Slogging through this jungle is a punishment in itself. I do not have the energy tonight to write, so instead I’ll insert some notes on Salisir and pick up tomorrow.
-Salisir of Hendrow-
Born of low station, the son of a smith within the urban center of New Rinoa, Brin Salisir was nothing special as a child. He studied earnestly under his father, and by what few accounts I’ve found was well enough liked in his community, if not generally ignored. That all changed shortly after his seventeenth birthday.
The stories vary, but one fact remains constant and central: Salisir’s mother and sister were murdered. For this crime his father was implicated, imprisoned, and executed. That’s where things get confused. Some reports say Salisir’s father did it out of jealousy because his wife was cheating on him, but this doesn’t take fully into consideration the daughter’s death. Why murder her? Why her and not Salisir?
The other two accounts both involve Daedra.
One suggests that Salisir’s father gave himself to a Daedric priest, and in doing so lost his mind. The other is that the Daedric priest visited and killed the family when Salisir’s father did not give him what he wanted.
In any case, the accepted theory was the cleanest: that revolving around a jealous lover’s revenge. Salisir, however, never believed his father possible of such evil. Whether he was right or not, he left on his own to find this priest. When he did so he released him on the spot. They say he did it with his father’s hammer.
This was an impressive feat in itself, for Salisir was just a boy, untrained in combat and unbloodied. But because he did it in the priest’s slick, at his own personal shrine, and in front of a number of his acolytes, it exceeded what anyone would have ever expected of Salisir. When he then turned and slaughtered those very acolytes, it became the stuff of legend.
Brin Salisir was not content with what blood he spilled that day. Otherwise, his story would have come to a notable, yet isolated finish there. He had only just begun.
Salisir was picked up two years later by a detachment of Chaplains who had been tracking a Daedric sect somewhere north of Greenward. The Chaplains had spent years tracking down this sect before honing in on them. When they finally rode into the slick they found the entire sect scattered dead around the grounds.
At the center of their blood shrine, sitting atop the spiked altar itself, sat Brin Salisir. At first the Chaplains report not knowing what to make of the scene, finding a young man sitting on the altar in the midst of such carnage. Then Salisir opened his eyes as if to finish meditating. He stepped off the altar, shook blood from his hands, and smiled.
Harold Grimwald, captain of the unit and a man of legend in his own right, snatched Salisir up for his own in that instant.
It was with the Chaplains that Salisir underwent his first formal training and found a sense of unified purpose. He became known among their ranks simply as the Butcher, and is credited with the release of hundreds of Daedric followers while wearing the White.
He would have been happy to stay in the ranks of the Chaplaincy forever, I believe. At least, if it had not been for the offer that came down from the Tetrarch. As I read what few journals and interviews with Salisir survived, I came to the realization that he never wanted to join the Tetrarch. It was the deal they made him that drew him into their ranks.
Perhaps if he had stayed away he would never have found himself alone in the Nanten. Perhaps then I would never have fallen from grace myself.