[Medium Sized Model - 25mm Base]
[Presupported with LYS files in 32mm & 75mm Scale]
[Glasses & No Glasses Variants Included]
Banished from his Dwarven homeland for the foul practice of Blood Magic, Korgrin found refuge in a land where all magic is deemed foul instead: Baldur. Though here, practitioners of the arcane arts almost all operated under a veil, providing their services through black market dealings. Here he found a new place of belonging, though he must now fight for it as the Inquisition threatens to completely destroy it.
Korgrin’s early life was spent on the bottom rung of Dwarven society, living in the lowly slums of Delvdor, one of eight children to a butcher and a street sweeper. They did not see the lavish gold or gems that their home was so renowned for, seldom did reason warrant them to even leave their ghetto. In his home, he was ignored, he was one of many. In the streets, he was invisible, he was one from the slums. Even beyond Delvdor when he sought fortune elsewhere, he was seen as a nobody. Korgrin could not stand to be a nobody. Whatever means he could find, he would use them to propel himself to towering heights.
Such a chance arrived in the form of cloven hooves and horns, a Satyr encountered by Korgrin on the road through the treacherous Drow infested swamps of Lo Fuin. The creature could sense in the Dwarf his lust for power, and offered him a pact: give up a drop of his own blood and in turn gain the power he seeks, for blood will beget blood and never will those who cast him down forget him again. So without a second thought, Korgrin drew a blade across his palm and poured a quart of blood into a silver vessel laid out by the fey creature. His mind faded soon after, bloodloss leaving him nauseous as he stammered, staggered and collapsed by the roadside of the swamp. Hours later he awoke in the dead of night, the silver chalice in his hand and a pounding headache as though it were his eighth cup of red wine for that eve. From the bushes he heard the rustling of a predator, though did not know if it were a Drow or a creature of the swamps. Not waiting to find out, he broke into a sprint, spilling his blood over himself as he quickly rose to his feet.
It took but a moment for his pursuer to pounce, pinning him to the ground. The gleaming ruby eyes of a Drow was fixed to him, only inches away from his own. A surge of panic washed over Korgrin, and his reflex shot his arms outwards, trying to push his attacker off. The Drow suddenly collapsed, his full weight burying Korgrin beneath him. The Dwarf managed to crawl out, able to just make out in the dim light that his attacker’s back had suddenly exploded, blood seeped out of it, blood that Korgrin for some reason felt compelled toward. Gathering as much as he could in a spare water flask, he turned from his path to Lo Fuin and returned to Dornat Al Karit, where he was approached on the road again by the same Satyr. It introduced itself to him as simply “Mark,” telling Korgrin he had been both blessed and cursed with the power of hemomancy, a very rare and powerful magic in Tharador, yet deeply hated for its taboo nature. Though it would grant him his wish to be powerful, if he were to use it to be recognised, he would be ostracised instead. To Mark, it was a game, and he simply wished to see how Korgrin would play it.
The young Dwarf played right into the script Mark would have written himself, having proudly announced his newfound powers to just about everyone from his past life, much to their horror or indifference. Ultimately, he was exiled under threat of death should he return, his kin claiming his magic would bring naught but evil and death to those Korgrin surrounded himself with. They weren’t wrong. He left to Baldur, knowing that there the magic circles all existed in underground means, for practitioners of any arcane arts were pariahs, exiles and hunted like himself. So he fell in with one such crowd, learning to further his arcane arts through blood magic, though there were few to teach him the particular intricacies of his very rare form of magic, hampering his progress.
Now he finally may have a chance after meeting one like him at the Pretty Things & Pearls bordello in Grimhelm: the madame herself, Octavia. Korgrin could sense it from the moment he met her, and for months begged her to teach him. At first she pretended to be ignorant to what he spoke of, but later began threatening him each time he would bring it up, though it did little to deter him. Now as the fires of rebellion begin to spark across Baldur, Korgrin has tried once again, seeing Octavia act as the leader of the rebel cell in Grimhelm. She has agreed, finally, to be his mentor, on the condition that he keep his tongue behind his teeth in all matters of her power’s nature, and that he aid her in bringing about the downfall of the Crown.
