Rutlan Thurson's garishly red, blue and yellow garb, worn falshion, youthful skin tanned dark brown, earrings, callused hands and long braided dark hair restrained by a red bandana bespeak a flamboyant lifestyle full of travel, adventure and hard work. Though perhaps Rhutalathian in origin, his 7' frame has yet to reach the full growth of manhood. Also, his accent is extremely odd, much like a native speaker who has had to communicate in another language for quite some time. While he may one day mature into what people might call handsome, his jovial perspective on life, strong communication skills, keen intellect, and presence mark him as a natural leader with great charisma.

Currently: Garish red astom armor, astom essence shield, essence sword, very nice sword (sheathes covered in dark leather nondescript), dark boots, pants, and overtunic to cover the armor.  Dark helm with bat crest.  He's a bit dirty.  Unless you can closely inspect him, he looks simply like a very tall soldier dressed in dark clothing.

History
My most poignant memory from my youth is of being taken by ship with my family, all in chains, to the dread Isle of Tol Goroth, the center of Inquisitor training.  I was five years old.  At the time, I had no clue what a heretic was or the significance of that fell citadel.   Clearly, from the sinister way that that name was bandied about and my parent's reactions, it was a place to be feared.  Shackled to the wall with my mother, father and sister, we were all frequently beaten and abused by the silent priests in their crimson and yellow robes.  I still sometimes wake up in a cold sweat with the screams of my sister, her young 13-year-old body flayed raw and bloody, ringing in my ears.  She had been my best friend and mentor while my parents did whatever they did with magic.  That's why we were being punished.

For two days, I was tied to a post on a short stand and forced to watch as my family was gradually and painfully stripped of their dignity and sanity, a visible lesson to those studying on Tol Goroth of the ecclesiastical might of the Inquisition.  Numb and traumatized, I remember the almost festive atmosphere as the aspirants and priests watched the flames building slowly under their broken bodies, the stench of burning flesh, and the warm strangely accented voice in my ear commanding that I make no noise.  My bonds were cut and strong hands yanked me off the pallet and draped me over a hidden shoulder.  Amazingly, my body had somehow disappeared.  At the time, I was sure that some strong child had used magic to come save me, carried as I was over an invisible shoulder that was much too near to the ground to be that of an adult.

Outside the main fortress, we shot into the air as though light as a feather and flew at amazing speed to a massive ship docked in the harbor.  It looked like a floating castle.  Starved, parched and bloody from frequent scourging, I was made to drink a potion that, like fire rushing through my veins, healed me of physical damage.  Eating a bit, I passed into disturbed exhausted sleep.

When I awoke, I was lying on skins in a dark room.  Initially, I thought I was back in the cell aboard the Inquisitor's ship, for the gentle rocking and occasional creak of timbers told my body that I was again at sea.  However, I was unchained and the furs felt soft to my young skin.  I lay there quietly listening to strange sounds and distant voices.  Terrified, I put my back against the wall as I heard steps approaching.  Through the cracks in the now visible door, I could see someone approaching holding a lantern.  My eyebrows arched in puzzlement as the squat inhuman outline of this person was revealed by the shadow play.  As the door opened, my mouth opened in involuntary surprise as I beheld my first dwarf, the Garan woman I was to know as mother throughout my formative years, Sestra Thurson.

Sestra had recently lost her only son in a foundry accident, dying before the healers could get to him.  On their regular route, the Mithril Keel Hearth ship and attendant fleet landed to trade at the Isle of Tol Goroth every year before winter.  Though peripherally aware of the atrocities committed by the Inquisitors on those who did not believe as they did, her strong sense of family was outraged at what she saw.  Whether motherly instinct or destiny, she placed her Hearth at risk to save a Rhutalathian child.

Though initially Sestra's husband, Hearth Captain Marn Thurson, protested that he wanted to return me to the Isle to complete my fate, his own Ulgozakanim and Counselors stood as one to overrule him.  Later, I came to learn and appreciate the Hearth Captain's wisdom and ability to lead by influence.  His tack resulted in my unanimous acceptance.  I had no family of which I was aware and was too young to have my destiny cut short in such an unspeakable way.  The concept of family among the Dirani is strong, and especially so among the Garan given their difficult lives.  Sestra and Marn became my adopted parents and I was declared, before all the members of the Hearth, a member of the Mithril Keel.  My old name of Ajay was taken from me and I became Rutlan Thurson, the name I bear to this day.

Much to her surprise, because Garan children are not attracted to magical studies until later in life, I began to show a strong aptitude for Sestra's magic.  She was the Chief Force Mage of the Hearth.  Gradually, because of my interest and ability, she began teaching me in earnest in the evenings after dinner.  During the day, I sat classes with the other children to learn languages, mathematics and skills needed to operate and maintain the ships of the fleet and succeed at trade.   Whenever we docked, I always remained below deck, content to avoid attention.

Life was good.  Still, the other Garan children could be cruel.  Were it not for my size, speed and strength, it would have been worse.  Still, I was never made to feel welcome.  Friendship with my peers eluded me until the spring of my 14th year.

The fleet was tense with anticipation of attending the Grand Mi'gara at the city of Stinu where all the inhabitants of Kerin'thian city-ships gathered to make decisions about their people and celebrate life.  As I had come of age at 13, I decided to finally venture off our Hearth Ship.  The opportunity to finally meet people of my race could not be passed up.  I had never met another human or female my age taller than 4'.  Dressed garishly, as all Garan are want to do, I ventured forth to move among those magnificent ships.

I first saw Lani dancing to the appreciative catcalls of a large crowd.  Her name, like that of all the Kerin'thians, was much longer.  I was later to learn that we were both the same age.  While three of her friends played music on a conchana and two drums, her young taut body gyrated seductively.  Afterwards, I moved forwards to express my admiration, like so many others, and to place a Kunda (gold coin) into the brimming sack they had laid out for that purpose.  She was dazzling!

Perhaps it was my unusual garb, accent or subtly different carriage that made me stand out.  Before I knew it, she had claimed my hand and dragged me off for many days of fun and adventure. Though not wealthy by Geran standards, I had saved and invested in cargo diligently so that treating her to the wonders of the Mi'gara was not an issue.  We ate exotic foods, danced, went to various forms of entertainment, and retired to the beach like so many others to share the wonders of our bodies by the moonlight.

Periodically, I would stop back at our Hearth to let my family know that all was well.  During one of these visits, I introduced Lani to my mother Sestra.  I'll never forget the look my mother gave her as we departed.  It was at once concerned and somehow strange.  Perhaps she had a premonition of what was to occur.

Lani also introduced me to Ashana, her mother and Li'Camari of the Golden Sunburst Sept, and Garth, her father.  Clearly, they knew not what to make of their daughter's current infatuation.

By the end of the week, we had pledged our love to one another.  When she asked me to stay with her, I begged in turn that she leave to join me.  She said that she could not and that I belonged with her people, not the Garan.  That was the night before the Mi'gara was officially to end.  The morning wind would see hundreds of mammoth ships once again depart to trade throughout Arador, Atlantea and beyond.

Immediately, I went to talk with my father and mother.  Never had I been so confused!  They did not doubt my love for them or our Hearth.  Still, there were questions that I had about my life and people that they could not answer.  Only experience would fill that void.  Though a place would always be there in their lodge and in the Mithril Keel Hearth, they urged me to go.  With my possessions and gifts of weapons, clothing and a spell book, I went to join the Kerin'thia.

For two years, I sailed among them, working, learning, and loving their way of life.  Here was the companionship I had long sought!  Lani and I traveled in an ever-widening circle of friends.  The Li'Camari soon had my measure and saw me as a stabilizing force for her wild daughter.   At the age of 16, during the next Grand Mi'gara, Lani and I wed.   The entirety of the Mithril Keel Hearth was there as well.  Our wedding party became legend, forming a bond between our two peoples that was to endure.

During my time with Lani and the Kerin'thia, I shared what I knew of my history.  When we finally made landfall in the Rhutalath port of Stonegate to trade, I bid my young beautiful wife farewell and went to see what, if anything, I could learn of my past.

Rhutalath is an unlucky place for me!

Preparing as best I could against robbery and trying to remain inconspicuous, I went to the Ploughman Inn on the recommendation of a shipmate.  Though very popular for its cooking, beer, and willing companionship for a price, it was located near the port in one of the less reputable sections of town.  This was where I might find people less than enamored with the Inquisition.

I had been asking a lot of questions, particularly about High Priest Mendoza, the local High Inquisitor, and keeper of the county's archives. Nervous that I might bring the Inquisition down on my head by some of my incautious remarks, I slept clothed in a chair by the door, sword drawn in my lap and determined that I would not be taken alive for torture.  I had also arranged the pillows in my bed to look like I was sleeping there.  My caution was well placed.

That first night, I was disturbed by voices outside my door.  Quickly, I stood next to the door with falshion raised, focusing my mind on remaining unnoticed.  The innkeeper opened the door, candle in hand, and pointed out my bed to a group of men accompanying him. These men were not dressed like priests or Stormcrows, though they were richly adorned.  Unmoving against the wall, they filed past me unaware with truncheons raised.  Seizing the opportunity for surprise, I attacked.  In the ensuing confusion, I somehow struck down all five of the men, taking only a small wound to my arm, which I quickly healed.  Making my escape from the Inn into the night, I suddenly felt immense pain in my head and collapsed, conscious but unable to move.  Two large men rushed forward and bundled me into the back of a canopied wagon.