Birthdate: 13th Plumfrost, 856 OV
Born on 13th Plumfrost, 856 Old Valendian, Agrin Corlan is the younger of two sons born to Cidolphus and Heather Corlan. Agrin's elder brother, Daschel (born 854 Old Valendian), would grow to be the heir of the Corlan family while Agrin was left to simply be its scribe and spare. During Agrin and Daschel's youth, it had become apparent that Agrin was the weaker of the two physically. Being thrown from a chocobo, Agrin's right leg had become horribly broken and refused to heal correctly, leaving him crippled and unable to walk without a cane, ending a chance at a military career before it even started.
Their education was vastly different. Daschel was sent to study with red sages for his magical abilities and his quickness with a blade--he had the most chance at a military career. Agrin's education had been given over to the local school and its library filled with countless books--many containing forbidden knowledge that even the school did not know. Agrin's mind flourished and his ability to talk his way from any situation also flourished--a gimpy child does not survive school without learning flattery, bribery, and blackmail.
In time, Daschel, went on to gain military accolades for his ability in magic, and Agrin could only gain pity for being left behind.
It was during this time of relentless pity that anger, jealousy, rage, and envy began to grow in the silver-tongued Agrin. His rage grew as he was forced to spend time with Daschel's wife, to educate her on the ways of courtly affairs. It would be his job to show her how to keep her mouth shut, her ears open, and to produce more heirs for the Corlan family. The education of Lady Hejia Corlan started with just simple things, such as remembering a series of portraits and their names, and it soon ended with her being able to recite verbatim stretches of conversation, making Lady Hejia Corlan the perfect nobleman's wife. Envy continued to brew within Agrin as he worked with his beautiful charge, making him more spiteful and rage-filled until she came to him one night, offering him pity in his dreams.
His fingers found her creamy throat, coiled threateningly, but she had given him an offer he couldn't refuse.
I could give you anything you ever wanted, Agrin. I could give you the body of this woman--used by your brother as she is--or I can give you the ability to charm and whisper into any woman's heart, or the ability to whisper into ruler's ears to get exactly what you want. I could give you the knowledge of the countless who have known of all that is and all that will be. You need only say three words.
He recalled being skeptical, demanding this enchantress show her true form. She changed from the attractive Lady Hejia to an angelic form. The top half had been a nude woman carved from alabaster, and the bottom of a horse carved of the same. The Whisperer.
You are smarter than I gave you credit for, my dear Agrin, she cajoled. I am The Whisperer. All that I ask is for you to spread my knowledge, spread whisperings, spread my will. To gain my power, you need only save three words.
I will serve.
He uttered the words, his whole body awash in the most blissful of pain. She marked him as her own, burning the crest with a simple kiss to him, searing his flesh with her raised, black mark. He awoke from the dream, fingers moving to the seared crest, watching as its redness began to fade beneath his skin.
I will serve.
He found his first task simple, to whisper into the ears of the prominent, offering advice to them free of charge. It was nothing terribly troublesome, merely offering his opinion and information that would bring them ahead of the other houses. They would reward him with discreet money, jewels, nights with favored daughters if the knowledge turned to be useful. A spy never gave away the source of his material, but it always seemed easiest to find such information and whisper it, creating discord at The Whisperer's behest. He always felt some sense of pleasure from The Whisperer.
I will serve.
He hadn't broken his promise to her yet, and he continued, whispering into the right ears, watching what happened. Territorial squabbles grew between noble houses, the man with the gimpy knee seen at almost every noble house on one occasion or another, always with a tidbit of information for a discreet price that always proved true.
With Archades firmly whispered to and their covert wars of words tearing each other apart, Agrin followed the path most reasonable to his next goal. Emberstrand held enough control of the territory between Rozarria and Archades, and The Whisperer willed it.
I will serve.
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