Rheinhold Azurine

Rhienhold’s mother (Droween Azureine) was the only daughter of a successful family of Dragonborn.  A family of rare book and map dealers in Galek.  She is deceased.

His Grandparents (Otto and Martasa Azureine) are alive and remain in business as owners/proprietors of “Azureine’s Rare Pages”.  Rhienhold’s relationship with them is difficult due to the circumstances of his mother and father’s deaths. But they love each other.  Rhienhold’s position as an Associate Professor of Cartography at Galek Geophysical Institute and numerous well received cartographic publications has brought them pride.  His adventuring in the far South, and tabloid notoriety in conducting recovery operations from the Mists in the South is viewed mostly favorably by his grandparents, but enrage his Uncle.   His mother’s younger brother Yuri - Rhienhold’s Uncle - remains unreconciled with Rhienhold over the death of this sister.  Rhienhold carefully schedules his frequent visits with Otto and Martasa when Yuri will be out.   His mother, and family are Draconic’s of mixed Silver and Blue Heritage.

Rhienhold’s father was “Ezrin Shiplost”.  An Emerald Draconic. He came to Galek as a recent immigrant.  A complicated and mostly unwelcome Dragonborn.  Ezrin’s various troubles in his life prior to Galek are vague, he would simply say:  “I was a soldier in a troubled place and time.” He claimed he wished to seek a quiet life, but that was likely just a lie.  A quiet life certainly eluded him.  An extremely powerful and gifted psionic, Ezrin worked with various Gamblers and Fixers on games of chance, and unsavory blackmailers seeking dirt, he used his psionic skills to offer advantages to his employers.   After Droween’s Murder and his death - possibly by suicide, some local authorities came to believe Ezrin not just an opportunist and hussler, but may have been the noted war criminal and torturer Ezmeck the Breaker, famed and feared for his use of psionics to destroy wills and seduce young draconic women

Rhienhold was conceived from “A fine Romp. A tryst of wanton fun, and I have no regrets” as his mother would confided to friends.  Ezrin used his psionic skills, and a few drops from a potion of unbounded passions, to convert the poetry-devotee and bookish Droween into “An unbounded love beast, if only for a week.”

Rhienhold, like many Gem Dragons was born almost transparent, and even before he was born was able to enter his mother’s mind and communicate with her directly, clearly and lovingly.  

They were extremely close.  She recited Poetry to him, in his mind throughout his youth.  Which was, perhaps, an error on his part.   He grew up so deeply preferencing psionic bonds over all others.

So, among his eloquent, witty, bookish, always discursive and laughing Azureine family, Rhienhold was silent. Reserved.  Even taciturn.  An extremely gifted student, he preferred the written word to the spoken word, and maps and illustration over both- and he preferred direct psionic mental exchanges over speaking. He proved to be uniquely gifted in corrective cartography, taking the rough drawn maps of explorers, and redrawing them while looking into the minds, using his ability to riffle the images of their minds to record better and more accurately maps of where they had been and what they had seen and done.

He became sought after and respected for his ability to gently extract experiential, locations, events and relevant information from the insane, criminal witnesses and even survivors of madness induced by exposures to the Southern Mists.  

And the Mists fascinated him.   The Mists became first a fascination.  Then an obsession.  Today of course, they are his life.   He published his first thin volume examining the Mists based on his theory they are a poorly understood form of living creature, akin to a colony of molds, with rhizomes, fruiting bodies and he believed the ability to enter into congnitive minds and re-organize the ganglia and neurons - turning previously “normal” creatures into hosts conducting tasks for the living Southern Mists.

At just 11 years old (Draconic’s do mature quickly) he was invited to collaborate on research exploring his theories with several leading scholars and was eventually invited to take a teaching position and the Galek Geophysical Institute. Today, when in Galek he lectures on Cartography and contributes to research on the effects of exposures to the Southern Mists, though much of his time is spent at the Edges of the Mists in the far south.

It might have been a happy and adventurous life.  But for his father.  

Just as Rhienhold’s skills and world view were expanding, he became personally obsessed with finding his father.  His mother and family made it clear his father was “very much a Wandering Dragon” He had made no effort to contact his mother, nor him, ever, though Rhienhold was certain this was because his father, likely didn’t know Rhienhold even existed.  

While his mother slept, Rhienhold used his growing skills to riffle deeply through her dreams and memories.  Eventually finding his father’s name, seeing his features, demeanor - and to be fair - seeing more details about his parents brief affair than any twelve year old should see.  But, he was well versed in poetry. Including some of the more carnal in nature.

Over the next few months Rhienhold used his spare time to conduct an ever widening search for his father.  He eventually found a mobster and gambler who knew “Ezrin” (who now was going by the names “Enright” and “Exarcos”) very well.  The Mobster was also looking for Rhienhold’s father.   “Exarcos” owed The Boltward Syndicate a considerable amount of money.  

The details of the story at this point are unclear.  These points are known.

Rhienhold tracked down his father.  

His father refused to believe Rhienhold was his son.

Rhienhold tried to use his Psyonics to prove it was true.

His father viewed this an attack, and used his considerable skills to overpower Rhienhold and confirm he was working with The Boltward Syndicate to find him.

His father nearly killed his son.  He would have killed him, but the very same Boltward Syndicate had followed Rhienhard - and moved in to kill or capture Ezrin/Exarcos, but he escaped.

Rhienhold, gravely wounded, physically and psyonically was dumped by the Syndicate at a local infirmary.  He survived.   But his mental recovery, if in fact he has recovered, took weeks, and for many days his mother and family were in panic - unable to find him.  They did.  And worked to bring him back to health.   He was unable or unwilling to speak for months.  Communicating only psionically.

Over Rhienhold’s objections and warnings the Azureine Family worked with the authorities.  They wanted justice.  But justice didn’t find them.   Ezrin/Exarcos did.  

He came intending just to kill Rhienhold. Rhienhold knew his psyonic print too well, he had found Ezrin once, and would be able to find him again.  

But as the fates would have it, Ezrin arrived on a night the family was hosting a weekly poetry reading and salon.  For War Veterans.

The resulting Melee was horrific.  Two of the Veterans/Poets and the beloved by all Droween were killed.   Rhienhold was gravely wounded - again.   His grandfather suffered two broken legs, and a complete broken heart. It was months of recovery before he could walk.  And years before he could read poetry again.   He still breaks down in tears at her memory.

Ezrin/Exarcos was found dead, three days later in Booklover’s Square.   Having obviously fallen from a great height.  Some speculate friends of the dead veterans killed him.  Others believe he tried to use his spectral wings to flee his warrant for murder.  He was already wounded from the battle, and was never very good at using them.  

The death was ruled a suicide, which was the preferred choice by the Oligarch Authorities for such deaths, as their corporate interests can then minimize any benefit payments which might result from insurance or liability claims.  

Rhienhold, blamed himself.  

For all of it.  

For his mother’s death.  

For his father’s death.  

His poet friends’ deaths.  

His grandfather’s horrific injuries.

His failure was complete.

He dragged himself forward as best he could.   Never sleeping.  Never speaking.  Barely eating.  He developed the compensating horrific habit of chewing on his own fingers.  He began to chew them so often they began to rot.  His habit progressed from obsession to self-mutilation. His entire left hand became a mass of blood, scabs, puss and rot which he chewed and licked without ceasing.   He would wander the city at night, gnawing himself to death.  

His Uncle and Grandmother fought.  His Uncle demanding he be expelled from the family. He was a bastard.  He was cursed.  He was mentally dangerous.  He had killed his mother.  His Grandmother steadfast in his defense, though at this time, still wheelchair bound.  Rhienhold said nothing.  He could hear all their thoughts.  And he saw, deeply and truly, his Uncle was now Broken too.  And that was Rhienhold’s fault as well.

Rheinhold had resolved to kill himself.   He understood he was doing is slowly.  He decided to get it done.

He gathered his notes and journals from so many unfinished interviews with survivors of the South Mists.  He took them to the University, he planned to leave them, there, and throw himself from the Tower of Seeing.  

But on that day at the University he had visitors.  

Lyowyn Mossbringer, the extraordinary FeyWild’s Druid of Dreams.  Her partner Lucinda Grimfold - one of the greatest warriors of the age, and Cookie the Otter, accomplished thinker and adjuration master.  They were standing in his office doorway.  Staring at him.

Cookie had read his monograph first.  Made the others read it as well.  They had discussed it at length in his recently published work.   Cookie the Otter had convinced Lyowyn they just had to go meet this Psionic Dragonborn - who he believed was right.  And if he was right, Rhienhold might be able to help them.

The three famous and powerful citizens stared at the young, and very broken Dragonborn.  They stared at him as he chewed on his own fingers and lapped at his own blood and puss.

Lyowyn charmed him and made him tell her everything.  

Lucinda had heard about the horrible incidents. One of the dead warrior poets had once served with her.

Cookie placed a warding on Rheinhold’s own hands which made them taste so horrific to himself, that to this day he can not pick up a piece of toast without smearing it with distaste.   He developed the habit of eating everything with the tip of a tiny knife.

They took him back to their home.   Lucinda called on the family at Azurine’s Rare Pages and assured them Rhienhard was unharmed, but very unwell.   His Uncle was the only one there, and was, as he often is, unpleasant.  Telling them “My Nephew is Born of Rot, Has Brought Rot to our Home, and May he Chew himself apart and Rot FOREVER!”

Lyowyn cast spells to make Rhienhold sleep.  He had not slept in weeks.   He went under into a deep land of dreams and stayed there for a very long time.   Cookie served as his nursemaid, and became fascinated and very fatherly toward this strange young Dragonborn, who - had never had a father, and just like Cookie himself - had clearly suffered irreparable family trauma.   They were two children who had both witnessed the killing of their Mothers.  

In a sense Cookie and Rhienhold are brothers. From the sad and lonely brotherhood of creatures who witnessed their own orphaning.  

Cookie believed Lyowyn should take Rhienhold as a student.  But Lyowyn said no. She was certain no Dragonborn would ever be a worthy Druid in the Feywild Dream traditions.  It just wasn’t possible.   Lucinda ruled out making him into a warrior.    While many Dragonborn were in the ranks of the loyal orders, Rhienhard was very small and slight for a dragonborn, and obviously not well suited to mentally coping with Carnage.

But all three of the life-friends agreed there had to be a place for someone so young, and clearly gifted in strange ways.

And then something, Otter believes the Southern Mists themselves, intervened.   While entering his third day of sleeping, his gnawed left hand became scabbed over completely, but for a strange and rising black node.  The node rose for hours.   Otter watched it, certain it was important and confident his adjurations would protect the sleeping boy.  And then the Node became a Boil.  The Boil developed a whitehead.  The whitehead ruptured and from the rupture came Mist.  Tendrils of Mist.   Otter called his life friends to watch.  And they watched as the Mists writhed like snakes up the young Draconic’s arms, around his neck and then slid, every so slowly and gently into his sleeping mouth and nose.   Each inhale he drew in more.  Until like ants marching from a hill to a feeding source the black boil eased and shrank and withdrew.  

It happened in less than a minute.  From Rupture to Inhalation to Easing.  The three of them watched entranced.  

And then Rhienhold awoke, his eyes were no longer a clear white but a fawn brown.  The color of an earthy color of fungus.  And as they watched his scales and frills darkened from their nearly clear and pale whitish color to a earthy fawn.  And to no ones surprise the scabs on his left hand fell away.  And clean brown draconic scales, laces with fascinating patterns which looked like spore prints of frilled and gilled mushrooms, or swirling grey patterns of Mist.  These patterns at first covered each plate of his chewed hand from which the Boil of Mists emerged.

Over the next few months this unique partnering spread to cover his entire body.  His plates and scales are like no other Dragonborn.  Though he remains an Emerald Dragonborn in his heart and mind, on his surface his appears like a Maori, with intricate tiny prints in dark browns and blacks overlayed on a background of fawn.   His head frills end in clear tips which often emanate slight clouds of mist.  The mist often plays about his head.  

And he was obsessed with being with the mists.  Of mapping the mists.  Of serving to help the mists be understood, and welcomed, and free.  

“They are here to preserve us.  Preserve the true cycle of us.  Preserve the balance for us.  Bring us Treasures.  Take away the surplus when we have excess.   Provide us with surprise when we are wanting.”

And over the next three months the three friends helped prepare him as best they could.   Lucinda gave him basic martial training. Lyowyn as best she could shared with him traditions of DruidCraft, though it was clear he love Feywild Life and his obsession with Spores, Rot and Cycles were vastly different.  And Cookie the Otter and Rhiehold became, quite simply, brothers.  

Helping each other understand themselves, more than providing anything more practical and compelling.

Rhienhold resumed his work with the University.  Resume his work interviewing an psyonically entering those who had survived encounters with the Mists.   And after a year, with little fanfare and almost no support he told his University colleagues, his found friends, his brother Otter and his beloved Grandparents he would simply have to leave them now, and travel as far south as can be traveled.  

He was certain the Southern Mists were not, in themselves evil.  No more than a fungus that consumes a fallen tree is evil.  No more than the bacteria that infects a wound is evil.  The Southern Mists are a living creature with needs, and perhaps wants and ideas.  

Nearly 6 years have passed.   Rhienhold is, without anyone being able to argue the most accomplished cartographer and studier of the edges of the Southern Mists.  He maintains frequent and robust correspondence with Cookie the Otter, and they consider each other true brothers, though they have not seen each other in many years.  

Living at the edge of the mists has made Rhienhold even more suspect of any spoken communication.  Though he has developed a strange affinity for Knolls, and their gross barking language. Knolls, somehow have developed a symbiotic relationship with Mists.  And so, for that matter has Rhienhold.   He can enter them for days at a time, understands them and brings them feedings and offerings.  They likewise will allow him to recover the lost belongings and artifacts of those they Mists have welcomed home to their cycles.

To the villages in the south Rhienhold has become a strange and legendary figure.   A true folk hero.  When loved ones are lost to the Mists, mentally or physically, Rhienhold is called to do what he can to re-unite them.  Or recover what is left.   And he does so.  

Rhienhold continues to publish detailed monographs, maps and his “findings” about the Mists.  But they have become increasingly confusing works.  Some even describe them as “insane ramblings of lunatic with a Mist Rotted Mind.”   Rhienhold points out that it is very very difficult to translate the psyonic connected exchanges between a Draconic of Mixed Heritage and a Continent Spanning Airborne Super Fungus.  

“I don’t really have any words to capture the thought process of the Mists.  But the Mists do think.  In a sense.  Or perhaps it’s better to just say that they experience what is happening, both in the past and present, both here and in other places and planes, at all times, all at once. I do my best to stay at peace an in the good graces of HIM.   HE needs me for somethings, but I can not really understand what.  Yet.  But he may also just be waiting for the right moment to absorb me.   Which if fine too.   It has been a free ride.  I paid nothing to get on the ride.  I will be charged nothing to leave.   And I am enjoying our blasto-vations/conversations in the between time-spaces, It-We are fine/not fine with the confusion others have with out relationships.   It/they/we are  complicated.”

While his writings have become increasingly difficult for anyone to understand, his cartographic work and maps of the Misted South are much in demand and without equal.

Cookie the Otter of course insisted he become a member of the Company.