The exact circumstances of Prayer's birth are unknown, but they were found as a newborn by a wood elf druid named Hosta. She recognized Prayer as someone special and perhaps dangerous and took them in, raising them as her own child, much to the displeasure of her secluded, secretive circle. The circle did not welcome most outsiders, and they knew Prayer to be born of something dark and tainted. But Hosta believed that with Silvanus' teachings, they could overcome their nature. More than that, she simply could not abandon the baby to the wilderness — her conscience would never allow her to.

Raised in nature, away from civilization, Prayer learned to see the natural order of the world and value it above all else. To combat their Dark Urge, Hosta guided them to appreciate both life and death in a passive way, not engaging with either too much. Life and death are two sides of the same coin: death feeds life, and all life will eventually perish. It is cyclical, and only requires intervention when outside forces seek to disrupt that cycle. For many years, this approach worked, and it shaped Prayer to be who they are. They knew the pure love of a mother, the pure love for nature, the pure love for the cycle of life. They had the tools available to them to resist the Urge, and the support, too. Though they had some mistakes (slip-ups of gruesomely killing an animal or taking too much pleasure in a hunt, destroying the corpse so that it could not easily be used for its resources), these were rare, and grew rarer as they got older and were able to exert more self-control. Had no outside forces intervened, they likely would have been able to keep the Urge in check for the rest of their life, tucked away in that corner of the world.

Bhaal, of course, did not accept this fate for his True Heir, his own flesh made manifest. He sent a butler to them to help guide them onto his intended path of murder and carnage. Prayer resisted; they fought what the butler had to say, what he promised, what he encouraged. They fought the growing Urge that grew hungrier and hungrier with each passing day. They warned their mother of what was happening, hoping to be saved or stopped. But Hosta could not defeat this evil for them, nor could she stop the butler from appearing before Prayer. And Prayer, after months of staunch resistance, finally broke to the Urge. In their sleep, they murdered their mother, ripping her to pieces.

This sparked their first suicide attempt. When they awoke to find their mother's mutilated corpse and the blood on their hands, they knew what they had done. Horrified, they turned their blade on themself. But Prayer could not die. When they fell to their own stabbing, they awoke again moments later. When they drank poisons, the same would happen. Their body would revive itself, no matter how broken apart they were, no matter what damage they had done to themself. A blessing of their aasimar nature, some might say, but to Prayer, it was a curse. They were not able to be a part of the natural cycle of life they so revered; they could not be punished adequately for what they had done; and, most importantly, they could not reunite with their mother and apologize to her. They were alone.

The other druids of the circle, of course, found out what had happened. Prayer made no attempts to hide it from them. They begged to be killed, and the druids tried. They had always known that this child was cursed, that they would bring death to the circle, and they had been proven right. They tried with blades, with poisons, with magic, to kill Prayer. But nothing worked. And Prayer, in horrific distress, unable to control themself, slaughtered them all.

Prayer was left a broken shell of who they once were. With no purpose or direction in life and nowhere, now, to call home, they were lost, and still unable to die. All they had left was their Urge. Bhaal. And He was delighted to have his true child back on his intended path.

Unable to resist, a mere husk, Prayer followed Bhaal's instructions: to reach Baldur's Gate and grow His cult anew. They followed Him blindly. Where once they would have bouts of murder when the Urge gripped them, now they only had bouts of resistance, futile attempts to kill or restrain themself. But they could not stop the inevitable.

It took next to no effort to grow Bhaal's cult when they reached Baldur's Gate. They did not have to seek out worshippers — worshippers sought out them. They would leave their gruesome corpses out in the open to be found, and whispers abounded that Bhaal had returned. Not only returned: that this was His true heir, His true flesh and blood, the truest Child of Bhaal there had ever been. The rumours were true. The curious, the reckless, and the faithful would descend into the crumbling Temple of Bhaal that Prayer had made their cold, dark home, look upon them, and fall — in worship, despair, or as the end of their life. Enough came that Prayer set up killing games as a requirement to enter. They were untouchable; unstoppable.

But Prayer enjoyed none of this. Yes, murder made their blood sing in ecstasy, but it did so in a sick manner. A high that was too high followed by an equal, exhausting low. It was addictive. It was maddening. They hated it. They craved it. Perhaps they would have resisted more, but Bhaal had made them a promise: if they executed His will and brought the entire world to slaughter, He would allow them to finally die. And more than anything — more than freedom, more than murder, more than anything — Prayer wanted to die. So they did His bidding. They grew the cult, they murdered, they bathed in blood. They accepted Orin into the fold as their second; took in the defeated dog Sarevok and refrained from killing him, saving him for his daughter, granddaughter. They worked with Gortash and Ketheric when approached. All for the chance to die.

Orin overthrowing them was not within their calculations. It was not even within Bhaal's calculations, though He did not stop her from doing so. Their invincibility made them pay little attention to threats; after all, no one could kill them, and if anyone ever did somehow manage it, then they would be grateful. But Orin did not kill them. She infected them. Took control from their Father and made them her own puppet. Left them to be experimented on and abused by necromancers in the pits of Moonrise. Prayer was made into a new thrall, a thing to be used by another power. All this time, they had been a slave to a greater being. And they raged against it. Raged against their enslavement, against the betrayal, against their fading memories, the only part of them, the real them, that remained. And the Urge raged, too, unwilling to be bent to another's whims, unwilling to serve this new power. It could be quieted, resisted, but it would not be used like this by anyone but Bhaal. Eventually, the Urge was all Prayer truly had left to them. Memories eaten by the worm, personality quelled by the brain. Their own will and the will of the Urge was all that kept them from becoming a full thrall, and they did not stop railing against that prospect for a moment. Only when they were finally freed from its influence aboard the nautiloid were they able to reassert control and regain who they were beyond the Urge, even with their memories lost. And for the first time in decades, with no memories of despair, no memories of Bhaal's promise, no cult and amongst normal people once more: they could finally try to free themself of Bhaal's influence once more. Resist the Urge.