Z3bul0n - Character Background and Discussion

Hurin didn’t always live in the roots. Growing up, he spent time in many areas of Humblewood. His father worked odd jobs that often took their family to many different places. No matter where they called home, however, his mother took to the community instantly. Her skills ranged from baker to healer, to midwife. Whatever need there was, she devoted herself to the service of others.
Hurin grew up exposed to all walks of life and even worked small jobs for the Courier’s Guild when he came of age. All the while his father built connections and gained favor among his numerous employers, both humblefolk and birdfolk. It wasn’t surprising when a rather lucrative job opportunity took their family to Alderheart. It was there his father became involved in the Trade Guild and, through contacts in Brackenmill, he was able to move a variety of goods from along the connecting road. At first this consisted of smaller agricultural products but eventually he found himself hauling luxury goods destined for the canopy of Alderheart. With a promise of more money, however, came the ever present threat of bandits.
It was during a clear night, lit by the light of a full moon, that those threats became reality. They traveled that night on the road from Brackenmill, carrying a load of silk skeins. The night air was alive with the rustling of the forest. Branches cracked, the wind whistled, and a distant howl rang out. The sounds comforted Hurin and reminded him of the connections they all shared with the land. He couldn’t help but think of his mother’s devotion to the Great Rhythm, always finding balance. Wherever they took root she would always set up a small altar to honor Henwin, she too believed in the kindness of others. It was then that silence fell over their path. The seconds slowed as Hurin first heard it, the whispers. From the nearby forest, a voice whispered his name, it seemed so close. The fear in his chest couldn’t overcome the curiosity, he had to find the source of the whispers. He was stepping into the brush when a whoosh rang out in the night. He looked to his father, the fletching of an arrow sprouted from his chest. The next sound was his mother’s scream stopped short by another arrow. Hurin’s world spun as he stumbled headfirst into the bush. He fell back flat against the ground. As he opened his eyes, he saw it, a constellation of burning stars. The whispers intensified, prompting him to move. He never looked back, he knew the pain that lay on the road behind him.