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.

The Lives I have Lived: An Introduction

So, here I am.

Some of you may not really be familiar with what's going to be posted in this blog, what I mean by "The Lives I Have Lived".

This blog is about characters I have created in the game Dungeons and Dragons. Many of you may gasp at this notion or fear that I am somehow getting involved in something evil. Let me be clear that Dungeons and Dragons is a GAME. Like any game, it's meant for fun. Despite what you may have heard, it is not rife with sin (any more that any other game, that is), it is not "Satanic", it's not encouraging others to devote their life to pagan gods. It's just a game, meant to have fun, like any other game owned by Hasbro.

That's right, believe it or not, Dungeons and Dragons is currently brought to you by the makers of Monopoly, Life, Battleship, and many other GAMES. It should be seen as such. I hope you do not fear that those who play Battleship are truly planning on devoting their life to outdated naval war ships.

Moving on.

Dungeons and Dragons (colloquially referred to as D&D) is played by one person creating a story (the Dungeon Master or DM) and a group of other people creating characters to live within that story (Player Characters or PC's). The PC's are meant to not just create a statistic sheet to use for that world, but to create a person that represents that sheet. As a PC, one is charged with the task of creating a person, complete with personality quirks, motivations, and of course, a background story.

I've always loved writing, so whenever I create a character, I struggle with writing what most would call a "brief" background. Where most would write a paragraph or two, I find myself writing pages dedicated to my characters.

I do this because I am the type of PC that doesn't just roll the dice, I want to become the person I created, to see the world in game as my character would. In effect, I don't just make a character to be my outlet to roll dice and add numbers. I enjoy creating a life, and once a week, for a few hours, living that life.

This blog is a compilation of background stories of my characters.

These are the lives I have lived.