"He Counted Everything, Except the Day He Lost It All."
Alejandro was born in 1307 DR in Athkatla, though no record marks his birth and no one living ever knew his parents, he was just left at a temple he doesnt even remember at this point.. He grew up nameless among the back alleys and dockside storehouses, one of many children who survived not by strength but by becoming useful. By the time he was eight, he had learned to sleep in hidden corners and avoid attention unless it brought coin. He discovered early that he had a knack for numbers. Where other boys hauled crates, Alejandro counted them, first silently, then aloud when someone noticed he was rarely wrong. By his early teens, he had secured steady work with minor shipping agents along the docks, acting as both laborer and tallyman, a small but dependable role that kept him fed.
In 1329 DR, still a young man, he prevented a costly accounting mistake in a merchant’s cargo, catching a discrepancy that would have lost an entire shipment’s profit. He was not richly rewarded, but from that day forward he was remembered as reliable. It was enough, Alejandro never rose beyond modest means, but he learned how to exist in Amn without being crushed by it.
At twenty-nine, in 1336 DR, he married a seamstress named Lessa. It was not a grand romance, but it was steady and kind, which in meant far more. Their home was small and often in need of repair, but it was theirs. Their first son, Corin, was born in 1338 DR, followed by their second, Halem, in 1341 DR. Alejandro worked longer hours as the years passed, taking whatever contracts came, ledger work when available, manual labor when not.
Time, for a long while was generous to him. His sons grew into practical men and each married in turn. Between 1356 and 1365 DR, four grandchildren were born. By then, Alejandro’s house was rarely quiet. It was crowded, sometimes exhaustingbut never quiet.
In 1368 DR, rumors began to circulate of trouble in the Small Teeth Mountains, monsters gathering in unnatural numbers. Most dismissed it as distant trouble. Alejandro did not entirely believe the rumors, but neither could he afford to act on them. Trade did not stop for fear, and coin was still needed. In of that same year, he accepted a contract to travel south of Athkatla with a caravan, tallying goods and ensuring accounts remained accurate. It was routine work, the kind he had done for decades. He left his family behind, expecting to return within the season.
By the time the situation worsened the roads were already becoming dangerous. Caravans vanished, messages contradicted one another, and trade routes began to fracture. Then came the breaking point. Before the horde ever reached Athkatla, the city began to tear itself apart. Merchants looted their own warehouses rather than lose them. Neighbors turned on neighbors. Alejandro heard fragments of this while still away from the city, never a full account, only enough to understand that something had gone terribly wrong. He began his return immediately, but the journey was slow and uncertain. Roads were choked with refugees or abandoned entirely. By the time he reached Athkatla in Eleint of 1368 DR, it was no longer truly the city he had left.
His home had been ransacked during the panic. The door was broken inward, furniture smashed, anything of value long gone. What remained of his family was still there.
They could not escape. They had been killed in the chaos, likely in the earliest days. The violence had been close, desperate, and human. Alejandro never learned who had done it, and there was no one left to ask.
He stayed longer than was safe. he buried what he could. Some of the bodies were whole, others were not. Some graves held more than one person. Where he lacked tools, he used his hands. Where he lacked markers, he carved names into broken wood or stone. He did not keep valuables, only small remnants, objects without worth to anyone else: a scarf from his wife, a small wooden horse, a tankard. Things that proved they had existed.
By 1369 DR, Alejandro had become something quieter and harder to define. He did not swear vengeance, nor did he collapse under grief. Instead, he continued, started travelling across the Belt.
Once, Alejandro believed that a life, built slowly and carefully, could endure. Now he knows better. And in search of new purpose, dealing with ennui.
Alejandro was born in 1307 DR in Athkatla, though no record marks his birth and no one living ever knew his parents, he was just left at a temple he doesnt even remember at this point.. He grew up nameless among the back alleys and dockside storehouses, one of many children who survived not by strength but by becoming useful. By the time he was eight, he had learned to sleep in hidden corners and avoid attention unless it brought coin. He discovered early that he had a knack for numbers. Where other boys hauled crates, Alejandro counted them, first silently, then aloud when someone noticed he was rarely wrong. By his early teens, he had secured steady work with minor shipping agents along the docks, acting as both laborer and tallyman, a small but dependable role that kept him fed.
In 1329 DR, still a young man, he prevented a costly accounting mistake in a merchant’s cargo, catching a discrepancy that would have lost an entire shipment’s profit. He was not richly rewarded, but from that day forward he was remembered as reliable. It was enough, Alejandro never rose beyond modest means, but he learned how to exist in Amn without being crushed by it.
At twenty-nine, in 1336 DR, he married a seamstress named Lessa. It was not a grand romance, but it was steady and kind, which in meant far more. Their home was small and often in need of repair, but it was theirs. Their first son, Corin, was born in 1338 DR, followed by their second, Halem, in 1341 DR. Alejandro worked longer hours as the years passed, taking whatever contracts came, ledger work when available, manual labor when not.
Time, for a long while was generous to him. His sons grew into practical men and each married in turn. Between 1356 and 1365 DR, four grandchildren were born. By then, Alejandro’s house was rarely quiet. It was crowded, sometimes exhaustingbut never quiet.
In 1368 DR, rumors began to circulate of trouble in the Small Teeth Mountains, monsters gathering in unnatural numbers. Most dismissed it as distant trouble. Alejandro did not entirely believe the rumors, but neither could he afford to act on them. Trade did not stop for fear, and coin was still needed. In of that same year, he accepted a contract to travel south of Athkatla with a caravan, tallying goods and ensuring accounts remained accurate. It was routine work, the kind he had done for decades. He left his family behind, expecting to return within the season.
By the time the situation worsened the roads were already becoming dangerous. Caravans vanished, messages contradicted one another, and trade routes began to fracture. Then came the breaking point. Before the horde ever reached Athkatla, the city began to tear itself apart. Merchants looted their own warehouses rather than lose them. Neighbors turned on neighbors. Alejandro heard fragments of this while still away from the city, never a full account, only enough to understand that something had gone terribly wrong. He began his return immediately, but the journey was slow and uncertain. Roads were choked with refugees or abandoned entirely. By the time he reached Athkatla in Eleint of 1368 DR, it was no longer truly the city he had left.
His home had been ransacked during the panic. The door was broken inward, furniture smashed, anything of value long gone. What remained of his family was still there.
They could not escape. They had been killed in the chaos, likely in the earliest days. The violence had been close, desperate, and human. Alejandro never learned who had done it, and there was no one left to ask.
He stayed longer than was safe. he buried what he could. Some of the bodies were whole, others were not. Some graves held more than one person. Where he lacked tools, he used his hands. Where he lacked markers, he carved names into broken wood or stone. He did not keep valuables, only small remnants, objects without worth to anyone else: a scarf from his wife, a small wooden horse, a tankard. Things that proved they had existed.
By 1369 DR, Alejandro had become something quieter and harder to define. He did not swear vengeance, nor did he collapse under grief. Instead, he continued, started travelling across the Belt.
Once, Alejandro believed that a life, built slowly and carefully, could endure. Now he knows better. And in search of new purpose, dealing with ennui.