Grymn, Gezzerex

Name: Gezzerex Grymn

Age: Unknown

The Grymns were a hardworking farming family, they traditionally had belonged to Oakenfield a small hamlet unallied with the surrounding nations. Gezzerex was but a boy when war came to the small hamlet. The Zhentarim had come, demanding fealty or death. The elders appealed to a nearby kingdom for aid and eventually the Zhentarim were driven off. Before they were defeated the leader of the Zhentarim cursed the villagers of the small hamlet to slow death from plague and pestilence. Haughty in their victory the villagers paid no mind.

The fires of war dwindled and many of the villagers looked forward to putting thier minds to tilling the fields to prepare for the upcomming winter. Unconcerned with the curse laid upon them by the fallen Zhentarim. The Spring and Summer passed, once lively fields turned sullen and grey, the land once vibrant and so full of life was left barren and despoiled. With winter approaching the villagers became desperate. Game was scarce, it was as if the land had turned against the village.

Then came the plague, no home was left unmarred with scarce less than one third the inhabitants remaining unaffected. The plague struck young Gezzerex's home striking down his mother, father, brothers, and sisters. Soon Gezzerex himself began to display the symptoms of plague, boils, sores, wounds erupting from his skin.

Those unaffected by the plague fled the village fearful the curse would follow them to new environs. Gezzerex too young to follow was left behind. He scavenged what he could, living on meager provisions he could find. His only company were the corpses piled high and the constant caw of the crows as they gorged themselves on the dead.

The boy continued to grow weaker a product of the disease ravaging his body. He lay down the last of his energy expended expecting to die. A fevered dream coalesced in his mind.

The boy stood among the town square bodies piled high on all sides, he was not alone however. Standing amidst the rows was a man shrouded in black. The boy noticing the figure inched his way closer arms outstretched "help" he whispered. The gloom figure cocked it's head in the direction of the boy saying nothing. Again the boy taking a step at a time feebly asked "help..". The figure taking notice of the boy turned towards him, A storm seemed to rise in the distance and lightning could be seen in the clouds. As the boy continued to inch closer and closer to the figure the flashes of lightning revealed the rictus of skull beneath the hood which shrouded the figure. Unabashed the boy continued along.

The figure motioned towards the boy "What is your life worth, boy?" weakly the boy answered "anything, anything, please help me" The figure stood stoicly seemingly in thought before answering. "You are mine now boy." Throwing back the cowl blanketing his features to reveal a skull wearing a crown of skulls. Extending a bony hand carrying but a single golden ring with a gem the color of onyx "show your supplication and live. but know this, you belong to me now." Feeling a surge of strength the boy collapsed to his knees taking the bony hand in his and kissing the ring. The world seemed to spin and as the boy felt his grip on reality fade a voice returned to him "Make your way to the square"

Opening his fevered eyes the wounds still upon his body oozing malfeance the boy half walked half crawled towards the door. The words rang in his head, and he slowly made his way to the town square. As he staggered along he eventually made out the form of a wagon and figures moving among the pile of bodies. Stumbling towards the men the boy feebly intoned "help me". the robed figures stopped what they were doing as they noticed the boy moving among the corpses. One of the men spoke to the other two who continued their work loading corpses into the cart.

The man reached into the cart pulling something from it and approached the boy. The boy smiled as he collapsed to the ground fading into unconciousness. Time seemed to stand still

The sound of wood on stone, the boy slowly opened his eyes. Men talking, The constant pain of his sores felt dulled and looking around the boy saw he was covered with a dirty blanket. He looked to his left and stared into the dead eyes of a corpse. Giving a start and bumping into the side of the cart in which he lay one of the men driving the cart turned towards him. "It seems you're back among the living then... hmmm?" "where am I, who are you?" the boy responded. "In time, In time" the man responded turning back to driving the cart.

The boy remained with the three men learning from them, he learned to read and write from them and learned the ways of thier faith. The trio were myrkulites and explained that they had come to village after recieving a visions of a horned crown above the town. The boy revealed his own vision and the men explained that he had been touched by the god of death himself. The boy remained with the men growing into adulthood and eventually taking on the cloth as one of the devout of Myrkul The old plague with which he was afflicted never subsided as he grew older it began to affect him less and less. While the physical effects remained he grew strong eventually leaving his mentors to travel the land and spread the faith. His travels eventually taking him to the land of Sundren.