Anton d'Orien

Gotta go fast



I was born in Passage, during the last war and it is what I have always known. My mother, I know nothing about her except that she was young, beautiful and an adept at magic; she died in childbirth. My father, a marked member of house Orien, was working on that day, all the other days too, for that matter. I was his first born son, but he had 2 daughters and a son from other women.


I was raised in Passage by my family, the Orien, and learned quickly that things move fast. The enclave was always booming with workers preparing and moving packages. There where lots of children running about as the house needed more hands to work with and expected it’s members to provide them. In school, I was taught that results are important, but that the speed at wich you achieve it is even more. As a kid, I mostly stayed in the enclave. I liked to pass the time at the stables where they prepared the caravans, hoping to lead one someday. I also helped out with the work, moving some small packages and trying not to open them.


By age 10, my father, who was leading a caravan often made me tag along and I travelled a lot with him in Aundair, Breland and parts of Zilargo. During these time I saw what war can do and walked with broken people who, for a small sum, travelled with us for security, passed through burnt down villages that where thriving just months before. I have met people calling themselves adventurers and mercenaries, my father called them hippies but took their money anyway. In these time I developed a love for reading and often exchanged books with travellers or in cities, never hoarding too much of them as my father would simply throw them away saying they were taking too much cubic space.

Speaking of my father, the fact that he was marked, with a lesser mark, always brought me hope to gain that honour too. He used his mark any time he could, almost to exhaustion. He blamed it regularly for the position he had. He wasn’t a speedster, nor could he teleport. His mark granted him resilience and the ability to summon steeds of great power. Our caravan was the only one to be regularly spotted to be magically pushed by elephants or a pack of cheetahs. He never seemed to sleep or ever relax, as his mark permitted him to never stop, like a perpetual unstoppable force, our caravan never made halt for anything other than delivery. If he was tired, he’d activate his mark to keep going, if the animals were tired, he’d summon new ones.

I kept a close relation with Alice, my little sister, born three years after me, who always desperately wanted to accompany us, and my father reluctantly obliged. My two other siblings always preferred the comfort of home. She kept asking who her mother was but he always avoided the question, which he did for me too, so I didn’t think much of it. We learned not to ask him. Even for war-born child, she always smiled and tried to help. Often going against my father’s rule regarding cubic space to carry the possessions of wary travellers.

Sometime in the fall of 988, by age 15, our caravan was attacked by some low-life road bandit. My father could usually fend them off with some exotic animals but these had acquired magic items and were eager to try and use them on us. My father got shot by a lightning bolt, severing his left arm, moments before an elephant stomped his attacker. Seeing an opportunity, one of them tried and go in for the kill. I blacked out at this moment, but people told me that my fist went right trough his head, which exploded into gore. At this point, the rest of the bandits were driven away by the guards. My sister was crying, my father had lost an arm, and I had gained" the mark of passage":

Everyone was thrilled, Alice boomed with energy, even after such traumatic events. My father later told that it was the only reason he kept going, teaching me how to control it and use it to my advantage made him forget about his loss. He hoped for a better life for me.

Given my age, experience and my new mark, once returned to Passage, I was briefly congratulated by Kwanti who offered me work as a courier. Leading my own caravan.


I rapidly acquired responsibilities from the family. Given my marked status, people expected me to excel. I made some caravan runs but I found them unexpectedly long to lead, as I, had to take breaks. Early on, my mark gave me the ability to summon a small horse, to the liking of my father, but it never gave me his resilience. “You’ll get whatever it wants you to have” he kept repeating.

After some time, caravan work became more scarce and I was repositioned in the express delivery division. Sending small important packages over long distances, mostly by myself. It was satisfying work, for the most part. I travelled further than I ever did before, reaching cities in the Mror Holds, Darguun and Eldeen reaches. I went as far as the lightning rail permitted me and made the rest by horse. Even, being teleported, from time to time, which saved a lot of time. I delivered thing to lords and high-born and my services became popular, people asking for me by name.

My travels made me realise things about my mark. First, that it doesn’t mean much, it just makes it easier for me to do the things I am already good at and make me look like I’m important. Second, that I can’t rely on it. It can do very little of the thing I want it to do or of what I’ve seen others do. It wasn’t enough. So I started to read specialised material about marks and how to control it, only to find the books too thin with unreliable sources.

I then decided to take things into my own hands. If I didn’t get what I wanted, I could find it elsewhere and make it work all the same. That’s when I started to study the arcane. I’ve self-taught most of what I know, scaring train passengers when trying things out and getting kicked out of some inns for almost burning them down. After years of practice, I was able to cast simple spells that aided me through my journeys in these war-thorn lands.

Character Development

Droam 3

Droam 4

Droam 5


Anton d'Orien

Eberron: A world at stake Benoit_Berube simonlepagetrudeau