The last born child of Tharador, though no scholars, nor other divines can recall his coming to existence. For unlike other Tharameni, Tharador seemingly did not split his soul for Markamin’s life to take. In the time of The Migration, when men were first brought to Minera, Markamin appeared, rising from Tharador’s crust as an enormous statue of clay, before coming to life himself as the trickster he would quickly become. For it seems as though his very existence itself is a trick, one which he will never reveal the secret of and even stumps the great Tharador himself.
When his sister began her slumper and her dreamscape came to life, Markamin saw it fit to act as his home, feeling constantly an outcast amongst his siblings. He founded himself a place of comforts within the woods, though at will could jump back to the physical plane of Tharador, which he constantly observed in the reflection of his tea cup. The divine of chance he became known, for chance and acts beyond knowledge brought his existence to be, trickery accompanied with it. Gamblers, thieves, charlatans and other lowlives pray to him, though mostly he answers their prayers with mockery and laughter, granting the dreams to the occasional worshipper though purely out of his own entertainment. Often he will coincide them with a great tragedy or loss to maximise his own entertainment from the ordeal.
Now with corruption seeping in from Tharador, Markamin knows its cause. The spirits of the Fey beg him for aid, yet his lifts his nose to them as they had often done to him. Instead he laughs and ridicules their panic, doing what he can to ensure the corruption does not swallow his sister’s mind, but provides enough chaos to give him a show. He too knows the true cause, but being as he is chooses to abstain from curing it nor informing what it might be. Instead he watches as fingers point, voices raise and blood flies in an endless cycle of blame.