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The Conviction of Retzlaff Voltoeux

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Myth:
Aelinthaldaar, Illefarn  – 1845
The Elven capital was rocked by news that quickly swept the streets. Murder, intrigue, secret conspiracies, and scandalous behavior. Lord Voltoeux was no more, his murderers were his children. The more the guards pulled at the threads the more the secrets of the house unraveled, and the many repugnant practices that had seen the house rise to authority and influence over the centuries. Thievery the least among their crimes, which included blackmail, murder, smuggling, slavery, and more besides among them. It would seem if there was a crime to commit, a law to break, then over its rise house Voltoeux had done so.

For murder most foul, the murderers would have been put to death, save for the mitigating circumstances that the late Lady Voltoeux in addition to being a criminal, had abused her children severely for years.

Forgiveness was not possible, but mercy was. Instead of being put to death they were exiled, the entire house as a whole.

Excerpt the Records of the Court of Aelinthaldar - 1845, 12th Kythorn. Trial of Saeruth 'Retzlaff' Voltoeux.

Minister Aelwyn: Saeruth Voltoeux, most of your kin have already been sentenced, and you are one of the last. Do you have anything to say in your defense?

Saeruth Voltoeux: *begins to chuckle but quickly turns into a maniacal laughter*

Minister Aelwyn: *slams his gavel down* Quiet!

Saeruth Voltoeux: … For the record, it wasn’t the fact she tortured me so I would know how best to do so in turn. It was when she began to look towards Agarwaeneth, I knew then mother had to die.

*Gasps quickly echo through the court chamber with whispering and murmuring beginning to rise *
Minister Aelwyn: *quickly slams his gavel down* Silence in the court! *slams his gavel down several more times* So you admit to matricide?

Saeruth Voltoeux: Matricide?... No, not mothers, we slew monsters. *his laughing returns, followed by a sickening grin.*

Minister Aelwyn: *slamming his gavel down one last time* Saeruth Voltoeux, you have shown yourself to be just as if not more remorseless as your brother for the heinous murder of your parents. You are ruthless, unlawful and vile, and you will share the same fate as the rest of your kin! You are hereby exiled on pain of death.

Hadrian, Lower Netheril – 1852
Constantly on the move for the past seven years, Retzlaff stood by his brothers side no matter where they ended up. Although once or twice they had to flee because of rumor or suspicious disappearances.

Noticing the look in Alatar's eyes, this place was different. Maybe his god lets him see what fate holds.

*Nods to Alatar* “I will try to be on best behavior for now... Do what you do best, I will guard your back.”

Myth:
Hadrian, Low Netheril – 1852

After spending a couple of weeks in Hadrian, Retzlaff was surprised and started to enjoy the new place Alatar found for them. Starting to meet people and not just keep to himself or have his mouth run wild causing trouble.. trouble which Alatar would have to pull him out of. Retz begun to take up a craft and even open a shop living the life of a simple merchant. His brother even bought a house and opened up a shop of his own.

While on a fishing trip, Retzlaff was informed about an opportunity where he could attempt to finish the training his mother started him on. He prepared for it, making sure he had everything he might need including a back up plan in case things took a turn for the worst; Always know your way out was one of the rules beaten into him by his mother.
With Alatars aid they set out for Southbank. Retz was told to send a clear message and take care of some nobleman who was causing trouble. On the way to the nobles estate they had to bypass a tribe of bugbears, goblins, and pixies standing guard. What were all these creatures doing protecting the estate, especially the fey.. It only caused more questions than answers.
Once at the Estate, Retzlaff and Alatar climbed some vines in the back through a window to the upper level of the estate, and finally once inside they began their family tradition leaving no witnesses or any who could be found anyways...
The estate was well guarded, guard dogs, mercenaries, house guards, a powerful cleric or two and even a house mage. Shown no mercy all were cut down, including the servants. After searching the estate up and down, there was no sign of the target. Retz suspected he took the cowards way out and hid in a drainage system found in the basement. With no witnesses left to kill inside, that only meant the guards at the front gate. As they were about to leave, Alatar begun to set the estate on fire, books, tapestries, and the like all went up in flames. Whatever that wasn't burnt was left covered in a bloody mess. The target escaped but the message was sent.

During the mission something inside of Retzlaff was triggered, his past begun to bubble back to the surface of his mind. The torture his parents put him through, the victims his father forced him to kill, the hatred he was trained to use begun to take over. Once again leaving an icy coldness in eyes, the eyes of a killer.
His training remains incomplete for now... but his soul began to revert back to the days of when his parents were still alive.

Myth:
Hadrian, Low Netheril – 1852

After receiving a letter from his brother, Alatar, stating he was moving on from Hadrian to see what other plans the gods had in store for him, but leaving no word as to the direction he was heading for Retz to follow. This left him empty, distant and without purpose.
Thanks to Lady Zahirra supplying him with rare materials to work with, Retzlaff found somewhat of an escape in crafting weapons for her; an escape from the turmoil that’s brewing inside of him. With every swing of the hammer, every beat of the anvil, Retz begun to work lose himself to his work.
Questions keep circling through his mind as he works. What direction did his brother go? What purpose does he have with no family to protect? What should he do? How long before someone else abandons him? Is he cursed for what he did to his parents? How long before he is tossed aside like a poorly crafted tool?
After several long days of smelting metal, and the beating of an anvil, Retzlaff could only conclude that he must wait for something. What he must wait for he doesn’t know yet, maybe a sign from the gods, a letter from his brother stating where he went, wait for the next job the fishmen guild has for him, or the next crafting proposition from Lady Zahirra, or maybe just maybe he is waiting for death to catch up to him to collect what’s owed…

Myth:
Hadrian, Low Netheril

As days pass by, Retzlaff, finds himself more and more distracted. Even though he’s spending most of his days in the crafting hall working on his trade skills and experimenting with new projects. It’s not his craft that holds his thoughts though;
With a taste of a blessing and a hint of wine he finds himself looking forward to the future. Even if what he found maybe fleeting in measure of a growing mountain, he finds that this slow dance is the most precious thing he has ever found. More precious than all the jewels and treasure in this plane and the next. Sometimes sun shines when you least expect it.
While looking forward to the future, he is also planning for the worst. His father trained him to “Always know your way out, and have an escape plan”.. It was rule number 3. An idea beginning to bloom from poetic words, sailing off into the sunset on his own ship with the wind at his back and the light of his world beside him. All but a dream for now but a goal to work towards when duties are finished and two souls are free from the grips of scheming guilds.
A quest to capture monsters only to find a slow dance on a mountain top; humming a tune from his homeland, crisp air on his skin, soft grass beneath his feet, the sound of gentle water just a short distance away, the warmth of his light holding his hand.  Truly a dream for dreams, a moment to relive and never forget.
With his guild all but silent and inactive for the time being, Retzlaff has been gathering his shop supplies to be ready for the Valstiir Festival. Looking to earn some coin with some merchandise at such an event it’s not the only thing he is looking forward to.

Myth:
Hadrian, Low Netheril

Working tirelessly to master his smithing skill, Retzlaff spends most of his time in the crafting hall with the heat of the forge at his back, sweat beading off his brow, blisters on his hands and blood dribbling down the handle of his hammer.
To those who might know him or see him in passing it would simply look like he is working hard, at a closer glance they would see blood stained bandages wrapped around his hands.
To himself, with every swing of his hammer and the mind numbing pain in his hands; crafting is more of an escape. An escape from worries that plague the back of his mind, from thoughts of his past constantly haunting him, an escape from his nightmares when he closes his eyes at night.

While on a hunting trip with Caleb of House Reschotti to the Isle of Sauros and reducing the population of the lizard folk, an anger inside Retzlaff begins resonate, something from his past and training with his father. The lizard folk mind their own business and seemingly live a life of ignorance to the rest of the world, but this doesn't stop Retz.
A couple weeks later he went back to the Isle of Sauros by himself where he began to slaughter them with no hesitation and not just the males, but the females and the children as well. Overwhelmed with this feeling of anger and his training taking over, he only snaps back after there was nothing left to kill and piles of bodies lay at his feet. Looking down with coldness in his eyes at the dead faces of his victims, and not saying a word he reaches down to grab a ragged piece of clothing off one of the fallen to clean off his blade before leaving.

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