Post by Kayla on Sept 25, 2012 23:12:14 GMT -5
This is a story for my Dungeons and Dragons character, Arith of the Sunscale clan. He is a dragonborn mage who is presently chaotic neutral. In this story however he was chaotic evil, partnered with a rogue woman. I do not know where this is going nor can I say if I will finish it but suggestions are welcome. It is meant to explain a few things about himself such as why he hates rogues now. Enjoy.
PS: at the time of the story he is around 20 years old (adult for a dragonborn is 15). The following is an image of him when he is older, obviously. In my current DnD game he is 30.
He waited, sitting in the beam of light that filtered in through the forest's canopy. His hands were folded in his lap and his eyes were closed as he listened for something. A wooden staff about five feet long rested just under his hands. The end glowed with a dull energy. Then it suddenly flared. His eyes snapped open and he slowly got to his feet, watching the shadows around him.
“I know you're there, come out,” he declared.
Sliding out of the blackness came a woman with dark brown skin. Her clothing was dark coloured as was her hair, giving her the appearance of a living shadow. “Hello Arith,” she said with a strange tone that resembled a purr.
“I've been waiting all day,” he snapped. He shot her a golden-eyed glare. “You know better.”
She bowed low with a sweeping gesture that caused her braid to fall over her shoulder. “My apologies.”
“It'll take more than apologizes to appease me woman,” he growled. “Now where have you been? You said you'd take no more than an hour. It's been three.”
She settled down on the edge of the speckled light, close but out of hitting distance from him. She crossed her legs like a proper lady as if it weren't ironic for someone so scantily clad to do so. She reached into her pocket and took out a golden object. “I was out, getting this,” she said. She tossed it at him with a flick of her wrist.
Arith's eyes gained a strange gleam. He seized it and held it tightly, looking it over carefully. “Where?”
“Window shopping in a town?” she suggested.
He chuckled lowly. “You stole it, didn't you Shaira?”
She winked. “Of course. It's what I do.” She tossed her braid back into its place along her back and flashed a white-toothed grin. “You should've heard them scream, Arith. It was fabulous.”
Arith paused as if a cold chill had gone up his spine, shuddering from her comment. He grew fairly quiet. “Yeah... I bet it was,” he said without much emotion.
Then Shaira stood. She raised a dark eyebrow. “What's wrong? You're usually all for the screams of innocents.” She came forward and rubbed his shoulders...well as best as she could considering she was at least half a foot shorter than the six foot tall dragonborn.
He heaved a sigh. “I am... but I've been thinking, maybe there's something else we can do. I mean I don't think my sister would've been all that proud of me if I kept doing this. Gold is nice but what about honour?”
Shaira scoffed. “Typical dragonborn. Honour? What do you care? You're not of the Sunscales anymore. Nobility has left you. Now isn't the time for regret you stupid scaled lump!”
Arith curled back his lips to show his teeth. They were needlesharp. “Don't you call me a lump rogue. You are just a tool for me to use.”
She giggled, unafraid of his threatening size and tone. “You might want to think better of being angry at me wizard. It'd be all too easy for you to find a dagger in your back one night while you sleep.” Her hands trailed down from his shoulder blades to the very center of his back and she tapped her sharpened fingernails against it as if to prove her point. Arith shivvered.
He regained composure and settled back down into his meditative position. “My apologies Shaira. It was only a thought.”
She shot him another grin as she melted back into the shadows again. Her smile lingered. “Good boy,” she cooed to him. “Now be better and set those arcana skills of yours to work. Is that little gold thing what we've been looking for or not?”
Arith shrugged. “I haven't the slightest.” He still clutched it tightly against his chest. Shaira glared.
“Liar!” the rogue snarled. She game out of the blackness in a blur, her hand snacking against his scaled cheek. “You fucking liar! You know exactly what it is!”
He shrank back. “I really don't. I know it's not the key you're looking for but otherwise I don't know what it is. I doubt even the shopkeeper you pilfered it off of knows. It's got charms and stuff on it but otherwise I haven't a clue.”
Shaira reached into her pocket and drew out a dagger, holding it in a threatening position. “You better figure it out. We don't have time for this.”
“Says the one who was hours late,” he mumbled quietly under his breath.
Her eyes narrowed. “Watch it. I was busy, I told you! Anyway I'm so sick of this. If it's not the key to Pandora's Box, it's useless!” She turned her back to him...only to have a fireball blocking her way. Against it she appeared to be a silhouette of a shadow. She spun and glared at him. “What do you think you are doing Arith?”
“What's right. Shaira, I don't trust you.” He held his staff out and the end glowed and pulsated with the flickering fire, controlling the spell.
“You've never had a problem with me before,” she said slowly, shaking her head as she walked forward with her dagger ready. “But if you do now I guess I can't trust you anymore either. What a pity.”
His golden eyes fixated on her every move, watching carefully as she swayed her hips in an attempt to distract him. She lunged forward with the blade but he sidestepped. The edge of his robe caught and a long gash ripped into the fabric. He snarled and swung downward with his staff.
She swept her arm upward in a carefully practiced block. Her forearm took the brunt of the staff and while Arith had his guard high, she struck with her other hand low. The dagger made contact with his stomach and the dragonborn mage crumpled. He dropped his staff and staggered back from her. The knife withdrew from his body and he clutched at his gut. Dark red blossomed on the fabric of his robes. As he glared up at her, the fire started to dim from behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut, laying feeble on the ground.
“You bitch,” he said in a low growl. Every breath was a hiss of pain.
Shaira stood over him with a bemused expression. She nudged his staff just out of his reach with a toe. She crouched down and shot him a rude hand gesture, extending her middle finger at him. “Go fuck yourself Scaley.”
She sheathed her dagger, not bothering to whipe the blood, and adopted a skip to her steps. She started to slip away into the shadows of the treeline. Just before she melted away she giggled. “See you again some time. Hopefully when you're more competent.”
Arith groaned. He extended his free hand for his staff and wriggled his fingers at it. They brushed its surface but he couldn't quite get it into his hand. He struggled with it and kicked off with a foot behind himself until finally he retrieved it. He braced himself with it and struggled some more until he was on his feet. It was a slow, agonizing process. His robes were filthy, he was losing vital blood, and to make matters worse he was pretty well known in this region as being a criminal. He doubted anyone would help him. But he was clever and he wouldn't allow himself to die. Not here. Not now.
He carefully removed his hand from his stomach. His palm was already tinted red on top of his scales. Fucking Rogue... he thought. She didn't even deserve a name anymore. He kept his jaw locked firmly as he worked in order to stifle the whimpers. He threw the outer layer of his robes on the ground to leave the thinner set he wore underneath. He sighed inwardly and did his best to remove the sleeve of the outer one.
Spots appeared in his vision and he started to feel himself stumble. He sunk to his knees, falling flat as the dizzy feeling set in. With one last effort he summoned his familiar. The little white rabbit seemed to panic, hopping frantically around him. “Go find help,” Arith said. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep himself awake. He weakly took out a scrap of parchment, tearing it free, putting 'help' on it in messy letters. The rabbit took it in his mouth and ran off. All he could do was wait now.
PS: at the time of the story he is around 20 years old (adult for a dragonborn is 15). The following is an image of him when he is older, obviously. In my current DnD game he is 30.
---
He waited, sitting in the beam of light that filtered in through the forest's canopy. His hands were folded in his lap and his eyes were closed as he listened for something. A wooden staff about five feet long rested just under his hands. The end glowed with a dull energy. Then it suddenly flared. His eyes snapped open and he slowly got to his feet, watching the shadows around him.
“I know you're there, come out,” he declared.
Sliding out of the blackness came a woman with dark brown skin. Her clothing was dark coloured as was her hair, giving her the appearance of a living shadow. “Hello Arith,” she said with a strange tone that resembled a purr.
“I've been waiting all day,” he snapped. He shot her a golden-eyed glare. “You know better.”
She bowed low with a sweeping gesture that caused her braid to fall over her shoulder. “My apologies.”
“It'll take more than apologizes to appease me woman,” he growled. “Now where have you been? You said you'd take no more than an hour. It's been three.”
She settled down on the edge of the speckled light, close but out of hitting distance from him. She crossed her legs like a proper lady as if it weren't ironic for someone so scantily clad to do so. She reached into her pocket and took out a golden object. “I was out, getting this,” she said. She tossed it at him with a flick of her wrist.
Arith's eyes gained a strange gleam. He seized it and held it tightly, looking it over carefully. “Where?”
“Window shopping in a town?” she suggested.
He chuckled lowly. “You stole it, didn't you Shaira?”
She winked. “Of course. It's what I do.” She tossed her braid back into its place along her back and flashed a white-toothed grin. “You should've heard them scream, Arith. It was fabulous.”
Arith paused as if a cold chill had gone up his spine, shuddering from her comment. He grew fairly quiet. “Yeah... I bet it was,” he said without much emotion.
Then Shaira stood. She raised a dark eyebrow. “What's wrong? You're usually all for the screams of innocents.” She came forward and rubbed his shoulders...well as best as she could considering she was at least half a foot shorter than the six foot tall dragonborn.
He heaved a sigh. “I am... but I've been thinking, maybe there's something else we can do. I mean I don't think my sister would've been all that proud of me if I kept doing this. Gold is nice but what about honour?”
Shaira scoffed. “Typical dragonborn. Honour? What do you care? You're not of the Sunscales anymore. Nobility has left you. Now isn't the time for regret you stupid scaled lump!”
Arith curled back his lips to show his teeth. They were needlesharp. “Don't you call me a lump rogue. You are just a tool for me to use.”
She giggled, unafraid of his threatening size and tone. “You might want to think better of being angry at me wizard. It'd be all too easy for you to find a dagger in your back one night while you sleep.” Her hands trailed down from his shoulder blades to the very center of his back and she tapped her sharpened fingernails against it as if to prove her point. Arith shivvered.
He regained composure and settled back down into his meditative position. “My apologies Shaira. It was only a thought.”
She shot him another grin as she melted back into the shadows again. Her smile lingered. “Good boy,” she cooed to him. “Now be better and set those arcana skills of yours to work. Is that little gold thing what we've been looking for or not?”
Arith shrugged. “I haven't the slightest.” He still clutched it tightly against his chest. Shaira glared.
“Liar!” the rogue snarled. She game out of the blackness in a blur, her hand snacking against his scaled cheek. “You fucking liar! You know exactly what it is!”
He shrank back. “I really don't. I know it's not the key you're looking for but otherwise I don't know what it is. I doubt even the shopkeeper you pilfered it off of knows. It's got charms and stuff on it but otherwise I haven't a clue.”
Shaira reached into her pocket and drew out a dagger, holding it in a threatening position. “You better figure it out. We don't have time for this.”
“Says the one who was hours late,” he mumbled quietly under his breath.
Her eyes narrowed. “Watch it. I was busy, I told you! Anyway I'm so sick of this. If it's not the key to Pandora's Box, it's useless!” She turned her back to him...only to have a fireball blocking her way. Against it she appeared to be a silhouette of a shadow. She spun and glared at him. “What do you think you are doing Arith?”
“What's right. Shaira, I don't trust you.” He held his staff out and the end glowed and pulsated with the flickering fire, controlling the spell.
“You've never had a problem with me before,” she said slowly, shaking her head as she walked forward with her dagger ready. “But if you do now I guess I can't trust you anymore either. What a pity.”
His golden eyes fixated on her every move, watching carefully as she swayed her hips in an attempt to distract him. She lunged forward with the blade but he sidestepped. The edge of his robe caught and a long gash ripped into the fabric. He snarled and swung downward with his staff.
She swept her arm upward in a carefully practiced block. Her forearm took the brunt of the staff and while Arith had his guard high, she struck with her other hand low. The dagger made contact with his stomach and the dragonborn mage crumpled. He dropped his staff and staggered back from her. The knife withdrew from his body and he clutched at his gut. Dark red blossomed on the fabric of his robes. As he glared up at her, the fire started to dim from behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut, laying feeble on the ground.
“You bitch,” he said in a low growl. Every breath was a hiss of pain.
Shaira stood over him with a bemused expression. She nudged his staff just out of his reach with a toe. She crouched down and shot him a rude hand gesture, extending her middle finger at him. “Go fuck yourself Scaley.”
She sheathed her dagger, not bothering to whipe the blood, and adopted a skip to her steps. She started to slip away into the shadows of the treeline. Just before she melted away she giggled. “See you again some time. Hopefully when you're more competent.”
Arith groaned. He extended his free hand for his staff and wriggled his fingers at it. They brushed its surface but he couldn't quite get it into his hand. He struggled with it and kicked off with a foot behind himself until finally he retrieved it. He braced himself with it and struggled some more until he was on his feet. It was a slow, agonizing process. His robes were filthy, he was losing vital blood, and to make matters worse he was pretty well known in this region as being a criminal. He doubted anyone would help him. But he was clever and he wouldn't allow himself to die. Not here. Not now.
He carefully removed his hand from his stomach. His palm was already tinted red on top of his scales. Fucking Rogue... he thought. She didn't even deserve a name anymore. He kept his jaw locked firmly as he worked in order to stifle the whimpers. He threw the outer layer of his robes on the ground to leave the thinner set he wore underneath. He sighed inwardly and did his best to remove the sleeve of the outer one.
Spots appeared in his vision and he started to feel himself stumble. He sunk to his knees, falling flat as the dizzy feeling set in. With one last effort he summoned his familiar. The little white rabbit seemed to panic, hopping frantically around him. “Go find help,” Arith said. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep himself awake. He weakly took out a scrap of parchment, tearing it free, putting 'help' on it in messy letters. The rabbit took it in his mouth and ran off. All he could do was wait now.
and that kills me