Dobson, his Fate & Legacy

The following story was related to me by Dobson the Younger, the son of the famed thief Dobson the elder, and a member of Justice. I will relate it in his own words as best I can, only taking such liberties as are necessary to render a conversation into a written text.

Let me tell you first of my birth. Though my parents loved each other, my father got bored and cast her aside. To this day my mother speaks his name with love and tenderness. It was a hard birth for my mother, who shall not be named for if her father ever found out, she would be cast out of elven society. My mother feared that if any knew of my existence, I would be killed and so she sent me to The Shire to be raised by others. She would visit often, bringing gifts and singing my to sleep with lullabies, though I had no idea who she was. Around my tenth birthday, I noticed that the crest on her wagon and clothing matched a medallion I wore around my neck. I hopped into her wagon and rode with her all the way back to her dwelling, where I made her tell me the truth. I returned to what I had always thought of as home and confronted my adoptive mother with what I had learned. She had known my father, for he had killed her husband, but out of love for my mother, and later me, she had taken me in. It was my adoptive mother who decided to name me after my father. Though she hated him, she had a love for me that showed even through grief and hardships.

Now, I had been born with quick hands and a burning curiosity, and Quisha, which was my adoptive mother's name, saw my father's blood coming out in me, so she took me to church. I was able to progress rapidly through the ranks of the acolytes, and soon I was getting special instruction from the priests. Though they knew of my father, and the shame he brought halflings everywhere, they saw the spark in me to become a great priest.

On the day I took my final vows and joined the priesthood, my mother came to me and we talked of my father for a long time. I learned of his misdoing and the hatred he spread throughout the lands. I also learned what had happened to him. One day, he was amusing himself by killing guards in Val Miran, when a passing noble of Miruvhor comman- ded him to stop. Being an outlaw, my father refused, and when the noble returned home once more he exiled Dobson from Miruvhor for his disrespect. Seeing this as a challenge, Dobson went straight to Miru- vhor. The noble had foreseen this, of course, and led a hunt to capture Dobson. The thief managed to elude his would-be captors, but in his bravado he decided to attack the noble, who dealt him a blow that rendered him unconscious. He awoke in the torture chambers, deep beneath the palace, surrounded by darkness. Daily, he is tortured, his hands being removed as a punishment for his thievery, only to have them reattached and his wounds healed each night so he can be tortured again the next day. He remains there to this day, in constant pain until his nightly healing, waiting for death to finally claim him.