Hwesta Ohtar Kalroo
Behold! The curtain is pulled back but a little to reveal some of our hero’s past.
Hwesta Ohtar Kalroo hails from the land of Brevoy, near the city of Skywatch. Such a land is quite suitable for the type of man who prefers to toil with the natures of the world rather than the ruthlessness of its human inhabitants.
Since early childhood, Hwesta was beckoned to an inner calling of the nature that surrounded him. From the ice cold Lake of Mists and Veils to the Embeth Forest, tales of the red dragon’s return always found his ears over the common civil discord. Upon the mountain tops of Eagle’s Watch, our hero would hunt and track all different types and sizes of beasts. He quickly discovered that his innate hunting skills were a lucrative income, and in high demand. Herein Hwesta’s adventuring tales began.
At first snowfall in 1521 AR, Hwesta was sent on official business to retrieve a dweomercat coat for a pompous and disgusting oligarch of the river town Restov . During his daily tracking in the Gronzi forest, he was visited by the great God Erastil. At the best Hwesta can recall from the dream-like haze, Erastil commissioned him to avenge the deaths of his followers in the town of Skywatch; including Hwesta’s own family.
“Yet my lord, my family still lives! I saw them naught a few days ago.” Hwesta said. “Nay”, replied the God. “Behold your new adversary!”
While the last word of the God echoed in his mind, Hwesta perceived the most vivid image of his home town. Looking down at the humble mountain dwellings from just below the clouds, he saw a dark shadow in the shape of a giant serpent clutch the city. It was the dragon God Dzemael. Crimson red with regal gold accents, the dragon devoured the people and its buildings in a blanket of fire. A blur of chaos ensued for what seemed like ages, until at long last he could focus on a single person: his mother. Her face softly smiled and then turned to a thick black smoke. All Hwesta could then feel was a cold and bitter sharp pain in his heart, just before it stopped beating entirely.
With a tremendous thump, Hwesta was forced awake and found himself face to face with a great grey direwolf. His mind still heavy from the dreamy fog and hangover of last night’s brew, he shook his head and stood. Caught flat footed, Hwesta readied his bow but before he could notch an arrow, the wolf spoke to him. He called himself Isquamavar, son of the northern wolf lord and good friend of Erastil. He then spoke of his blessing from Erastil to aid in avenging the innocent from such a treacherous God. “No! It was just a dream!” Hwesta screamed. And with that, the wolf spoke no more.
A quick two day trek back to his hometown confirmed the vision his God had bestowed upon him. Even from the valley ridges he could see the smolder on the horizon and smell the decay in the wind. The Dragon God Dzemael was nowhere to be seen. He had ascended to the sky just as quickly as he had appeared. With Isquamavar in tow, he did what little he could to bury all of what he had once loved. They then set off together heading east. East, the direction that he remembered seeing the perpetrator flee to. East… leading them to the city of Sandpoint…