II.
Efren Silvermere was indelibly shaped during the Black Days of Eleint. It was the sixth day that a mob came upon Davenbow Manor, intent on ransacking the grounds and killing everyone they could find, be they the landed nobility, house guards, or servants. Anyone in league with the cruel and decadent elite would be made an example. Their riches would become reparations, and everything else would be put to the torch.
It made little difference that the Davenbows were never especially egregious tyrants, nor that Efren’s family were merely their retainers and barely gentry at all – a stoic father, a shrewd mother, and three young sons all told – each were cut down or strung up in the name of extrajudicial, karmic justice. All two dozen of the larger Davenbow household were slain, while five rioters died in the fighting and another two from their own uncontrolled fires.
Except that Efren was miraculously saved.
Chasing a wave of strife that had washed over the land in the wake of Castle Tethyr’s burning, a lone Doombringer of Hoar came late upon the rampage. It didn’t require a man of his learning to see wanton slaughter for what it was. Yet he was greatly outnumbered, and the mob incensed beyond reason. The Hoarite would do what little he could now and study well some faces for later nights, or moons, or years if necessary.
He wrested young Efren’s noose forcibly from his captors by punching them into next tenday, and in a deception that would make Mask blush, declared a burning hatred so strong for the Davenbows that it would only be quenched by personally drowning the last of their kind in the lake. After cowing the onlookers with the display he promptly left before they could gather their wits, dragging the sobbing child by the rope.
It is unclear if the ruse was truly successful, or if the more pious among the rabble noted the dark red sash with the silver edge, worn by the demonstrably violent man, and had decided not to tempt wrath.
III.
So it was that Efren would survive a most fateful and formative encounter with injustice. More importantly perhaps, he would also have someone profoundly qualified to counsel him on his grief, and later, his desire for revenge. Efren would begin as the Doombringer’s apprentice only as a pretence to smuggle him out of Tethyr, but would grow into the black gloves as he witnessed the even-hand of his mentor and the resolve with which it was wielded.
After what had happened, he needed that strength. Perhaps he could at least save others from such a fate as had befallen him, or else give them the catharsis of justice that he so lacked.
Following several attempts to discourage him, Doombringer Merdolm Ilgund eventually relented. Instead he made a gift to the orphaned lordling, a silver coin with a two-faced head, one side bellowing in anger and the other stern but calm.
“Can’t be one without t’other,” the priest intoned solemnly, “’tis the Doombringer – the eye for an eye – but he also be the poet o’ justice, seein’ folk get what they deserve, an’ sometimes that be kindness.
You can take this coin if’n yer sure, but you’ll be payin’ the toll fer the long road ahead. It means leavin’ Tethyr behind, mayhap forever. Can’t promise you’ll find your joy again at t’other end neither.”
IV.
Old Merdolm was right of course. Efren never did find his joy again, or not a real sense of it. He still had the same nightmares.
Like his mentor he cultivated a jaded humour and a strong right arm. But he did find purpose, and sometimes that is enough.
Fate would find Efren travelling homeward twenty-two years hence. Though so close, he could not ignore the injustices he saw while passing through Amn nor an impending sense of calamity.
His return would have to wait.
Bio
Name: Efren Silvermere
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 32
Alignment: Lawful Good
Class: Paladin
Deity: Hoar
Order: Order of Vengeance
Birthplace: Tethyr
Physical
Height: 5’ 9”
Weight: 179 lbs
Build: Conditioned
Skin: Fair, pink undertones
Eyes: Gray
Hair: Raven-black
Other: Faded scarring around neck
Description
The man is fair of skin with dark, rough-hewn hair. His sharp cheeks, nose and jaw lend a hawkish appearance, complemented by unwavering gray eyes – yet he conducts himself with an easy smile and congenial manner, at odds with his severe features.
Obvious physical conditioning indicates a martial background. His singsong dialect meanwhile is typical of a Tethyrian, but not nearly as pronounced.
Last edited:
