Marcus Calerus
Birth: 30th of Highsun, 1317Age: 28
Height: 6'1" (185 cm)
Weight: 163
Looks: Well
Exposition
Born amidst the first few years of Torment, Marcus knows of no other life. Born to a couple of uncertain standing and having lost his father at an early age. He was close to his mother in those formative years and he rarely went a night without a story before bed. His mother loved to tell stories and gossip of the townsfolk and Marcus had heard them all. Tales of Old and Ill, news and stories of men who seemed larger than life. Along with these stories came adages and sayings of how to live life and survive the lands of Vitaveus, though Marcus had spent his life physically throughout the Eastern Baronies, it had felt as though he had seen his fair share of the Republic through proxy. Many of these adages Marcus took to heart, building them central to his life and ideologies: “Idle hands make trouble”, “Clothes maketh the man”, “ a stone worth of prevention is worth ten of cure”, “the drier the life the brighter the Flame”, “a spill brings about the Ill”, “a hair misplaced on your head may bring the Afflicted in stead.” Marcus had an eye for detail and the room in his head for all his mother’s stories and more.
He took to the needle and thread to help keep his hands busy and to ensure he could help refine himself and others. He took to tomes and scripture to keep his mind busy. As he grew he noted the wisdom his mother would advise strayed further towards the dark. Expanding upon childhood stories with newfound gore, tragedy, and detail. It seemed Marcus was not the only one that had noticed his mother’s change of demeanor. Having already not been very popular due to her penchant for gossip; soon it became a subject of note amongst their neighbors and peers. Had Marcus and his mother not been so active among the community, she would not have lasted long as the Witchkin Purge had taken place in the not so distant past.
Though there was no denying something was amiss with his mother, soon enough the stigma began to surround him as well. As he would volunteer his services to fix the stitching and mend the wear of clothing for those around him, he began to notice the newly repaired items would be discarded or become a lesser favorite of theirs than before. It finally reached a point where many would not dare interact with him in person, lest they catch his mother’s madness.
Unfortunate though likely a blessing in disguise, the townsfolk never had to take the matter into their own hands. Marcus awoke one morning to discover his mother had not, a most bittersweet revelation. Certainly he loved his mother. Though it had become apparent that she, which he loved, was no longer at the helm. A fleeting moment of freedom from this stigma which had besieged the household.
Departure
Today was the day. He was determined to finally escape the quiet whispers and glares of disapproval. Today was the day. He knew this could be the path that led him to discovering if any of his mother's stories held any grain of truth or if she was never sane to begin with. Today was the day. He needed his storytelling to be convincing."It appears someone has lost their purse. Just as I have seemed to misplace my Quarantine Visa." Marcus said, lowering his voice as he delivered the second sentence and tilting his face with a smile towards the officiant. "Someone wouldn't have happened to turn one in, would they?"
Marcus handed his mother's old satchel over to the officiant; it contained all the currency he had inherited from his mother's passing. He had never dared touch it as he wanted to distance[ himself as much as possible from her scorched reputation. He hoped the officiant would do him two favors: rid him of the forsaken momento and be predictable in his greed.
**Following are excerpts from Marcus' own journals.**