This Duskwight man was found on the brink of death, crawling out of the chasm known as The Palace of the Dead. Adventurers and Wood Wailers alike in the area got quite the fright… it wasn’t until he was in the hands of local healers that the handkerchief clutched in his hand was finally noticed. It was nice enough, silk with lace trimming and embroidered with the initials “D.N.”
The man was unconscious for several days. Not a single person came forward to identify him. The ones caring for him had no choice but to wait for him to awaken. When he finally did he could only remember his given name- Dorian and nothing else. Some tried to guess his last name, tossed around a few guesses in hopes of any of them seeming familiar. None did. In attempt to be humorous, albeit perhaps a touch insensitive, one suggested he be given the surname Netherfell, as if to insinuate he came from the nether realm. No one expected him to take a liking to it.
And so he lived his days as Dorian Netherfell. He made no genuine attempts to regain his lost memories.
Dorian can be described as odd and a bit distant, off putting but well meaning and morbidly curious for all things- well, morbid. Though he isn’t a loner by choice, he isn’t entirely bothered by it either. Almost as if he were content to not really have a single true friend, just acquaintances who tolerated him. For reasons he can’t even remember, he finds he is rather wary around strangers and terribly mistrusting of adventurers. He admits there might be something hypocritical about it, given he could very well have been an adventurer himself prior his memory loss.
Before he was Dorian Netherfell, he was Dorian Nicolette. He was still off and a bit distant, a bit off putting but well meaning and still morbidly curious. The major difference is he was very, very lonely. So much so he clung to the two people who took pity on him. Those “friends” of his weren’t particularly genuine. Truly kind at first, albeit they treated him like a child at times, but that soon gave way to exhaustion, annoyance, contempt…
They ended up bringing him along their adventures, not out of want but no choice, and truly grew sick of him. Their adventures took them to the Shroud where rumors about the Palace of the Dead spoils and specters reached their ears. The two formulated a plan, it was perfect, they knew better than anyone Dorian would love to go to this place. So they will go and leave him for dead. No one would find him save for the beasts wandering the place.
What they did not expect was for it to back fire. The “friends” died down there, mauled by something much more sinister than the mind could conjure. Somehow, Dorian managed to get away, the price for a chance to live being his memories, likely due to trauma from the betrayal as well nearly dying. The hurt ran so deep that even with blotted memories it permeated through his entire body.
Don’t trust adventurers. Don’t trust people. The kindness of Lovette and company terrifies him. Makes him want to rip his skin off, make the itch go away… but being alone is boring, doing the same thing day in and out is boring and he’s terribly curious of what may come if he follows them around.
Soon as he can muster up the courage to leave the Shroud, leave the Palace of The Dead, leave the place he’s drawn to in ways he wishes he wasn’t… soon… he hopes.
