After starting his apprenticeship to the Warrior's Guild, Kresslack made a small name for himself as a passionate, devoted student of the arts of combat. Under the instruction of Warrior Mido, who was the only other Warrior around, Kresslack grew in skill, though it could be said that most of that had to do with self tutalege, as Mido, whom Kresslack rapidly grew fond of, was not able to be around much either. After a short time, Kresslack completed his apprenticeship test and entered the empty ranks of the Warriors Guild. Frustrated with the lack of activity and reknown of the guild, Kresslack started meeting with Mido regularly to discuss things, as well as slowly build up the Guild.
After years of training, studying, and recruiting, the Warrior's Guild was back on the road to slight rebirth. His family not being around, and with no one to help, or hinder him, he took mastership of the Warrior's Guild after speaking with Mido and both of them agreeing that it was for the best. In the course of a couple of years, Kresslack had built back up the Guild bank and comm room, and managed to induct a few new members and apprentices. Dedicating what spare time he had to his avid accumulation of ancient lore and knowledge, he started inquiring and hunting down old, long forgotten tomes for his own personal library.
In time, the Warrior's Guild was doing better than it had when Kresslack joined it. Seeing old members return, and new ones join, he selected his replacement and left the Guild in the best capable hands at the time. Withdrawing himself from Guild matters and city politics, he devoted his time to archiving lore and legend and discussing the future with his long time, gregerous friend Tukar. In time, Kresslack became so wrapped up in his personal project, that the world around him faded and disappeared, and ceased to matter at all. It was not long before he slipped off one day into the woods to seek solace in his studies.
Kresslack has yet to be seen in the land for some time. Some may claim to see him among the branches, or at the base of a huge oak, snoring softly with a book open across his chest and spectacles askew on his nose. Those that have seen him describe him with a hawk like visage, hardened by time and bitter experiance; his strong hands clasped around his oaken staff, his grey robes tattered and faded, and his hat sat crooked atop his head, though with a blink, he had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
