Appearance

Mentality

Personal history

Quen'pillar, 823 PD

Only vaguely does he remember being pulled from the water, like waking from a dream and only the blurry part remains. He was just a young child. He awoke again on the shore, but just briefly, as the monks lifted him into their wagon.

Abbey of the Phoenix

In the hills to the South of Rastum Den, Abbey of the Phoenix often serves as a place of respite for those traveling to the famous griffon training grounds of the Righteous Brand. The monks of this abbey, Masters of both healing and martial arts, dedicate themselves to Raei, The Everlight, and spend their days training their Ki in service to her ways.

Panlo recovered quickly under the care of the Masters of Mercy at the Abbey of the Phoenix. Knowing his parents couldn't have survived the stormy waters, the monks expected they could locate some distant relative. With each mission that left the abbey, they brought his name with them in hopes of finding a relative, someone to whose custody they could relinquish him.

Each mission returning with no word, he spent the intervening years training as a student of the abbey. Though the path which brought Panlo to them was unusual, the monks and students never made him feel unwelcome. They lived by their teachings of compassion and empathy, and the other virtues of Raei.

As a Halfling, a rapid heart beat in his chest. The monks taught him patience.

His ancestry is pockmarked with drunkards and gamblers. He learned to reject such vices.

His body is diminutive and lithe. He trained to focus what strength he had in the defense of others.

Thunsheer, 832 PD

Panlo was an excellent pupil, and was well along the path to become a Master himself when the news came to him. An Uncle Tinbril travelled the lands to the South and offered for Panlo to join him at once. Master Durkas made it clear to Panlo that the choice was his alone; he was welcome to stay and finish his training, or to reconnect with his family after so many years.

Madame Krishana's Traveling Circus

Brussendar, 835 PD

Madame Krishana, having split off hushedly from the troupe in the days prior, rejoined them in Deastok. She drove a box wagon through the city toward the North gate where the company would be erecting the massive and gaudy tent, and preparing for the evening's performance.

Panlo watched curiously as she drove the wagon right into the main tent without ceremony, or even a word of greetings. She hopped from her seat to the dirt floor with a mischievous smirk, unhitched the wagon, hollered to Nashtai to see that the horses were tended to. She nearly had a foot out of the cavernous room when she stopped, turned only halfway to Panlo, and pointed a serious finger at him, "Don't touch it, Pan." And continued toward her dressing room.

---

The audience hushed when the orange and yellow glowing orbs -- having been illuminating the grandstands and seats -- now fluttered in unison to the center of the tent and swirled around a costumed Madame Krishana, in a rainbow of mesmerizing colors. As he usually did, Panlo peaked from behind the curtain to watch the lights in a performance of their own.

"Fey… Fiend… and all in between", she began with her usual grandiose gestures, but her script quickly diverged. Instead of the dazzling feats of skill and bravery and illusion she would announce in a booming voice, she spoke in hushed tones of dragons, both terrifying and beautiful… and previously undiscovered. As she spoke now she crept with light and purposeful steps toward the box still sitting undisturbed since her arrival. The dancing orbs followed her closely, keeping her face always illuminated, and revealing the performers frozen in dramatic poses around the wagon.

She opened the door to the cage and whispered unheard words inside. The cage violently rocked. A horror erupted then as Madam Krishana stumbled back in fear. Screams began with some of the circus members, bleeding from their eyes and ears; the ones still closest to the cage suffered instant death as their heads exploded from within.

Chaos. Audience and performer alike scrambled for an exit, some slashing openings right in the tent walls. Panlo opened his mind to Gabrod, who was somewhere back stage and likely rushing to investigate the din coming from front of house. "Run!" was all the halfling said, but Gabrod felt an emotion from Panlo that he never had before; fear. Gabrod snatched the collar of Wit's shirt, who was turning in the direction of the stage, pulled him back, lifted a corner of the tent and the pair shuffled underneath and out into cool the night air.

Panlo just glimpsed a creature emerge from the box. Both beautiful and awful. Dragon-like, but wingless, with orange scales, and embedded with what appeared to be gemstones of yellow and pale orange hues. The terror overtook him and he could look no longer. Hurrying away from the curtain, he saw his friends escaping and dashed toward, waving at anyone in sight to follow. Panlo caught sight of his Uncle Tinbril running past him, toward the main tent in a confused panic. Panlo grabbed his arm and led him to the edge of the tent where they slipped underneath.

---

They later learned a horrible tentacled create appeared, bringing further death while the dragon itself disappeared. The bravest of the those in attendance stayed and fought, destroying the aberration.

Panlo was shaken from head to toe by the events of that evening. Witness to the gory death of his friends. When the troupe regrouped in the days following Panlo could only hear screams whenever he entered the tent. Though footsteps and quiet conversation were the only sounds at the time, the sounds of fear and suffering were burned into his brain. He had to escape this torment. Packing what belongings he had, and saying goodbye to Uncle Tinbril, Wit, and his other friends he walked out, not knowing where he was headed.

For as long as they could, he and Gabrod talked in their minds of pleasant things. The fun things. The gay adventures they had on stage. The peaceful evenings after a performance. The antics on the road. As Panlo kept walkting the distance between them grew, and the voice of each other dimmed. Neither actually said goodbye, each just kept talking until they could no longer hear a reply from the other.

Personality

Social

Birthplace

Rexxentrum

Current Residence

Rexxentrum