Draiss nodded, before leaning back, and staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if they were beyonder tainted demons, and decided it was possible, but might not be likely. After a moment, he looked back down, and grinned. "Well, my turn. If you want the short and sweet version, I am a God now, the God of Choice. Since I never really cared about my surname before meeting the latest of my companions and consorts, I took the surname Arcaniss."<br/><br/>He took a deep breath, before he started on his story, starting with the morning he had left to go on the kobold adventure, coming back, finding the simulacrum of his mother, him renouncing the entire village in his anger at them taking two days after the attack and him telling them he was going to check on their house to get to them. How he had burned the house to the ground, with her body in it, taking only a handful of items of sentiment, before going on a rampage against the orcs, who had appeared to attack the village and had left enough evidence to fool him, in his inexperience and rage, into blaming them. How he had spent six or seven years massacring every orc he came across, men, women, and children, without hesitation or mercy, pausing only to ask if they knew who had skinned and raped a half bronze dragoness.<br/><br/>How he had met a priestess of Tamara and Sune on his journey to the next (and last) orc encampment, having earned the title Orkenbane, and how those two had forced him to wake his consciousness back up. How he had volunteered for a suicide mission, met Vorela, the gold dragoness wyrmling that had become his familiar. The group, the long, grinding path toward the estimated source, losing party members, and then having to leave Vorela and the other wounded behind at the last intact stronghold against the wandering, rampaging undead. The fight into the fortress, members slowly being picked off or staying behind to buy the group more time. The fight against the marilith, and how he had desperately tried to undo the already unbalanced and insane portal ritual in the middle of the room, before the marilith had put her trident through his chest. How he had died, his magic, the inherent magic, the blood power and death power somehow combining into the ritual before it suddenly seemed to find a working path, and everything exploded.<br/><br/>He paused, and took a breath, before summoning up a glass of alcohol for himself and giving his mother a look. "Something to drink? The next part is best told when not entirely sober."