I have been many people. So’ve you, in fact; you still are.  But even in this vessel, I’ve been more than most of us.  From those around me, and the copious notes I’ve learned to take through my career, I’ve gathered that I indeed was once half hu-man. A disturbing thought to be sure, but what’s more disturbing is that I have, to my memory, always been an elf despite my compatriots witnessing a…physical crisis of identity, during a battle in the space between planes.  I remember meeting the Illustrious Caetheran, and much of our party’s journey, and some from my childhood; but all as a sort of shifting dream-story which I can never truly grasp as true events.  I have come to terms with my strange way of seeing things now, but my previous quest to dissect and understand humanoid consciousness was driven wholly by Fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of madness. Fear that giving up “normal perception” would yield exactly what I thought: understanding of the Balance. 

As a young necromancer I did horrible things in the pursuit of knowledge: the milky red of my placeholder-eyes; the abominable Loramar and the potholing who allow me to see the world; the flying terror King Vragul; that blasted Sir Gnome, who serves, adores, and follows me everywhere; Torrea’s knowing glare, that even if she serves a greater purpose than before, I ripped her from her god’s loving embrace.  These all serve as reminders of what I was, and what Chaos will wright with idle Hands.  I count myself blessed by Mandös to have found purpose, and doubly so to bring more Hands into his service.  Whether the Basterds know it or not, they too are blessed by Mandös, to walk through the planes as freely as they do.  Yet they may find as I have: altering reality and traveling to the multiverse beyond takes its toll in interesting fashions…