Grigor Marsk


I made a Human Cleric. He is 5’9”, 145 lbs, around 23 years old, curly light brown hair, light skin, silver eyes. He wears breastplate armor and carries a shield and mace. The mace is hardly used and the shield carries his holy symbol.


I go by Grigor Marsk. That’s not my real name, as far as I know. The old fart who occupies the only rain protected part of Sjorl Street said I looked like a guy he knew from Icewind Dale. The name stuck, which was ok. It’s hard building yourself up from nothing when you’re seen as just another nameless street urchin.

You see, I was abandoned in Immilar. Some of the older streetizens said I showed up immediately after a theatre troupe came through town. I think they’re just having a laugh. Truth is, my memory is not great, so they could be right.

I was able to establish a relationship with some of the better bakeries and cheese makers in town. I had exclusive rights to they’re moldy throw-aways. I just cut out the green bits, took ‘em to the poor part of town, and sold them for cheap.

Unfortunately, or fortunately as it turns out, this is around the time the first wave of Traveler’s Dust hit the streets, and I was not spared. Walking the crimson road took all of my mold money.
One night, my dealer introduced me to a stranger. He said his dust was the best dust and this first grain would be free. Of course I took it. I knew immediately I was dying.

As I slipped into the crimson, a figure appeared. He introduced himself as Lathander, said that transformation is coming and he needed my help. I reached out for his hand, and he helped me stand up.

I awoke with the understanding that I would be a healer.

Grigor Marsk

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