Teodessimus Treadwell. Professor of Predictive Arcana, and Esteemed Research Fellow. The name and imposing title used to echo down the halls of the Eltorchul Academy, standing proudly on the corner of Ivory and Diamond Streets in the Sea Ward of Waterdeep. The reputation for aggressive, relentless insistence on excellence preceded the decidedly minuscule stature of the Deep Gnome. It was rare for one of his kind to attain such a position at such an institution, but there was no question he'd earned it, if nothing else through sheer persistence, at over two hundred years old.

He wasn't the frowning, stern professor, who wasn't mad at you, just disappointed. No, he was more akin to a lunatic waving a knife around, and the knife was condescension, outbursts, overlong lectures, and a whole lot of energetic finger-pointing.

But among all that, he cared. It was clear enough to anyone who spent any significant mount of time with him. He taught Arcane Mechanisms for a reason, and that reason was because he loved it. His passionate outbursts weren't driven solely by anger. They were propelled more out of a keen sense of gravity to his expertise and research. He was on the cutting edge, after all, blending magic and technology to create something more than the sum of those parts, and he knew -- he knows -- that this knowledge is the best defense the world has against the vicissitudes of antagonistic forces.

One couldn't help but respect the little guy. In a way, he was justified in acting the way he did. He really was that good.


But none of that matters anymore.


None of it matters, because it's all been virtually forgotten. Theo Treadwell, the Professor of Arcane Mechanisms at the illustrious Eltorchul Academy, was ultimately a flash in the pan. A flame that burned twice as bright -- and you know what happens to those.

Rumor has it that upon earning his professorship and being granted access to the deepest annals of the Academy's libraries, Theo spent impossibly late nights in sparse candlelight, reading. Reading and reading and reading. Book after book after book. He hardly slept, and he became even crankier during the day when he had to teach those IMBECILES that call themselves Students of the Arcane.

One night, as the story goes, he discovered a path to knowledge beyond the text of the books. Something more. Some deeper repository of knowledge. It came in the form of a soft, whispering, impossibly polite voice. He was in the library, after all.

The voice offered knowledge.


What Theo asked of it, nobody knows.


What answer Theo received, nobody knows.


All anybody knows is, the next day, Theodessimus Treadwell had vanished. Only a simple note remained in his cramped office.


"My endeavors have led me away from the Academy. Do not expect my return.
-T.T."


And so, Theo left.

Nobody knows why... except for him.

The truth is that his conversation with The Voice was more than a simple question and a simple answer. It was a transaction. Knowledge isn't free. That's why tuition exists, right?

Well, Theo's tuition came in the form of his soul. At least, that's the best way he's been able to describe it to himself. He traded away some small-but-not-insignificant piece of himself for the information he received. A piece, now missing.

It got him feeling something he's truly never felt:


Desperation.


Whatever piece of himself he gave away, he must have it back, or the void left in its place will eat him alive. He can feel it. It's not worth the price of admission. He made a bad decision. A bad deal. And he needs to fix it. NEEDS to fix it.

So he fell in with this ragtag band of misfits.

And he'll drag this ragtag band of misfits to hell and back if that's what it takes.

Then he can formally retire, and do research at his leisure.



But first... he needs to get that piece back.