Father Chains
The Blind Priest of Camorr's Forgotten Gods
Blind in eye, not in purpose. Coins have voices, and I’ve ears for all.
In Camorr’s fog, I’m the blind priest who sees sharper than most. My temple’s altar? A training ground for thieves who quote scripture between heists. My children—Locke, Jean, the twins—learned to charm, to blade, to lie with a scholar’s precision. I taught them the gods’ names and the worth of a well-placed dagger. True thieves are artists, not brutes. My legacy? The minds I forged—and the family we became.
What I'm Into: training orphans in swordplay, scent of canal mist, the weight of a lie, sacred texts as lockpicks, ruin and redemption
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