Masters of the World
Major phobia: complete silence
Knowledge Arcane: d6
Nemith is a 47 year old Finnar wanderer, long split off from his tribe.
51 years ago, a Saxa erthawisard named Ulvaskar Ulvaskarsunnu fled the Hearthlands to escape persecution by the Convocation and happened upon Nemith’s small tribe. Realizing that he could not remain on his own forever, he joined them, offering to help protect them with his magic however he could. A year later, he married one of the young women in the tribe, and three years after that, Nemith was born to the two of them. Ulvaskar raised his son to be an erthawisard, and taught him everything he knew.
Nemith became married and started a family of his own at the age of 18, with his eldest son, Jarnvid, born shortly before Nemith’s 19th birthday.
His wife bore him one more son, Tove, and a daughter, Natteso, over the next few years.
When Nemith’s father, Ulvaskar died in a particularly brutal winter, Nemith, then 22 years of age, arose to take his place as the tribe’s primary protector. As Jarnvid grew, Nemith began teaching him the ways of erthawisardry, as his father had before him, so Jarnvid could protect the tribe when the time came.
In the winter of his 32nd year, outriders in Nemith’s tribe reported being followed by three riders garbed in grey robes. The outriders said that, when they tried to get a closer look, they were driven off by a pervasive sense of dread. The riders in grey kept their distance, however. As the tribe moved to better hunting grounds over the next several days, the outriders continued to see the riders in grey, but the riders in grey continued to keep their distance, and the outriders had no desire to attempt to get closer.
One evening, however, a hush fell over the camp. A sense of darkness saturated the air. Nemith’s tribesmen fled into their tents. From the distance came the sound of horses, riding at full gallop. The three riders, clad in grey, rode into the camp and up to the tents of Nemith’s family. Nemith held his ground against their fearsome presence, and his family hid behind him, knowing he would be able to keep them safe.
The riders asked,“Are you an elementalist of ertha?”
Nemith responded,“I am the sole elementalist here now that my father has passed. What do you want of me?”
“You will come with us.”
Hoping to keep his tribe safe, he asked,“Will you leave the tribe alone if I do?”
“I ask again – will you leave my tribe alone?”
The riders drew their swords. “You will come with us. It is not a request.”
At this, Nemith told his family to run and started calling upon all he knew as an erthawisard to fight the riders. However, as their blades bit into his flesh, Nemith felt his magic begin to fade. The few who summoned the courage to come to his aid watched in horror as their blades turned to ash and smoke in their hands. Nemith continued casting, weakened, until his magic vanished entirely.
The riders drew back.
“This one is useless, now.”
“We did not come all this way for nothing.”
“The boy will do.”
They mounted their horses and began pursuing Nemith’s son.
With his leg wounded in the attack – a vital tendon torn asunder – Nemith could only watch helplessly as the riders abducted his firstborn son.
The next day was filled with mourning, and Nemith came to realize that, without his skills in magic, he was effectively dead weight on the tribe. He could no longer defend those he loved, and his mere presence lessened their chances of survival. He left in the dead of night with naught save his clothes and the bow his son had learned to use when not being taught wisardry.
By the combined grace of Ullr and Freo (to whom he forever felt he owed his life), Nemith survived that winter, and slowly became skilled in the arts of hunting and herbalism. However, he knew that, with his leg useless, he could not be any more than a burden to his tribe, so he would not return. He resolved to never rejoin them until his magic came back to him. He searched throughout the low winterlands for someone who might be able to help him, or perhaps an herb that could reignite the spark of magic within him.
By the time he was 44, he realized that his searches were futile. However, that summer, he met a man on the road who told him that “if there’s anything that can help someone who’s lost their magic, it’s in the Magocracy.” Thus, Nemith slowly started venturing further south and, in his travels, met another outcast, Wojecht, who became a travelling companion.