Xanstin's Adventurers League
Drow Vengeance Paladin Criminal Far Traveller, Level 5
Height: 6’ 0’’
Weight: 120 lbs.
A six foot tall athletic dark elf, he moves with an easy grace. His long wild hair is stark white, his skin dark and ashen. His youthful and sharp features are striking and attractive, his golden eyed, piercing gaze commanding and predatory. He wears dark clothes under a suit of half-plate and leather armor. A thick leather belt holds a sheath with a well crafted longsword with a winged crossguard. On the opposite side of the belt, a dagger and finely crafted mace hang. A black steel shield rests on a strap over his shoulder. His backpack rests on his back beside the shield, with a rope and grappling hook strapped to the side, a bed roll on the top. The plates of his armor are oiled and dark, perfect for blending into the darkness. Two pouches hang from his belt, made of the same leather that adorns his feet, the knee high boots dyed a deep black. Around his neck, is an amulet that at first just appears to be a large coin, but upon closer inspection it’s clearly a symbol of Tymora, the goddess of luck. Steel bracers with intricate carvings adorn his wrists, throwing knives strapped over them on each side. His long black cloak hangs around his shoulders.
Born among the Drow slaves of a Noble House in the Underdark, his early life was a brutal and trying time. The young Zyn wasn’t very clever and had no inclination towards magic, a great disappointment, as producing a magical offspring often elevated slave families. Quick and agile, he was a decent enough fighter, learning at an early age to hold a blade and fight to his strengths so he could survive his martial training. Several decades later, now a skilled fighter, he was assigned a guard post where his training would continue and he’d be put to work, mostly guard duty and trade inspections. His post was in a small settlement much closer to the surface world. It was a major point of trade, and before long, Zyn found himself in the far more lucrative career of smuggling. He’d allow goods the Drow would normally confiscate to pass through the trade post unimpeded for a small fee from the merchants moving their goods.
For nearly five years Zyn smuggled goods through the trade post, sending illicit goods into the Underdark while making a nice profit on the side. All the while his training continued, spending hours each day in the practice yard, working on his swordplay. It was during this training that Zyn met his first loves. Twins, one female, the other a male, each respected fighters themselves, they had trained alongside Zyn since their youths. The three had always been close, but concealed it well, avoiding the eyes of their superiors so that they would be posted together, as most Drow were split from their friends, if they had any.
Stationed together, the three developed a poly-amorous relationship, meeting in secret and spend nights together. After the first year, they even managed to secure some shifts together. Those were the best of times, just the three of them, together in a guard tower with hours to kill and no real danger to watch for. Nothing lasts forever and when a new commander was assigned the trade post, the nobleborn soldier took an immediate fancy to the female paramour. She had no interest in him and spurned his advances. For a time it worked, but the commander was determined and unaccustomed to being denied his way, he came from a powerful family. Unbeknownst to any of them, the commander started following her on patrols and posts. It wasn’t long before he discovered the three of them in the throes of passion. When he discovered them he attacked them savagely, enraged at the sight. The three of them, though caught off guard by being discovered, were quick to react, their training serving them well. Not well enough though, the commander killed Zyn’s male paramour before they could take him down. Consumed with rage and guilt over her lost brother, his female paramour took her own life the next day, just before the other guards there discovered what had happened. Zyn still frozen in terror was taken prisoner and marked for execution.
Then he felt the luck of Tymora’s grace for the first time, as a random quake on the first night of his imprisonment loosened a stone that revealed a thin piece of steel, a perfect lockpick. Using it to free himself, he ran from the Underdark, stealing what he needed before fleeing to the surface. Avoiding contact with surface dwellers, he soon ran out of rations and water. Not knowing the terrain or having much knowledge of the surface, he could find little to eat and while coming close, couldn’t manage to find a river with drinkable water. At the edge of starvation, Zyn happened upon a Tymoran acolyte, journeying through the woods on a personal pilgrimage. Zyn had no strength and immediately collapsed from hunger. The young Tymoran woman took pity on the dark elf and nursed him back to health in the small cabin she had built in the woods as part of her spiritual journey. When he woke, he was at first suspicious of this stranger but she quickly eased his mind.
Zyn, having no where to go, stayed with her for many months, they became friends and she taught Zyn much of the surface world. However, there was always an air of secrecy and distrust between them, they both held part of themselves back. Eventually, the Tymoran woman divulged why she had never been suspicious of him, yet still kept secrets. She had felt Tymora’s touch that day she discovered him in the woods and she felt that she had been guided there to help him. At first skeptical, this revelation changed their relationship, she opened up to him truly and he did the same for her. Then they became lovers, and not long after that Zyn began his studies of Tymora.
Tragedy struck once more though, when goblins happened across their secluded grove and burned their hut down in the night. Having had several restless nights prior, Zyn had taken to wandering the woods and was out when the hut began to blaze. Returning as quickly as he could, he was too late to stop them, the sound of his lovers cries echoing in his ears. In a rage he strode up to the goblins, having been too busy watching the flames and reveling in the pain of the innocent woman, they hadn’t noticed him. He took one of their blades from their hands and killed every last one of them. Having taken a lethal wound himself, he sat there, lying against a tree, surrounded by dead goblins and the burning embers of his home. Then the divine energies of Tymora flowed through his hand, sewing his wound such and sparing his life.
Since that day, he’s been a faithful Tymoran, using his martial prowess where he can, aided by the grace of lady luck herself. Having seen apathetic malice and lived under the tyrannical rule of the Drow, he now seeks to rid the surface world of the evils that aim to subjugate it, while making a living the best he can.