Redmoon • Athalos.Backstory (Public Access: RO Owner:athalos)
Althalos grew up in a small community made up of folk spread amongst the woods. Like most men in this community his father was a hunter. He would sell furs, trophies and bows to travelers. At times he would even act as a woods guide to passing merchants and nobles. From a young age his father would take Althalos with him. He showed him how to track and survive in the woods. When Althalos came of age he would be sent into nearby towns to get supplies and trade. He soon found himself spending more and more time in towns with each trip, entertaining himself with games of chance, slave fights and local harlots. In fact it would not be strange for him to be gone for days at a time.
One overcast and gloomy day, he was not in the mood for games and shows. He decided he would pocket his coins and return home before his father got angry at him again. As he neared his home Althalos noticed something odd, since he had entered the woods there had not been one sound. There were no birds or insects singing their songs on this day. Worried, he picked up the pace and found that the front door of his home had been shattered into bits and pieces. Looking around frantically he started to call for his father. After a few moments Althalos realized that whatever did this could still be near by. He prepared his favorite bow and used what his father had taught him to search for tracks. Outside the house he followed drag marks leading to the House of Council. The House of Council was considered to be the center of this community. Careful not to be noticed he crept along, following the tracks. What he found at the center of town burned an image into him that would not leave him even to this day.
Scattered around the house of council were the bodies of men, woman and children. Blood pooled in the dirt in quantities unimaginable to Althalos. Limbs of former friends and loved ones were torn from defiled corpses. Each and every person had their heads torn off and whatever did it must have taken them with it. As hard as he tried and as skilled as he was then, he could find no signs of a struggle from his friends and mentors. Men who fell bears and fought off bandits didn't even raise arms, or couldn't, to stop this from happening. Worst yet, whoever or whatever did this left no tracks of its own. No foot prints at all.
From that day on the woods that Althalos once called his home were known as the Headless Woods by locals.