Dovan of Nisroch
Dovan hails from Ustalav, where he grew up amid the horrors of the Widow’s Boudoir in Caliphas, a brothel that specialized in mixing sexual fantasies with murder. When he discovered that he was on the menu for a particularly violent evening, Dovan gathered his things and quietly ﬂed town, spending the next several months enjoying all the scenery and freedoms the River Kingdoms had to offer. He has always liked his creature comforts, the little luxuries and conveniences of cities and civilization, but after a close call with a press gang, Dovan decided that the unbridled “free” markets of the River Kingdoms had lost its charms: freedom to starve or be enslaved by wealthy businessmen weren’t freedoms he would miss.
And so he continued eastward with the diffuse migrations of woodsmen, pioneers, explorers, treasure hunters and mercenaries. Barkeeps and bawdy house conversation frequently mentioned the estranged heir of the Holfstadt fortune had scandalously eloped with some floozy and was gathering swords to plant the seeds of a new city-state. It turned out to be rather less glamorous than he would have hoped, but at least for once no one was trying to cut his genitals off or put chains around his neck.
Dovan still bears the deeply ingrained pretense of a higher society to which he never belonged. He tries to hide his sensitivity about his low-born origins, and doesn’t talk about it much, though the flash of anger when mocked for wearing a cravat to traipse about muddy woods reveals more than he would like. Things he’s let slip while drinking with Happs have illuminated the general arc of his history and formed something of a camaraderie between the two. It’s difficult to honestly assess how seriously he takes this friendship or how much he appreciates it, but he has remarked in Torsted’s hearing before that Happs is one of the few people he’s met who simply does not give a shit about titles and bloodlines and doesn’t laugh at his taste in fashion.