The name of our next adventurer was uttered the minute his whining arse got pushed out of the womb of his mother in some grimy alley in the slums of Goran's Gulf.
"Ah, another fucking Skank." The woman said as she picked the crying wrinkly child up from the gutter while frowning. "Certainly didn't get them looks from me."
Thusly begins the adventure of our lad named "Skank" though he himself rather would his peers refer to him as Alessandrius Elantra II of Goran's gulf. Thus far scholars have found no records of an Allessandrius Elantra senior. Allessandrius was raised by a noble consort that has felt the plight of the poor and has lent her services to the lower city of Goran's gulf.
In other words, her mother, some farmer's daughter, had the wonderful idea to be charmed by the promises and sweet nothings of some nitwit who thought he could make it big in the city. She left her hometown to "follow his dreams". Well, dreams cannot get food on a plate or common sense in one's mind. So this nitwit procured some debt, some gang boss was not amused by this "tiny" mishap and soon she found his eye and his right arm hanging above their crummy room. With no one else to turn to, she chose the world's oldest profession.
In other words, his momma is a prostitute.
Although our Allessandrius had the face even his mother would spit at, he luckily had inherited her sharp tongue and a keen wit that he unlike his mother didnt have to spend years filled with ,isery and stupidity to fully sharpen.
He taught himself how to read and write, how to carry himself as a person with high social standing and above all, how to steal a school uniform and forge application papers to the school of medicine. Peers described him as a charismatic young man, bit ugly as sin with a pig shaped nose and a nasty festering rash on his cheeks.
Here's the account of his fellow classmates.
"His medicine is as nausea inducing as his smell, but it's somehow cheaper than what we usually make."
"He gave me a salve. Somehow the better my skin looked, the worse his got."
"Allessandrius? Yeah, I pay him to do my homework. He's the one with the neatest handwriting and his answers are way ,ore elaborate than it should be. He says that he doesn't need the money and that his allowance from his dad will soon come in a day or two. It has been a year."
After he had graduated with honors, he quickly found employment as the personal physician for the house of Dewine. Within one year of his service, he managed to save the head of the family's brother from becoming infertile. Many don't dare to speak much of this particular incident, but from the hushed whispers of the house's servants the words that were most often uttered were "testicles" "twisting" and "our lord be screaming like a dying donkey." The following year, the head of the family's first niece was born.
However, this golden age of contentment didn't last long as Port Dewine got sacked and the ruling family, the house of Dewine had to go on with their head severed from their bodies. Our physician bravely cowered in the corner as he saw Black Rob along with his right hand man Peshwar and his fearsome gang the red tide slaughter every last member of the family.
After the fall of Port Dewine, Allessandrius was out for revenge. Sooner or later news was spread that Black Rob had been stricken with some grave disease, something foul and strange. People close to Black Rob had claimed that they saw shadows and a foul miasma dance over the pirate's body. Some citizens of Port Dewine said that Rob fell because of the wrath of the spirits of the men, women and children he had slaughtered without any care in the world. Then the friends and close acquaintances said that the grand physician Allessandrius Elantra II of Goran's gulf might have dabbled into the occult and was partly responsible for the sudden illness of black Rob.
No one knew for sure for several years and after Peshwar had found the cure, the rumors and speculations died down along with self proclaimed investigators who are nosy enough to try to find the truth behind the layers of old wife's tales and deliberate exaggerations or lies to spice up the story a bit more. Soon this strange incident was forgotten and buried as a small footnote of the history of Atticala.
However, there was only one prying nosy person left. A young boy, a streetrat that found himself to be the little helper of an old bed ridden physician. He had heard that this doctor was once someone with great renown who had written several books and spending most of his time on research about salves and the main requirements of a healthy human skin. After a wagon had ran him over crippling his legs, the old man decided to retire and purchased a small house bordering the slums of Port Dewine. During an especially cold night, the boy told his teacher about the story of Black Rob and asked what he thought about the pirate's mysterious illness.
The physician's gentle smile morphed into an indignant sniff.
"Oh that Rob guy is a real tough cookie, friggin hell, you could cut his arms open and rub it in with dog poo and he'll still recover from that infection. Peshwar and him, stubborn bastards, cockroaches of the sea."
He then scratches the large scar on his cheek and subsequently the huge rash around it.
The boy leant forward. "Where did you get this scar actually sir?"
Allessandrius shrugged. The light of the fire danced over sunken crater made of angry pink flesh.
"Sometimes you just want to fuck someone up. I had some bone to pick with a nasty bug." He sniffed again. "Even after i tried to squash it, that little shit keeps coming back."