User: Norm
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Role: Striker
Class/Level: Monk/6
Boston Lee is a 17 year old human monk. He stands 5'9" and weighs 153 lbs. He keeps his blonde hair shaved, and his blue eyes shine bright.

Boston Lee is both master of the quarterstaff and the open hand style used by the followers of Ptah known as "The Mummy's Hand."
My beginnings are shrouded in the unknown. I was raised in the monastery overlooking the town of Gullhaven. The monks there told me I was brought to the monastery as an orphan. I believed them, but didn’t know if that fact was but a piece of a larger story, one that they would rather I not know.

Life there was hard. You pray, work, study, and sleep. No time for play, no time for friends. As I grew older, the monks began to notice me and often chose me for special tasks in and around the monastery. Sometimes I was with a group and sometimes alone, but they seemed to be grooming me to someday join the order; an honor not offered to all who lived within the cloistered walls.

My feelings were soon proven right. A small group of us were assembled before the Grand Master. There we were told that we had the right combination of strength and wisdom to become Monks of the Sacred Order. Our training would begin at sunrise.

Training was challenging. We first began learning the quarterstaff. We were promised that we would someday learn all of the monks’ weapons and also learn to make our humble bodies efficient weapons as well. I was excited.

After a month of practice and dedication, my fellow novices and I were invited to observe one of the order’s ceremonial combat rituals. The head table was made up of the Grand Master, the Master of Dragons, the Master of the North Wind and the Master of Autumn, each adorned in decorative robes The grounds were lit by large braziers spewing columns of flame into the night sky and special ceremonial trappings of red and black made the courtyard look grand. After a modest dinner, the spectacle was to begin. The young monks fought each other with a controlled fervor that had the look of real combat rather than a ceremonial display. I came to understand that the winners would supplant the losers in rank within the order, so the competition was to be fierce. Their simple weapons flashed with blazing speed matched only by the blurred movement of their bodies as they dodged the deadly swings. One brother proved no so lucky. His opponent lofted a javelin into the air with deadly accuracy. The man tried to catch the missile as it sped toward him. He mistimed the feat and the light spear pierced his chest. He fell dead. I though that would end the event, but he was simply dragged from the courtyard and the night continued. By the end of the evening, two more were killed. Our first true lesson was learned: “a single weak mind weakens the entire order.” We were sent off to reflect and pray.

Weeks passed and our training continued. I was called upon to travel into town with a group of brothers led by a Superior Master. As we passed by the outlying farms and orchards, the people seemed to move away from the roads and many went inside their homes. Upon arrival in the town, most people seemed to avoid eye contact with us. It was as though they feared our very presence. Our master led us to the home of the boyer. He greeted us with fear and resentment in his eyes. The master told him of the provisions the order would need for the coming winter and when we would expect them. Payment was not discussed, but the boyer’s expression told the story. I could tell that he wanted to hate us, to lash out in protest, but feared the consequences. We left without another word. Upon return to the monastery the second true lesson was learned: “fear, respect and obedience are one.” I was sent off to reflect and pray.

Over the coming months, I was exposed to similar acts and learned more true lessons: “only the strongest individuals can wield the greatest power” “order commands dominance and submission” and so on. As we were exposed to more of this, I began to notice a change in my fellow novice monks. Many seemed to revel in what they were learning and a very noticeable pecking order was beginning to develop within our small rank. I on the other hand was having trouble with what I was learning. My mind was rejecting the ways I was being taught. The prayers I learned and recited since I first learned to speak were taking on a more sinister meaning, and my spirit conflicted with them. I began having dreams about Ptah, The Opener of the Way, coming to me and teaching me the Way. Although I tried to hide my feelings, the masters were taking notice. One evening, I was summoned before the Master of Dragons. I was there with two others. I was asked if I still wished to be a Monk of the Sacred Order. I instinctively knew that the consequences of what I was about to answer could be harsh, but I also knew that to lie to the Master of Dragons would be impossible. I simply said “no.” The others answered the same. The Master of Dragons smiled warmly at us for telling the truth. Although we didn’t yet realize, it seemed that we were about to learn the last true lesson of the order: “trust is for the weak.” We were sent off to reflect and pray.

That night I was awoken from my dreams by three men that I did not recognize as part of the order. They dragged me from my bunk and into the cold winter night. I was forced into a wooden pen built atop of a large horse drawn cart. The gate was locked and the cart was underway. My order had sold me into slavery. There were others in the pen with me, but the other two novices who appeared with me before the Master of Dragons were not. I never knew what became of them.

The slavers brought me from city to city and I was displayed in more than a few auctions. Some from my original group were sold and new slaves were purchased and added to the inventory to which I had become. Over the passing weeks the only solace I had was in my dreams. Ptah continued to visit me there and teach me the Way. I knew that I did not have the aptitude to become a priest, but Ptah taught me that knowledge and wisdom were tools that could trump even the greatest sword. In reverence to him, I shed the name given to me by my former masters and fashioned a new name for myself. Forever on, I would be known as Boston Lee.

My tale now nears the end. The slavers brought me to a city by a great sea. We were taken to the docks and I was loaded onto this small vessel and chained to the hull. I don’t know what fate awaits me at the end of the voyage…