Gilfriede of Aurrum

Gilfried was born the only son of Solfreine, High Priest of the Order of Starlight. An immaculate birth given to a man who had committed his life to the Gods of his people. It is said that though he shared the blood of his father, his soul was wrought from pure starlight, from pure gold. This meant he was a cursed child. He was a symbol, a promise from a higher power that there was something above which cared for humanity, a vow to always provide that which is needed most to see us through the blackest night.

Or so the story goes.

He himself does not know if its true. But the curse is real. He fights it every day, awake or asleep, it is a part of who he is.

The curse of Gold. If you believe the legends.

A child born of pure shining gold, who only learned to have flesh when he was years into life.

A child of fire as hot as any crucible.

His earliest actual memories are of his father, leading his people in prayer. As the High Priest, Sofreine had great power and authority, though he always exercised them with temperance and practicality. He was a man of science and faith, for he was a Saint of the Platonic Elders. These enigmatic, mysterious gods had always looked over Aurrum, and had on many occaisions proved to its people their care by sending emissaries, or weapons, or magic to humankind when it was needed to avert catastrophe. The High Priest Sofreine had wielded such a weapon himself once in defense of his people, and so many believed he had once again been visited by the powers that be.

Sofreine believed it. And so the early years of Gilfrieds life were in lavish opulence, tutored by the greatest minds of his kingdom, trained by its greatest masters, and raised by all that his position could afford him.

Then catastrophe hit, and Gilfriede wasn't ready. None were.

He can barely remember what happened. The memory of it was ripped from him....perhaps by his own accord to protect him from that knowledge. He knows he was hurt, badly. He knows he was taken. He knows he was used. And he knows he was rescued.....by his own curse.

A kingdom left in smoldering ruins, the corpses of its inhabitants impaled, burned, spitted and left to rot in the sun. A city once held holiest in all Aurrum reduced to a charnel-house of slaughter, fire, and......gold.

Ever since that day, he has been searching. Searching for knowledge. Knowledge of those who were behind the catastrophe, knowledge of his curse, knowledge of the Platonic Elders. Searching for peace. He is the prince of a fallen kingdom, yet still of noble, arguably divine blood. He leaves excessive wealth in his wake wherever he goes, and has a tendency to involve himself in matters that should not concern him. Every village he somehow manages to find a corrupt political figure, uncover a hidden cult, root out criminal types in search of....something no one can even guess. Sometimes he passes through without disturbing a soul, though he always seems to habitate with criminals, barbarians, fighters, and the like.

He is no fighter. Not truly. He can defend himself but he prefers to avoid violence if he can. That being said, he cannot seem to resist a mystery, an adventure, or a good cause. For someone who does not love battle, he often puts himself in harms way, sometimes for reasons that do not make sense. He will brave a warzone to save an ancient scroll, or risk a dungeon to expose the corrupt.

And so he goes, drawing too much attention, identifying with those of ill repute, both starting and finding himself in trouble, as he tries to avoid his past by stubbornly pushing to the future.