Dovon Mistshout
Dovon (duh-VON) Mistshout is a vagrant who crept as unassumingly into Mythrite as the countless wretches before and after him. The forty-year-old human landed with ease into a tenement home in The Halberd reserved for ex-soldiers and, thanks to a few good words from a flatmate on his behalf, picked up private mercenary work under the employ of the relatively prominent Ambershard Mining Company.
Rumors of Dovon’s being some sort of Waterdhavian official in a past life have circulated gratuitously but are given little stock; his understated affect does plenty to contradict them. He is gentle by all accounts, soft-spoken and reserved, though possessive of a cerebral humor that betrays an education uncharacteristic of a professional guard.
Dovon’s ability to defuse tension with little more than a calming presence ushered him into the good graces of the Ambershard workforce. Over his several-month tenure as a guard for Ambershard, he did not swing his sword once, reportedly only ever even carrying one to satisfy Company policy.
One morning, Dovon was on guard duty at an excavation site when two parties came to blows over which should take the credit (and commission) for unearthing a bountiful vein of ore. He laid down his weapon, stopped the other guards on duty from dispersing the crowd with force, and unwaveringly deescalated the situation with a compelling speech about the unity of the working caste. The episode captured the interest of the supervisors of the operation, who immediately terminated Dovon’s employment.
Though the incident at the site was quickly forgotten by many, a handful of miners who had bore witness to it sought Dovon out and demanded for him to expound on the ideas to which he had exposed them. A clandestine following grew around Dovon, and before long his past as a labor organizer with a secret death warrant from the Guilds of Waterdeep was revealed by a mole to the Lords’ Alliance; indeed, Dovon left Waterdeep after a similar warrant for his husband was fulfilled.
Not wanting to give him any more credibility than he already had, much less render him a martyr, the Lords elected to quietly blackball Dovon into poverty rather than make his identity known. Armed with the philosophy that one can never be too careful, Dovon collaborated with his closest allies to project an image of defeat. Sullying his own name in a disinformation campaign, he successfully discounted himself in the public eye as nothing more than a rabble-rousing scoundrel unworthy of a second thought.
Suspicions averted, Dovon continues to take any meager scrap of work he can find as a guard while simultaneously operating a fledgling underground labor union out of the basement of the tenement he calls home.
@DomLiotti
Wealth & Financial state
Poor
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