HYBRID

Part man, part serpent, wholly sadistic. You would struggle to find a more sinister, eccentric creature anywhere in the realm. But the Keeper was not always this way. It is impossible not to feel a touch of sympathy once the tale is told.

OUTSIDER

On rare occasions during the Golden Age of Piracy (1650-1730), abnormal gales and ocean storms would inadvertently steer ships towards the shores of Karadas. While a small number were able to drop anchor just off the coast, most were doomed as soon as land came into view; their hulls turned to driftwood upon the rocks, every sailor lost to the waves.

At the turn of the eighteenth century, a ship carrying more than one hundred men—The Black Talon—was one such disaster. Only a single member of her crew survived; a young deckhand by the name of Bartholomew Van Hoort. For three days he clung to the shattered mast, drifting aimlessly around the rugged coastline of Narook Isle, desperately seeking a place to clamber to safety.

Van Hoort finally reached the mainland and clawed his way up a narrow sandbank within a secluded cove. All alone and baffled by his unfamiliar surroundings, Bartholomew found himself in a desperate state; weak and feverish. Using every ounce of energy remaining to him, he struggled further inland and entered the Eastern Marshes. Exertion eventually stopped him in his tracks.

CAPTIVE

Bartholomew awoke groggy and in considerable pain, dismayed to find himself in manacles and chained to a solid timber bench within a cramped, sandy cavern. A foul stench hung in the air. Glass jars filled with preserved frogs and birds and insects lined the shelves all around. Dismay and confusion turned swiftly to horror as his eyes settled upon a selection of gruesome, bloodstained implements on rusting pegs, and even more so at finding only stumps wrapped in gauze where his two legs had always been.

TRANSFORMATION

A remote castle on the shores of the Unfathomed Lake is where Bartholomew spent the next eighteen years as a prisoner, experimented on by an ancient, exiled mage. Despite his every plea and attempt to escape, the mage would not relent. Over time, dark magic and questionable science were used to fuse human and groblit flesh with that of a monstrous serpent.

The result was a truly wretched creature with the malnourished, upper body of a man, insipid yellow eyes, and gnarly, pointed ears. Where he once had legs, a broad tail thrashed and writhed. Nothing of Van Hoort’s old life remained; every memory wiped from his mind. Only the language he learned as a boy and his wits endured.

FORTUNE

It was quite by chance that a rare opportunity to flee presented itself. Bartholomew grasped the opportunity with both scrawny hands. A blunder by the sorcerer during one of his more odious experiments rendered him unconscious. The mage was unable to prevent his frightful masterpiece breaking free from his shackles and vanishing into the night.

EXILE

For well over a century, Bartholomew roamed the realm as a pariah, unwelcome wherever he went. Dark thoughts and a deep hatred of the world turned his mind to madness. A ruined temple in the depths of Giants’ Wood became a home for many years, until a troop of barbaric primates claimed the structure for themselves and forced him out.

Eventually, the abomination of man and serpent came across a hidden doorway high in the Moritano Mountains. The creature slithered inside and for the first time in an age, van Hoort felt truly safe. He read every book and scroll within the Last Sanctum to fathom the inner workings of the shrine. He obsessed over the Zeon Stone stored there, and even taught himself limited magical powers.

OVERSEER

After claiming the sanctum for himself, the young deckhand from half the world away proclaimed himself custodian of the Zeon Stone and began the construction of a complex labyrinth. Visits were uncommon, but any explorer unlucky enough to discover the Last Sanctum was coerced into playing the Keeper’s fiendish game, with the Zeon Stone as the prize on offer. None succeeded. All were eventually devoured and their skulls preserved as trophies. To remind himself never to trust a single living being, the Keeper refused to remove the manacle from his left wrist. While it remained in place, he would never allow himself to become a slave ever again.