Scintner
Scintner the exiled dao, is a figure of intrigue and tragedy, a being whose very essence is a story of fall from grace and the relentless pursuit of redemption. His eyes, deeper than the darkest tunnels in the Howling Caves, and his body, ever-shifting like a morning fog over the River Styx, make him a sight to behold, though most would rather not, given the choice. The tragedy comes from the cavernous void of his current state—cut off from his kin, his power waning like the mist that forms his lower half.
His abode, a modest villa in the scope of genie architecture but a mansion by any other measure, is hewn into an earth pocket vast enough to house a small army. Yet, it is the dwelling of one, attended only by tasked genie servants and slaves spirited away from the Prime. It’s a sanctuary and a prison, a place where Scintner’s grandeur is muted by the ever-present reminder of his fall.
Most cutters give Scintner a wide berth, wary of his machinations and the whiff of disgrace that clings to him. Yet, his isolation is punctuated by the occasional visitor, drawn by the promise of forbidden knowledge and secrets that could tilt the scales of power among the dao. For in his exile, Scintner has become a repository of the very intrigues that led to his downfall.
Scintner’s is a tale of ambition curdled into revenge, a coup d’état thwarted and turned into a spectacle of political maneuvering, with Scintner branded as the scapegoat. In the Great Dismal Delve, the dao’s grand society of miners and merchants, his name was once spoken with respect. Now, it is uttered with caution, a byword for the perils of ambition.
Yet, in his heart, Scintner remains a dao through and through. His exile has not dampened his belief in the supremacy of his society, nor has it quelled his admiration for its cunning and capability. It has only deepened his desire to return to its ranks, to regain the power and status he once held.
To this end, he plays a dangerous game. He doles out advice laced with falsehoods, sending those who seek his counsel on doomed quests. Each failure for the enemies of the dao, he hopes perversely, will be a stepping stone back to favour amongst his kin. Four parties have already been sacrificed on the altar of his ambitions, and yet, it has not been enough. Scintner waits, his misty form coalescing with each new plot, each new deception a testament to the enduring will of the dao, even in disgrace.
Source: Jon Winter-Holt and Rip van Wormer
