C A D M U S
Details
Full Name: Cadmus Arthur Harrow
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 48
Height: 5'9
Weight: 150 lbs.
Birthdate: 13 Glade 76 Steel
Birthplace: Zaichaer
Profession: Apothecary
Housing: Apartment in Kalzasi
Partners: None
Titles: None
Factions: Cult of Mending
Fluencies: Common, Synskrit
Conversationals: None
Ineptitudes: None
Appearance
Cadmus is not a man who stands out in any particular way. By all accounts, he is a human who can be described as distinctly average. He is average of height and build with black hair that is beginning to turn grey at the roots. A pencil thin mustache rests over his upper lip. His brow is slightly wrinkled, his eyes slightly sunken due either to sleepless nights or the hazards of a life that has seen too much. Cadmus maintains a rather businesslike appearance, with slick backed hair, a tidy suit, and a briefcase. At first glance, one might get the impression that he is a mundane bureaucrat for a government agency. He wears a pair of plain black leather gloves at all times when in public. The reason for this being that he bears the scars of surviving the cataclysmic desolation of Zaichaer on his arms. His right arm is covered in scars that have crystallized. His left arm is entirely crystallized but he still retains functionality though he has no sensation in that arm.
History
What do you do when the world you know has died but you lived on?
Born to the lower class of Zaichaer, Cadmus never had much ambition in life. He expected to live, learn, and eventually die while working the coal mines in the City of Brass. By the time he was old enough to swing a pick axe, he had already decided that he would be content with his lot in life. He worked enough to scrape by, eventually finding a wife and bringing a daughter into the world. He was content, happy even. Certainly, the life of a laborer was not easy but it was not complicated. It was normal. It was satisfying in its own way.
Then the sky tore open.
What is the worth of a broken man? More than you might think.
They had been arguing. His wife and he. Arguing about what a better life for their daughter should look like. The rumbling was the only warning. Cadmus distinctly remembers watching a strand of his wife’s hair fall out of place. He had been reaching out to gently tuck it behind her ear and attempt to reconcile with her. He doesn’t remember whether or not his hand ever finished its journey. What came next feels like a fever dream.
Pain.
Screaming.
Horrifying nightmares that chased him as he drowned in a sea of monsters.
A woman who took him by the hand before gouging chunks of his flesh from his arms and replacing them with crystal.
His next lucid moment was sitting in a puddle of his own filth and gore while staring up into the eyes of a man who regarded him with pity. He remembers being picked up. He remembers being brought to a shack where there were other survivors. He remembers being sheltered and with that group of survivors, fleeing the only home he had ever known.
I was lost. They found me.
He had lost everything. His wife. His daughter. His home. The gods, in their spite, had taken everything from a man who had wanted nothing. In exchange however, Cadmus had been ushered into a group that taught him things he never would have known otherwise. Menders, they called themselves. They found him. They healed him. They gave him purpose.
And it is a purpose he intends to see fulfilled.