Ozwin

“WAKE UP YOU TWIT!” it was a common theme to mornings in the Tharkin household to begin with a racket. Ozwin bolted upright in bed, as a plate was heard smashed to bits just outside his room. “TWICE THIS MONTH. Twice this month and you pretend there’s a future for us. LIES! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Etilda, Ozwin’s elven mother, bellowed. Ozwin quickly assessed that this outburst was directed not at him, but his father Riolu.
Riolu had a penchant for the finer things in life he would often say, first being alcohol and second being women. Ozwin was used to the chaotic relationship of his parents, but the small ten-year-old boy was afraid his father may have crossed the line this time. Something was different, and he had never heard his mother so upset. Hiding under the blankets, Ozwin did his best to ignore this onslaught of not-so-nice names shrieked from outside by strumming his lute mindlessly. His father had bought it (or so he thought) for his last birthday, and it was made from the finest woods in the land. It must have cost his father a fortune.
Ozwin jolted as Riolu swung open his door, almost ripping it off the hinges. His father started frantically tossing his things into a pack. “Get up. Dress yourself, we’re leaving. If this is what she wants, this is what she gets.” While he heard his father mumble some other words about his mother under his breath that he hadn’t quite heard before, little Ozwin complied. In a flash, Riolu hoisted Ozwin up and led him to the door. Without a word, the two were out on the street. Ozwin could hear his mother crying through the window as they continued down the walk towards the town of Briar Glen, his home he would not see again for some time. Riolu wiped a single tear from his face quickly so as not to be seen, yet Ozwin saw his father in this brief display of emotion.
After weeks on horseback, father and son saw a glimmer in the distance as the Gates of Ensmore  crept into view. An entrance to a city the likes of which Ozwin had never seen. Being a coastal city, massive buildings and temples were constructed and carved directly from the surrounding sandstone escarpments. During their journey, any attempt by Ozwin to mention his mother was met with silence, or scolding. Riolu said to the boy, “We are here to meet your uncle, Vicaron. He is a member of the King’s royal ensemble. You will be sent to study at the Temple of Lathandre, where you will make me a proud father!”
As he was told, Ozwin was sent to the Temple to be educated. After his first year of studies was completed, he asked his father to return home to see his mother. Ozwin was, again, met with silence. Ozwin was confused, and heartbroken. He had been very close with his mother as a child. The next night, his father was gone. He looked everywhere and was met by his uncle Vicaron. Knowing Ozwin’s pain, his uncle told him the truth. “Your father has returned to Briar Glen, in hopes of winning back your mother’s heart and bringing her here, to Ensmore.”
Ozwin was elated, his uncle had given him hope. Yet his father arrived, alone and broken. Etilda was gone, the house was empty, and no one in town had known her whereabouts. Ozwin was angry, confused, and felt a deep void in his heart that would not be filled; perhaps ever again.
As time went by, Ozwin continued his studies at the Temple of Lathandre as well as apprenticed as a musician in the Royal Ensemble alongside his uncle in the High Court of Ensmore. At seventeen years old, Ozwin was growing up fast. He had become his father’s son, extremely charismatic but sometimes unwise. He had his father’s penchant for women and ale, and a gift of charm. He could befriend even the most unlikely of character. This was a trait he learned to use far too often and would occasionally land him in trouble.
Before he began his final year of schooling at the Temple, Ozwin was met with a surprise. While his father and uncle were out, a dragonborn in a dark cloak arrived at the door of his uncles’ home with a letter. Ozwin had only seen one other dragonborn in his life and was taken aback at the sight. The creature handed Ozwin the letter to give to his uncle, drew a circle in the air with his claw and disappeared through it with a faint “pop.”
Curiosity got the better of the young man, and Ozwin attempted to slyly break the seal of the letter so slightly that he could reseal it before handing it over to Vicaron. What Ozwin found inside forever changed his life. Vicaron wasn’t home often, and it was now clear why. It seemed that he had been living a double life. While serving in the Royal Ensemble, Vicaron also served as a high-ranking member of an underground thieves’ guild called “The Sickle.” Reading on, there was mention of not only Vicaron, but his father as well.
Ozwin didn’t quite know how to process this information, being overcome with the feeling that his whole life had been built on lies. Many things made sense now, his uncle had been very well off for a simple musician, and there were many moments where Vicaron and his father seemed very secretive. It was all clear now. Ozwin decided he would confront the pair that very night. Unexpectedly, the pair came clean. Not only did they come clean but invited young Ozwin to join them.
After completing his final year of studies, Ozwin went deep underground, literally. He traveled West to a deep underground cavern where “The Sickle” gathered. The group worked in the night, using magic and charming unsuspecting caravans while making off with all their goods. Years of this went by, until Ozwin was 25 years old. Still young, Ozwin clashed with the values his mother had instilled in him when he was very young. He knew it was wrong to live this life and harm these travelers. While his Thieves Guild rarely killed, there would soon come a night where he must do just that.
Midnight came, his band of thieves hidden in the foliage alongside a trail merchants often used to transport goods north to a great elven city. The Sickle was to profit immensely tonight, as a magical artifact was said to be carried with this caravan. Ozwin steadied himself, as he would be the one to retrieve this prize once the caravan was incapacitated. “Wait for the word,” he told himself. His uncle provided that word, telepathically. Ozwin rushed the middle cart pulled by two massive horses. Upon climbing inside, he found two guards put to sleep with magic. Nestled between them was a baby, of perhaps a few months age. Was this a trick? Where was the orb he was told of? Ozwin looked about the carriage. One hand reached around his neck. Instinctively, Ozwin unsheathed his rapier, thrusting it behind him. A cry rang out through the night, a woman’s cry. Ozwin turned to see a beautiful woman, whom he had thrusted his rapier straight through her abdomen. He was struck by her beauty, even in a moment that promised death, and then the reality had set in. The woman gaped at him, gasped for air and collapsed onto the small child. It had become clear that this must be the child’s mother.
Ozwin would never be the same from this moment on. He fled the Sickle, under threat of death. From this day forward, Ozwin travelled South, down the coastline from city to city. Finding comfort in a group of travelling bards but never settling down. With his knowledge of crime with The Sickle, he became a bounty hunter. Ozwin hoped to undo the evil he had committed, but still had one foot inside it. He made a fair wage as a renowned bounty hunter and proffered his services to women in the towns and cities he visited, sometimes sexual and sometimes professional.
It wasn't until one fateful day that he found himself in the border town of Waypointe, where he fell in with a band of fellow adventurers after escaping a veritable avalanche of undead that cascaded down from the mountain above. Unfortunately for Ozwin, the decision to join these adventurers would prove to be his undoing. 
As he and his comrades attempted to free the town of Fendelen from the enthralling clutches of an aboleth, Ozwin was slain and was unable to be revived. To this day, his remains are interred within the crypts of the city he helped save along with a demonic summoning crystal and a hat that doubtlessly would have proved to be stylish if he'd only had more time to break it in. 
Ozwin's death also regrettably sealed the fate of his uncle, Vicaron, who had been captured by Aeturnum who sought justice for the death of the Queen's sister, who was the one killed by Ozwin on that fateful night with the caravan. The elves went after the entirety of the Sickle with a vengeance and smashed them to pieces. Only Ozwin ultimately alluded their retribution, and with him haven been taken from them by the aboleth, they were left with little recourse but to punish Vicaron in his stead.

Species

Half Elves

Life

1188 1216 28 years old

Birthplace

Briar Glen (a woodland village near Genloc in Requiem)

Place of Death

Fendelen

Belief/Deity

Triumvirism