Heaghul Bloodmoon the Shadow, Kingpin of Galadon

Skill List

Role

Chapter 7

She is better off, Heaghul though. One that learned in the ways of the wizards
was beyond other forms of aid. He knew what this would mean to him. That there
were witnesses, he could not help, and the keepers of the law would soon be out
in force against him. His life was about to become much more difficult. He
traded his wares on the pier, and made haste down the river through the city. He
avoided his usual stops, and paid no visits as he flew down the eastern road. But
when he reached the crossroads, he traveled south toward the dawrf forest, then
west towards some ruins where he entered a small smithy. The blacksmith glanced
at him, not sure what to make of this learned middle-aged thief.

"I seek ta swear da oath. I come ta fight da wizards!", Heaghul said as if he'd
rehearsed the words a thousand times before.

Tahren stopped what he was doing and looked Heaghul up and down and. "Aye. Ya
took yer time, Thief! Very well, Heaghul Bloodmoon, repeat after me..."

Role

Chapter 6

It was a trek Heaghul had taken many times for his business. Of course he could
send an underling from the guild on these routine deliveries, but he had come
to enjoy the time away from the bustle of Galadon and, alone, doing the grunt
work that keep a guild thriving, he was able to clear his mind.

He set off, his pack full of herbs, pornography, and various items of clothing
bartered from the nearby smugglers, to the bustling port east of Hamsah. He had
carefully tied the heavy load so that it could be quickly dropped and hidden
should there be any sign of checkpoints or Imperials. Heaghul knew he could not
defend himself with such a burden. The trip was largely uneventful. He had
camped well outside the gates until dawn, avoiding the rangers that often set
up ambushes near the river. As the horizon began to glow a dim yellow, Heaghul
puffed on his pipe and imagined what his life would be had he not left his
village. He was satisfied with the way things had turned out for him, but
longed to share his successes , and failures, with his late mother.

He packed up his wares, removed any sign of his camp, and headed for the gates.
Moving through the crowd or merchants, whores, and pickpockets, he felt right
at home. Then something caught his eye. Disheveled, battered, and coughing up
blood, a poor wretch clawed her way down the road, clinging to life in the hope
of reaching some safe haven. Heaghul imagined some mistreated lady of the night,
or a poor traveler waylayed by the less civilized guild of Hamsah thieves. He
hurried toward the damsel as he reached for his poultice. As he grew closer,
the runes on her tattered robe became clearly visible. From his studies, he knew
them well. Heaghul slowed to a walk, glancing at the wares of passing merchants
to avoid any suspicion, and slowly moved his hand from his herbs of healing to
the bulge under his robe. When he reached the invoker, he looked down at her,
and she, up at him. Heaghul frowned, both pity and conviction in his eyes. The
wizard's eyes widened as she recognized the Kingpin. She called out to her
guards, but they had abandoned her. As Heaghul walked passed, his cloak rippled
in the still morning air then he vanished into the crowd. The wizard grabbed her
stomach and felt her warm entrails spilling to the ground. A final cry for help
came out as a gurgle as she slowly slumped to the ground, her open mouth gasping
it's final breath as blood ran down her chin.
(continued)

Role

Chapter 5

The time had come. Heaghul knew it would, but didn't like to think about it. He
had grown close to his guild-mates in Tir-Talath and they to him. But he had
learned all he was going to from them. Not that they weren't skilled. They had
some of the best Thera had to offer! But Heaghul could out dodge, steal, pick
and generaly give 'em all a thumpin' while drunk. He yearned for more, so it was
time to leave. Sure, he'd come train with the master to refine certain
techniques. But Heaghul wanted a guild of his own to lead. One he could share
with others who'd test his skill and keep him sharp.

Galadon. Galadon was once the trading center for all of Thera. Some may argue
that the ports of Hamsah and Seantryn Modan had lessened the city's prominence,
but it was still the great Galadon. His mother always spoke highly of the city
and would tell him that someday he'd end up there if he minded his studies. This
may not be what she meant, but it'll do as far as Heaghul's concerned. From his
father's economics books, Heaghul had everything he needed to prosper in the
trade rich environment. So, not one for goodbyes, he packed his best picks, a
poisoned dagger, enough provisions for the short journey and a pamphlet filled
with pornographic drawings and purple prose like he had never seen nor heard. A
gift he was not too interested in, but knew the coin it would bring if he could
find the 'right' buyer.

Well, he found buyers and soon he was overseeing a brisk business in such
literature, poisoning agents, trap parts and weapons and armor he'd 'found'.
Over the spring, he amassed a small fortune. It was just enough to join the
inner circle of the guild of pickpockets. Now they had a good trade with their
skills, but were easily intimidated by Heaghul. He used this to his advantage
and was able to secure the position of Kingpin. There, however, he did not find
the challenging environment in which he could perfect his fighting techniques.
For that he would have to look elsewhere.

Role

Chapter 4

Character is important to Heaghul. He judges himself and others based largely
on actions as opposed to beliefs or affiliation and respects those who follow a
code of behavior similar to his. The culture that his friends in the guild
shared and how they treated Heaghul when he had no one else has a huge
influence in the way Heaghul behaves. This is why he typically treats people
with kindness, is cordial even to his enemies and enjoys a well developed
(albeit odd) sense of humor. He gets no pleasure from belittling or shaming
others, will offer encouragement when needed and often roots for the underdog.
But he looses no sleep when someone gets what he thinks they deserve. Still, he
would rather murder someone who deserves it than be rude to them.

Heaghul, while he grew up in a forest village, has spent years learning how to
disappear in urban environments and is comfortable there. If he were alone in
the world, he would still hide much of the time. He has experienced panic
attacks in foreign terrain that leave him exposed such as deserts and oceans.
He would fiercely deny having such fears and sometimes travels to these places
to confront and someday cure his phobia. That fear, his faith and dedication to
combat, skill in situational diplomacy and his wealth of patience all stem from
his childhood trauma.

Heaghul speaks in the dialect he picked up in his home village. However, he is
very intelligent and his father saw to it that his education was top notch by
supplementing what he learned in the village school with materials from the
school in the tower (they taught subjects unrelated to magic as well). While
Heaghul knows the common tongue and is able to speak it quite well, he prefers
the dialect he grew up around. He has also found that this causes others to
underestimate him and puts them at ease. Both often provide him advantages in
social situations.

Not surprisingly, Heaghul dropped his father's last name when he left the
village. The absence of a surname was common among those new to the guild and,
as is the custom, that was quickly remedied by his new brothers and sisters:
Bloodmoon. It's origin, known by a precious few, was a childhood prank on the
Marshall that went horribly wrong (it's a long story).

Role

Chapter 3

Heaghul's father had been a wizard (to Heaghul, the term includes any who can
cast spells) who taught at a school for gifted magus in a famous tower that was
a days journey from his home. He made it home several times a month for a few
days each time. Despite his absences, he was a pretty good father. Then, two
years before his death, he had a psychotic break after he was temporarily
possessed by a demon that escaped it's conjurer in the tower. Over the next few
months he developed an acute case of paranoia, suffered frequent hallucinations
and lost the ability to control his emotions. The Tower, finally realizing the
significance of the demon encounter, sent him away. He returned home a bitter,
raging psychopath. Thus began the longest year and a half of Heaghul and his
mother's lives.

The tower covered up the attack and Heaghul's father never spoke of it.
Heaghul, hearing similar stories previously, assumed that his father was driven
mad through his use of magic in general. Such arts were not well received in
his small village and so the family did not discuss his father's work. In
Heaghul's view, what he and his mother were subjected to was the price his
father was willing to pay to dabble with powers that he could not possibly
control. Over time, he has become convinced that the ills of the world are
largely due to either the hubris and/or malevolence of wizards.

Although he became skilled in diplomacy by dealing with his paranoid father,
beating him to death with a bag of marbles showed him at a very young age that
while diplomacy is useful, it has it's limits. Most real problems are solved by
force through combat. He lived with his aunt on his mother's side for years
until she kicked him out after learning of his affiliation with the Tir-Talath
Thieves Guild and his subsequent refusal to sever those ties. He never really
bonded with her anyway. Heaghul is a man-drow and though he loved his human
mother, his aunt bore no resemblance to her. He eventually moved in with a
fellow guild member and began his training in earnest.

Being raised by his school teacher-wizard father instilled an appreciation for
discipline and order, but it was not enough to overcome the influences of those
who befriended him when he was still young and without a father. He understands
the need for laws and rules, after all they provide the framework that, largely
due to the false sense of security they instill, allows his profession to
thrive. He has little regard for the law beyond that and will ignore it if he
sees fit. However, he will try to uphold it publicly and often ingratiate
himself to Tribunals so he can operate unhindered by suspicion and from within
the system.

Role

Chapter 2

'We've got him now!' the man cackled to himself.

'We've got him now!' the man cackled to himself.

'Wait, don...' Heaghul stopped himself. He'd done enough begging.

With one hand helplessly clawing at the man's wrist and the other still
clutching the small leather bag, Heaghul's fear turned to anger as the child's
world faded into darkness.

Spheres of glass clunking and rolling on the wood floor made the only sounds in
the quiet house as Heaghul began to regain his mind. He was standing now. A
mixture of sweat, tears and spattered blood stung his eyes and covered his
pajamas. His white knuckles still clenched the torn blood-soaked leather bag as
it slowly emptied, a few marbles at a time. The body of his father, knees on
the floor and slumped forward, it's fragmented skull collapsed in a pool of
brains and blood, reminded him of someone deep in prayer. The nightmare was
over. After years of abuse, his mother and he had finally escaped the rage and
paranoia that had engulfed this pitiful man. While carefully picking up the
loose marbles, he noticed a prism on the floor that his father had always
carried with him. He glanced at the body, picked up the prism and put it and
all but two of the marbles into his pockets with the bloody torn bag. He
examined the small, colored orbs in his tiny palm, then, with a motion akin to
spreading seeds, he gently tossed them towards the corpse.

'I...I'm sorry', Heaghul tried to convince himself as he left the room. He
slowed as he approached his parent's room. The doorway dimly flickered as the
light from flames danced on the hallway wall. Smoke rose from the top of the
doorway like an upside down waterfall and blanketed the ceiling. Heaghul could
not bring himself to get any closer. He did not want to see what was left of
his poor mother. With his hair matted with sweat, pajamas torn and bloody and
swollen eyes full of tears, he left the house to burn.

Role

Chapter 1

'You dirty little Cur. Again, you've betrayed our trust after all we have done
for you', the man stated flatly, his voice echoing down the tiny hallway.

A woman was desperately pleading and screaming then fell silent with a muffled
thump and the the sound of breaking glass. Heaghul's mind was racing. It felt
different this time. The man was too calm and the words sounded rehearsed. His
gut was telling him to move. But Heaghul was in no condition to help and to try
would just make make it worse. He had learned that the hard way and had the
scars to prove it. He remained motionless, eyes fixed on the small slit of dim
light at the base of a poorly made spruce door. The color faded from his
knuckles as he clenched a weighted leather bag in his right hand.

'We have given you more chances than you deserve and can do no more', the man
said flatly.

Heaghul could barely make out the woman's words at this point. Her speech was
slurred and every gurgle and sputtered word she managed required her to wheeze
and gasp for air. Heaghul tried desperately to clear his mind when he began to
imagine the grievous injuries that would justify what he was hearing, but could
not. The two summers he spent treating livestock that survive warg attacks gave
him too much to think about. He held his breath so he would not scream out and
bowed his head in despair.

'Fleath, no mowar...', she paused, struggling to inhale enough air to continue.

A flash of white light from under the door briefly lit up the room. CRACK! The
sound pierced Heaghul's ears as he felt the shock-wave race through the old
wooden floor beneath him. Then all was silent.

Heaghul remained focused on the door as the bright spots in his burning eyes
and the ringing in his ears began to fade. The crisp smell of ozone seeped into
the room. His cleft heart sank and tears rolled down his face. The woman's fate
was manifest.

Sorrow turned to fear as Heaghul waited for what felt like an eternity before
he heard the footfalls growing louder in the hallway. The crack beneath the
door slowly darkened with shadow while he watched motionless from beneath a
crudely made wooden bed. The loud click of the latch echoed in the tiny barren
room and made him jump. A man entered as the door creaked open and Heaghul
could see the hem of a silk purple robe lined with intricately stitched runes.
The mans feet alternately poked the front of the flowing robe as he walked, a
sight that, in a dim memory from another life, Heaghul once found humorous.
When the man reached the bed, he slowly crouched, then got on his hands and
knees. Heaghul saw the dark familiar face of a drow descending into view. Sweat
rolled down from disheveled greying hair that protruded from the top and bottom
of a tarnished silver headband. With wide eyes and clenched teeth, the man's
face contorted with hatred. A strong, but thin soot stained hand lashed out
and grabbed the nine year old boy by his hair.

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