andras was born to a lesser wife of a once great general. raised primarily by other soldiers and midwives, the sprawling boy quickly proved that he had talent — in his adolescence he served as a hitman, taking on the jobs no one else seemed to want, and smuggled supplies through the heavily guarded borders of red ridge. on a mission, a wise old villager once took him aside, looked into the bright eyes, and said; you would make a wonderful chaplain, one day. he had never been a believer, but this affected the boy more than anyone would have known at the time.

as he aged, the life he'd been raised with began to bore him as he connected more and more with faith and his distant mediterranean roots. when the helm of the family disappeared, andras was offered the job in his place; and, of course, his answer was yes. he sought to change the family, to steer it toward the great potential it held. god spoke to him and andras was his hand. it was around this time that he met shaba; a refugee from a nearby warring clan. their love was passionate and youthful and devastating.

a faction of the family began to splinter away under andras's rule, and with who and what remained, andras created a haven of worship and lust in a land further east: the black eagles, named for the birds who commonly nested in the mountainside. the claim tripled in size and became a formidable sight; in his prime, his wife gave birth to two girls, whom he named wren and iris — his bird and his flower.

anyone else would tell you that not long after this, andras descended into unhinged, deluded madness. the father himself would tell you that he only discovered the truth. there are many skeletons that lie in his closet which may never see the light of day.