are known as the Wynthorian people. Ancient tales once referred to these people as the Qhaidin race, born of blood of the immortal.Wynthroians are known for their intimidating presence and imposing height. The people stand tall and broad, their culture revolved around honing a warrior’s mind. The structure of their bodies are built strong and stout — standing normally well over 8’0” in height.The Wynthorians are split between four clans and make a decision on the tribes next leader. It has been done for centuries. Wynthorians pride themselves on their strength and endurance, bred as warriors