Dadrian: Difference between revisions
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== Early Years == |
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Raindrops pelted the long dirt road as the cloaked figure trudged along, a harsh wind tearing at his tattered clothing. The man, a middle-aged Rakash, clutched his cloak tightly around his body to ward off the onslaught as he plodded ever onwards. A distance up the road, a faint light could be seen peeking through the driving storm and the faint outline of a rustic farmhouse began to take form. He stumbled slightly over unsteady footing, but managed to gather himself with practiced ease. The rains had been particularly hard this season and the trade routes had suffered dearly for it. The man stopped for a moment, crouching down next to the road to rest, his eyes trailing back down the road to the enveloping forest. A flash of lightning illuminated his weathered face as the wind whipped his hood about it. Bold, angular features and long silvery-gray hair and a hardened countenance - the past few years had aged him greatly, what with the war raging around them...them. His wife and two daughters and his infant son. His heart ached as he pulled the small bundle in his arms closer to his body. His wife and oldest daughter lay dead in the fore of their country manor, a small settlement far west through the forests bordering the Rivers' Crossing, his youngest daughter forever lost - deep in the heart of the treacherous Forisaad. |
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<blockquote> |
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To: The Office of Lady Snow, Illithi<br /> |
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From: The Office of Lady Avant, Mer'Kresh<br /> |
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Re: Possible sighting of person of interest in ongoing investigation.<br /> |
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<br /> |
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Hail,<br /> |
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It has recently been reported that there have been sightings of a character fitting the description of a young Rakash man wanted for questioning in the deaths and/or disappearances of several naturalized citizens of Mer'Kresh. He is also wanted for information in connection with a recent prison riot resulting in the deaths of several guards and inmates and the escape of several detainees, himself included. His description is as follows: |
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Lightning dashed against a taller tree along the tree-line, revealing a lone horseman mounted atop a tall, dark steed. The two locked eyes across the distance as the rain seemed to intensify. The Rakash bolted, his hood falling back freely in the wind as he sprinted down the muddy road towards the beacon of hope, towards his only hope of salvation. The horseman spurred his horse into action, in pursuit; he leaned into the horse, increasing its speed. The horse's nostrils flared, hooves thundering as it gained ground on the fleeing Rakash. The rider drew a long, slender blade from his chest-sheath, his slight frame poised to strike. |
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<blockquote> |
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The Rakash's foot steps splashed beneath him, his heart racing as he drove on towards the approaching shelter. His hands shook as the muddy road gave way to gravel, but the assassin was nearly upon him. He shouted, his voice lost in the rolling thunder. His pursuer hit him like a battering ram, leaping from his horse and dragging them both to the ground. The Halfling was easily two to three feet shorter, but made up for his lack of height with blinding speed. The Rakash drug himself up from the muddy earth as his halfling combatant slowly circled him, blade glinting in the moonlight. A stabbing pain radiated from the taller man's ribs, blood trickled from the puncture of the Halfling's dagger. His bundle began crying loudly, the pain and shock of the collision waking it. The Halfling drew closer, his eyes narrowing as he spoke, "Your line ends tonight, traitorous dog." The Rakash backed slowly away, holding his wounded side with one hand as he clumsily removed his cloak. Gently he rested the child at his feet, wrapping it with his shroud. "Your master will fall, Aldroan. Sorrow's madness will consume him and all of you that escape the Zoluren infantry. Walk away and leave my son and I in peace." Aldroan's eyes widened with rage. "The only peace you'll have is death, Verod!", he spat. Lightning crashed as the two lunged for each other. |
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Name: Dadrian Fischer (Possible Alias)<br /> |
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Race: Rakash Gender: Male<br /> |
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Age: mid-20's to early 30's Height: 17-18hh<br /> |
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Hair: White Eyes: Silver<br /> |
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<br /> |
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Traits: Several tattoos, the most prominent being a golden hawk with spread wings across his upper back; a slightly disfiguring scar across the left eye. |
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</blockquote> |
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A large form appeared in the doorway of the weather beaten, stone farmhouse. A large, burly, olive-skinned Gor'Togg looked on in confusion as two figures battled each other in the stormy night. The cries rang out again and he turned his gaze to the small bundle just off his porch steps. His gaze flashed back to the combatants as the taller let out a cry of pain, slumping sideways into the mud. The smaller figure, an Olvi he presumed, approached the collapsed form and with a brief utterance of some foul language, drove his dagger deep into the heart of his adversary. The man sputterd and choked as blood ran from his mouth his eyes coming to rest on the infant's makeshift shelter before glazing over in death. |
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Dadrian remains somewhat of an enigma to us. He arrived some months back at our doorstep, bearing only a suit of tarnished armor and a damaged halberd. He pronounced himself a son of Therengia, but with no documentation and conflicting reports from the transport ship's crewmen, this remains unverified. Dadrian's overwhelmingly helpful and friendly demeanor coupled with his formidable charisma, smoothed over the unanswered questions and made him a popular guild member among the recruits; we welcomed him openly. Over the coming months we would observe ...irregularities in his character and Lady Avant in particular began to feel a growing mistrust for his unorthodox, foreign methods. He had been caught taking donations from our tithing box, but when confronted he produced observably rushed plans for an educational program for some of our local orphans. He also showed remarkable dexterity in the arts of picking locks, concealment, and proficiency with a vast array of small arms. We began to take notice of a grittier generation of paladin initiates, unyielding and trained in dishonorable combat. One such training session in particular, observed by Lady Avant herself, resulted in a recruit being sent to the infirmary with catastrophic damage to her eyes and back. Dadrian was chastised and ejected from the guildhall at said time. Questions began to arise, and a visible rift began to show itself with some remaining loyal to the Lady and others to Dadrian. Skirmishes began in the streets outside the guildhall, vandalism began to rise, and several items of worth disappeared from her Ladyship's quarters. An order was put out for the detention of Dadrian for questioning in these acts and several bodies turned up over the course of the following week, several more have yet to be recovered. We feel this man to be an impostor - a feeling growing ever stronger as his cohorts trickle back to the guild asking for re-admittance. Not one has spoke of him revealing a proficiency for magic. The vast majority have also been trained near entirely in the use of small arms and combat methods we can only assume were the early stages of a contingent of assassins.<br /> |
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<br /> |
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We consider this man to be extremely dangerous and manipulative. Having known him personally, I can say without a doubt that you will find this letter hard to believe. Do not trust him should he come calling.<br /> |
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<br /> |
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Your Brother in Arms,<br /> |
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Sir Aldroan, Assistant to Lady Avant.<br /> |
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</blockquote> |
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The tall, looming figure stared across the short yard at Aldroan. A peasant farmer, no doubt, but one that would have to be silenced. No matter, he enjoyed the spilling of blood; the owner of which mattered not. As the small, rain-soaked |
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''"Fortune smiles upon me yet again, old friend. I came across this poor fool mere hours ago along the Southern Trade Road. So trusting, so subservient, so quick to stop and help an injured man laying alongside the road. The authorities will no doubt think the work to be of some local fauna, if the bodies are ever found that is. Lo and behold, I slay one in search of transportation, and I walk away with both his horse and a message regarding yours truly. Rather fortunate, is it not, my friend? The Lady Snow will unfortunately never receive this dire warning, perhaps I should deliver it in person? Calm your laughter my friend, I understand the precarious nature of our plan very well. The correspondence shall be destroyed at once. As for the messenger, his cote and tabard shall provide more than adequate cover for our entry into Shard. Make haste, my friend, time grows short and there is yet much work to be done."'' |
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Dadrian shows all the makings of a loyal and true Paladin of the realms with the noted exception that he isn't. Dadrian has developed a means to survive unique unto himself. Having fended for himself from an early age, he has withdrawn almost entirely into his own mind. He shows very little sign of genuine emotion and assuredly has motive and planning behind every beguiling smile. He feels no guilt, and regret only when the results of his actions reflect poorly on himself. It has been suggested that he harbors a dislike of the races of smaller stature, most notably the Gnomes, but this may only be a personality construct as he has openly showed derision for all of the races of 5 kingdoms, the Rakash included. His nameless "friend" has been known to act on his account on several occasions, but it has yet to be proven whether or not this 'Friend' is real as Dadrian has been seen from afar speaking to him aloud during moments of solitude. It has been surmised that a tangent of his ultimate goal is the extinction of all sentient life in Elanthia. Do not trust him. |
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--To be continued... |
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Revision as of 20:01, 15 March 2011
| Dadrian | |
|---|---|
| Status | |
| Race | Rakash |
| Gender | Male |
| Guild | undisclosed |
| Instance | Prime |
Early Years
Raindrops pelted the long dirt road as the cloaked figure trudged along, a harsh wind tearing at his tattered clothing. The man, a middle-aged Rakash, clutched his cloak tightly around his body to ward off the onslaught as he plodded ever onwards. A distance up the road, a faint light could be seen peeking through the driving storm and the faint outline of a rustic farmhouse began to take form. He stumbled slightly over unsteady footing, but managed to gather himself with practiced ease. The rains had been particularly hard this season and the trade routes had suffered dearly for it. The man stopped for a moment, crouching down next to the road to rest, his eyes trailing back down the road to the enveloping forest. A flash of lightning illuminated his weathered face as the wind whipped his hood about it. Bold, angular features and long silvery-gray hair and a hardened countenance - the past few years had aged him greatly, what with the war raging around them...them. His wife and two daughters and his infant son. His heart ached as he pulled the small bundle in his arms closer to his body. His wife and oldest daughter lay dead in the fore of their country manor, a small settlement far west through the forests bordering the Rivers' Crossing, his youngest daughter forever lost - deep in the heart of the treacherous Forisaad.
Lightning dashed against a taller tree along the tree-line, revealing a lone horseman mounted atop a tall, dark steed. The two locked eyes across the distance as the rain seemed to intensify. The Rakash bolted, his hood falling back freely in the wind as he sprinted down the muddy road towards the beacon of hope, towards his only hope of salvation. The horseman spurred his horse into action, in pursuit; he leaned into the horse, increasing its speed. The horse's nostrils flared, hooves thundering as it gained ground on the fleeing Rakash. The rider drew a long, slender blade from his chest-sheath, his slight frame poised to strike.
The Rakash's foot steps splashed beneath him, his heart racing as he drove on towards the approaching shelter. His hands shook as the muddy road gave way to gravel, but the assassin was nearly upon him. He shouted, his voice lost in the rolling thunder. His pursuer hit him like a battering ram, leaping from his horse and dragging them both to the ground. The Halfling was easily two to three feet shorter, but made up for his lack of height with blinding speed. The Rakash drug himself up from the muddy earth as his halfling combatant slowly circled him, blade glinting in the moonlight. A stabbing pain radiated from the taller man's ribs, blood trickled from the puncture of the Halfling's dagger. His bundle began crying loudly, the pain and shock of the collision waking it. The Halfling drew closer, his eyes narrowing as he spoke, "Your line ends tonight, traitorous dog." The Rakash backed slowly away, holding his wounded side with one hand as he clumsily removed his cloak. Gently he rested the child at his feet, wrapping it with his shroud. "Your master will fall, Aldroan. Sorrow's madness will consume him and all of you that escape the Zoluren infantry. Walk away and leave my son and I in peace." Aldroan's eyes widened with rage. "The only peace you'll have is death, Verod!", he spat. Lightning crashed as the two lunged for each other.
A large form appeared in the doorway of the weather beaten, stone farmhouse. A large, burly, olive-skinned Gor'Togg looked on in confusion as two figures battled each other in the stormy night. The cries rang out again and he turned his gaze to the small bundle just off his porch steps. His gaze flashed back to the combatants as the taller let out a cry of pain, slumping sideways into the mud. The smaller figure, an Olvi he presumed, approached the collapsed form and with a brief utterance of some foul language, drove his dagger deep into the heart of his adversary. The man sputterd and choked as blood ran from his mouth his eyes coming to rest on the infant's makeshift shelter before glazing over in death.
The tall, looming figure stared across the short yard at Aldroan. A peasant farmer, no doubt, but one that would have to be silenced. No matter, he enjoyed the spilling of blood; the owner of which mattered not. As the small, rain-soaked
--To be continued...