Eccentric Ex-Runner Street Shaman
Hair: Long grey hair and a wise-looking beard
Eyes: One milky white (blind) and one bark-brown
Defining Features: Speaks in the third person, scar across the brow above his blind eye
Sarin has long forgotten his past, and only sections of remembrance remain. He was a regular Human child along with his younger brother, and they grew up poor. When he was 10 years old, he began to undergo goblinization. The shock and stress of this caused his mother to have a heart attack and she died shortly after. Their father grew to resent his children, and one night his brother fled their home, leaving both Sarin and his father. The father, a chemist for a street-gang, flew in to a fit of rage; one son had fled, the other was changing into a hideous beast more and more every day and his wife was dead. On the eve of his eleventh birthday, whilst he slept, Sarin’s father grabbed a beaker of acid and threw it into his face, screaming at him that he wishes he was never born and that he hates him for killing his wife. Using all the strength an 11 year old half man/half troll could muster, he hit his father in the face, knocking him unconscious. He used this opportunity to pack his bags and leave.
Living on the streets was tough, but he managed to make a few Nuyen here and there by creating medicinal drugs for the poorer communities in The Silts. It was his skills as an alchemist that got the Salvo Runners attention. They hired him as a Shadowrunner, and successfully they conducted hundreds of runs together. One run, however, he came face to face with his brother. Sarin was captured and his brother tortured him. Although Sarin knew they were related, he never let on. He was blinded in one eye from a particularly heavy hit and lost a horn to a gunshot, and after his daring escape, he vowed never to run again.
From his experience as a Runner, Sarin learned how vulnerable the technology people had become so reliant on was. He cast away his CommLink and moved to the quiet ‘suburb’ of The Marshlands. Here, he gained respect and acceptance from the usually secretive community there, and set up shop away from the houses far into the old riverbank. As the years progressed, he became less and less invovled with the people in Marshland and slowly became a recluse. Relying only on his Spirit Ward for company, he took to speaking in the third person. Recently, he has begun to venture outside his house once more, briefly greeting those who remember him.