I was raised by an elderly warrior, an adventure who still hadn't taken the hint and retired or died, and was nearing ninty. My parentswere killed when I was 8, the first time I was allowed to adventure with them we were ambushed and they were killed. I was left for dead, and somehow survived. I was left greviously wounded but managed to survive with the help of a wandering shaman. As soon as I was back to health I went my own way, seeking to hunt down those who had slain my parents, but to no avail. I soon joined with others and traveled widely, through the northern deserts into the far off mountains that were my original home, to the civilised south with the lake of stars and the cities around it, further south to the lords Tavern and the village of Fort Rock and yet further south to the lands of Areno. I traveled with many people, learning to be skilled with sword and axe, though I was by no means world class. I travelled for a while with a power-hungry mage, amongst others, who would be my undoing.

Much later on, after we had long since parted company, we met again in a dark mages cathedral. He had sided with the mage in exchange for powerfull magic wheras I had been hired to kill the mage by the local townsfolk. It wasn't en epic battle between good and evil, not even a heroic attempt to rid the world of vile magic, just two people being paid money to do opposite jobs. We fought in a huge amphitheater for nearly a full day, him casting all manner of extreamly nasty spells at me, though few of them actually hit, and me slicing at him with a large variety of weapons. When I finally landed the killing blow he cast one last spell, designed to kill the target by rapidly aging them to the point that they were nothing more than dust and bone. The spell was far to much for him to cast, especially in his weakened state. He still tried, putting the last of his life into the spell, killing himself in the process but putting every ounce of life he had into it, doubling over the spell into both a spell and a curse. It was supposed to kill me, and it very nearly did. For almost a week I hadn't even the strength to get up, barely managing to drink from my water bottle. Luckily I had disposed of the dark mage before fighting my former companion.

The townsfolk found me after fully ten days of lying there in agony, sustaining myself on just water. They gradually nursed me back to health, but I found that the curse was permemnant. From being a young, strong warrior I was suddenly a wizened old weakling, feeling over a hundred years old and not even able to lift my sword. I turned to magic soon after, hoping to find something that would mean I could go on. With care I managed to build up my strength enough that I could walk without aid and care for myself, but no matter how hard I looked I couldn't find anyone to train me in the ways of the arcane. Even those who would have happily taight an apprentice laughed away a wizened old man as being far to old to learn anything. For five grueling years I studied every book I could get my hands on, forcing myself to practice what little I had learnt for hours on end each day.

I managed to focus powr with the aid of a staff, taken from the very mage who had cursed me, but my magic differed from that of a mage or wizard. It was sorcery, not the flashy sourcery of old, but raw magic, pulled from the earth itself and anything around me, focussed and channeled through my staff. This meant no memorising of spells, but meant I coukld store very little power. My staff would hold a little, but it was more of a conductor than a vessel, so when the staff was empty the power was taken directly from me, from my life-force adn the life of those around me. This meant that any powerfull spells would drain me completely, usually leaving me unconcious for hours and at my enemies mercy.

I also learnt to controll the curse to a partial extent. Through sheer mental effort and willpower I am able to throw it off for a very short time, but the cost is always far greater than the reward. I can partially throw it off, but there is not much to be gained by going from one hundred and thory to ninty years old. I learnt some skills with a staff, honing them over the years to the point that I could tak on a thug without resorting to magic, but any skilled warrior would not be swayed by my efforts.