Around 100 years ago, Grendon Farserith and his wife Lillian left their ancestral home of Moghedu and traveled far north, to the city of Ashtan. They were unlike other Mhun, they could not stand the harshness of the desert life, though Grendon exceptionally wily and clever. The Farseriths decided to do their best to gain a comfortable life in the Bastion of the North, and for all their children to come. Grendon quickly gained contacts within the walls of that great city, and began a trading business. After he had become a fairly successful merchant, he began to look into the... darker side of trading and began to use his main business as a front for the trading of an even more lucrative commodity, people. He fathered a son, Sherimoor and after his father passed on, Sherimoor took on both the slavery and the legitimate trading that his family had left to him.

By this time, the Farserith family line had become a known and respectable noble house within Ashtan, and was very well to do, with contacts in the highest reaches of government, who with a little "exra taxes", were willing to turn a blind eye to their illegal tradings. Sherimoor himself took a wife, an arranged marriage with the daughter of the Lord of another noble merchant house to further his business. They had two children, twins, male and female, which they named Darthus and Saria. The children grew up in this life of opulence, and were accustomed to the finer things in life. Darthus was raised under the training of a hired tutor, who had previously been one of the Royal Guard.

Darthus grew into a strapping and noble youth, with midnight black hair and a warm smile. Upon his 16th birthday though, Darthus was told by his father of the less well known side of their business, and the dark dealings that were often made to swell their bank accounts. Sherimoor took his son down below their grand house, and showed him the squalid and dirty slave's quarters, the men, women and children held captive there. Darthus was also told that his tutor had to have been "dealt with", that Sherimoor felt he had been filling his son's mind with weak-minded nonsense. Darthus was appalled to realize all this. He was struck dumb with sadness and rage. He was so outraged that he left the house that night, and fled on his father's fastest horse, drawn in the direction of his race's ancient home, Moghedu.

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Chronos, in the year 217 AF.