Thexan

Thexan and his half-brother Arcaan were the children of Prince Eli Voronov, the ruling nobility of their city-state. Eli’s wife had an affair with one of the estate's half-orc slaves, resulting in Arcaan’s birth. Eli immediately had the child taken away by the house staff. According to Eli and the household, Arcaan’s mother died during childbirth, a story Thexan has always questioned. Arcaan was allowed to live but spent his early years confined to the estate, never permitted to step beyond its walls.   Despite their differences, Thexan and Arcaan shared a close bond, united by a shared love of knowledge and a desire for greatness. Thexan became an accomplished inventor and artificer, infusing items with magical power. Arcaan, though trained in arcane arts, focused on blending magic with martial skill.   Looking to secure dominance over the surrounding River Kingdoms, Prince Eli sent Thexan to study with Lord Kaitos Blackmoor , an innovator in Runetech. Under Blackmoor’s mentorship, Thexan made significant advancements, merging arcane and technological principles. When Blackmoor departed, Thexan returned home, drawing on his father’s extensive library for inspiration.   Eli, ever manipulative, rewarded Thexan’s progress with pages torn from the Tome of the Black Heart, a forbidden infernal text. These pages included plans for the spellhammer gauntlets, written in Infernal. Fueled by ambition and curiosity, Thexan forged the gauntlets. Arcaan, eager to test them, donned the cursed gauntlets, which enhanced his power but bound themselves to him, defying any attempts at removal.   Desperate to free his brother, Thexan sought help from drow agents. When they claimed Arcaan’s presence was necessary to break the curse, Thexan orchestrated his brother’s capture, rationalizing the betrayal as a necessary sacrifice. Arcaan’s absence weighed heavily on Thexan, deepening his guilt and further straining their relationship.   Meanwhile, Eli’s behavior grew increasingly erratic. His obsession with power led to the construction of a massive obelisk and the assertion that he would ascend to godhood. Eli’s confidence, bolstered by the demonic hands he now bore, terrified Thexan. Thexan retreated into his research, using it as an escape from his father’s growing madness.

Thexan’s education included elite tutors, many from the Arcanamirium in Absalom. His exposure to Kaitos Blackmoor’s Runetech philosophy shaped his innovative approach, blending arcane theory with practical engineering.

Thexan lives in constant fear of his father, convinced Eli killed his mother and used his position to crush dissent. Eli’s demonic influence and the power granted by the Tome of the Black Heart have left Thexan deeply paranoid. His guilt over Arcaan’s fate compounds his trauma, driving his obsessive research. As Eli’s immortality and insanity deepen, Thexan retreats further into his work, isolating himself from a world he feels powerless to change.

Journal of Thexan Voronov Date Unknown   I received the news today. Arcaan is dead.   Even as I write those words, I feel nothing. No sorrow. No grief. Only an emptiness that I’ve carried for so long, it has become a part of me. Perhaps I’ve always known this moment would come. Arcaan was never one to tread lightly, and the path he walked could only lead to ruin. Yet knowing doesn’t soften the blow. It doesn’t make this any easier to accept.   The letter was brief, delivered by one of Elias Tammerhawk’s agents. A clash, they said. A lich. My brother reduced to ash, his prized gauntlet stolen. The details are vague, but they paint a grim picture. Arcaan, proud and defiant to the last, standing against an enemy he couldn’t hope to defeat. I can see it so clearly—the smirk on his face, the fire in his eyes, even as death closed in. He always did have a flair for the dramatic.   And yet, I can’t help but feel responsible. It was my hands that set this chain of events in motion. My hands that forged the cursed gauntlets, that bound him to a power he could never fully control. My hands that betrayed him when I sought Serdrissa’s help. Everything he became, every step he took down this dark road, began with me.   He warned me once to stay away, to leave him to his new life. I should have listened. Instead, I clung to the hope that I could fix what I had broken, that I could make amends. But there is no amending the dead. No words will reach him now, no inventions undo the finality of ash.   And Father... What do I tell him? That his bastard son met the fate we all expected? That Arcaan’s defiance finally cost him everything? Or do I spare him the details, let him believe the lie of indifference he wears so well? It hardly matters. He’ll use Arcaan’s death as another weapon, another tool to manipulate me, to mold me further into the son he always wanted. The son I’ll never be.   Arcaan, if you could hear me now, what would I say? That I’m sorry? That I tried? Would you laugh, dismiss my words as hollow as the promises I’ve broken? Or would you see the truth behind them—that despite everything, I never stopped caring? That every step I’ve taken, every deal I’ve made, was for you as much as for me?   The gauntlet is gone now, claimed by the lich who killed you. And though the thought terrifies me, I can’t let it end here. That gauntlet was ours, forged by my hands and your spirit. It was more than a weapon; it was a testament to what we could achieve together. I won’t let it become a tool for destruction, a symbol of our failure. I owe you that much. At the very least, I owe myself.   I’ll find the lich. I’ll reclaim what’s ours. Not for Father, not for Tynathria, but for you. And maybe, in doing so, I’ll find some small piece of the brother I lost. Or perhaps, I’ll lose myself entirely in the process.   Time will tell.