Dagourn

Origins and Early Life

  Dagourn was born in the village of Staffield to a human mother named Braya and a half-orc father named Sigurd. Sigurd had been an adventurer and had rescued Braya from hobgoblin slavers. The two travelled together for several months and grew close. The couple discovered Staffield as it was attacked by bandits who called themselves The Brawler Boys. Sigurd drove them off, and the couple decided to stay in the village and make it their home. Not long after, Dagourn was born.   Growing up, Dagourn put up with children making fun of his green skin and large stature. They called him ogre and troll and teased him mercilessly. His parents kept a wary eye on him. A family friend, a dwarven blacksmith named Kalaus, told Dagourn that he was being forged on Torag’s anvil. “Don’t let the bastards break you,” the dwarf told him.  

The Family Curse

  As Dagourn entered his teens, his mother fell mysteriously ill. She began wasting away, and no cleric could discern the cause. In desperation, Sigurd reached out to an old mage ally, who revealed the truth—Braya was afflicted by a blood curse. It traced back to the oni general Sasuken, who had forced himself upon Braya’s mother, passing his corruption down the bloodline.   Determined to break the curse, Sigurd, the cleric, and the mage set out to confront Sasuken. They never returned. Braya succumbed to the affliction soon after, leaving Dagourn utterly alone.  

Enslavement and the Genari Curse

  In 4715, a hobgoblin hunting party raided Staffield. Dagourn, Kalaus, and many villagers were captured and enslaved. For years, Dagourn toiled in the hobgoblins’ mines, extracting iron to be smelted into weapons.   During a particularly brutal beating at the hands of his captors, Dagourn and a hobgoblin officer named Ragg Firefist experienced a strange connection. Ragg, recognizing what it meant, revealed that Dagourn was a genari, one of the cursed offspring of Sasuken and his four hobgoblin generals. The five had once raided a tomb, only to unleash a powerful curse upon themselves. Their descendants either inherited great elemental power—or withered away and died.   Dagourn, who had yet to manifest any powers, believed his fate was sealed. He would waste away, just like his mother, unless Sasuken was destroyed. Ragg told him there was no way to break the curse except to kill the oni general himself.  

The Gauntlet of the Dark Queen

  Though Ragg spared Dagourn from the mines, his new role as a pack mule for hobgoblin scouting parties was hardly an improvement. Still, it allowed him the opportunity to search for information about his curse. His fortunes changed during a raid on an ancient temple deep in Cheliax.   Beneath the temple, Dagourn discovered a suit of ancient armor, crushed beneath rubble. The skeleton within was unrecognizable, but its spiked gauntlets gleamed as if newly forged. The hobgoblins, uneasy about touching the remains, ordered Dagourn to retrieve the gauntlets.   As Dagourn removed the right gauntlet, visions flashed through his mind—a shadowed dragon, ridden by a beautiful human woman with black hair and dark eyes. Before he could react, lightning coursed through his arm, searing his flesh. He screamed as an explosion of energy erupted from the gauntlet. The last thing he saw before darkness overtook him was the temple collapsing around him.   In the void, a woman's voice called to him. She was the Dark Queen. The gauntlet had once belonged to her paladin, and Dagourn had stolen it. If he wished to keep it, he would have to prove himself worthy.   Dagourn awoke days later, surrounded by the ruins of the temple. The hobgoblins were gone. The gauntlet had fused to his mangled arm, and the pain was unbearable. His curse had taken another turn.  

Service to the Dark Queen

  Dagourn sought out sages, clerics, and bards, desperate for any information about the Dark Queen, but no one had even heard of her. His body ached constantly, and his wounded hand throbbed without respite. But one thing became clear—the pain faded when he was surrounded by gold.   Driven by an unnatural compulsion, Dagourn hoarded what treasure he could. The voice returned, coaxing him to offer his gold in tribute. When he did, the pain came back tenfold. But with it came something else—a vision of the woman from his dreams.   The Dark Queen appeared before him in all her majesty, telling him of her lost kingdom and the riches it once held. She had been imprisoned by a pantheon that feared her power. Forgotten by history, she had been waiting for someone like him.   She offered knowledge in exchange for devotion. Dagourn, desperate for purpose and power, accepted without hesitation.  

A Life of Capture and Escape

  Dagourn sought riches wherever he could, taking work under crime boss Clegg Zincher in Riddleport. When work dried up, he boarded the Stout Siren for Magnimar, only for the ship to be attacked by pirates and later wrecked.   He washed ashore near Thistletop, where goblins took him captive. There, he encountered Nualia Tobyn, a half-celestial worshipper of Lamashtu, who saw Dagourn as a kindred spirit. She spared his life, sensing his potential.   Eventually, Dagourn was rescued by the Saviors of Sandpoint, though his trials were far from over. Shortly after his escape, he was taken by stone giants, then experimented on by Mokmurian, a powerful wizard who sought to corrupt captives with draconic essence. Dagourn was transformed into a draconian, but the Dark Queen shielded his mind from madness, saving him from becoming another mindless thrall.   After his second escape, Dagourn found himself back in Riddleport, only to be drugged and imprisoned by Clegg Zincher once more. Forced into gladiatorial combat, he prayed for divine intervention. His call was answered. The Dark Queen’s spirit descended upon the arena, blasting a hole through its walls and granting him an escape route.   Freed once again, he traveled to Magnimar with the Saviors of Sandpoint, only to be caught in a magical trap that transported him to Leng. There, he was captured and sold into slavery. While aboard a denizen slave ship, the k’thir Orrn took an interest in Dagourn’s gauntlet. When Orrn placed a cracked glass orb in Dagourn’s hand, the gauntlet reacted violently, absorbing its power.   Before Orrn could claim him, Dagourn was rescued by former allies Kumiko and Quilith. Once safe, Kumiko healed him while Quilith used the spell Limited Wish to restore the gauntlet. Finally, Jayvielle, a grippli paladin of Desna, offered Dagourn a job aboard his ship, The Bloodsworn. Dagourn agreed, seeing it as an opportunity to spread the word of the Dark Queen beyond the shores of Varisia.  

Jealousy

  During one of his jobs for Clegg Zincher, Dagourn encountered a half-orc named Arcaan. The two quickly recognized one another as servants of the Dark Queen—but what should have been camaraderie turned to rivalry.   Arcaan bore a gauntlet nearly identical to Dagourn’s, claiming to have forged it under the Dark Queen’s direct guidance. He had not suffered for it. He had not bled for it. Yet she spoke to Arcaan more than she spoke to Dagourn. Worse, Arcaan’s gauntlet was a superior version, stable and refined.   Bitterness festered in Dagourn’s heart. He had found the original gauntlet, yet she had given Arcaan the means to create a better one. Was he not her true champion?   The rivalry deepened, with each trying to outdo the other. Dagourn believed Arcaan’s gauntlet rightfully belonged to him and sought to claim it more than once. His one chance came when Arcaan was slain in battle against Mokmurian. Dagourn took the gauntlet, but Jayvielle made him swear to return it if Arcaan was resurrected.   Grudgingly, Dagourn honored his word when Arcaan was brought back to life. The question remained, however—was the Dark Queen testing him, or had she chosen someone else?  

The Herald and the High Priest

  Dagourn had always known this moment would come.   Alduin, self-proclaimed Guardian of Andoran and bearer of Tynathria’s gifts, had sought an audience with him at the grand sanctum of the Church of the First. The warpriest of Irori had walked a long road since his awakening, gathering the lost fragments of the Armor of Varathrax in his quest for perfection—or, as Dagourn suspected, power.   The confrontation took place in the Chamber of Reverence, a vast hall lit by golden braziers and adorned with draconic murals that stretched across the vaulted ceiling. The air hummed with divine energy, and at the heart of it all, Dagourn sat upon the Seat of Ascension, the gauntlet still fused to his arm. He watched as Alduin approached, his golden armor gleaming, his presence undeniable.   "This is no mere artifact," Alduin said, his voice ringing with conviction. "The gauntlet is her essence, a fragment of her divinity. It was never meant to be yours—it belongs to her chosen."   Dagourn’s gaze darkened. He had heard many speak of being chosen, yet the Dark Queen had never spoken such words to him. She had tested him. She had pushed him to the brink of suffering and beyond. He had been beaten, enslaved, tortured, humiliated—yet he had survived.   He flexed the fingers of his cursed hand. "And you believe that chosen one is you?"   Alduin stepped forward, his expression unwavering. "You know it to be true. The armor calls to itself. I have the breastplate, the helm, and the boots. The gauntlet is the final piece, and it was always meant to be united with the rest."   Dagourn studied him. Alduin's words carried undeniable truth—the armor had been crafted for a singular purpose. But power was more than just inheritance. It was earned. The Dark Queen did not simply grant her blessings; she demanded sacrifice.   "If you seek to claim what is mine," Dagourn said, his voice steady, "then prove your devotion. A sacrifice must be made—not for yourself, but for her."   Alduin’s jaw tightened. "What sacrifice do you ask?"   Dagourn leaned forward, his draconic features cast in the flickering light. "One that is worthy. One that will resonate with her power. If you wish to claim the gauntlet, you must offer something greater than yourself."   The silence stretched between them. Dagourn could see it in Alduin’s eyes—the flicker of rage behind the calm facade, the refusal to kneel before anyone, even her high priest.   And then, Alduin stepped back.   Dagourn felt a small, knowing smile creep onto his lips. He is not ready.   Alduin gave him one last look, filled with unspoken promises. "You will see," he said. "The gauntlet will be mine."   Without another word, he turned and strode from the chamber, the heavy doors closing behind him.   Dagourn exhaled slowly. He had not denied Alduin out of greed or self-preservation. He had done so because Alduin had yet to understand. Power demanded loyalty, not just ambition.   The warpriest would return. That much was certain. But the next time, Alduin would not ask. He would take.   And Dagourn would be ready.