Zoroc Everhep

A mysterious sorcerer with a suspect heritage.


Zoroc’s thin, wiry frame belies an inner strength that burns through his blood red eyes. He keeps his silver hair short; it’s just more practical that way. Upon close inspection his skin has taken on a transluscent gold sheen from what appear to be draconic scales covering his whole body. To avoid attention, Zoroc will typically disguise himself as a high elf mage and he plays the part well. His left hand is terribly disfigured by an acid burn that has fused his middle and index fingers together, but it does not seem to impede him in any way. Zoroc speaks with confidence and prides himself in building up those around him after years of being beaten down himself. If watched closely, it is obvious that Zoroc is always watching his back, always aware of his surroundings and watching you closely as well.


I was born a slave to House Arkenath, renowned “Dragon Mages”, in the Drow Mage city of Sshamath. Sshamath is unique in all the Underdark in that the ruling class are male wizards not foul demon worshiping Lloth Priestesses. It is known for it’s large markets of enchanted artifacts, spell tomes, and other magical workings. These markets attract the most nefarious of clientele from Beholder Archmages to Red Wizards of Thay to Sharn Magisters. It is not easy to find Sshamath and most come by way of rare teleportation circles throughout the realms.

As a slave I had no rights and my worth was simply a product of what I could produce. I served the Master of Invocation and Evocation, Krondorl Waeglossz, one of the most depraved and cruel task masters in all of Sshamath. House Arkenath was specifically aligned to his designs and specialized in apothecary and the creation of potions. I was a caretaker of bats that were raised and harvested for various components. Bat guano was a critical component for Fire based spells and potions. I learned early to keep my head down and meet my quotas. I watched many like myself succumb to the anger of a magister or worse become fodder for their pets or demons. The cruelty and perversion of this culture sickened me, and I swore that one day I would fight back.

It was not unusual for my master to send me on errands in the Market district to fetch spell components or deliver a message. I became fascinated with the cornucopia of dissidents that could be seen in the market and looked forward to these escapes. I watched, listened, and found a way to blend into the crowd. On one such occasion I overheard a wizard from the Host Tower of the Arcane whispering about a drow named Drizzt Do’Urden who escaped even worse circumstances in Menzoberranzan and made a life for himself on the surface; a hero of the people. I became obsessed with the idea of escaping. I knew that I needed to bide my time and wait.

Over time I earned the trust of my slave masters, but made a critical mistake. I was overheard speaking the name Drizzt Do’Urden to a fellow slave. My admiration had gotten the best of me. I was tortured near death and was lucky to escape with my life. My left hand was severely burned by acid and I was marked for the betrayal of my tongue. I still bare these scars today as a reminder of their cruelty. I never made it to the market again and received the worst jobs moving forward.

As a young child I remember dreaming of a tall drow woman dancing underneath the moon; something I had only heard stories about. There were many other drow dancing and singing, too. They were unlike the cruel drow of the Underdark. She would come to me each year on my birthday and as I grew older she began to tell me of the surface and the coming of a great threat. She told me I would be needed, but I couldn’t envision any way for my escape. She would always just smile gently at my worry. This life of servitude is all I could see. Her last visit to me she touched my head and my eyes began to glow. I awoke with a small vial of blood in my hand – gold dragon blood. I recognized it from the market. It is highly magical and sought after for rituals although if discovered I would be hard pressed to explain why I had it. I keep this close to me at all times as my prized possession and I believe it was a gift from this woman in my dreams.

Since that time, I have been able to see a weave of fine spindles of ether thread surrounding all life. I found that I was able to actually touch and manipulate these threads in ways to produce things I had only see the wizards produce through their foul magics. I knew that if I was caught I would be killed or worse.

It was a day like any other, but something felt different. After being summoned to my master’s chambers I knew something wasn’t quite right. A human woman stood to the side of my master. She wore a mask that had four dragon tusks jutting majestically around her face. Her clothing was crimson with black dragon scales down the front of her gown. Immediately, the vial of dragon’s blood began to feel warm around my neck. “That is the one. Do we have a deal?” With a nod and a dismissive wave from my master the Guards seized me.

The last thing I remember is a bright flash and then black. I awoke bound, gagged, and a piercing headache. The familiar sound of wagon wheels and the smell of horse filled my nostrils. From behind I hear,“You’re lucky we rescued you from that hellhole.” It is the same woman. “The Dragon Queen’s vision stretches far…you serve her now. Roth will be most pleased with one as gifted as you.”

The next few months are a blur. It seems I have been tossed out of the fryn pan and into the fire. From drow slave to cultist. I have been purchased by the Cult of the Dragon. I’ve heard rumors of these fanatics before – their zeal is to be commendable, but I am not a weak willed ingrate. I know how to play the nice servant and they have miscalculated my stomach for such brainwashing techniques. I bid my time, waited, watched, and learned their ways. After months of indoctrination through starvation and sleep deprivation they have finally declared me an initiate and worthy of basic rights. It seems my patience paid off. I was trained to harness my innate magical connection to the weave and draw upon a hidden draconic ancestry in my bloodline. This is the one thing I have these crazed lunatics to thank for.

My first “assignment” was to pose as stranded traveler in the town of Greenest. I was to watch and report every tenday to my handler I knew only as Shaz, a half-elf witch. I was told that I would be watched by others like myself. With the aid of a magical hat, I was to disguise myself as a high elf from Baldur’s Gate. If my cover was blown for any reason I was to retreat back to the bandit camp.

I’ve been in this podunk town for nearly a month now. Shaz hinted that something big was about to happen when I last spoke to her 3 days ago. I would provide assistance to any cultists at that time. They may think that I’m in their fold, but I have other plans. They are no different than the drow tyrants that brutalized me for years. I’ve played along with their little game for long enough. My time is now…

Defining event: A celestial revealed my secret origin
I’m confident in my own abilities and do what I can to instill confidence in others.
Tyrants must not be allowed to oppress the people
A proud noble once gave me a horrible beating, and I will take my revenge on any bully I encounter.
The drow magister, Krondorl Waeglossz, will stop at nothing to see me killed.

Zoroc Everhep

The Nether Scrolls mlstucky