|Class||Fighter 8 |
|Armor||Chain Shirt +2|
|Weapon(s)||Ebony_Reaver; MW Heavy Flail; MW Comp Longbow|
He was tall, lean and agile looking, but with a lot of muscle definition in his arms and shoulders. Narrow face. Much more intelligent looking than the typical fighter. He carried a large wicked looking scythe and a bow. Lost deep underground in a fight with an imperial underworld dragon.
His mother was lost in childbirth, and he was raised by his father, Iryl (EAR-all), a seagoing merchant and trader. His father never remarried. Instead, he was raised primarily on the road by his Uncle Glynald, a ostracized Celestian sage turned caravan driver.
While Quinalin is a competent swimmer, he suffers terribly when at sea, and so Glynald cared for Quin while Iryl was away. The life was an interesting one, if not exactly exciting, but it allowed Quin a great deal of time to listen to Glynald's often ribald wisdom, practice, and compete in tourneys, festival games, and melees in the cities he visited throughout Celstia and sold the goods Iryl imported from the Petran Empire. Ironically, though Quin spent most of his time with his Uncle, and most of his time training among the caravan guards, his fighting style is his most cherished gift from his oft-absent Father, who himself fought in the Petaran way: lightly armored, fast, graceful, and precise. He has fond memories of winters with his father, speaking to Quin in Petaran (he claimed to think in Petaran when he fought, though Celstian born), and practicing the graceful, dance-like moves common to elite Petaran warriors.
Quin's modest life came crashing down the spring his father's ship was captured and sunk by pirates from Utrell last year. The loss was devastating both emotionally and financially and, without the rare goods coming from Petara to sell, Glynald was unable to make ends meet, especially as it became apparent that his uncle had long held from the family a powerful gambling problem. Losses compounded, and soon Glynald was a marked man in several cities.
For the months since his brother's death, Glynald had been in rapid decline. He'd descended deep into the bottle, and his boisterous charm had soured. The final blow came one cloudy midnight on the Traveler road to Mwylln. It said something of his desperation that he would return to a city where he was essentially a marked man, and something of the depth of his debt that the enforcers would attack on a Traveler protected highway. The ambush was swift but careless. Well trained, Quin was able to beat back the attackers after killing two. Quin's uncle, in his drunken stupor, was less than useless and fell before the assassin's cudgels without awaking. Quin buried him on the side of the highway, and drove the meager cart the rest of the way to Mwylln, sold it all and - setting aside his distaste for sea travel - bought passage on a ship traveling to Ubrekt across the Stormchalice Sea.
The voyage was nothing like those of his youth on the Heretic Sea: terrifying storms and powerful winds assaulted the small craft for the entire voyage, leaving Quin deeply scarred and fearful of sea travel. He set out with only the vaguest of goals: Reach Wydmoor Free City, which his Uncle once spoke of as a haven for the dispossessed and desperate.