Monter the Scarred
A sorcerer born from the dragon bloodline, who decided to take it beyond and truly become one with the dragons.
A tall, lean, yet muscular elf scarred from years of running and abuse. Flowing gold hair hangs down past his shoulders, with his bright golden eyes being the highlight of his features. Not one to bully other races, but silent in words, rarely speaking unless the need arises.
Monter was born in a small village of no more then thirty people. He was not born as Monter, but as Yarid the golden child. He was told to be the legend of old among his people, being the one hero that would bring true and valor back to his people. However, that was not the mantle he was truly born with. At a young age he was different from other elves and the other children knew this. He almost seemed to be an outcast. His father rarely spoke to him and at most times didn’t even look at his own son. His mother died birthing him, and his father told him that she was cursed for baring a son that was born with the ability to speak the vile language of the dragons, for his people feared the dragons and felt that all were evil. However there was one kind old man who took in this young man and raised him as his own and told him that he was not cursed, but destine. Seltora was this mans name, considered by most a crazed old man, but also respected as the elder of the village. Upon returning from the forest after a day of hunting Monter was welcomed with the sight of the village hanging the elder, and his adopted father. Leading the people was none other then his real father. The people reacted upon seeing his return and his father called out to hang him next. A great rage over took Monter and he summoned a power he knew naught he had. Claws grew from his hands, and inside his maw erupted a cone of fire that poured forth and scatter the villagers, however his father stood his ground and challenged his to combat to prove he was not an evil creature. Monter accepted the challenge, meeting his father in combat was an incredible scene, metal of the Elven curve blade clashed with the Golden claws of Monter. The people were dazzled at the display of skill, most not even knowing that Monter could fight, even his father was surprised at his skill for he did not train his son. The fight raged forth with blows being traded between the two. With three long gashes upon his arms and torso Monter lurched forward delivering the death blow to his father with a clean strike to his head severing from his body. The people stood shocked around him. He turned to them all and screamed, “I AM NOT THE DESTINED CHILD OF YOU FOOLS, NOR AM I A CURSED BEING. YOU ARE THE FOOLS WHO ARE CURSED AND THE DAY RECKONING IS UPON YOU ALL FOR YOUR IDIOCY.” With that he opened his maw again and plunged the people in flames, sparing none and sparing no buildings. All that was left of the village was the smell of death and smoldering ashe. From that day forth Monter left the land and headed to the town of Stag’s Fell, a vast growing kingdom lead by a figure known as only the Shadoweye.