Okknos Prime: Bonifant
One Handed Half-Elf
Thari is a one handed half-elf, with eyes that seem to hide a smile that would never dare to cross his lips. Behind his eyes, just like his orcish companion, hide horrors and pain that are rarely spoken of. Thari was born in the prime plane and was raised in a house on the edge of a small town. Unfortunately, he grew up on the wrong side of the continent. His human mother was despised for marrying an Elf and looked down upon. His father was only tolerated because he had been able to cure the daughter of the governing family when no other physician could. As such, he was allowed to remain in the town, in the rare case some other unusual illness occurred that could not be cured by conventional means. Growing up, Thari remained indoors with his father, who tried to teach him his medicine craft while his mother worked as a housemaid to the governor to provide for the family. When Thari was sent into town to pick up supplies, or even when he tried to play with other children he was often shunned or bullied. Sometimes a group of bullies would surprise him on his way home and many nights were spent having his wounds and bruises treated by his father. His father would tell him that the other children were jealous because he was special. He told him to be patient and soon the others would see him for who he truly was, it would just take time. So Thari endured the taunts and beatings. He endured the hatred and scorn well into his late teens until the day a few drunken fools decided they no longer wanted an elf among them.
They came to the house with torches and clubs. Thari’s father saw the small mob out front, told Thari to stay inside and went out to try and persuade them to disperse. The crowd grabbed him and began to beat him, calling out racist slurs before one of them turned to face the house and yelled, “Find the boy!” Two brutes walked toward the house and kicked open the door. Thari struggled but they dragged him out of the house and forced him on his knees in front of his father. The leader of the mob hoisted the nearly unconscious Elf to his knees and got right in Thari’s face. “Now boy,” he spat, liquor on his breath, “watch what happens to Elves who don’t understand the way of things.” He then plunged a knife into Thari’s father. The mob then put their torches to the house. Thari let out a cry of rage and flung the two individuals forcing him down to the ground. He grabbed one of their clubs and hurled it at one of the nearest surprised crowd members. The club hit him square in the face and Thari flung himself at the leader, throwing punch after punch. The mob pushed forward to pull him off and it took 4 men to restrain him. The leader spat blood to the side and moved forward with his knife ready to end Thari’s life. Fortunately for Thari, the town guard arrived. Unfortunately the crowd blamed him for the fire, assault and murder. The individual who got hit in the face with the club had died from the blow and so Thari was thrown in jail.
Thari spent several months in the jail. His mother, who had been working at the time of the attack, visited him as much as she was allowed, and told him that she was doing everything she could to ensure he was released. Then the day came. There were whispers that the town had finally decided that death was to be his punishment. Thari wasn’t surprised. Had he not been half human, there probably would not have been any trial. The guards came to him and told him that tomorrow there would be a short walk and then a quick drop. One of the guards, who had married the young girl Thari’s father had saved, looked on Thari with kindness, and that night brought him half a chicken as a last meal. Thari thanked him and then asked that he be left alone for his last evening. He ate his chicken contemplatively, thinking of his father. He remembered his father’s words. “Be patient,” he’d always say. “Be patient and they’ll see how special you are.” He looked down at the pile of bones he’d amassed and chuckled. After the hanging the birds would pick him dry. It was fitting that he picked one dry first. picked…PICK! The realization struck him and he grabbed the leg bone and began to gnaw on it. after a few hours he had refined it to a solid point and grabbed a second bone to act as the lever. The next twenty minutes he struggled with the lock until miraculously he heard it click. He opened the door and ran down the hall. To his chagrin the guard who had given him the chicken was at the other end. The guard’s eyes widened in surprise, but before he could utter a sound Thari thrust the makeshift pick into his throat. Thari escaped, and the hunt for him began. What Thari’s hunters did not realize was that he had not left. Not quite yet. He had unfinished business.
Thari spent a week on the run and in the sewers until he found the individual who had started this. The leader of the mob. Thari found him drinking in a bar and approached from behind. He pulled a knife, planning on stabbing him, but as he got close the rage swelled within him. He dropped the knife, grabbed the closet chair, and cracked it over the leader’s head. The bar erupted and when the dust settled, the bar was down five chairs, three tables, three bottles of fine wine, fours bottles of whiskey, and eight bottles of ale. It also needed repairs done to the stairs, railings, front window and to the bar itself. In the end the leader was killed with a blade, but that blade was the leader’s own.
Thari escaped, never to return. He wandered the lands, shunned and scorned like he had been his whole life. Those he met, who would not let him pass due to his heritage, quickly learned the folly of their ways. He soon got tired of it all, and decided to find a way to get into the Feywild. A land full of Elves. One where he might be able to find a place to live free of the torment and pain. He eventually arrived and to his dismay he was still the odd man out in many places. This time more out of curiosity for his human half. Eventually, he found a groove to fit into and it led to him meeting Azcavil and company. He traveled with Azcavil to the Whispering Mountain where he inevitably lost his arm. Losing his arm has matured him some, and he rarely flies into rages anymore. He now resides in a Gloaming Court outpost with Grom, and a great sword he is no longer able to wield by his side. He can be found in the Screaming Spirits most of the time with a single pint before him. Some think he never drinks it or even leaves. But from time to time he will venture into the wild during the night, returning the next day with a small parcel that he gives the owner of the Screaming Spirits. No one knows what the parcel contains and since the Half-elf is often with his Half-orc Paladin friend, no one asks.