Alure cannot remember her childhood very well. She had a home, up in the hills and out of sight. It was an old castle that from the outside appeared abandoned but was clean, well-kept, and warm deep within. She remembers having toys, playing with friends, and exploring the dusty corners of her home. She remembers finding none of that strange.
Later, she learned the truth: that her innocence was bought with blood and pain from all around her. As far as the world outside was concerned, Demonspawn like her were not born of loving parents. They did not have friends, toys, or childhoods. They did not grow up. To the people of Teleria, the Demonspawn were monsters. They crawled from pits in hellish Anathraad, servants of the dark Lord of Shadow Siroth. They were evil to their core. Their existence was bent purely on the destruction of all living things, and their bloodlust was unending. To the people of Teleria, the Demonspawn were an existential threat, and any sane Human, Elf, Orc, or Lizardman would draw steel and kill a Demonspawn without a moment’s hesitation.
Shielding Alure from the world outside took perpetual vigilance from her family. She had no concept of the sacrifices that her parents made – that all the Demonspawn around her made – to exist at all in Teleria. The secrecy. The lies. The danger entailed with every outing for food and supplies. They prepare, every day, to fight for their lives. All these burdens, were carried by the adults around her so that Alure could live a happy life.
It did not last forever. Someone hiding in the castle must have made a mistake, or perhaps finally her family ran out of luck. Either way, the Sacred Order fell upon them, Banner Lords forces by their side. Alure was the only survivor, and she would not have even been that if not for the actions of Bad-el-Kazar.
Alure never learned why he came to the castle. She knew however she had been moments from death, that it was Kazar’s hand that saved her, and it was that hand which led her to safety. She could not help but look past his terrifying visage, for she saw in him a protector. He promised to make her strong. After she witnessed the slaughter of her family, and how helpless her defenders had been, strength was the only thing she wanted.
And so Kazar gave Alure strength. While their relationship lacked the warmth that she grew up with, Alure did not resent the lack – indeed, as far as she was concerned, the warmth of her childhood had left her helpless when the danger had finally come. So she trained as hard as Kazar demanded, then even harder still. Kazar honed Alure into a blade. She mastered stealth, magic, and the art of the sword, and Kazar conducted dark rituals that unlocked the power of Alure’s Demonic blood and increase her power further.
By Alure’s early teens, she was among the most skilled assassins in all of Teleria. She longed to be let loose, to be sent on missions of mass destruction against the Banner Lords, but Kazar refused, bending her instead towards furthering his own inscrutable interests. She was frustrated, but she obeyed. She trusted Kazar, for his strength had saved her, protected her, and prepared her for the world in a way that nothing else had.
That trust would prove misplaced. For a blade, no matter how strong, is but a tool. And tools, once broken, may find themselves discarded.