Whitewall was a large, prosperous settlement in the north of Faerun. It was ruled by a temple to the god Selune, lady of silver. Astor’s father was a cleric and the high priest of the temple. So as a boy Astor grew up learning all about religion. In particular: Selune and her teachings, how it was important to be kind, accepting and tolerant of all.
When Astor was a boy, he had a strange vision. A deity appeared to him in his sleep. At first he thought it must be Selune, but this woman was a fierce warrior, clad in brilliant, shining red armour. It was the red knight. She spoke wordlessly with Astor. He was awestruck, and fell in love with her. He was filled with a burning desire to follow the path of the warrior, the strategist, a soldier who would fight for all that is good.
The very next day he began training with the town militia. He was an unusually tall boy. He was also strong, and very quick to learn. It wasn’t long before he became a very skilled warrior.
Some years passed. Astor came of age. He got married, and had a baby daughter. His father also appointed him as captain of the town guard because of his martial talents. He lived his life by a personal code: to uphold law and justice; and to protect the good. The most effective way to do this, he believed, was to seek out evil and crush it. As such on the odd occasion that a kobold raiding party would venture down from the mountains, he was always quick to lead an attack, and eliminate them.
One day he was alerted to a large army of marauding Dragonborn heading for the town. They were a few days march to the North. He had known of the army from scout reports, but he’d been told that they had no interest in Whitewall. Reports they were heading East and would pass them by were clearly wrong.
His father immediately advised him to ready the town’s defences, and send someone to negotiate. Astor, however, was certain the best solution would be to go on the offensive. They argued bitterly. Astor had become frustrated at his father who he felt relied too much on fusty old chivalric tradition to keep the town safe. He felt that he knew better, so he went against his father's wishes. He took the town guard, and marched northward to lead an assault on the dragonborn. He was certain that the red knight would grant him victory.
The battle was pitched, and both sides suffered heavy losses, but the dragonborn eventually routed. Astor and his men were victorious. He and the remaining troops headed back in high spirits.
They were not far from the town when they saw black smoke rising in the distance. Whitewall was burning. They broke into a headlong dash to see what was happening.
Arriving at the town, most of the men separated, heading off in search of their families. It was as they scattered that they were ambushed by another force of dragonborn.
A desperate skirmish followed. The guardsmen fought well, but were outnumbered and disorganised. One by one, Astor’s men fell. Eventually only he remained, fighting with crazed ferocity. He was somehow able to hang on, and defeat the last of the invaders by himself.
Exhausted, bloodied, and choking on the thick smoke he ran to his home. He was met with the sight he feared the most. His wife and child lay dead on the floor. Grief stricken, he carried on to another house, then another, but it was useless. The dragonborn had massacred everyone. Finally, he crawled clear to helplessly watch the blazing furnace that was once Whitewall turn to ash.
Since then, Astor has restlessly walked the land. He vowed to protect those that are good by meting out the destruction of the wicked in the name of the red knight. He refuses to talk to anyone about what happened, and has similarly refused to take up the mantle of leadership again, hoping to one day earn retribution.