Difonix: Living Zimerhelq
Steals your heart and your purse, in that order
A young Half-orc who hides behind masks and false names, Ved StringSInger (Formerly Belag Irontusk) has lived a rough life. He has grown into a man that is quick to laugh, sing, and sleep with your daughter, He will drink with complete strangers, and cares not for the worries of the world. He is unlikely to forgive those who have wronged him, keeping personal grudges almost religiously. He believes the world is there for the taking, waiting for those stupid enough to try.
I try to keep my identity mostly hidden through fancy names and different masks. I am only 16 years of age, having found the need to leave town immediately, joined up with a band sent to escort the high and mighty Lady Indilwen Thôrphen. Figuring some time out of town would do me some good, hoping the locals would forget about a petty theft. I mean, I only got 10g for it, how much would anyone miss that old statue? I’m not above stealing, having lived as an urchin most of my life. My mother was a housemaid for the man I robbed. Was, being the keyword there. Apparently Mr. Silver had a desire for things more “exotic” than his human bride. My mother politely refused his advances, of course, being the saint that she was. My father was far less forgiving, and brought fire and steel to his door. The way of our ancestors, he told me that night, as he marched away. I asked to go with, for the honor of our family. He told me, and I will never forget the last words my father spoke to me,
“You have the heart of a warrior, never let your fire die, son. We are here, in this town, out of necessity. It is not the ways of our people. Do not let this place consume you, do not let yourself become a part of this place.”
He never returned. I was told he died like a coward, but those are lies. I was only 8, but I knew my father. My father was a god amongst men, and would not have died on his back. He would have died fighting, howling into the night, bringing fire and fury to anyone who opposed him. Nothing but the cold grip of death would have stopped my father that night, and I wonder how many men he had slain to achieve his vengeance. My mother was fired from her job as a housemaid for my father’s actions, and was sent to work the docks. My mother was not built for dock work. She was small and frail, even for a half-orc. I tried to help, but I wasn’t allowed on the docks. No children allowed, they get in the way and slow things down. My mother worked day and night to provide for us, dock work pays by the box, not the day like a housemaid. She would work herself to exhaustion every day to make sure we had food on the table and a roof over our heads. I took to preforming in the streets, silly sight gags to earn coin. I was good at it to, or maybe people just liked watching a half-orc get hurt. Either way, it helped.
We were living, decently enough. With my performances in town pulling in some meager wealth, my mother was able to quit working nights at the dock. We didn’t have much, but we were happy. After about a year of this, my mother took ill. A box she was carrying contained some poisonous substances and the bottom gave out. Poison smashed into my mother’s leg, and slowly started to spread. The local medic told us that we would need to get some Anti-venom to save her life, but she would lose the leg. Then the bad news came. Anti-venom was 25 gold! We had never had more than a few silver to our name after father passed, there was no way we were going to get 25 gold in time. This is when I found my second great talent. Theft. After my mother fell asleep, I snuck out into the night. I broke into the doctor’s house, and I stole the potion we needed. I felt sick, stealing from a man of the cloth, one who had sworn to help any he could. It didn’t feel right, but I had to try and save my mother, I had no choice, he would understand, he had to. My mother would be sore about this though. I rushed home, and tried to wake my mother. She must have been exhausted from all the pain earlier, as she was completely motionless… and cold…and she wasn’t breathing…
I can’t remember the last words my mother spoke to me. It pains me to this day that I can’t remember those words. I like to think it was something deep, something emotionally connecting us. But all I can remember of my mother was the cold, lifeless body lying in that bed 7 years ago. Every time I try to picture a happier time, a time when we were all together, all I see is my mother laying in that bed, and being powerless to help. After my mother passed, the landlord kicked me out of the small house we lived in to sell it to some new orc family that was moving in. Fresh workers for the docks, got to get them in a house quick so you can take half their daily wages before they get wise to you. I was kicked to the street, forgotten. I continued to preform in the streets, making a meager living so that I could eat. I slept on the streets mostly, stealing from those I could to try and survive. As I aged and my voice matured, I started to sing. I saved up enough money for a makeshift instrument and became tuning my craft. After a while, I started making deals with tavern keepers, I would preform in their tavern for a meal and a place to sleep. A few of them caught me with their daughters, and I am not allowed back there anymore. I still see Mr. Silver walking around. He is to hard a target to pick, always surrounded by his personal guards. Always acting so smug. I’ve got a plan, though. He is always bragging about this old statue he acquired, and it so happens I found a buyer for it, some creepy old dude from some church. Doesn’t bother me none who he is, probably some religious nut trying to get some relic from days long past. But, Mr. Silver has it, and he wants it, and I want Mr. Silver to hurt, so it’s a great little idea.