Name: Silas Vandermore
Race: Graveborn
Class: Writer
Background:
Silas Vandermore was once a gunslinging bounty hunter, traveling town to town collecting bounties and drinking the night away in the nearest tavern. He was an entertainer too, he had a beautiful velvety singing voice. Always accompanied by his spruce and maple lute. One night he was partying at a tavern in a small town called Lagran. Unbeknownst to an inebriated Silas, a group of bandits he’d captured in the past sat amongst the crowd in the tavern. All at once the group drew crossbows, firing over 30 arrows into his body, killing him.
He was buried in a graveyard right outside Lagran having died doing what he loved, drinking and singing. Years later, a wizard practicing necromancy spells on bodies at the graveyard, revived Silas. Only now his skin was decomposed, his eyes pitch black, he looked down at his hands to see his own bone. He screamed in horror staring down at what used to be his body. His voice was different, it was now gravelly and deep. He pleaded with the wizard to undo his spell, but it was too late. The wizard was inexperienced, it was only by sheer coincidence his spell worked. The wizard fled leaving Silas all alone.
Silas wandered aimlessly through the night, horrified at what he’d become. Eventually he ended up at a nearby town. He decided to try and rest for a while, taking shelter underneath a bridge. While there he met an elderly Elven warrior, far past his prime. The Elven warrior began to speak of his glory days, Silas was incapsulated by his stories, jotting them down in his notebook he once used to write songs in. His days as a bounty hunter now gone, Silas found his new purpose. If he’s undead and unable to die again, he’ll be a storyteller! He can write forever!
He realized his skin is sensitive to the sun, wearing layers of clothes to protect himself. He opted for a nocturnal lifestyle, staying hidden in the woods during the day and traveling at night. Silas travels town to town, collecting stories from various warriors, mages, bards, etc. and writes them all down in his journal. He is incredibly polite to everyone he meets, he thrives on being respectful to those who share their stories with him. Even sometimes cooking them meals if they happen to bump into him while he’s in the woods, or buying them a drink at a local tavern.
He is docile unless provoked. He carries around a pepperbox and a mechanically engineered flame sword (often using it as a torch), unafraid to use it against those whose pose a threat.
While on the road, he caught wind of this Tournament of Champions. Figured it would be a perfect place to find some new stories to write. While on his way he stumbled upon the Barons Caravan! Hoping to stay a while to collect the stories of other folk who’ve passed through as well.
He often times gets emotional when listening to other’s stories, shedding a couple tears the deeper their conversation becomes. Every now and again when traveling through a forest or road, you may hear Silas playing his lute, reciting some of his old music. Often accompanied by faint weeping, mourning his old voice.
He has become an urban legend to certain parts of the land. Known amongst travelers and night owls simply as, The Weeping Gentleman.