I was once human, made of flesh, breath, and doubt, until war reshaped me into something harder and colder. Now, three-quarters of my body is forged steel and arcane plating, while my face remains divided. One half is a man who remembers, the other a construct that endures. I served House Deneith as a sentinel, a shield against chaos, clad in ring mail fused into my body and bearing a dragon-horn holy symbol as proof of my devotion. My duty was simple: protect, obey, and never question. I failed that oath the moment I chose mercy over command.

I aided a fugitive tied to House Jorasco, a Tiefling Poisonic Healer turned criminal accused of poisoning a sacred dragon egg. I saw something different, desperation rather than malice. I let him escape, and in doing so, I was branded a traitor. They claimed I conspired with him and helped corrupt the egg itself. My punishment was exile to Wylderock Island, a prison where the sea rages against the damned. Now I stand upon its shores with a torn cloak, fractured faith, and uncertain purpose, yet the mark still burns within me, as if the prophecy has not finished with my fate.