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Magnus Backstory

Pasqua DiNicola — Fri, 29 May 2026 05:15:12 -0400

Magnus sat with his arm around Anneli. His heart felt full, and he couldn’t imagine being happier than he was at this very moment. Her long, blonde, curly hair tumbled down past her shoulders to her mid-back and fluttered in the wind. He smiled reflexively when she looked at him with her shining blue eyes. They reminded him of the sky when a storm was forming. To him, she was his entire world.

Anneli lifted a soft hand and caressed his scarred, bristly face.

“Are you sure?” she asked anxiously.

“As sure as I have been about anything in my life,” Magnus replied. His brown hair, undercut and pulled up in a man bun, gleamed in the setting sun. His brown eyes hid a fiery passion that lit the fuse of the love he felt for Anneli. He enveloped her in his muscular arms and held her close to him. “This is like a dream come true,” he whispered in her ear.

He felt her melt into his arms. The pregnancy took them both by surprise. He knew she was afraid he would vanish after hearing the news; leave her to mother a child alone. But this was all that he didn’t know he wanted. Anneli and a baby. He could settle down and find decent work that didn’t involve bounty hunting or killing and be the husband and father he always wanted to be. To be everything his own father wasn’t.

He still bore the scars of those days before his father drank himself to death. One scar painfully stood out. It tracked his face from his eye to his top lip and still pinched a little when he smiled. Anneli would often trace it with her fingers. He thought it was as if she wished she could erase the pain that caused it.

His father came home unexpectedly early one night, fully intoxicated and in a rage. His father was an angry drunk and would take it out on him and his mother, Poppy. He was twelve years old when he picked up that heavy two-handed sword and held it against his father. He barely knew how to hold a sword, much less fight with one, but he had to do something, or his father was going to kill his mother.

The sword wobbled in his hands, and his father, a fighter by trade, easily disarmed him. He gave him the scar to remember what would happen if he ever took up arms against him again. Poppy died by his father’s hand the next night. Magnus fled and never saw his father again.

Magnus kissed Anneli gently, but he knew trouble was on the horizon. Anneli’s parents were victims of plague and were long since gone. Anneli’s brother, Harald, took on the parental role and took care of his little sister. He did not like Magnus and did not approve of them together. He would not be happy that they were going to have a family.

It wasn’t long before Harald found out.

It was a bright and clear afternoon when Magnus was supposed to meet Anneli. Instead, he found Harald and a few of Harald’s closest friends. They took him to an abandoned house outside of town and tied him to a chair. They took turns beating him until his eyes blurred and his mouth bled.

“So you think you can play house with my little sister?” Harald shouted between punches. “You think you can just knock her up and get away with it? You’ll grow bored with family life and then you’ll be gone, leaving me to clean up your mess. I won’t put Anneli through that heartbreak.”

“You can’t stop us,” Magnus muttered with thick, bloody lips. “I love her. Even you can’t stand in the way of true love.”

“I can, and I have,” Harald said with a sneer. “I’ve already told her you’ve gone. Your things are gone. I made sure of that.”

“No,” Magnus whispered. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“It’s over, Magnus,” Harald said, nose to nose with him. “You can’t hurt Anneli ever again.”

They left him weak and bloody from hours of abuse at their hands. He couldn’t break the bonds that kept him captive in that abandoned house. All he could do was wait for someone to come for him.

A day passed.

And then another. He thought he was going to die there.

Magnus had almost freed himself from the chair when Harald broke in with eyes full of rage and pain. His red and watery eyes showed his pain, twisting his face. His hands balled into fists, and he punched Magnus several times before speaking.

“Because of you, Anneli took Floripon!” Harald screamed at Magnus. “She couldn’t bear to be a mother without you.” His voice was petulant and hard; his words cut like a razor’s edge.

“Let me go to her!” Magus shouted and struggled against the ropes that held him firmly to the chair.

“Haven’t you done enough?” Harald jeered. “The midwife couldn’t control the bleeding, and she lingers at death’s door! Soon both she and the baby will be gone!”

“No!” Magnus cried. All his hopes shattered into slivers that cut into his soul. The life he had planned with Anneli and the baby was gone in an instant, like the fading mist at dawn. All because he couldn’t get to her. He couldn’t reassure her. He couldn’t tell her he loved her. “Let me go to her!”

“No,” Harald said. “I have something planned for you. I am going to make damn sure you never do this to anyone else ever again.”

“Take his pants, boys,” he commanded his accomplices, his voice thick with grief. But not regret. Harald would never feel regret for what was to come.

He was naked in an instant. Fully exposed, he sat, vulnerable to the rabid whims of a man deep in rage and grief. Deep within his broken heart, he managed a defiant stare at the man who had caused all this pain and suffering.

Harald took a hammer and two carpentry nails and approached Magnus.

“Harald! No! Don’t!” Magnus shouted as he struggled against the ropes that held him firmly to the chair.

Two of Harald’s accomplices held his legs down while Harald took the two nails and nailed his penis to the chair.

Unimaginable pain racked his body.

Magnus’ screams echoed through the countryside. All he could do was breathe before he lost consciousness from the pain.

Harald and his conspirators left Magnus in that barren, abandoned house for dead.

Hours later, Magnus felt a hand patting his face. He woke with a start when he saw a conspirator before him. He couldn’t imagine what fresh hell he planned to unleash, and he could only sit there and await his fate. Their eyes locked. The man was the first to look away.

“Anneli lingers, but there is no hope for her,” he said. “Go to her and say your goodbyes while Harald is away. Then leave and never come back.”

Harald’s man took the claw side of a hammer and excruciatingly removed the nails from Magnus and the chair. It was almost as bad as the injury itself, and Magnus was dizzy from the pain. He untied Magnus and helped him into his clothes.

Magnus limped to Anneli’s home with Harald and found her lying in her bed, pale as death and barely breathing. The midwife sat in a chair in the corner on a death watch for her doomed patient. All was somber and morbid. The only sound was the ticking of the clock in the corner and Anneli’s shallow breathing.

By the midwife, a small basket with a soft blanket sat on the table. Magnus knew what it contained, but he needed to see. He needed to know. Slowly, he unwrapped the blanket to see a tiny baby. Cold, lifeless, and unmoving. Magnus’ eyes watered, and tears fell on the corpse of his child. He stood there, sobbing, and caressed the head of his stillborn child. It was a girl. In his heart, he named her Ulla.

“Magnus?”

Anneli’s eyes opened, and she whispered his name.

Magnus limped over to Anneli and painfully knelt beside her bed. She smelled of fresh daisies and blood. Her bloodied hands reached for him, and he clasped them in his.

“Magnus? You came back,” Anneli said, voice barely above a whisper, weak and failing.

“Oh, Anneli, I never left,” Magnus said, pain, love, and anger all burning a lump in his throat like a hot coal. “I never left you.”

“Harald…”

“Never mind Harald,” Magnus croaked. “I’m here now. Hold on.”

Magnus looked at the midwife, who sadly shook her head.

“Magnus,” Anneli whispered. “I love you.”

Anneli’s eyes became glassy and far away. She breathed deeply and then didn’t breathe again.

Anneli was gone.

Magnus buried his head in her hands and sobbed.

The coconspirator let Magnus grieve as long as he thought prudent.

“Magnus, Harald is on his way home. You need to leave. Now.”

Magnus nodded and heavily leaned on the bed to stand. He bent over to kiss Anneli one final time. He limped out of the house and fled south toward the Southern Kingdoms.

His injury and disfigurement healed poorly. It wasn’t long before disease set in and made the disfigurement much worse. The healer he saw could only heal the infection; the scar tissue remained. Scar tissue made his injury misshapen and left him impotent for life.

It didn’t matter to him. The only one he wanted was Anneli, and she was gone. She and Ulla were gone. No one could replace them in his aching heart, and he didn’t try. That part of his life was over, and he wouldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back. No one would hurt him like that ever again.

Magnus resumed his bounty hunter work and lost himself in it. He specialized in uncovering those who were especially hard to find and brought them to justice. No one could escape him.

The wanted poster of a black-haired healer did not deter him. He leaned against an oak tree and memorized her face. He stared at the drawing of her striking grass-green eyes. She could change her appearance, but he would know those grass-green eyes anywhere.

Magnus trailed her to Dunkeld, where she and her companions stopped for the night. A Wild One, a Mountain Elf, a Dark Elf, and an almost comically large half-orc flanked the woman. The half-orc was at least seven feet tall and monstrously large. He would have trouble besting him in a one on one fight, but Magnus thought he could do it.

He obtained a room in The Jolly Pecker, and then set out to hunt the woman.

He tracked them to the Aberdeen Trail, where they set up camp. Magnus saw that the Dark Elf had magickal wyverns that watched the camp while they slept. He didn’t know how to get around them. Magnus thought he could be quicker than the rest of those in camp if he got to her fast enough. He watched and waited and approached the camp when it seemed everyone was asleep. Magnus crept up to Dunharra’s tent and opened it.

He saw her sit up, eyes cloudy from sleepiness, but cognizant enough to have magick ready. Her eyes and hands glowed iridescently. He had seen no one have iridescent magick. He knew those with ink and used magic; their eyes glowed with a signature color. Magnus had seen every color in the rainbow but this. This gave him pause.

“Hold on, lady,” Magnus said, trying to sound calm. “I will not hurt you.”

“But I’m going to hurt you,” a voice came from behind him. The Wild One crept up behind him and swung her knife at him. He dodged, but not quickly enough. “Goddammit!” he swore.

The half-orc ran up, sword drawn. “I know what you want, and you can’t have her.”

“Why?” Magnus asked. “Think of it, we can split the five thousand gold! We can take her in together!” Magnus tried to get them on his side with the allure of gold, only to have the half-orc rear back to punch him. He dodged, but barely. He could feel the breeze of his fist on his face.

What Magnus did not expect was the woman to come up behind him and cover his eyes with her hands. She shocked him. He screamed, and then everything went black. He woke up in a field far from their camp, with a pounding headache. This would not be easy.

He followed them for three days, memorizing their movements, where they slept and when they woke. When he was confident that he could get in, dose her with the sleeping agent Belleterel, tie her up and carry her back to his horse in under thirty seconds, he approached their camp.

With a deep breath, he broke the wyvern perimeter.

The wyverns started their ear piercing screeching.

The seconds began ticking.

The first ones out of the tent were the half-orc and the Dark Elf. Next came the Wild one and then the woman on the wanted poster, his quarry.

He dove onto the woman on the poster, holding the Belleterel rag to her face until she stopped screaming and fighting. He quickly tied her hands and hoisted her over his shoulder.

“Dun!” the half-orc growled.

That must be her name, Magnus thought. Interesting.

“Stop!” the Wild One shouted in their dialect. That surprised him enough to stop and turn around. Magnus winked and ran to his horse with the rest of her group following close behind him. He threw the unconscious woman over the saddle and mounted his horse. It reared up, and he rode off with the woman on the poster.

The woman’s companions gave chase, and his horse’s furious galloping jarred the woman awake. He knew she would try to break free, so he wrenched her in between him and the saddle, limiting her movement. That set him off balance, which set the horse off balance and it nearly threw him.

“Hey, none of that, lady,” Magnus said, pushing her down.

“What do you want with me?” the woman asked. He could hear the fear and realization creep into her voice, and for a moment, he felt sorry for her.

“You carry a hefty price, lady,” Magnus told her. “That can do a lot for a man like me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” the lady pleaded. “You can let me go; no harm done.”

“I let you go, I lose out on five thousand gold,” Magnus said, and he spurred the horse on faster.

A moment later, he felt something sharp graze his ear and realized it was an arrow.

“By the Mother! Your companions are persistent.”

“My friends will go to great lengths for my return,” the woman said. “It’s best to let me go now.”

“Five thousand gold is what’s best,” Magnus said, and he spurred his horse onward again.

Dawn broke over the horizon, and he rode back into Dunkeld. There were people milling around in the early morning light, and he thought he could vanish before her comrades could catch up to them. He rode up to The Flaming Gnome and tied the tired beast to the post. He hauled the woman off the horse and threw her over his shoulder.

Magnus left his horse and strode across the dusty street to The Jolly Pecker while the woman kicked and screamed. Many people watched, but no one intervened. As he climbed the stairs into The Jolly Pecker, the woman shouted, “Zau!”

For such a small woman, she had a loud shout. He needed to quiet her, and quickly.

He brought her upstairs to his room and threw her on the bed.

“Help!” the woman shouted.

Magnus could hear people running around, and guessed her compatriots had caught up to them. He poured a generous amount of Belleterel on a fresh rag and lunged at the woman. He pinned her to the bed and held the rag to her face until she stopped fighting.

Magnus stopped for a moment and realized that even with her pixie-short hair, the woman was beautiful. He wondered what the woman had done to warrant a five thousand gold bounty. He was about to touch her face when he heard the lock being picked. That broke his reverie, and he tied a bedsheet to the bedpost. He opened the window and climbed out.

The door opened when he straddled the open window.

“Stop!” the Wild One shouted again in their dialect.

Magnus stopped, but only long enough to glance back at who had shouted at him. Undeterred, he slipped out of The Jolly Pecker and down to the ground. He rounded the corner to find a snarling half-orc approaching him.

“Dunharra,” the half-orc growled.

So that’s her name. Dunharra.

Knowing her name momentarily moved him. But the feeling was fleeting.

“She’s indisposed at the moment,” Magnus teased. “Maybe you should try again some other time?”

“Give her to me!” the half-orc shouted.

“And you get the five thousand gold?” Magnus asked incredulously. “I think not.”

“Give her back!” the half-orc demanded.

Magnus saw that the rest of the woman’s friends came around the corner of the back of the building. They trapped him.

“Give me five thousand gold and she’s yours,” Magnus teased him again.

“Give her to me, and I’ll let you live,” the half-orc threatened.

Magnus let the woman fall to the ground, and he drew his two short swords. He thought they were similarly strong, and they fought to a stalemate until he got in a lucky hit to the half-orc’s deltoid.

“Zau,” the woman murmured.

The Belleterel was wearing off. He needed to do this quickly.

Magnus noticed that the half-orc became distracted when the woman spoke. He took advantage of the opening and sliced his chest from pectoral muscle to navel. The half-orc roared in pain.

When Magnus looked around, he saw the woman guarded by the rest of her friends. He knew he had lost this round. He sheathed his swords and ran towards the Aberdeen Trail, but not before looking back at the woman’s green eyes. Those entrancing green eyes.

This was going to be harder than he thought. He doubled back to the woman’s encampment. He entered the camp and looked around. Three tents, five people and a brownie. They weren’t just friends, there were lovers in this group. Magnus concluded that the woman was alone. Something about that made him smile.

Plus, since he was inside the camp when the Dark Elf cast her magick wyverns, they wouldn’t alarm when he took his target away.

Magnus took a guess which tent was the woman’s and climbed in. He sat there and waited for her to come back.

It seemed like hours before they returned to the camp.

When the woman opened her tent and climbed in, Magnus pounced.

“Don’t scream,” Magnus whispered into her ear as he held her mouth closed with one hand and a knife to her throat with the other.

The woman shook her head.

He uncovered her mouth but left the knife touching the delicate skin of her neck.

“We can do this easily, or we can do this painfully,” he hissed.

Magnus grabbed her by the arm and half led, half dragged her out of her tent. The wyverns alerted but did not alarm because they were already within the protected perimeter. He pulled her to where he hitched his horse to a tree about fifty yards away. Magnus tied her hands and lifted her roughly into the saddle after he mounted. They rode away into the night.

The woman was shorter, smaller, and weaker than he was, and that made overpowering her easy. As they rode towards the Great Northern Road, he had ample opportunity to smell her hair. It smelled like Keaau’an honeysuckle. He liked Keaau’an honeysuckle.

Morning broke over a cloudless sky and they made it to the Great Northern Road. He stopped and dismounted, pulling Dunharra with him. He walked her to The Dodgy Diplomat and forced her upstairs to a room. The room had sparse decorations, but it contained a bed and a cot.

“Get a nap in,” Magnus said, pushing her toward the cot. “We’re up again at twilight.”

“How can I sleep with my hands tied?” the woman asked.

“You’ll get used to it,” Magnus replied as he undressed. He usually slept naked and was not making an exception for his present company.

“Do you like your scars?” the woman asked after getting a full frontal view of him.

He saw her unimpressed face and walked closer to her. “Each scar tells a story.”

“But do you like those stories?"

“What do you think?”

“I can change that,” the woman suggested.

“How can you change scars?” Magnus asked. “They’re a permanent reminder of something that tried to kill you and failed.”

“I can heal,” the woman said as if it were a confession. “I can make the scars go away.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Magnus, intrigued, reached down and untied her hands. Something in his stomach tingled when he touched her.

He pointed to his chest. “My father gave this to me.”

“What happened?” the woman asked.

Magnus debated how much to tell this woman. She was growing on him, and he knew that was a red flag. A danger signal. After a moment’s contemplation, he continued.

“My father had been drinking, as usual, and took whatever happened that day out on my mother,” Magnus said. “He made her black and blue when he didn’t have a good day, and when he didn’t have a good day he drank his day’s pay away. He did it that night. My twelve year old self found his sword from his days of honor, long since passed, and stood between him and my mother.”

Magnus paused again. “I stood there, trembling, with a sword pointed at my drunken excuse for a father. Even at that young age, I could slice his chest. When my father roared in pain, I knew I had better run. He easily relieved me of the sword and gave me a similar one to remember the day by.”

His scar tracked from his right shoulder to his abdomen.

“I don’t take away memories,” the woman said.

“Can’t or don’t?” Magnus asked sharply.

“Don’t,” the woman replied. “I can, I just don’t.”

Her eyes glowed iridescent.

Magnus’ eyes grew wide as he saw the transformation in his captive. He shivered a little as she reached up and touched his fit, hairless chest. Her finger traced the scar, and it vanished under her touch. Her gentle hand healed him completely, down to the lower layers of skin. She left no trace of the scar behind. He touched his chest, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

The woman’s eyes shifted back to green.

“What are you?” Magnus asked as he backed away.

“You don’t want to know,” the woman said as she sat back on the cot.

“Well, get some rest.”

“What’s your name?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” Magnus asked incredulously.

“I’d like to know.”

“Magnus.”

“Good night, Magnus,” the woman said.

“What’s your name?”

“Dunharra Tor.”

Magnus grunted as he climbed into bed. He recoiled at her touch, but deep down, he wanted her to touch him.

Night fell when Dunharra and Magnus got back on the Great Northern Road. They shared the same horse with his arms around her. He knew this irritated her, but he continued to do so.

“What are your plans for me after you deliver me to Ronan?” Dunharra asked.

“Live very well off of five thousand gold,” Magnus replied curtly.

“And after that?” Dunharra turned around to look at him and pressed her shoulder into his chest.

“Find someone else and take them in,” Magnus said with a shrug.

“That’s not a life.”

“Then what is a life?” Magnus teased her. “Settling down? Having a couple of younglings?”

“No, not necessarily,” Dunharra replied. “It’s different for everyone. Anaïs and Zau, I imagine will have a youngling. One day I hope to see that.”

Magnus found it was easier to navigate with her leaning back so her pulled her back against him.

Dunharra stiffened, but gradually relaxed back into him.

“So, what do you want?” Magnus asked. He didn’t know where this was going, but he was curious. He wanted to know.

“I don’t know,” Dunharra answered with a shrug. “No one except my friends has even been interested in me for me, you know?”

Magnus found that both easy and hard to believe. He found her remarkably beautiful; he knew it before. He thought it incredible that no one ever showed more than a passing interest in this woman. Then he remembered what she had done the night before. Her raw power to heal. No wonder she hid that; everyone would come for her, wanting a piece of her.

He found he wanted to protect her from that. He wanted to hold her close and tell her that everything would be all right.

Five thousand gold.

Suddenly, she wasn’t worth five thousand gold to him anymore.

Magnus and Dunharra stayed on the Great Northern Road toward Buckhaven until the sun rose in the east. They rode until midmorning, when the sun had dried the dew from the grass. They found a room at The Fox’s Fang, and Dunharra could see the Temple to the Mother on the island of Valide approaching on the horizon. She could hear the shoebill stork's bills clattering. Magnus secured one room with a cot for the day. He brought her upstairs much more gently than yesterday. He shut and locked the door behind them.

Magnus sat her on the cot and undressed to his trousers. “Can you heal another scar?”

“Of course I can,” she replied. “I can heal them all.”

Magnus scoffed but held his tongue. He pointed to a scar on his face from his right eye that tracked to his upper lip.

“What gave you this one?” Dunharra asked.

“A drunk of a father who liked to fight,” Magnus said ruefully.

“I’m sorry, Magnus. We all have scars that aren’t visible.”

Dunharra’s eyes turned from green to iridescent. She reached up and touched the scar with her finger. She traced the jagged line from his eye to his lip. Her fingers lingered on his lip a moment longer after her eyes returned to their normal grass-green.

Her touch gave him tingles. His eyes locked with hers, and he drew in a quick breath.

She quickly realized, removed her hand, and sat on the cot.

Magnus strode to the crude mirror hanging on the wall and examined his face. Not a trace of the scar his father had given him remained. She made his skin smooth and intact. Even his lip. He touched his lip and remembered the sensation of Dunharra’s fingers.

Magnus turned to Dunharra. “Why do you heal?”

“I…could always so this…,” Dunharra began. “As a youngling, I could—”

“Not that, woman,” Magnus interrupted her. “You have a remarkable ability. Why do you share it?”

Dunharra thought a moment. “I had never thought of it any other way. I do it because I can, and people need it.”

“You don’t charge?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because most people can’t pay,” Dunharra said, growing frustrated. “They’re poor. Most people I heal can barely feed themselves. I refuse to ask for money.”

“To the detriment of yourself.”

“I get by.”

“You are an insane woman.”

“Then let me go and be done with me!” Dunharra shouted, standing up face to face with him.

Her words reverberated off the walls. Magnus had never heard her shout like that before. He didn’t know she had it in her.

“No,” Magnus said. “Five thousand gold is what you’re worth, and that’s what I’m going to get.”

“Then I am merely a means to an end for you,” Dunharra said, sadness evident in her voice.

Magnus did not reply, which Dunharra took as an affirmative. She lay down on the cot and turned her back to Magnus.

Great job there Magnus.

Magnus woke before Dunharra, dressed, and opened the door quietly. He made it halfway down the stairs when he noticed Anaïs, Zauvadok, Iseabail, Calyx, and Tup. He froze and listened to make sure that no one discovered him. Magnus heard them speaking of Dunharra, and why Buckhaven wanted her.

“The only reason I can think of is that she healed Kieron, and Ronan wants revenge,” Anaïs said.

“Or maybe he wants her to keep him alive?” Tup asked. “They’re at war with Innesfrees and there will be ample opportunities to make attempts on his life.”

Magnus crept back up the stairs and entered the room he shared with Dunharra. He found her awake and sitting on the cot. He said, “Your friends are downstairs, watching for you.”

Dunharra’s face turned instantly hopeful and bright. She stood and tried to run for the door. Magnus grabbed her and threw her onto the bed.

“However, I can’t have you tipping them off,” Magnus said as he pulled out more Belleterel, wet a rag, and held it to her face.

“Anaïs! Zau!” Her scream became more muffled and much quieter. Another moment longer, and she fell unconscious.

Magnus tied her hands and used the bed linens to climb out the window.

He hauled the unconscious Dunharra up to the saddle and rode out to the Disputed Lands. When he heard the thunder of their horses’ hooves, he stopped and turned around.

“Keep following me if you want her dead!” Magnus shouted.

“Give her back if you want to live!” Zauvadok shouted back.

The horse race into the Disputed Lands began with Magnus and Dunharra having a good head start.

Dunharra began to rouse from the Belleterel, but the fall to the ground finished the job. She fully woke up. Magnus covered her mouth to keep her from screaming but the knife to her throat kept her silent.

“They’re following the horse in the darkness,” he began. “Soon, they’ll figure it out and double back to look for us.”

“Let me go,” Dunharra pleaded. “You don’t want me; you want the money.”

Magnus drew close to her face. “No. It used to be the money, but now—”

“Now?” Dunharra asked, incredulous.

Magnus put away his knife and untied her wrists. “Come with me,” he asked. Not a command. Not an order. “Please.”

He held out his hand, and Dunharra reluctantly took it. Magnus ran, but in the dense forest, they didn’t get far. He tried to find a trail, but it found it impossible in the dark. Magnus pulled her along for a few minutes, but eventually sat on a downed tree to wait the night out. He did not let her hand go.

“Dunharra,” Magnus said. He had no other words.

Magnus reached up and caressed her face. He traced her cheekbone with his thumb.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” Magnus said. “What are you?”

Magnus did not move his hand. “You make me feel things,” Magnus began. Things I haven’t felt in years. Your touch gives me tingles.”

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Anais Backstory

Pasqua DiNicola — Fri, 29 May 2026 05:09:28 -0400

Anaïs’ skin was a deep, rich black with stark white hair that she kept in a topknot. Her brown eyes were a window to her soul. She wore black leather and black boots. She carried a staff and several deadly-looking daggers.

Anaïs always wanted to be the dutiful child. The proper child. The one who did everything right and who didn’t need the time and attention that her brothers and sisters did. It seemed like they needed constant hand-holding, and it annoyed her. Dark Elves should be independent and able to work alone.

She didn’t see how going on a midnight raid and bringing back slaves was so hard.

Another raid yielded more than a dozen slaves, and Anaïs brought in two. That was sure to impress her parents. She remembered the pleading, the pleading of the slaves not to take them. The begging for their lives. Begging for the lives of their children.

When Anaïs became an adult, it stopped being about acting as the proper child. She was independent and on her own. The Dark Elves expected her to bring back slaves, and she excelled at her job. She often brought in more than her quota, and she was proud of it.

It happened slowly, over months. The pleadings nagged at her in the back of her mind. At first, it was easy enough to ignore. People begged for their lives when the Dark Elves took them as slaves all the time. It was only noise to her. Noise to be ignored and forgotten.

Gradually, however, it became harder to overlook.

She noticed the panic in their eyes as she brought them down to the Dark Elf lands. The fear. The resignation.

It was then that she questioned the principle of raiding for slaves.

Should she be doing this at all?

When her night came to raid and bring in fresh slaves, she stayed in her home. Their eyes haunted her. Their pleas shook her. How could she ever do this again? How could she do this to a fellow person?

Sitting in her house that night, she concluded she couldn’t. She had gone on her last raid and taken her last slave. Slaving was wrong. She knew that now. She would never partake in a slave run again.

When she didn’t come back with a slave on her appointed night, her parents confronted her.

“Where were you last night?” her mother accused. “You were supposed to be on the surface getting slaves, not holed up here!”

“Are you sick?” her father asked as he felt her forehead for a fever.

Anaïs swatted her father’s hand away. “No, I’m not sick,” she said with a furrowed brow and hard eyes.

“Then what’s wrong with you?” her mother demanded. She was always harder on her than her brothers and sisters. Expecting her to do everything better, cleaner, and faster than them for her even to notice her effort.

No more.

“Nothing is wrong with me,” Anaïs said with a growl. “I’m just not going.” She turned her back to them and hoped they would leave.

“Why?” her father asked with unmistakable surprise in his voice.

“Have you seen the look on their faces? Hear them begging for their lives? I…I can’t do this anymore,” Anaïs confessed with a sigh.

“You’ll do it, or we’ll bring you to the Elders,” her mother threatened. “They’ll show you the error of your ways.”

“This conversation is over,” Anaïs said, folding her arms and standing her ground.

“Over? Oh, this isn’t over,” her mother said. “Not in the least.”

Her mother grabbed one arm, and her father’s iron grip grabbed the other. They pulled her from her home and took her to the Elders. “Why can’t you be more like your brother, Maël? He brought in three slaves last night.”

“I am who I am, regardless of your approval,” Anaïs said. “And your approval is neither desired nor required.”

The Elders were a group of ten Dark Elves of varying ages. When they arrived, the Elders had just finished a ritual sacrifice of a slave to their gods when Anaïs’ parents brought her before them. Human blood, spilled to appease the gods, stained their hands dark red. Their hands dripped blood, and one licked his fingers with decadent pleasure.

Anaïs’ stomach turned watching him. She struggled against her parents who held her firmly in their grip.

“Well now, what have we here?” the finger-licking elder asked.

“She refused to go on the slave raid last night,” her mother said. “Thinks it’s wrong.”

All the Elders’ faces showed varying degrees of horror and disgust.

“How could you?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“No Dark Elf can feel this way and live.”

Anaïs blood ran cold because she knew what her fate was. She opened her mouth to protest, but it was too dry to form words.

“Take her to the cells,” the finger-licking Elder commanded. “She’ll be our next victim.”

Anaïs fought her parents all the way to the cells. The only one left open was a small cell just tall enough to allow her to kneel or squat. They shoved her in and locked the door.

“No daughter of mine is going to behave in this sort of way,” her mother said.

Her father said nothing, but the look in his eyes said everything, and it broke her.

Anaïs rattled her cage. “Let me out of here! Mother!”

Her parents slowly turned their backs on her and walked away.

She was alone and slated for execution. Probably soon.

When she heard the ritual chanting begin, she knew she needed to do something, and fast. She didn’t want her still beating heart to be ripped from her chest to appease the gods.

The ink on her fingers glowed dark red and pulsed in sync with her heart. Her eyes turned dark red as she readied magick. She reached out of the cell and put her hand on the lock. After a moment’s concentration, the lock fell open in her hand. She removed the lock and crawled out of the cage.

She ran from the sacrificial area towards the exit, stopping for nothing and no one. When she came out of the Dark Elf lands, it was daytime and the light was blinding. The sun burned her skin. She had never been above ground in the daylight before. She didn’t know what to do or where to go to get out of the burning sun.

After hours of walking, her skin felt taut and blisters formed. What is happening? Is this a sunburn?

She needed a cool, dark place to hide and figure out a plan. After another hour of walking she came upon an inn with a wine cellar. Perfect.

Anaïs opened the outer door to the cellar and carefully trod down the stairs. She walked all the way to the back and sat with her knees up to her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs. She needed to think.

Anaïs was dozing in the cool, dark cellar when a door opened and let in the daylight. A young human came walking toward her. She stopped and picked up two bottles of wine. She was about to turn away when her eyes happened upon the crouched Anaïs.

The human girl screamed and dropped the bottles onto the dirt floor. She turned and ran, shouting all the way about a Dark Elf in the wine cellar waiting to take them all as slaves. The girl ran up the stairs and slammed the door.

About five minutes passed, and the door opened again. This time, a huge figure stood backlit against the sunlight. She guessed he was at least six and a half feet tall. He lumbered down the stairs, which creaked under his weight. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, she could see he was a gigantic half orc. And he was coming straight towards her.

Five feet from her, he reached down and unsheathed a dagger.

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Anaïs looked up at him with desperate eyes. Eyes that pled for her life. Like a slave. A single tear escaped her eye as she waited for the half orc to kill her.

It was then his demeanor changed. He sheathed his dagger and picked her up off the floor. His massive, impossibly powerful arms cradled her. He carried her up the stairs.

“Zauvadok! What are you doing?” the human girl shrieked.

“Taking her upstairs,” Zauvadok said without missing a beat. He walked past them and climbed the stairs to the rooms where guests stayed overnight.

“I sent you down there to kill her, not to save her!” a man shouted after them. She heard a frustrated grunt from the man, and then silence. “Goddamn half orc with a conscience.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Zauvadok said. “You’re safe now.”

He unlocked a door and laid her on the bed filled with feathers and cotton. It felt soft on her skin, but it still rubbed the painful blisters and her burned skin. She flinched and frowned.

Zauvadok looked her up and down. Anaïs didn’t know what he was thinking, but she hoped it was good. “What’s your name?”

“Anaïs.”

“Stay here,” Zauvadok said in a deep bass voice.

He left and soon returned with a basin of cold water. The water soothed her skin but did nothing for the terrible, aching burn that covered her body. He cared for her all night, dutifully dabbing at the growing blisters.

“You need a healer,” Zauvadok said. “I’m going to find one. Stay here.”

Then he left, and Anaïs was alone.

He had been gone for hours. She was thinking something had happened to him when the door opened. In the doorway stood Zauvadok and a short, skinny woman with black hair that hung in ringlets that fell just past her shoulders. Her eyes were grass-green and compassionate.

“Sorry that took so long,” Zauvadok said. “This is Anaïs. This is who I need you to heal.”

“My name’s Dunharra and I’m going to heal you,” Dunharra began. “It won’t hurt anymore after I’m done. All you need to do is keep this secret.”

Anaïs and Zauvadok nodded in agreement.

Dunharra’s eyes shifted to iridescent, and she gently laid a hand on the Dark Elf. The blisters shrank and vanished. Her sclera returned to their normal white.

Then Anaïs blinked and sat up in bed. “That was amazing…I felt your touch. It tingled, and then all the pain went away.”

“What’s your name?” Dunharra asked.

“Anaïs,” she replied. “Thank you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just silence,” Dunharra said. “I work in secrecy. No one can know what I do.”

Anais and Zauvadok were confused. “Why are you hiding the fact that you're a healer?”

“I have reasons to hide,” Dunharra said. “I…”

“Where’s your ink?” Anaïs asked, pushing the cotton sleeve up her naked arm. Dunharra yanked her arm away from her and backed up several feet.

“How did you heal without the ink?” Zauvadok asked in a hushed tone. “Everyone needs ink to make magick. Even the healers.”

Dunharra sighed and her mouth formed a thin line.

“You’re that Healer, aren’t you?” Zauvadok asked. “The one the Southern Kingdoms talk about.”

Dunharra’s shoulders slumped, and she looked down at the ground.

“Is it that obvious?” Dunharra asked with wet eyes.

“Not if I hadn’t seen your skin,” Anaïs reassured her.

“I’m not ready for the world to know,” Dunharra said. “I’m afraid of what it will bring. I’m alone. Adrift.”

Zauvadok looked at Anaïs, who nodded. “Not anymore, you’re not,” Zauvadok said.

“What? I don’t understand,” Dunharra replied, puzzled.

“You have friends now,” Anaïs said.

Dunharra smiled. “I’ll leave you two. I won’t be far if you need me again.”

She walked out the door and closed it behind her.

Anaïs looked at Zauvadok. “I don’t know how to repay you for your kindness.”

“Your friendship is more than enough,” Zauvadok said. “Wait here, I’ll bring some food.”

He returned in ten minutes with food that smelled so delicious it reminded her she was hungry.

Anaïs smiled despite herself and shyly looked away.

Zauvadok was awfully kind. And cute.

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Tup Backstory

Pasqua DiNicola — Fri, 29 May 2026 05:07:13 -0400

Tup woke with a start at the sound of the ear-splitting thunderclap. She sat up in bed and looked around, momentarily forgetting where she was. Tup wasn’t home, and she didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about it. She was at Madame Charlotte's brothel and expected to take clients anytime now.

Home was rocky at best. Alcoholic father and a punching bag mother who allowed him to beat her younger sisters black and blue. She resented her mother for it and couldn’t get over her betrayal. Tup couldn’t believe she’d let him treat them this way. She was their mother and was supposed to be their protector.

So Tup stepped in.

Her father was an angry drunk who took out his feelings on anyone who had the unfortunate happenstance to be within arm's reach of him. When he grabbed her youngest sister, Dagny, she tried to pull away. That always fueled his anger. He hit her so hard that she fell to the floor with blood oozing from the side of her mouth.

Tup pulled a dagger from her belt and stood between Gracie and her father.

Her father laughed. “You gonna come at me with that toothpick, child?”

“I’ll gut you like a fish with this toothpick if you ever lay hands on us again,” Tup threatened, standing over Dagny.

“I’ll teach you to talk to me that way, Tupuxura,” her father bellowed. He took two steps toward her. Tup sprang into action. She dodged his fist and sliced his face. Blood ran down his cheek, and he roared in rage and pain.

He threw another fist at Tup, which she dodged. She turned and plunged the dagger in his belly and cut him open. Blood and intestines spilled out onto the floor.

Her father fell to his knees and then collapsed on the floor. She stood over him until he breathed his last.

“Tup!” her mother shrieked. “What have you done?”

“He won’t be beating us anymore,” Tup said with a voice mixed with pride and sadness.

“Now how are we going to live with him gone?” her mother asked.

“We’ll find a way,” Tup said. “Anything is better than what we’ve been through.”

“Get out,” her mother said through gritted teeth.

“But Mum,” Tup stammered. Her mouth went dry, and when she opened it to reply, no more words came.

“Get out!” her mother shouted.

Tup didn’t wait or argue. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned and ran.

Tup thought she’d be grateful the beatings would be over. She thought she’d be grateful she was finally rid of that drunken excuse for a man who barely kept them housed and fed.

She was not. Her mother knelt next to his body and wept.

What little money Tup had ran out within a week, and she tried to find work. She couldn’t find anything honest that would pay a living wage. She had only one choice. And it disgusted her to do it.

She had been at Madame Charlotte’s only a week, and she’d pulled a dagger on three clients who threatened her, cutting one of them so badly they needed to see a healer. Madame Charlotte gave her one last chance before putting her back out on the street.

That’s when she met Charles van Brady.

He heard about her feisty behavior and scheduled time with her to see it for himself.

Charles van Brady dressed in his finest clothes and went to visit Tup.

She stood next to the bed and waited for him to undress.

When he didn’t, she put a guarded hand on her dagger. “Aren’t’ you here for a good time?”

“I’m here for a good woman I can train,” Charles said. “I’ve heard about you and your work with a blade. I think I can use you.”

“For what?”

“You’ll be my assassin,” Charles said. “I’ll train you with the best assassins and only the best poisons. What do you think? Could you leave all this behind and come with me?”

It didn’t take Tup long to decide. She hated selling her body, and she hated giving most of the money to Charlotte even more. She wasn’t ‘one of the girls’, and most of the other girls didn’t like her. It was a simple choice.

“What do I get out of this?”

“You get free training, room and board, and clothes to wear,” Charles replied. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get some coins too.”

Tup paused only a moment, and Charles’ eyes bored holes in her soul.

“Yes,” Tup said.

“Good,” Charles said. “Wise choice. Get dressed and wait here while I negotiate your release with Madame Charlotte.”

Tup changed out of her harlot costume into her real clothes and waited.

Charles called for her from downstairs, and Tup slowly descended the stairs to meet him. Madame Charlotte looked satisfied with herself and Charles simply said, “Follow me.”

Once they were outside, they talked more freely.

“You’re pretty expensive for a feisty harlot,” Charles said. “You’d better be a quick study.”

Tup nodded. “I’ll surprise you with how quickly I can learn.”

Charles van Brady was true to his word. He gave her a place to stay, good food, and clothes to wear.

It was on that day that she met Lars, another assassin in training whom Charles had pulled up out of the gutter to be another one of his killing machines. They were fast friends.

That friendliness turned into stiff competition when they both competed for Charles’ time and attention. Much to Lars’ chagrin, Tup won out most often and got the prime training they were both after.

During the private poison training, Charles’ eyes lingered just a little too long. His hands touched her gently in just the right way, and his words were softer, not hard and demanding as they had been before. Something about Charles was changing, and Tup couldn’t get enough. Lingering eyes led to flirting. Flirting led to hand-holding, which led to embraces. Those embraces led Tup straight into Charles’ bed.

Tup was over the moon. The leader of the best assassin’s guild was interested in her! He made her feel special in ways she had never experienced. He told her how important she was to him. How he couldn’t run the guild without her. He made promise after promise that Tup wasn’t sure he could keep. But he was the guild leader; how could he not keep these promises?

It was when he started talking about making her his second that she got suspicious. His heir apparent was his daughter, Yaffa. She was growing more defensive and aggressive by the day with Tup, much to the annoyance of Charles. The arguments he had with Yaffa were loud and legendary.

Then the day came when Yaffa confronted Charles and Tup. She was eavesdropping on their pillow talk and burst in. Tup dressed quickly, ready for a fight.

“You! You will not usurp my role as second!” Yaffa shouted.

“I don’t want to be second,” Tup said defensively. “I never wanted it.”

“What?” Charles asked as he whirled around to face Tup. “What?”

It was then Tup realized her mistake. To deny Charles was to risk your life, and she just defied him with a witness.

“How dare you decline my second!”

Her only way out was to fight her way out. And she had to go through Charles and Yaffa to do it.

So be it.

Charles was getting older and slower, so he was easy to dodge. Her lithe, feminine form was just quick enough to stay out of his iron grip and slip away. Charles swung the dagger and narrowly missed her face.

This wasn’t just a fight anymore. Tup would have to kill her way out.

Tup leaped and planted a foot on Charles’ chest and knocked him to the ground. He hit his head on the hardwood floor, temporarily stunning him. She sat on his chest and slit his throat before plunging her dagger into his chest.

Charles, the leader of the strongest assassin’s guild in Glenfinnian was dead by her hand.

Yaffa screamed when she saw Charles dead on the floor. Enraged, she lunged at Tup who easily dodged. Tup knew Yaffa didn’t think things through when she was angry. Anger blinded her judgement, and she always made poor decisions. She was easy to disarm and subdue. Tup knocked her unconscious took two large sacks of gold with her as she left the guild. She didn’t look back.

Tup was alone and on her own again, but at least now she had cash and could support herself until she found a place to land.

Tup was wise enough to leave Glenfinnian, but not before saying goodbye to Lars.

“Stay, Tup,” Lars said. “You can work it out with Yaffa.”

“I just killed Charles,” Tup confessed. “There’s nothing she’s going to work out with me.”

Lars looked at Tup with sadness in his wet, welling eyes. He caressed her cheek with his hand and kissed her gently on her lips. “I’ll always look out for you.”

“Thank you, Lars,” Tup said, and left Glenfinnian for the Southern Kingdoms.

Tup spent years roaming the Southern Kingdoms, taking marks and making a name for herself. She was difficult to track and impossible to kill. She appeared when and where she wanted, often with no warning. Tup came out of the shadows, killed her mark and melted back into the shadows, not to be seen again.

It was a stormy night when Tup was climbing the walls of the Buckhaven Castle to see what she could see. Knowledge is power; Charles taught her that, and the more the better. Spying on the King of Buckhaven would bring her secrets even she couldn’t pay for.

Tup crouched by the window of the private apartment of King Darragh. The drop was perilous, and if she lost her balance or her grip the fall would be deadly. She peeked in the window and saw King Darragh talking to a mage about a book. This book held the key to obtaining the Frozen Crown.

Wait, what? Darragh in the Frozen Crown? That’s impossible!

She was eavesdropping when the mage saw her out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey! You there! Stop!” the mage said, turning and hurrying to the window.

Realizing the mage had discovered her, Tup quickly climbed down the castle's side to the ground and scrambled away.

“Guards! There’s someone outside my window!” King Darragh shouted. “Find them and bring them to me!"

Soon, the castle courtyard was crawling with guards. Tup hid in the shadows, watching them look for her. Inch by inch she made her way to the castle gate and fled into the night.

Ever since, King Darragh’s men hunted her. They harassed her for weeks, and she easily killed those who came after her.

One night, she was staying in the Weeping Witch in when three of Darragh’s men accosted her in the hallway to her room.

“You can come quietly, or you can come unconscious. The choice is yours,” the ringleader said.

“Be on your way! I am no one to be trifled with,” Tup said.

One of Darragh’s men tried to grab her, and she rewarded him with a humiliating kick to his crotch. He unleashed a howl and fell to the floor in the fetal position.

The other two rushed her and knocked her to the floor.

Tup was fighting with both of the men when a door flew open and a black-haired human woman shouted, “Leave her alone!”

One of the men jumped up and said, “No witnesses!”

The woman slammed the door, and Tup heard the lock engage. The man banged on the door and shouted, “Open this damn door, bitch!”

Tup was still fighting off the other man when another door opened. “Who are you calling a bitch?”

Both of the men looked up at all seven feet of the half-orc standing in the doorway. The took a step backward.

“Hold on here. This is a private matter that needs to stay private.”

“Too late,” the half-orc growled. “Wild One, do you want to go with them?”

Tup was stunned to see that a stranger was helping her, and amazed that the one helping her was a gigantic half-orc. Her mouth fell open and she blinked. She scrambled to her feet.

“No sir,” Tup said.

The half-orc regarded the three men. “Leave,” he said in a deep bass voice. He was not fooling around.

“Now wait just a goddamn minute,” the ringleader stammered.

Tup took two steps backward and scanned for ways to escape. There was only one way out, and that was the way she came in, up the stairs from the great room below.

“I said leave!” the half-orc shouted.

The ringleader drew a small knife from his boot. “This says I don’t.”

The half-orc rolled his eyes at the tiny knife. He pulled back and hit the ringleader with a massive right hook. He fell to the floor, limp but alive.

“Who’s next?”

The two remaining men grabbed their unconscious ringleader and dragged him away.

“What’s your name?” the half-orc asked.

“Tupuxura Olynatothra,” Tup said. “My friends call me Tup.”

“Do you need a safe place to stay for the night?” the black haired human woman asked.

“No,” Tup replied. “My room is up the hall. They found me on the way there.”

The half-orc surprised her when he offered to share breakfast with her. “Would you like to join us for breakfast?”

“Sounds good,” Tup said, overwhelmed and wide eyed. “Thank you.”

That night Tup slept with her knives out and ready.

Morning shone through her window and glinted off her knives. She put them away and went downstairs, where the black haired human woman was with the half-orc and four other people.

Tup introduced herself and sat down with them. She blushed, suddenly shy, and she didn’t know why. Charles broke shyness out of her.

“I’m Anaïs,” the Dark Elf said, introducing herself. “You met Zauvadok and Dunharra last night in the hallway.”

“I’m Duncan and this is Fergus,” Duncan said.

“I’m Iseabail and this is Calyx,” she said gesturing to the brownie sitting on the table next to her. “Over there is Beyza.”

Tup was stunned. She had never seen anyone as beautiful as Iseabail. She had heard of Mountain Elves, but had never seen one in person. The descriptions didn’t measure up. She was breathtaking.

It was Duncan who asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Why were those men after you?”

Tup closed her eyes and sighed. “I have been running from men like them for about a month after I saw something I shouldn’t have.”

Tup noticed Iseabail had a horrified look on her face. “What did you see?”

“King Darragh of Buckhaven conspiring with a mage to wear the Frozen Crown,” Tup said. She casually left out the part that she was spying on the King for information she could use later.

“Wait, what?” Fergus asked with a chuckle. “The Frozen Crown? The one that will freeze you to death? Isn’t that a tale told to younglings at campfires or bedtime?”

“The one and only,” Tup said seriously. “And it’s very real. The mage said he knew a spell that would keep Darragh from being frozen, but at a price.”

“What price?” Duncan asked, giving Fergus a warning look.

“The Lycaenan Library,” Tup said resolutely.

There was a pregnant pause, and Tup didn’t know what was going on. She looked around at each of them and was about to say something but Beyza spoke first.

“So he has it,” Beyza said. “It still exists.”

“It would seem so,” Dunharra said.

“And not only access,” Tup continued. “Giving him the whole damn thing.”

“This changes things,” Iseabail said. Tup noticed she would stop the world to listen to her voice.

They finished breakfast in silence. Tup looked around, hoping someone would explain why they took this so seriously.

“That bastard almost killed Anaïs,” Zauvadok growled. “Let's take him down.”

Tup noticed a change in Beyza’s face that she didn’t understand, but filed it away. That could be useful information later.

“Agreed,” Beyza said.

“On to Buckhaven,” Iseabail and Calyx said in unison.

“So, are you in, Tup?” Dunharra asked.

“Oh you bet I’m in,” Tup replied.

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Zauvadok Backstory Bonus Content

Pasqua DiNicola — Fri, 15 May 2026 20:34:02 -0400

Anaïs snuggled deep into Zauvadok’s arms. The snow falling outside was sticking and getting deep. The fire crackled and warmed the room, keeping the snowy cold at bay. Shadows danced on the walls as the flames licked at the firewood. It was a perfect, peaceful and quiet night.

Morning broke with over a foot of snow because covered everything in a thick, white blanket. The silence was profound. Zauvadok trudged through the snow to the firewood shed. He brought an armful of wood back and added a log to the fire.

Anaïs was still asleep, and he climbed back into bed. She stirred at his arrival, smiling sleepily.

“Good morning, Zau.”

“Good morning, love. You can sleep. I brought more wood for the fire.”

Anaïs purred.

Zauvadok loved it when she purred like that. He leaned in to kiss her, a kiss she eagerly returned. A kiss led to an embrace, which led to their not getting out of bed the entire morning.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The Wheel turned, and soon it was Imbolc. Purple crocuses peeked out from under their snow blanket to announce that the warmth of spring was coming. Tiny buds appeared on the tips of tree branches, and the wildlife was waking from its winter slumber.

Imbolc meant new beginnings, and for Zauvadok, Imbolc was always bittersweet. At once happy, the start of a new year for him, Imbolc was his birthday; and yet sad; this was the time his mother, Janie, died. He lost himself in thoughts and memories of his mother during this time of year.

Anaïs always gave him the time and space he needed, which he appreciated and readily accepted. He would always return to his normal self a few days later, when the bittersweet feelings passed. This year, the feelings burned like an internal fire he couldn’t quench. He poignantly missed his mother. This year marked fifteen years without her. More time without her than with her.

Zauvadok was the product of forced conception. Orcs regularly raided Janie’s town, Ballina, and they enjoyed assaulting the human women. One day, they assaulted Janie. Janie never called it rape. She didn’t want that negative connotation associated with him, his life would be hard enough. His mother never treated him any differently than anyone would any other child. She educated him and taught him to read and write. She also ensured his training in weapon handling and self-defense. Her affection remained unchanged regardless of the circumstances of his birth.

When the neighborhood kids would pick fights, and they always would pick fights with him, Janie advised ignoring them until they struck first. Then he had her full permission to teach them what going up against him would bring them. Just one fight was all it took, and no one bothered him again.

He was seventeen when he got the ink to enhance his strength. He wanted to be the strongest half-orc north of the Southern Kingdoms, and the ink on his back made that a reality. A red filigree rose, it stood out on his grayish-green skin. From that day on, he consistently wore a shirt and refused to remove it for anyone.

Janie made sure Zauvadok knew what love was, which made it even more painful when she passed. She caught a chill one night near Yule as she brought out scraps to the feral cats that she looked after. The chill progressed to a painful, thick, productive cough, which grew to her taking to bed. Her death devastated him.

Suddenly adrift in Mantua with no one to cling to, he left Ballina and all his memories behind.He traveled to Rhyl looking for a fresh start. He found work with the local law enforcement and as a bouncer for a few of the rowdier taverns in Rhyl, but nothing really stuck until he found work at the Fat Nun as security. It was his job to make sure the inn was quiet and well mannered. Zauvadok escorted anyone stepping out of line away.

Zauvadok’s five year anniversary came up quickly, and there was a small party planned for him after hours. Adalind, a serving girl barely fifteen, went down to the wine cellar to pick the wine for the party. She got more than she bargained for.

In the corner huddled a miserable Dark Elf, full of blisters from being in the sun all day. Adalind screamed, dropped the wine, and ran up the stairs to safety. Shaking, she told them about the huddled mass in the back of the wine cellar. She was certain that the lone Dark Elf would kill them all or take them as slaves to the Dark Elven underworld.

The owner of the Fat Nun ordered Zauvadok to go down to the wine cellar and kill the Dark Elf hiding there. Reluctantly he descended the stairs and stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkness when he reached the bottom. He drew his dagger as he neared the Dark Elf, ready to slit her throat; a quick and easy death.

When he looked into her eyes, he knew he couldn’t do it. He sheathed his dagger, picked her up and carried the Dark Elf out of the wine cellar and up the stairs to the rooms reserved for those staying the night.

“Zauvadok, what are you doing?” the owner asked incredulously as he walked by with the moaning Dark Elf.

“Taking her upstairs,” Zauvadok answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.

“I sent you down there to kill her, not to save her!” the owner shouted after them. He heard a frustrated grunt from him, and then silence. “Goddamn half orc with a conscience.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Zauvadok said. “You’re safe now.”

While the rest of the staff celebrated without him, he remained with the Dark Elf and tried to care for her himself. When the morning light revealed that she was no better than when he had brought her there the night before, he knew he needed a healer.

“What’s your name?” Zauvadok asked the Dark Elf.

“Anaïs,” she replied weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, Anaïs, I’m going to get you a healer,” he said. “Wait here.”

Zauvadok set out as the roosters crowed their morning pronouncements, looking for a healer.

Once the healers discovered that the injured person in question was a Dark Elf, all five in Rhyl said no. Not just no, hell no.

Forced to spread out his search, he went to the nearby city of Nantes where he found a woman sitting on a bench, alone. She dressed the part of a healer, and he carefully approached her.

“Are you a healer?” the half-orc asked.

“Why do you want to know?” Dunharra said.

“I have someone who needs healing,” the half-orc said.

“Can’t you bring them to me?” Dunharra asked.

“So you are a healer,” the half-orc said. “They’re in a bad way. They need you to go to them.”

“How do I know this isn’t a ruse? To lure me away and kill me?”

The half-orc’s face fell. “I promise you, this isn’t a ruse, and there really is an injured person.”

“Where are they?” the healer asked.

“In Rhyl.”

“You came all the way to Nantes to get a healer? Who’s injured?” the healer asked, brow furrowed. Zauvadok could see her growing concerned that this was a trick.

“I couldn’t find a healer who would heal her in Rhyl,” the half-orc said. “She’s a Dark Elf.”

The healer looked at him and thought for a moment. “Alright, I’ll heal her,” the healer said. “Take me to her.”

On the way to Rhyl, Zauvadok asked, “How can I pay you?”

“You can pay me by keeping this secret,” the healer said, looking around to see if anyone was watching. “No one can know what I do.”

Zauvadok thought that was odd, but she was going to heal Anaïs and for free at that, so he didn’t feel he had the right to complain. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Dunharra Tor. You can pay me by keeping this secret. You can tell no one it was me who healed your friend.”

“That’s weird,” Zauvadok said. “Are you a fugitive or something?”

“Something,” Dunharra replied, and he heard sadness in her voice. “I’m just…a healer looking for a place to call home.”

She followed Zauvadok to Rhyl and up the stairs of the Fat Nun. He opened the door, and inside was a suffering Dark Elf. She had a severe sunburn all over her body and was in a lot of pain. She moaned when Zauvadok touched her. Her skin was full of blisters, and she could barely move.

“My name’s Dunharra and I’m going to heal you,” Dunharra began. “It won’t hurt anymore after I’m done. All you need to do is keep this secret.”

Anaïs and Zauvadok nodded in agreement.

Dunharra’s eyes shifted to iridescent, and she gently laid a hand on the Dark Elf. The blisters shrank and vanished. Her sclera returned to their normal white.

Then Anaïs blinked and sat up in bed. “That was amazing…I felt your touch. It tingled, and then all the pain went away.”

“What’s your name?” Dunharra asked.

“Anaïs,” she replied. “Thank you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just silence,” Dunharra said. “I work in secrecy. No one can know what I do.”

Anais and Zauvadok were confused. “Why are you hiding the fact that you're a healer?”

“I have reasons to hide,” Dunharra said. “I…”

“Where’s your ink?” Anaïs asked, pushing the cotton sleeve up her naked arm. Dunharra yanked her arm away from her and backed up several feet.

“How did you heal without the ink?” Zauvadok asked in a hushed tone. “Everyone needs ink to make magick. Even the healers.”

Dunharra sighed and her mouth formed a thin line.

“You’re that Healer, aren’t you?” Zauvadok asked. “The one the Southern Kingdoms talk about.”

Dunharra’s shoulders slumped, and she looked down at the ground.

“Is it that obvious?” Dunharra asked with wet eyes.

“Not if I hadn’t seen your skin,” Anaïs reassured her.

“I’m not ready for the world to know,” Dunharra said. “I’m afraid of what it will bring. I’m alone. Adrift.”

Zauvadok looked at Anaïs, who nodded. “Not anymore, you’re not,” Zauvadok said.

“What? I don’t understand,” Dunharra replied, puzzled.

“You have friends now,” Anaïs said.

Dunharra smiled. “I’ll leave you two. I won’t be far if you need me again.”

She walked out the door and closed it behind her.

Anaïs looked at Zauvadok. “I don’t know how to repay you for your kindness.”

“Your friendship is more than enough,” Zauvadok said. “Wait here. I’ll bring some food.”

Ten minutes later, he returned with enough for both of them, and they sat and ate together.

Anaïs smiled and shyly looked away.

He couldn’t help but think she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

I think I just met my wife.

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Dunharra Tor Backstory Bonus Content

Pasqua DiNicola — Tue, 12 May 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Did you ever wonder how Dunharra got to be Dunharra? What happened to set her wandering Mantua?

Wonder no more and sign up to receive bonus content!

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