Morgan Maddocks: A History
By noted biographer Vruk Renthark It is not sufficient to examine the legislation and accomplishments of a politician and with that information evaluate their place in the history of Sanctuary. A close examination of an individual's personal history - her aspirations, accomplishments, and failings - is necessary to truly grasp what sort of person the examined was and how she will be treated by the passing of time. I have made a fair effort to do so with former Councilor and Comely Inn prostitute Morgan Maddocks, though the passage of time has rendered luck of success more fleeting than ever.
All men are at the whim of Lady Doom with regards to their birth. The conditions under which we are brought into this world are entirely out of our control, though it seems that Miss Maddocks fared rather well. Little information was salvageable on her early life, though a few details were gleaned. Her father was part of a privileged line with a robust history that stretched back an immense span of time, though inbreeding to preserve the purity of the family's blood left him physically frail and mentally impotent. While her father was a source of shame, her mother was proud and defiantly strong. Through machinations and altogether cowardly tricks, Morgan's mother was driven from the family estates while she was still quite young, leaving her in the dubious care of the family's feeble patriarch.
Years passed, but the flame of defiance and strength that her mother instilled within her burned even brighter. She would have none of her father's mewling, and refused to succumb to his plots to tame her savage spirit. She despised him thoroughly, and his elevated status over stronger, more cunning men enraged her further. She felt only relief when he died in his sleep shortly after her seventh birthday, although her joy was extinguished when she found herself without a home.
As is common on many virtuous surface cities, the clergy of Helm took up residence in immense buildings in the destitute quarters. This is to help maintain a respectable amount of peace in the often turbulent wards, as well as bring a new generation of devout men into the fold. After she had tasted the fruits of her misfortune among opportunistic peasants and cruel thugs, she was drawn into the makeshift temple in hopes of a safe bed and digestible food. The Helmites attempted with all of their zeal to force her mother's defiance from her soul, though they only succeeded in sharpening it. She relented to their superior strength, but only channeled her disdain for the weak, her passion for recklessness, and her desperation for the comfortable life that she had into her faith in Helm's dogma. She saw the faith for what it was - the duty of the individual to mercilessly annihilate criminality and subversion for the good of the collective. Every petty thief who she disemboweled and every anarchist who she mercilessly cut down was an homage to Helm Himself, and she did her utmost to keep Him satisfied. Miss Maddocks became war incarnate, a moral pyromaniac setting fire to all reality.
It was the legends of the noble paladins of The Watcher that drove her. She saw a handsome man, clad in polished armor, as a young girl, and longed to be accepted among the privileged ranks for years. When she reached adulthood, she received the blessing of the high priests to undergo the necessary trial to be thusly blessed in the Vigilant One's sight. The night before her test, her dreams were plagued by visions of crimson mist and scurrying rats with the shadows of men. Lengths of white hair tied them together and hung some of them from the ceiling. She was disturbed, but did not heed the signs that were delivered to her.
Misfortune struck. Helm examined the depths of her noble soul and found her lacking. She was cast down as insufficiently noble trash, her name forever marred by the fickle deity who had once favored her. Her shame was immense, and her disappointment hurled her into the darkest corner of her heart. Her dreams where haunted again by red mist, bizarre shadows, and this time the slow rumble of disjointed laughter, but still she did not heed the warnings of her benefactor. She was cast down into the depths unknown as she fled Helm's stronghold, and still the dreams persisted. As she languished in Traensyr, the ontological death of her faith in Helm left her a formless void. She endured the horrors of slavery numbly until she finally acquiesced to the intruding mist and the spark of defiant rage was lit once again.
Much of the rest of her life - her years spent at the Comely Inn, her service on the Council, and her well known bouts of nihilism-feuled alcoholism - are well known by all students of Sanctuary's history. Though my research left me miserably short on the details I craved, the role of fortune in her life is unmistakable. Through negligence, she plummeted from wealth and influence and her cherished dreams of knighthood were put to the flame. In service, she was freed from bondage and rose to the dizzying heights of power.
If she is not appeased, all will taste firsthand the curse that is spreading throughout Faerun.