Born blind to an impoverished family, Regis had little hope for a 'good' life. The iris of his eyes were a solid teal, devoid of pupils, and often earned him bullying and teasing while growing up within the poor province of Hawkshire. His father worked a meager job in the fields as his mother served in one of the local taverns, often times accompanying her to the inn while she worked. Countless adventurers passed through the rural village, and often shared stories of their travels with the other patrons and townsfolk. He sat by the hearth listening, blankly staring into the warmth of the fires as he formed a view of the world around him from the tales the roving groups, never truly able to grasp anything more than a vague blur of whatever beast they spoke of.

As he grew older, he became more aware of how to navigate the tavern, becoming familiar with the locations of the tables and chairs, along with some of the various goods and commodities in one of the storerooms. It was never much, though, as he often was simply sweeping the floors or washing the dishes.

One evening, however, a few of the patrons became rather intoxicated and instigated one another, the boasts and brags soon giving way to insults and obscenities before devolving into rather loud brawl. The sudden movements of all around him, the distortion of his familiarized surroundings, all the chaos that swirled sent him into a small panic, trying his best to get to the safety of the storeroom. The groups of patrons shouted and hollered for more, some calling out bets, others just joining into the fight. He felt his arm jerked violently as one of the brawlers grabbed him in a drunken haze, instinctively reeling back and sending a left hook crashing into his jaw. The drunkard let go, tumbling back into the crowd as he escaped the mess, finding shelter behind one of the larders.

Strange feelings welled up inside him as he slumped against the shelves, a dark, burning sensation tingling at his spine. Something was wrong. He heard a scream from the main hall, along with the clash of weapons as things grew more violent.

Regis crawled up the shelves to his feet, standing nervously as he felt his way out from the safety of the storeroom, hearing the battle escalate more clearly. He heard his mother shouting, yelling for the fighters to stop. Then a loud, dull, sickening sound filled his ears. The din quieted somewhat as he felt a heavy weight slump into his arms, a warm wet feeling flowing from the body. His hands quivered as the body in his arms grasped at his shirt and collar, gurgling and gasping for air. Feeling up from the arms to the shoulders, his heart sank as he traced the features of his mother's face, her body falling limp against him, the sounds from the gash in her collar fading into silence.

He couldn't feel his body moving without his mind. His arms lowered her body to the floor, a dark, heavy presence filling the air around him. He felt the cold seeping into his body as he stood, turning to the crowd that had quieted since witnessing the barmaid catch a deflected blow. His arm shook in a hypertensive state as the sensation filtered into his palm, his pale teal eyes falling onto one of the fighters. He could see him, a fiery silhouette in his mind, the object of his anger and sorrow.

The air flashed a hue of violet as the eldritch energy erupted from his hand, impacting the fighter squarely in his chest, blasting him backwards. He tumbled over an overturned chair, falling into the open hearth. The brawler screamed in agony as several patrons moved to pull him out of the fire, trying to put out the fire that had ignited in his armor, his undercoat igniting from the open flame.

That was 13 years ago.

The other members of the fighter's group had witnessed their friend accidentally strike the boy's mother, and offered a rather large sum of their collective wealth to the tavernkeep to repair the damages caused by their drunken partner. His father turned to Pelor for guidance, begging and praying at the local shrine, squandering what little he made as a donation, desperate for his wife returned.

One of the mages in the group offered him the opportunity for a better life, to train his 'gift' and learn the arcane arts. With his father a broken shell of his former self and his mother gone, there really was nothing for him at home. Their group parted ways as the sorcerer brought him to the city of Reliquary, returning to his own roots in the process. The archmagus welcomed his old pupil with open arms, and agreed to take the boy into his care.

Regis could hardly believe everything that happened, how his life got twisted upside down. He took a minute, sitting with the archmagus and told him his own tale.

The boy became a young man as he attuned himself with the eldritch powers that resonated within his body, developing an affinity for the arcane as he explored the depths of his abilities. He had few friends at the mage's college, keeping to himself out of his own wishes for isolation to concentrate his efforts to hone his control over magic. He meditated on the origins of his eldritch abilities, and from the research he compiled with assistance from the librarian, discovered that Hawkshire had once been a much larger village and served as stopping point for arcanists to rest before journeying further north to a leyline of planar gates. At some point, his forefathers had some kind of abyssal influence enter his family tree. The stranger part, though, was the draconic bloodline he was a part of. A rare chance to exhibit both the infernal power of eldritch energies and draconian magical aptitude set him on his destined path, to master both the magics that coursed through his body.

Seven years of study came and went in the blink of an eye. The archmagus gifted unto him a parting graduation gift, a small relic left for him by the sorcerer who brought him to Reliquary. He held the silken cloth, feeling the light sensation of magic within the fabric, and following the archmagus's instruction, pulled it over his eyes, tying it securely behind his head. He focused, calming and concentrating his mind to reach out, piercing the veil of his blindness with aural perception, 'seeing' for the first time. It wasn't much. A faint outline, a silhouette of a blue hue, was all he 'saw' when looking upon the archmagus. He stumbled dizzily as he lost equilibrium from the sensation, losing his focus in the process. His world darkened once more.

Regis Havelock began his quest for knowledge, his only companion being his familiar, a raven named Scarlet. At the archmagus's recommendation, he signed on with a group of adventurers, serving as the groups means of navigating through dungeons and working to facilitate their contracts to be a little more profitable.