Helena and Bullok, Separate Backgrounds.

So, these are the individual backgrounds for Helena and Bullok. My wife, Jacqui, wrote her background and it's here with her permission (she's also a talented writer).

These backgrounds are far more brief than the previous one due to the fact that our joint background was much longer. These are meant to be supplemental.

Stuff you should know: Lok is a "Factotum". It's basically a person who can do a little bit of everything. He's a total utility player. Pelor is the deity of strength and healing, and is NG.

Shout out to Colton Neiger for DMing this campaign.
Shout out to Jacqui Valdez for playing Helena Vix.

Lok Vix

My parents were always surprised at me. First, as to how I was born. My mother went into labor in the middle of a trip. There was panic, there was anger, and it was all happening at once. So my father stopped the cart to allow her to give birth…in the middle of a forest road. Against all odds, one of the fey stepped near him to help. He insists the dryad was simply curious as to what was happening. After a successful birth, a dryad leaned over and kissed my forehead as my mother held me.

Crazy, right?

So, my parents had high hopes for me. Unfortunately, the next surprise was that I didn't quite live up to those hopes as a teenager. I wasn’t really motivated by many things. I had a calm demeanor and just kind of let life happen. I just said I was “a passive person”. My dad called me “lazy”. My mom called me a “follower”. But in truth, I just didn’t see any good reason to get worked up over things.

Well, except for Helena.

We were best friends all throughout childhood, but just friends.

No, really, just friends.

We were friends until we both made a huge mistake. We did something stupid and someone innocent got hurt. She took that mistake as a cue to become a better person. So she decided to become a paladin. I took it as a cue to do a bit more with my life.

Okay, a lot more.

So I decided to learn. I decided to learn as much as I could. Carpentry, locksmith, fighting, spells, healing, whatever I could learn, I learned it.

I didn’t become great at anything, but I thought that if I knew a little bit of everything, I’d never be unprepared again, and if someone else was hurt or in trouble, I could help.

Oh, yeah, I ended up marrying Helena after she came back from paladin training. I’m perfectly happy with her taking the lead. I’m a background guy anyway. But as long as something needs doing, as often as I can, I’ll be there to do it.

Helena Vix

I am a Paladin of Pelor; a believer in good, truth, and purity.  I uphold the law and trust that it is there for a reason – to protect the citizens from their own destruction.  Without it, there would be chaos.  Breaking of the law in any way leads to the breakdown of a successful and prosperous society.  I have learned to forfeit my own desires to protect the weak and the innocent.  Well – most of them…

I came from a broken home – my parents were together, but things just seemed broken.  My father was a self-proclaimed sage.  “We must always do our best.  We cannot afford mistakes.  We must use the tools available to us to make things right.”  Really, there’s no harm in the words…it’s the follow through that made him hard to follow.  He was very wise, unless he had been drinking. 

My father was the one who first taught me to stand up for myself.  I was the son he never had.  He taught me how to fight…well, how to beat others that is.  He was kind of a bully, and in the beginning, that’s all I knew how to be.  It wasn’t until I met Lok that I found out there is so much more power in quiet strength.

Looking back on my childhood, I realize how stupid I was.  I was a bully, out for my own gain.  I had an out of control temper that got me in trouble more than once.  If it wasn’t for Lok holding me back and keeping me sane, I don’t know where I would be.  You see, there were these neighbors of mine that had made it their personal vendetta to ruin anything I accomplished.  They would pull one stunt after another, and all I could think on was revenge. 

It wasn’t until the accident that I realized there was more to life than stupid pranks.  What happened was…I don’t really want to talk about it.  What matters is that I learned that I had to grow up and start helping others rather than hurting them.  I had to stand up for good and truth.  I spent some serious personal time wrestling with my conscience and the idea of the future.  That’s what led me to Pelor.  I knew that I had a great destiny, and that Pelor was calling me to be a Paladin.  He would show me how to make up for my past mistakes. 

I joined a Paladin order and trained with them for a couple years.  I am only a novice, but already they have sent me on a few quests.  I have upheld the name of Pelor and shown that I am not only brave, but strong and worthwhile to have in a fight.  I know that my calling is doing good and fighting injustice wherever it is to be found.  It’s one of the few things about my life that is right.

That, and Lok.  Being the strong-headed girl that I am, after meeting up with Lok after several years apart, I proposed to him.  He said yes, of course.  But, I kind of bypassed the whole letting the guy charm the girl part.  I struggle a little with letting others be in charge…but it works for us.  He is always there when I need him, and a perfect companion to a bull-headed gal who likes to make the decisions.  He’s not exactly the rule follower that I am (and that has led to some tension), but he’ll do. 

So in the meantime, we have been adventuring on a few quests.  Fighting bad guys, protecting the innocent…you know the drill.  We are just waiting for something really important to come along – the quest that will change our lives.

For those who care: Lok is currently a Factotum5/Chameleon3 (lvl8), Helena is currently a Paladin5/Annointed Knight/3 (lvl8). This campaign is ongoing.

Helena and Bullok

Currently, my wife and I are in a campaign with some close friends of ours. Jacqui and I have played together several times before, but this time we decided to try something different: we decided to be married in game.

This gave me the opportunity to write a background that wasn't just about me, but about how I met someone as well. I have to say, this rivals "Redemption" as one of my favorites.

Some things you should know: Paladins are LG and are very zealous in their beliefs. They can naturally sense evil at will.

Shout out to Jacqui Valdez for playing Helena Vix.
Shout out to Colton Neiger for DMing this campaign.

Bullok and Helena Vix

“You did it on purpose, jerk!” she screamed. She was angry. She was violent.

She was eight years old.

“You guys are just jealous that you don’t have a tree house!” she cried.

“You don’t have one anymore!” the boy taunted. She quickly grabbed a rock and chucked it at him, smashing his nose. The boy fell on the ground, his nose slowly dripping blood. A second boy spun her around to face him.

“Hey! We were just playing around with your stupid tree house! You didn’t have to hurt him!”

She gave him an icy stare, “How would you like it if I busted your tree house?”, and she kicked him square in the crotch. “How does your tree feel now?” She said with a sneer as he collapsed on the ground.

She spun to face the third boy who was now approaching her. He was several years older and quite a bit bigger than her, but if she seemed to notice, she didn’t let on. “Don’t think that I’m afraid to hit a girl!” he shouted, but before he could raise a hand against her, she put a right hook across his mouth, dropping him to the ground with a split lip.

All three boys were rising at this time, and the girl was about to face a united front. They turned to their adversary, only to see her standing resolute under her ruined tree house with a hammer in hand.

“My dad left this hammer here to fix mistakes. Are you about to make a mistake?” she told them with a half smile.

They ran.

“Stupid jerks”, she spat as she turned to look at her play place. They had torn down the door and knocked an entire wall out. Luckily, both had come down in one piece and should be able to be put back up. She picked up loose nails, climbed the ladder, and tried to hammer the door back in, but it simply wasn’t working. She cried in frustration and threw the hammer to the ground.

“I can do that”, came the gentle voice from the bottom of the tree.

The girl peeked down from her perch to see a boy her age simply standing at the base of the ladder.

“Whatever”, she grumbled.

He picked up the hammer and ascended to the tree house. He looked at the nails, hammered them straight, braced the wall with a branch, and proceeded to hammer it back in. Meanwhile, the girl took the chance to vent her anger at the boys, explaining their jealousy, their vandalism, and her victory over them. And all the while, the boy fixed her tree house in silence.

And that’s how Helena met Bullok.

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

“You need to stop letting these guys pick on you, Lok.”

Bullok gave a non committal shrug to his best friend of a decade. “It really doesn’t matter, Helena.”

She looked up from the door lock she was attempting to pick with an angry look, “Of course it matters! They stole your money!”

“It was three copper. And that doesn’t even pay for their clothes that we ruined.”

The memory brought a smile to both of their faces. They had created an alchemical mixture that attracted bees and then doused their rivals in it.

The boys had to literally tear their clothes off.

“Yeah, but we only did that because-“

“There’s always a reason”, Lok interrupted, “this has been escalating as long as I can remember. When does this end? Shouldn’t we be finding a better way to take care of-“

Helena threw the lock pick at Lok before he could finish. “This stupid thing won’t open anyway.”

“I can do that” Lok stated. He knelt down, picked up the lock pick, and had the door open soon after.

They walked in the house, being careful to stay quiet. “Are you sure no one is here?” Lok asked.

“The family isn’t, but all three morons are.” She whispered with a wolfish grin.

They sneaked around the house, looking to find something specific. After peeking in a couple of doors, they found their goal at last.

The chamber pot.

Helena quietly dusted the rim of the bucket with the mixture and they exited the house as quietly as they entered.

“So,” Lok asked while they hid nearby, “they go to the chamber pot…and what happens?”

“The mixture reacts to the minor amount of ammonium in urine. When their pee hits the pot…boom.”

“Boom? How big of a boom?”

“It’ll only be smoke and noise, but enough to scare someone. It won’t be that-“

The blast shook the house.

 They both began to laugh, but then they heard the scream, the scream of a little girl.

“Gods,” Helena said, “their sister was home.”

A week later Helena and Lok sat quietly in the same tree house that had housed their first meeting. They had been there for a quarter of an hour, not talking, and the silence was ear splitting.

Lok finally broke the silence. “They say she’s going to be fine. She wasn’t seriously hurt and-“

“She’s deaf.” Helena spoke, matter of factly.

“She’ll be fine…except for that…” The silence returned as they avoided eye contact. “Well, at least we were honest about it. We’re in huge trouble, but I think this’ll finally be the end of our stupid rivalry.” Lok finished his sentence and noticed that Helena wasn’t even listening. Tears shone in her eyes and she stared out of the tree house window.

“I’m leaving, Lok.”

“What? Where are you going? Are you in trouble?”

“No, I’ve just been thinking. The first couple of days I was so ashamed. I’ve been spending so much time and effort trying to get revenge on these guys that I never thought about making that much of an effort on anything else. But slowly, that shame turned to passion. And that passion became a calling. I truly feel called to do something more. I worked so hard to teach those punks a lesson, but there are real evils out there that I could be working against.”

“What are you saying, Helena?”

“There’s a paladin order that I’m going to be joining. I feel like this whole event has given Pelor an opportunity to get through my hard heart. I feel like I’m being called to join this order.

“And I leave tomorrow.” She finished.

“Helena, you’re overreacting. We already apologized and we can start working on better things here, but please, don’t leave.”

Helena gave her best friend a compassionate smile and took his hand in hers. She said nothing, but her actions told him everything she was thinking.

Nothing would dissuade her from her calling.

“How long will you be gone?” He asked.

“Years.” A final silence fell between them. After a few moments, they spoke the last words they’d say to each other for four years.

“You’ll still be here when I get back right?”

“I can do that.”

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

She surveyed her home town.

She thought that it seemed so different and yet exactly the same, all at the same time. It was the right time to come back, she was certain of that. The teenager that used minor alchemy skills for pranks was long gone. She now was Helena, paladin of Pelor. She was here to right wrongs, to uphold justice, and to dispatch evil.

She let her eyes scan the town as she walked through it, taking in all the sights, all the nostalgia.

And noticing the man trying to pick a lock to someone’s front door.

As she casually approached him, she extended her senses to test the man’s heart, to see if he was evil.

Although he wasn’t, she still wouldn’t stand for breaking and entering. She grabbed the man’s shoulder, threw him on his back and put her sword to his neck.

“And just what do you think your do – Lok?”

“Helena?”

They met eyes in a moment that neither would ever forget. She noticed the classic twinkle in Lok’s eyes, but they belonged to a young man. He’d gained muscle over his body, his skin had tanned, and his boyish smile now had the slightest blemish: a light scar going from lower lip to chin. She noted that it only added character to the man that Lok had become.

Meanwhile, Lok was overwhelmed with the strength that the woman standing before him exuded. Helena had always been strong, but this was different. This strength was coupled with confidence, certainty of self, and something else that made her even more beautiful than her obviously attractive features could convey: righteousness.

It took a moment before either of them was reminded that she was standing over him with a sword at his neck.

“Wait, what are you doing? Are you about to rob whoever lives here?” Helena said as she shook her head back to the situation at hand.

“Well, I’m certainly going to take whatever I want.” Lok replied with a grin.

Helena brought the blade closer to his throat.

“Because it’s my house! I live here!”

“Wait…you live here?” Helena looked at the home. It wasn’t extravagant, but it certainly wasn’t humble. “What do you do?”

“Uh…well, I’m an adventurer. And a locksmith. I also do a bit of carpentry. And sometimes I-“

“Okay, I get the point.” She told him with a grin. “You’ve always been a jack of all trades.” She reached out her hand and helped him back to his feet. “Why were you trying to pick the lock?”

“I don’t actually own a key. I’m always trying to keep on my toes. But you can ask anyone in town!”

“I believe you, Lok.” She said with a laugh, “So, what’s new in town?”

“In four years? A lot. Uh, my parents moved out of the city a while back, a couple of the brothers are married and have places of their own…oh! Their sister! I found an enchanted horn that picks up sound via magic, not ear drums. She can hear! Only through the horn, but she can hear again. Oh, and-“

“Oh my gosh, when did you start to talk so much?”

“I usually don’t. I haven’t actually changed that much. There’s just so much to tell you.”

“Want to tell me over lunch?” Helena asked with a smile.

“I can do that.”

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

“You did what?” Helena furiously shouted at her boyfriend.

“He had been underpaying them for months. He was illegally cheating them.” Lok stated, as if that should answer everything.

“So you stole from him? You stole from him to repay wages instead of going to the town guard, or even me?”

“You know it would have just been their word or his, and no one would have listened to them.”

“You still broke the law.” Helena said through clenched teeth.

“What do you think Pelor would approve of: action or doing nothing?”

This brought pause to the paladin of Pelor. Helena calmed a bit and said, “You’re not Pelor, you don’t get to make those choices. You’re a man, a man who happens to be dating a woman who swore to uphold the law.”

“I did what I thought was right.”

“Well now I have to do that same. I have to turn you in!” Helena said, her temper starting to heat up again.

“I understand.”

“You’d better! And I’m not going to ask for leniency! You’ll likely spend a month in jail, and that’s in conjunction with having to pay the man back!  You will answer to the law! And when you get out, you’re going to marry me!”

They met eyes and a beaming smile grew to replace Helena’s angry features. Lok found his breath and smiled back.

“I can do that.”

The Forgotten Tale of Oscurio Dathell

If you haven't read parts I and II, it's fairly important that you do. Again, fair warning, the content  is definitely heavier than previous stories.

The Forgotten Tale of Oscurio Dathell

Part III

The dagger met its mark with deadly precision. Were the figure an actual man, he would surely be dead. Sand poured from the dummy’s wound and onto the ground.

“Brilliant, Oscurio! I never even saw you! …Oscurio?

“Here.”

Rothan jumped at the voice that came from behind him.

“Great Nerull, boy! Your talent has far exceeded my expectations, and only nineteen years old. You will be brilliant, my boy. Far better than your worthless father ever was.”

“I don’t like to speak of him.”

“Yes, you still don’t speak much at all, do you?”

“Children are meant to be seen and not to be heard, grandfather.” Oscurio gave a fleeting thought of his mother.

“But you are no longer a child, are you my little shadow dancer? You’re a young man! And I’ve wanted to give you missions worthy of men for years now. Are you ready yet?”

“…No…”

“But why, Oscurio? You killed your father without hesitation, what are a few other meaningless lives?

“I said I’m not ready!” Came the unheard of outburst from Oscurio.

“Don’t you dare take that tone of voice with me. Don’t forget who brought you here, who taught you. Now tell me why you won’t take on some tasks!”

“I just…I want to see her first. I want to know why she never came for me…”

“Who are we talking about?”

Oscurio’s voice dropped to a pained whisper. “Mother.”

“Ell? Ha! I doubt she’s even alive.”

“She would only be in her mid-forties. And I doubt she would have moved-“

“No, boy, I mean because of her job.”

“Yes, I remember you saying something about that when you took me.”

“Are you saying you never knew? She was training you and you never knew!”

“Training me for what?”

“She’s an assassin, Oscurio! Always has been! Your father may have been a poor student but he wasn’t that useless. No average woman could have fought Rowan off the way she did before you were born, especially a pregnant one!”

It made sense, but Oscurio couldn’t accept it. “Y-you’re lying…she was kind to others. She shared food.”

“To build trust, child, to have others let their guard down. Trust always makes things easier for an assassin.”

“No! You’re wrong! Mother would never do something like that!”

“Where do you think she got all that food to share? She would have to have been rich to buy that much food, she stole it from the people she killed.”

“But…when my father…how could he have…”

“How did he manage to rape her? I’m sure she had just returned from a job, it gets exhausting from time to time.”

“Shut up!” Oscurio turned from his grandfather, not wanting his tears to show.

“That’s why you killed your father, isn't it? Because you didn't think she could? Rowan merely took her by surprise, had you shown up a minute later I’m sure she would have finished him.’

“I said shut up!”

Oscurio’s fist connected with Rothan’s chin. Blood spattered the sand on the floor. Rothan looked at the young man with utter disgust.

            “How dare you? You think that you can insult me in this way? You think that I won’t kill you faster than you killed your worthless father? You think your whore of a mother is worth dying over? In a minute you’ll wish she had let your father cut you from her belly!”

            Rothan stepped back into the shadows and disappeared.

            “No”

            Oscurio held his hand forward and the shadows split, revealing the dagger wielding Rothan. He then dashed toward his grandfather, pulling his own dagger in the process. Rothan stood fearlessly, expecting this to be a quick and decisive battle.

            He was right.

            Oscurio let the shadows cascade back upon them, removing them both from sight. Rothan noticed the slight movement over his shoulder, turned, and drove the dagger into the neck of the figure.

            It was a distraction, a shadow shape.

            Oscurio came from behind his mentor and put a dagger into his gut.

            “I will find my mother. And I will see if you are lying. If you are not, if she is what you say she is…then she will see you in hell!”

            Oscurio dragged the dagger across Rothan’s stomach, pulled his head backward, pushed his spine forward, and let Rothan fold in half…backward.

The Forgotten Tale of Oscurio Dathell

Part IV

She stalked her prey with utmost silence. Nothing she did made a sound, at no point did she leave the shadows. She could see the man in his bed, his wife absent, having been the one to arrange the man’s demise. The moment was perfect, she drank it in, savoring her power over this insignificant man. She drew her dagger and stalked closer to him, only to find his eyes open, staring directly at her.

No…not staring at her, staring at…nothing. It was a thousand yard stare, one that traveled right through her. She had seen that stare before; it was the stare of lifelessness. Her prey was dead and had been for some time.

She quickly looked around the room to see if she was being watched. The curtain moved…the closet was cracked open…shadows everywhere…she suddenly realized that eyes could be peer at her from anywhere. She slowly put one foot behind the other, moving toward the door, only to step into the young man standing behind her.

“Who are you?” She brandished her dagger toward the stranger. He only smiled and looked directly into her eyes.

She knew those eyes. “Son?”

The name brought a tear to his eye and a scowl to his face. She could now see her child in that face, the boy who she protected for so long.

“Son, what are you doing here?”

He simply walked over to the dead man and stuck his dagger in the shoulder as if the man was an oversized pin cushion.

“You killed him? Oh, gods…I-I never wanted this for you.” She could see the pain on his face, the sense of betrayal. “I know I never told you, I never meant to lie to you.”

That brought out the anger. Her son looked at her with more fury than she thought he could have.

“You didn’t need to know what I did! I was just trying to protect you! I’m so sorry, son, I didn’t mean to hurt you! I always meant to come for you, but Rothan would have killed you!”

Her son simply stared at her with cold eyes.

“I always wondered about you, son. I thought about you every day.” Her voice was softening now, her apology becoming a quiet plea. “I’m so sorry, son. So sorry I lied. So sorry I let you be taken. So sorry I never came for you.”

She bowed her head and let some tears fall to the ground. Silence dominated the room for what seemed like hours, but was only moments. Her son still said nothing, just stared. Her shame came out in a burst of frustration. “Dammit, say something to me!” He only stared back at her.

She had seen that stare before, that thousand yard stare.

The dead stare.

“Children should be seen and not heard, mother.” And he grabbed his dagger from the man’s shoulder and drove it into his own throat.

Blood poured from her son’s self inflicted would. Ell screamed with horror, with fear, with utter confusion. She lost all train of thought until darkness filled the room.

Oscurio threw away the lump of flesh he had cut out and then gulped down the healing potion. He could feel it magically knitting his wound and breath returned to his lungs. His mother would soon find out that he had simply extended a shadow over her and he needed to be prepared for what was next.

The shadows moved away and he could see her again, panic all over her face. He stepped forward and spit a mouthful of blood into her eyes. She stumbled backward and fell to the ground. He approached her, dagger drawn, sadistic glee in his eyes. He had never seen his mother afraid before. She was always so strong, so confident, and yet here she was, completely at his mercy.

He kneeled next to her and tears streamed down her face. For a moment, she saw what might have been sympathy in his eyes. “Please, son. I’m so sorry. Don’t do this.”

He gave her the respect of making her death quick. The dagger sank into her heart and she slowly let her eyes close. He stood and looked at the room. The dead man; his mother, both his and her blood mingled on the floor next to her; the chunk of his larynx he had cut out. The magical potion closed his would so he could breathe again, but he knew he would never be able to speak another word. Children should be seen and not heard. Never heard again.

He slowly walked toward the front door of the house, reflecting on his life, seeing how his family had defined him. His grandfather that gave him the name Oscurio; his father, Dath, the first man he killed; his mother, Ell, the only one he ever trusted, the woman who betrayed him, who  never came for him. They defined him, they created him, and he ended each of their lives. He was Oscurio Dathell.

The woman of the house walked in to see if the job was done. When she saw Oscurio, she shouted at him. He had no care what she was saying, he simply swept his hand out and cut her throat, letting her fall behind him. He stepped outside into the cool night and surveyed the world. He had so much hate inside and he just wanted every person to share that with him. So many people, so much potential.

Oscurio smiled.

For those who care: Oscurio was an 8th level Rogue5/Assassin1/Shadowdancer2 

He couldn't actually "talk", but I gave him the Pipes of Sounding, a magical item that allowed him to magically mimic any sound, including a person talking. That was his main form of communication, though he still spoke VERY rarely.

The Forgotten Tale of Oscurio Dathell

So, characters in D&D are given what's called an "alignment" to help PC's stay true to how their character should act. It puts on paper and helps quantify choices and actions your character makes.

There are nine possible options coming from the combination of three ethical options (Lawful, Neutral, Chaotic) and three moral options. (Good, Neutral, Evil). Each helps, not just the PC playing the part, but the other PC's and the DM understand how the character should be acting. This picture helps describe the nine combinations:

LG: You are the boy scout type. You fight for the good of the people and the law of the land.  Classic "truth, justice, and the American way" 

NG: Sometimes the law doesn't cut it. People are hurting and you'll do what needs to be done to help them, inside or outside the law.

CG: The powers that be are corrupt and those under their thumb need help! It brings you great joy to thumb your nose at them while breaking every law possible, just so long as you're helping others in the end.

LN: There are no grey areas, no good excuses. The law is the law and it's absolute. Sometimes that means protecting the people, sometimes that means hurting someone quite a bit. But you'll do what needs to be done.

NN or "True Neutral": Why do so many fight and quibble over such mundane things? Many greater things are happening beyond laws and morals, and we are just a small part of it.

CN: You love to cause trouble. Slipping a coin or two is a habit of yours. Maybe you'll share some of that...but probably not. It depends on how it benefits you...

LE: You have power and you abuse it as much as possible. Maybe you're a mayor or a tax collector or a sheriff, but you'll do whatever it takes to give yourself whatever you want, especially if it's at the expense of the peons you command. It's all legal, of course...

NE: You hate them, the morons milling about all the time. You'll do what it takes to prove that they deserve to hurt, any way you can.

CE: Your currency is pain. Your joy is suffering. You just want to see the world burn.

The reason I explain this is because this next story is of the only evil character I've ever played (NE), and I have to admit, it was HARD. Attempting to get into the mindset of someone so deranged was something I didn't think I could do. So I had to think to myself: how could someone come to this point? That's where this story stems from.

I was also reading a book at the time that had a "he said" or "she said" after every line of dialogue, and it was maddening. So I experimented with never using either, or anything similar. I tried using only story cues to allude to who's talking.

The story is actually four parts, Parts I and II are posted now, I'll put up III and IV on Thursday.

Small warning, There is some content that's a bit heavier that my other backgrounds.

Some info to get you started: Skulks are a race of human-like people, but they can change their skin color at will. They're usually inherently evil, though that's more the product of their society. They also have the innate ability to move shadows, which helps their stealth.

Shout out to Josh Higgins for DMing this campaign.

The Forgotten Tale of Oscurio Dathell

Part I

            She was…different. Among the skulk people, it was nearly unheard of for one to hold morality like her. She was (he shuddered to think it) “good”. Not just to other skulks, but to all people, including, (he shuddered again) humans. He hated her for it, hated everything about her. The way she smiled, the way she brought back fruits and vegetables from the nearby human town, the way she shared, and the fact that she was so damn beautiful. He hated her most for that. That one from the family of Dath, Rowan Dath to be exact, could hate and desire one like her so much simultaneously. Yet he did desire her, and, as he always had, he would get his way.

            Ell labored under the weight of the food she was carrying. She had obtained food while working in town before, but this particular human had quite a bit. Nonetheless, she carried the literal fruits of her labor back to the darkness that was her village. The food always brought trust and she appreciated the trust, it made things so much easier for her. So she plodded on, hands full, a bit tired after completing her task, and unaware of the man awaiting her return.

            She never saw it coming.

            A watermelon burst on the ground as Rowan forced Ell into her home. Her scream must have been heard, but would not be acknowledged. She fought harder than he thought she was able, but it was not enough. The adrenaline, the lust, fueling his system would not be denied. She cried out, both in pain and sorrow, cried to the darkness, which had less of an answer than any cry before.

            She stopped bringing food. She stopped sharing. She stopped smiling. Rowan stopped wanting her. In fact, he hardly noticed Ell at all.

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Six months past.

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            She was…young, fifteen to be exact. But Rowan had had others like her before. He just had to find a way to get her alone. Rowan eyed the teen lewdly as she was talking to the increasingly fat woman. She was beautiful once, the fat woman. But she had become increasingly large since…

            Since six months ago.

            Ell was not fat, she was pregnant, pregnant with a Dath. Pregnant with his Dath, and she was keeping it from him. She was holding his child hostage. And he would take it from her. He would cut it from her very belly. Rage filled his every sense. He drew the dagger he kept with him, and approached her quickly.

“Give me my child you whore!”

But this time, Ell was ready. Ell watched him watch the teenage girl. Watched his epiphany that Ell was carrying his child, and watched his approach. He brandished the dagger toward her stomach, and with surprising grace she sidestepped him and put her foot into his kneecap. He let out a shriek and fell to the ground, dropping his dagger. Ell picked it up and turned toward him, driving the dagger into his shoulder. Another shriek spilled from his mouth. But it was after that cry that she heard something else. Footsteps. People running to meet Rowan’s cry as they had ignored hers months before. Other members of the Dath family, no doubt with intent to protect their brother. She had no choice but to run. She dashed for the shadows, melding with them as if she was a part of them. She knew she had to leave. Had to leave and never return.

The Forgotten Tale of Oscurio Dathell

Part II

            The strapping young nine year old jogged back to his home, letting his feet fall as silent as possible. “Children should be seen and not heard”, his mother reminded him constantly. He didn’t know why she said that, considering he was rarely seen also. No one came to their home. And they never went anywhere, except to steal food from the nearest farm. But he enjoyed this time, the only time he got to be outdoors, watching the moonlight cascade on the landscape in front of him, smelling the fresh vegetables in his pack. Life was good for him, more than anything because he did not know there was anything else. He had food when he was hungry, drink when he was thirsty, and best of all: his mother loved him very much. So he raced home, looking forward to seeing her face.

            Ell worried about her son, as she always did when he was out. But when she looked out the window, she saw the shadows shift toward her home, and she knew her son was home. She did not hear the door open, she had taught her son well, but when she felt the draft from outside she simply said, “Welcome home, child”.

“How is that that y-“

“Children should be seen and not heard, son.”

            He nodded, closed the door, and put the food on the table.

            “It’s been ten years! Where is she? Where is my child?” Rowan kicked a nearby chair, sending it rolling across the room.

            “It’s only been nine, Rowan. She’s completely disappeared. No one has heard the name Ell since she left.”

            Rowan gave the spy an icy glare. “What about the two that you found that live alone? The woman and the boy?”

            “No one has heard their names yet, so we can’t confirm anything. They only refer to each other as ‘mother’ and ‘son’.”

            “You’ve been watching them for three months and they haven’t spoken a single name? What the hell are you doing out there?”

            “The best we can, Rowan. I don’t think it’s those two. I would go with the woman who lives in town.”

            “She’s a human you simpleton!”

            “So we think. You know we can change our skin color. And now that we know more of Ell’s previous…profession, we know that she is talented in disguise. Those other two live too common for someone of Ell’s talents. Their either dumb or-“

            “Afraid.” Rowan let a smile creep across his face. “They’re afraid. It’s them.”

            The boy sped home again after obtaining some fruit. This particular trip had been quite lucrative. He labored under the weight of the literal fruits of his labor, nonetheless, he continued on. And as he approached his home, he heard the scream.

            She never saw it coming.

            A watermelon burst on the ground as Rowan forced Ell into her home. He shouted at her, asking for his son, fighting her in the process. She only responded with screams, but this time, her screams would be answered.

The boy crept up behind him. He did not know who the man was, he only knew that he was hurting his mother. Without a sound, he picked up the knife that he and his mother used for cooking, walked to the man as calm as he had ever been. He ignored the shouts, ignored the screams, and drove the dagger into the man’s knee. When the man fell to the ground, the boy took the dagger in hand again, and shoved it into the man’s eye.

            Ell looked at her son with utter amazement. He had never known violence; she wondered if he knew what he had just done. She was so preoccupied with that thought that it never occurred to her that there could be other people nearby. But just a few seconds after the boy killed his own father, other skulk’s burst into the home, arrows drawn, allowing for the eldest of them to walk in unarmed.

            “Amazing. We both know that you are skilled, Ell, but your boy! It seems like you’ve been training him as a rouge.” The elder skulk walked around the home as if he were a welcome guest.

            “What the hell do you want, Rothan? Rowan was here for his son, but you already have several. You have no need for a grandchild.”

            “A grandchild? No. But a protégé? Absolutely! Your boy was on Rowan before Rowan even knew he was there. He’s brilliant! And so young!”

            Ell stood as a shield between her son and Rothan. “Get away from him, you bastard!”

            Rothan kneeled to become eye level with the boy. “What’s your name, son?”

            “Name, sir?”

            “Your name! What does your mother call you?”

            “She only calls me ‘son’, sir.”

            “Ha! Brilliant, Ell! That little trick kept our men fooled for months! Hmm…how about ‘Oscurio’? ‘Little Darkness’ in our old language! Ha ha! Come, boy! We have training to begin!”

A couple of the thugs grabbed the boy, despite Ell’s futile attempts to keep him behind her.

“Do not try to follow us, Ell, remember that your life is not the only one on the line. Now boy, I will continue showing you the ways of the rouge, but when that’s done, how does the name ‘Shadow Dancer’ sound?”

           

Oscurio smiled.

Parts III and IV to be posted on Thursday.

The Life to Date of Nightveil Shroud

This one is probably the most difficult I've written. I think the writing went well...but too well. The character, Nightveil Shroud, was a psychopath. Not the "mass murderer" definition that television will have you believe is the only definition, but the literal, clinical description, meaning that the person relates so little to the human condition, that it's almost as if they lack something on a fundamental moral, spiritual, and humane level (the word "psychopath" coming from the Greek "without soul").

Shroud didn't understand people or attachments or anything like that. He thrived on information, he loved learning and growing in experience, and nothing more. Because of that, I had to write an account from the perspective of someone who doesn't find "exciting" the things that we find "exciting". Therefore, this background is...well, to be honest...boring. It's incredibly literal, packed with facts, and devoid of relation. I meant for the reader to feel disconnected from Shroud, and I think I succeeded too much, haha.

Just some info to help: Illumians are a race of people who are basically language incarnate. They are bitter rivals to another race called the Githyanki, due to the destruction of a beloved library by the Githyanki long ago. Illumians use their surname first, so "Nightveil" is his "last" name, the name of his cabal. "Shroud" is his "first" name, the name he goes by.

Shout out to Bobby Stewart for playing Trydan Boggs.
Shout out to Kevin Neiger for DMing this campaign.

The Life to Date of Nightveil Shroud

            I killed my first person when I was 9.

            The only reason I begin with that is because I understand that things are more likely to be read if they begin with excitement. I have yet to comprehend the reason for this, or for “excitement” within any story that focuses more on the emotion than the facts. I prefer facts, information, the written word of it all. But for the sake of the reader, I will try to add…”flavor”…to this account.

            But, I digress.

            I was born 5 pounds, 10 ounces, to the Nightveil cabal. For those unfamiliar with this word, a cabal is sort of an Illumian tribe, a group of us that join together with similar purpose. The Nightveil cabal is a Gauntlet cabal, which is our title for a cabal that specializes in espionage and infiltration. I began speaking at 6 months, reading at 13 months, and walking at 14 months. This may seem incredible by human standards, but remember that my people are language incarnate; therefore literacy comes naturally to us-

            And there I go again, telling you nothing but the facts.

            My training began soon thereafter. I remember the simple “games” we used to play, “Ghost” which is similar to “Hide and Seek” (I believe that’s what it’s called in common), though the goal is to find others without them ever seeing you, “Frost” (though I never understood why it was called that) which is basically “Capture the Flag” (again, I believe that’s what’s it’s known as) though the goal, again, is to be undetected, and my personal favorite “Secrets” in which we were encouraged to find out what our playmates had been doing the last week. This often led to spying on each other, lying to each other, sneaking/breaking into each other’s homes, but it was all for the purpose of training. Although, some thought that this particular game “robbed us of our innocence.”

I don’t believe in innocence, only ignorance, and I do not respect ignorance.

            When we turned six, actual combat training began. Our instructor, Penumbra, was talented, strong, and beautiful. She instructed each of us in silent battle, four days a week, for three years. The other days were spent learning disguise, lock picking, languages, etc. As we always said, “A Nightveil unprepared is a Nightveil who has erred.”

            I excelled in all of my studies, both combat and otherwise, though I always did so alone. People respected me, though I never really had “friends”.

I didn’t mind, I never saw the reason for friends.

I suppose they thought me odd. I was never one for useless conversation, I spent my time either training or reading, and I would sometimes just sit and think for hours.

My oddities did not stop Penumbra from noticing my talents. And at nine years old, we were all handed our first assignments (a child makes a better spy than one would think).

I remember gently breaking the seal, a sense of reverence for the parchment in my hands, and reading the words written on it.

It was no introductory mission. I was to personally accompany Penumbra to retrieve information from a Githyanki encampment, an enemy of the Illumian people for as long as any of us can remember. This was no small task, and I had been chosen for it.

When the night of our infiltration arrived, Penumbra took me aside and warned me of the danger of the mission. “Understand that your skills have earned you this mission, but that it may cost you your life”, she said to me.

“And yours, I’m sure”, I calmly responded. She looked back at me with what I believe was surprise, realizing that I was serious.

I think she was the first to suspect my condition.

The mission was rather successful, with only minor interruptions-

Ah, yes, the interruptions. I had mentioned this at the beginning.

Within the Githyanki encampment there was said to be a page from a book that was in the Library of the Sublime before the Githyanki sacked it. Some of you may wonder what the importance of one page from one book may be, but our adoration for information is beyond description, and the Library of the Sublime was said to have information beyond measure, though, for the sake of the reader, I will not go further into this.

When we entered the tent that we suspected contained the page, we saw an ornate scroll case. We carefully approached it, aware that traps may be at any point, and actually found and disarmed a few.

What we didn’t expect was the Githyanki that merely entered at random.

I happened to be standing near the entrance, so I simply drew my dagger and drove it into his throat. It silenced him from ever screaming and he died soon after, and so I claimed my first life. Penumbra looked at me with that same shocked look she had given me earlier that night. I returned her gaze and suggested, “Retrieve the scroll case and let’s head back.”

We did just that.

Sadly, the page was not from our former library, but it did contain some fascinating facts on the Astral Plane. It described-

Apologies. Once again, I digress.

I continued to excel in my tasks, studying deeper into the art of espionage, even learning spells to aid me. But there was an issue regarding the efficiency of my abilities. It seemed some people were curious as to the apathy I had for my work. It’s something I never quite understood; all living things are simply organic matter, and it was often my duty to end that life. Does a chef not destroy living plants for spices? A farmer not kill living animals for food? I killed for the obtaining of knowledge, and I did so unquestioningly. It was eventually decided that I had a mental condition. “Psychopathy”, they called it. I did not, and still do not, disagree. The truth is that I don’t emotionally connect with living things. I have emotions; I enjoy the knowledge of a new book, the rush of being on a mission, the excitement of a new skill to learn. I simply don’t relate this emotion to people, nor do I see reason to do so.

The benefit of my people is that this was not seen as a weakness, but as a strength. And it even caused jealously among other members of our cabal. But, never ones to allow jealously to hinder our studies, it actually seemed to strengthen our cabal, and I believe it continued to do so, even after I left.

Ah, yes, my exodus. You will likely want to know the details of that, as well.

If there was any time in my life that emotion ruled me, it was on my 14^th birthday. Penumbra came to me and described to me how other cultures actually celebrate the anniversary of their birth, and as a part of the celebration, they were given gifts depending on their likes and dislikes. She mentioned that she wanted to give me a gift, but didn’t know what to get me. In an effort to try and discover what to acquire for me, she asked a simple question:

“Who are you, Nightveil Shroud?”

It was a simple question, yet I didn’t know how to respond. It never seemed to matter to me “who” I was, only what I could learn. I answered her with something cliché, but I think she realized the impression the question had on me. Days later, she came back with a simple amulet, no magical properties, no tactical use. She calmly gave it to me and said:

“This is to remember me by, until you find out who you are.”

At this point she leaned in and gently kissed me on the cheek, then looked me in the eye with a smile on her face and said, “I will miss you.” She knew even before I did that I had to leave. This nagging emotion in the back of my head constantly asking “Who are you, Nightveil Shroud?” was going to drive me insane (or, to be honest, more insane). So I arranged for my departure. The cabal was disappointed with my decision to leave, but they understood. Some bestowed to me different gifts (as this was a much more appropriate time for gift giving than the simple anniversary of one’s birth), magical things to help protect me in my travels, items to aid my skills in espionage, etc.

And it was at age 14 that I left the Nightveil Cabal.

I traveled long distances, studying many things, I’m sure none of which you want to hear about. I stopped in several towns to try and “find who I was”, but never stayed long because of my oddities.

I distinctly remember a town that had a woman with a curious odor whom I followed into her home in an attempt to discover what the odor was. Her husband was angry with me for entering uninvited and nearly ended my study, but I am happy to say that after I dispatched them both I discovered the scent was coriander, a delicious spice that I am delighted to say I now use often.

I also remember meeting a female human child, about four years old, in another town. I gave her a plant I found (I believe the Common word for it is “rose”) and she seemed quite pleased with it. I have yet to understand why one would be so pleased with a plant.

I eventually came to the town of Oxrich, where I settled for a bit due to its size. I remember perusing the town one particular evening, when I noticed a shifting shadow across the street. Curious (as I so often am) I followed the movements until I noticed a gnome very adeptly moving through the shadows. Having been impressed by his stealth, I used my own ample skill to follow him. I continued to follow him, unseen, as he snuck into a home and robbed a man of quite a sum of money (which made perfect sense. This man obviously had an abundance of money; why not take some for yourself?).

This happened more than once, him sneaking around, me following him. He would raid some place, traversing traps and the like. I followed him, avoiding the same traps, until one fateful day he did something unexpected. He set his own traps behind him. Not expecting these, I actually fell prey to them one night, though I still managed to avoid actual harm.

But the truth was: I was discovered. The gnome lied in wait for me after I had set the traps off, but, much to my surprise, he did not threaten me. He, in fact, offered to train me more, and this was how I met Trydan Boggs. His skills in stealth were beyond even my own skill (though he didn’t seem to have any of the spells I had…to each his own). I accepted his offer for training, and he introduced me to the Free League, a group of people who encourage one to follow their own path. What better place to “find who I am” than with a group of people who will encourage me to be only “me”, despite my oddities.

So here I sit, writing my memoirs at the young age of 14, with no goal but to answer a single question:

“Who are you, Nightveil Shroud?”

This story plays in to a grander story that I wrote. Shroud eventually discovers "who he is"...sort of...I'll likely post the entirety of that short story in episodes. I'll also see if I could get permission from the other players to post their background stories, so that the entirety of the episodic short story (entitled "A Taste of Freedom") will make more sense to you guys.

For those who care: Shroud was a Rogue3/Beguiler2/Master of Masks5.

Redemption

So, this is one of my favorite, if not my outright favorite. It may not be my best piece of writing, but I feel like I conveyed the attitude and motivation of my character very successfully here.

Some things to know before you read: a Catfolk is exactly what it sounds like: a cat-person; they commonly have names with double letters in them. Oxrich was the main city in this game. A cleric is both a soldier and a healer; they also combat the undead.

Shout out to Kevin Neiger, our DM for this game.

Redemption

The Tale of Tesarr Beating Heart

            They truly loved each other.

           

            And that didn’t end when Deshass Beating Heart and his wife, Atharri, two simple Catfolk who lived in the forests near Oxrich, faced the cruel enemy at their door.

            The man came at night in the guise of a weary traveler. He knocked on the door of Deshass and Atharri’s home, asking for a drink. He was invited in, sat at their table, in their chairs, in their home.

He smiled.

Atharri left the house to fill the man’s water skin in their nearby water supply, what she came back to was altogether different. Deshass was being held a foot off the ground by the man. His face was buried into Deshass’ neck, blood pouring out from the sheer ferocity of the bite.

Atharri just stood there, astounded, unable to move, unable to speak.

The man dropped Deshass’ seemingly lifeless body onto the ground, turned to Atharri, and smiled once again, this time baring his fangs.

“Thanks for the drink.”

He turned and walked out the door.

Atharri looked at her husband’s body, in pure shock.

Time seemed to stand still…

Suddenly, Deshass began coughing, and grasping at his neck, trying to stem the flow of his precious life blood. Atharri ran to their locked chest, opened it with the hidden key, and retrieved the potion they had bought in case of an emergency.

And this was an emergency.

She poured the potion into Deshass’ mouth, implored him to swallow, which he was finally able to do. Before her eyes, Deshass’ wounds began to knit themselves, the magical liquid showing its power. When the bleeding had stopped, Atharri grabbed what little healing supplies they had, and applied them to Deshass. When she was complete she simply held him in her arms, repeating over and over again how much she loved him. And in a weak and feeble voice, Deshass at last replied “I love you too.”

Deshass had survived.

In a matter of speaking.

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Deshass’ healing took weeks, but even after his neck had healed, he seemed ill. He would neither eat nor drink. He slept most of the day away and shivered with a fever at night. He could hardly stand.

In an effort to get her husband to eat, Atharri applied the little hunting skills she had and brought home a small deer. Not knowing exactly what to do after she had felled it with an arrow, she dragged the animal back to her home, expecting to have to get step by step instructions from Deshass. The animal was heavy, and it was nightfall by the time she returned. But when she arrived, there was Deshass, standing just outside of their home, staring.

Atharri didn’t know what to feel at that moment. She should have been ecstatic to see Deshass out of bed, but there was just something in his eyes…

After what seemed to be an eternity of silence, Deshass spoke.

“It’s still alive”, he said.

Deshass approached the deer as if in a trance. He knelt before it, and Atharri took several steps back. He let his hand run down the animal’s neck and gracefully let his mouth descend toward it, as if to give it a gentle kiss…

Then, as fast as lightning, Deshass sank his teeth into the deer’s neck and began drinking. Atharri couldn’t scream, couldn’t speak. She just fell to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

Deshass’ color returned to the skin behind his fur as he drained the deer. And just as suddenly as it had started, he tore himself from the animal and stared at it in horror.

“Oh, gods,” he said, “I’m one of them.”

Atharri knew the truth of it also, but still didn’t speak.

“I’ll leave,” he told her, “I don’t want you to be in danger. I’ll leave and you’ll never have to deal with this again.”

He stood up and walked. He didn’t bother to pack, didn’t even say goodbye.

He wasn’t given the chance to.

“No!” came the cry from behind Deshass. Atharri ran to him and threw her arms around him. “Don’t leave me. I love you so much. We’ll make this work. Don’t go, don’t ever leave me.”

Deshass smiled and held her against him. “I love you too.” He said.

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Ten years passed.

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

“You drank this one too dry!” came the complaint from Atharri. “It’s not going to have much flavor…”

“Sorry, I thought I might have,” Deshass responded, “I can go hunt for another one, if you want.”

“That’s okay,” she replied, “you have an eight year old son outside who’s waiting for his next lesson.”

Deshass looked outside the window to see a young Catfolk boy parrying and thrusting in the torchlight with a small wooden sword in each hand. “It’s too bad that Tesarr didn’t take to the bow as I had hoped, I would have liked him to go hunting with me.”

“Tesarr may know about you, but he certainly doesn’t need to see you feed.”

“I know that you and I never got used to this, but it’s also who I am. I can’t hide part of my life from him, just as I don’t hide it from you. I love you both too much.”

Atharri let out a sigh. “Very well, just try not to scare him. I know I was scared the first time I saw you feed.”

Deshass smiled, stood up, and kissed his wife. “My love, I was scared the first time you saw me feed.”

Atharri conceded the point with a smile, and began to cook while Deshass walked outside to continue teaching his son. And tomorrow night…

Tomorrow night, he would take Tesarr hunting.

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Wooden clashes echoed throughout the night as Deshass and Tesarr sparred. Even at the young age of eight, Tesarr combated like a warrior. Deshass had originally intended for Tesarr to train with a bow, but after several failed attempts, they both discovered that Tesarr didn’t quite have an aptitude for it. Therefore, in an effort to compensate, Deshass began training Tesarr in two-weapon combat, something that he took to very naturally.

They did this for hours at a time, sometimes into the very early morning, especially since Deshass could only start after nightfall. But neither complained. This was a special time for them, a time that helped grow their bond, their love for each other.

This night, Deshass intended for that bond to grow. The lesson would end early this night, and he would take Tesarr hunting with him.

When Deshass told Tesarr, the boy was overwhelmed with excitement. Deshass had to calm him down, to remind him that any loud noises would likely scare their prey away.

He also had to remind his son of what Deshass was, and that Tesarr would see him feed tonight.

“It’s okay, dad,” Tesarr replied, “nothing could bring us apart.”

  

Together, they strode into the woods, Deshass with a bow, Tesarr with a pair of daggers Deshass had trained with as a boy. It didn’t take long to find a large buck who was dipping his head to drink from a nearby spring. Tesarr climbed a tree and Deshass flanked around the other side of the buck. Deshass carefully took time to aim his arrow, steady his hand, and breathe out…

            The arrow soared true, piercing the animal behind its front leg. It turned and ran away from Deshass, but Tesarr fell from the tree on to the back of the buck.

            “Don’t kill it! Just injure it!” Deshass called. Tesarr, with a dagger in each hand, thrust down on either side of him, digging the blades deep into the buck’s legs, causing it to fall forward.

            Tesarr rolled off its back and onto the ground, standing just as his father arrived.

            “Wow, this was far easier with you here,” Deshass told his son with a smile, “I’d normally have to chase this thing around for half an hour!”

            He knelt in front of the animal, then turned to his son with a worried look.

            “It’s okay, dad, I know.” Tesarr assured.

            Deshass opened his mouth and gently let his fangs sink into the animal. Everything felt right with the world at that moment. Deshass thought that nothing could go wrong. He had a wife and son who accepted and loved him, despite what he had become. He could stop worrying about judgment, and continue just being a father and husband.

            He lifted his head and was horrified by the sight.

Tesarr had knelt near him, and had bitten into the buck’s already open wound, and was drinking.

            “No!” Deshass cried. He pulled his son away from the animal as quickly as possible. Tesarr looked back at him with confused eyes.

            “I…I just wanted to be like you, daddy.”

            “No, son, you can’t be like me. You don’t want to be like me.”

           

The silence that followed was ear splitting.

Deshass finally broke the quiet. “Just…don’t ever do that again, do you understand me?

“Never again…”

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Tesarr was ill.

It actually brought a bit of relief to Deshass to know that the raw deer blood had made his son sick. So he and Atharri nursed Tesarr for a week, feeding him soup, tending to his fever.

But after another week, Tesarr didn’t seem to be getting better, but worse. Deshass and Atharri discussed bringing in a cleric, but were worried that the cleric would find out about Deshass and attempt to take action against him. So, after much deliberation, they agreed that Deshass would go into town at night and buy a potion to help Tesarr.

It didn’t take Deshass long, his abilities hastened his travel. He retrieved the potion, but also had to find a cave to avoid the dawn. The next night, he came home.

There were no torches lit, no light coming from the windows, everything seemed still inside. Deshass just assumed that his family had taken the opportunity of him not being there to go to bed at a normal hour, so he crept in quietly, trying not to wake anyone.

His ears perked at the sound coming from Tesarr’s bedroom.

The oh-so-familiar sound…

Deshass ran full speed to the room and shoved the door open.

            It was the worst thing he had ever seen in his life.

            Tesarr knelt over Atharri, his teeth deep into her neck. He was snorting and slurping, and seemed to have no conscious thought.

            “No!” Deshass shouted. He shoved Tesarr of off Atharri with a harsh charge. “Oh, gods, please be okay, Atharri, please be okay.”

            Deshass held his wife close.

Time seemed to stand still…

Atharri coughed and began sputtering her own blood. Deshass smiled and reached for the potion he had just bought. He bit the cork and opened the vial, bringing it to Atharri’s lips.

Tesarr leaped onto Atharri again, growling like a primal animal. The vial was knocked from Deshass’ hand, spilling the liquid all over the floor.

“NO!” Deshass cried again. He lifted Tesarr clean off the floor and launched him into the wall. Tesarr fell unconscious. “Atharri, please be okay. I can’t go on without you, please don’t go…”

Atharri coughed, and turned her head toward her husband. They met eyes, and she forced a smile. “D-don’t…don’t be angry, it’s not his…” she coughed again, losing more blood than she could spare. “It’s not his fault.”

And those were the last words of Atharri Beating Heart.

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Tesarr awoke with a scream. He had known no worse nightmare in his life than the one he dreamed that night. The thoughts of him attacking his mother, his father’s anger, the blood…

Then he looked around himself.

The floor was stained with red, there was a shattered vial on the floor, and the house…

The house was empty.

“Mom? Dad?” Tesarr stood apprehensively, hoping this was all a dream. “Are you there? I-I had a nightmare. Can I come and sit with you for a bit? Mom...mommy…?”

He looked out the window and saw his father standing in the torchlight. In front of him, there was a grave. Tesarr could see the carving in the tree that served as the gravestone.

HERE LIES ATHARRI BEATING HEART

TAKEN BEFORE HER TIME

Tesarr immediately knew that it wasn’t a dream. None of it was a dream. Tears flowed from his eyes, soaking the fur on his face. “Daddy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! Please don’t be mad!”

Deshass looked to the window where his only child was begging forgiveness.

“Someday, son…someday.”

Deshass took the form of a bat and flew away, leaving his son alone.

Alone…

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Seventy-five years later

*                *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Tesarr knelt before his swords, each standing upright in the ground, their points stuck in the dirt. He looked to the first, its black blade seeming to consume the light, rather than reflect it.

“I am sorry, mother, for the pain I caused you. May the pain this blade causes me serve as penance for my faults, for my weaknesses. I love you mother, and I always will. Let this blade be my punishment for your death”

He turned to his other blade, its enchantment causing it to shine a golden hue.

“And father, every day I hope to find you. I’m sorry for the hurt that you must feel, and I hope the actions in my life since that day will redeem me in your eyes. As this blade heals my wounds, may I find you someday so that we can heal each other’s hearts.”

He stood up, pulled the aptly named “Punishment” and “Redemption” from the ground, and sheathed them both simultaneously. He had been searching for a very long time, though he still looked to be a young man of 25, his father’s heritage slowing his age.

Tesarr knew that Deshass was out there somewhere. Though his age was merely slowed, his father would not age at all. For decades Tesarr had been asking about his father, and for decades it seemed like he was chasing a ghost. But recently, he learned of a man named Axel who prided himself in obtaining knowledge.

So Tesarr and Axel made an agreement. Axel would put his resources to work to find Deshass, and Tesarr would aid the previous king of Oxrich (a king much more tolerant of Axel and his ilk) whenever he needed help.

So Tesarr headed for the cave the king was hiding out in, hoping to earn information.

Hoping to find his father.

Hoping to find redemption. 

For those who care: Tesarr was a Half-Vampire Catfolk 7th level Fighter (10th level character with level adjustments) who specialized in two-weapon fighting.