[Grok_Toru]

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Name: Gabriel Seraphiel
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Height: 6'1"
Hair: Golden blonde
Eye-color: Ice blue
Body-type: Muscular.
Age: 25
Class: Paladin
Alignment: LG
Deity: Torm

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Basic History

An orphan of Waterdeep who knew nothing of his parents, Gabriel grew up learning the ways of combat. When he was a child he was abandoned before a temple of Torm and taken in living the life of a temple child doing what duties were asked of him. At the age of 12 he was taken as a squire to a Sir John Jameson Tanith, paladin and somewhat a father figure to Gabriel, or as much as a father he would ever know. Sir Tanith was the one who led Gabriel into the footsteps of a paladin, preparing him to take up the mantle. After the time of troubles Gabriel was once again alone in the world, Sir Tanith was slain during the chaos leaving the young paladin initiate on his own.

Years later he met a young elf by the name of Unia Thielle and another paladin by the name of Irieel, their quest was to enter Thay and help all those who needed it...

What they realized upon arrival was this was going to be no small feat.

Current Events

Much of the story has been skipped because it is no longer relevant, the path now lies before the paladin, the path he was meant to take...

"Corruption, fear, the pursuit of power. This is the Thayan way. Why has this been allowed to go on for so long?" He sat alone, the room was lit with four candles barely enough light to see, a black gauntlet rose up reaching for a freshly poured glass of red wine. "I see the same problems day by day, one man thinks he is stronger than another and attempts to push whatever made up power he has on them... without realizing who is watching or who he is threatening, again this is the Thayan way." he pulled the glass to his lips and sipped thoughtfully, breathing in the aroma.

"If one man can best another his value is based on that exchange, that is the Thayan way" He took the glass and held up before the candlelight, the liquid mimicked the color of blood. "But one man stands up against those who believe themselves to be gods and it ends up being chaos... this is not the Thayan way." He smirked remembering his little exchange in the streets that evening, what a pitiful display of so called power by the little apprentice, the lieutenant, and the boot licking drow, remembering days before when the apprentice begged for help on the street, as the elven priestess prayed for him so he may survive his trials... and now he wears red, the robe of an apprentice and believes he is entitled.

"The only thing he is entitled to is a slow agonizing death." he said with venom in his voice, the glass flung into a nearby wall, the shards glittering in the dim light. He sat back in his chair thumb to his lip, gazing upon the black helmet he began wearing recently, he could swear it was watching him in the dark... the slit in the visor black as the abyss. "Fear, this is the only thing these people understand... The only thing they can rely on, but what if fear was turned on its head." He reached forward and grabbed the helm and leaned back far into his chair, holding the helmet in both hands he stared into his new face. "This is what it has come to." he sighed and shook his head with a huff, remembering earlier when he spoke to Aegril, telling him it was nothing but an act... He asked himself and shook his head. He was ready to take a life there on the road, to kill the apprentice, to slay the drow and decorate his horse with her limbs, to make them aware of that it was no longer acceptable to prey on the weak, to kick around the downtrodden... It was no longer their time to rule.

He rose to his feet, helmet firmly in place, the cloak of black wrapped about him... his blade in hand... he moved forward, a door opened and the sunlight was finally allowed within. Blood coated everything within the room, splattered about the walls... a tapestry of Cyric lay torn above the hearth, limbs thrown about everywhere, the headless torso of a woman sat neatly in the chair near the table, a candelabra near the door was used as a makeshift pike. Three heads decorated it, the look of fear still in the eyes of the victims... The torsos of the two men who joined the woman on the pike laid under the table, with the unfortunate corpse of a child, a brown headed girl of maybe seven... the holy symbol of Cyric still hung around her neck, her body nearly ripped in two and burned badly by the electricity that coursed throughout her body when she was impaled with the great sword.

"Fear, fear is the only thing they understand." and with that he was gone.