Cyan Dervish
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Username: Falatorn
Character name: Cyan DervishI was taken when I was about five or six years old, who can remember exactly, right? Even then I was a loner, always far from other kids, no friends, constantly running away from my parents. One of the two memories I have of them is the hand of my father hitting my buttocks, probably for wondering off again. The other is my mother, at least I think it's her. All I see in my mind is a dark blurred silhouette, that and I hear a warm voice, kind, loving. No words, just a whisper I can't quite make out. I don't know where my home is, no idea if my parents are still alive… Even if they are, what does it matter? I don't know them and they don't know me. It's better for them to think I was killed all those years ago. I have spent most of my life in cages, fighting, sleeping, eating. My masters were cruel and unforgiving, and that is how they made me to be. But at least they thought me to fight well and respect the rules and laws, theirs as well as those of the land, I learned fast that I can survive and sometimes even profit by obeying them.
My masters never thought me of the great religions of this world, but I myself never took an interest in all the gods that I heard of anyway. I somewhat know only one of them - Mask, the loner, like myself. The only friend I ever had, in the many cages I lived in, told me of him, he said that I must be one of Masks chosen, that he likes lone wolves such as myself, quiet types. It was a comforting thought, and the idea of a god who was in a way similar to me was of course very appealing.
One day I just awoke on a field in a small village, middle of nowhere, no idea how I got there, did my masters abandon me? Set me free? I'll never know why or how. All of my few belongings in this world were with me, untouched, most importantly my swords. I don't know how I'd survive without them. They are the extensions of my hands, they are the only tool I know how to use. My years in cages may have left me lacking in the knowledge and understanding of the workings of the world, politics, the art of conversation, human nature and many others, I am now even more of a loner than when I was a child, I can only depend on myself... and my steel.
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Last night I started remembering how I came to be free. It is all a blur but I remember that on that night my only friend had a visitor in his cell, a mage or a priest dressed in red, I can't remember the face. My friend was begging him on his knees for something, crying, holding on to his staff. I can't hear the words spoken. The next thing I remember was him getting shot full of bolts in the hallway, we were out of our cells for some reason. Then I remember running, at the end of the hallway I saw him, the man in red, he moved his hand, then darkness… And after that the field. I remember hearing fighting in the other parts of the compound, all the slaves must have gotten free somehow, I don't know if the mage helped us or if he tried to stop us. All I know is that I never saw him before or after that night. Maybe someone carried me out, it must have been it. Maybe they were chased and when they finally caught up to them they had no choice but to leave me and the slavers somehow didn't notice me? I will probably never know how it exactly happened, I must have been unconscious all that time...
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I had a dream today, I have not dreamed in a long time. It was a dream of my past, of my former oppressors. They hired one of the sword masters somewhere from Kara-Tur to begin my training, so that I could finally start making money for them in the arena, not just haul heavy crates all day with the other slaves with less potential. I was unable to understand his commands that were shouted at me in a harsh foreign language. That day I got beaten for "disobedience" by my master until I was unconscious. They knew I wouldn't understand him, they just wanted to show me where my place was again, that I was still a nobody. The dream ended but the memories kept crawling back. The next day we started again, this time with a quick language lesson in which command meant what, from that day onward my days were filled with the lessons of the mind as well as of the sword. Life started getting better, those lessons were the only thing I enjoyed in all those years since my capture. Then, after months of intense training, came the killings. The atmosphere of the arena, the shouting, the screams, chaos, it made me lose myself in the moment, forget everything else. To kill became my purpose, the first I had in my life. And it felt good.
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Years passed and eventually I found my place in this "new world" that I have been cast in to by fate. I was granted citizenship in the town of Peltarch. I led a simple life here, often times making a living as muscle in The Dancing Mermaid or The Lucky Ferret. Making sure that the more aggressive clientele was put in its place if they made too much trouble. Sometimes I made runs to the local brewery for the owner if they started running short on their reserves, things like that. Odd jobs here and there in the city made it so I could live… No, more like survive. It wasn't real life, the life for me. Definitely not. By this point my blades served only as a deterrent for the local drunks and other scum. I was itching to use them once more, to feel again something familiar, the only familiar thing that I knew all my life. Would I even by able to...? So much time has passed. Making a living in this town has made me rusty, I never even had time to practice on a dummy anymore, not to mention fighting a real living unpredictable creature. With each day of this new life I feel more and more empty and alone, I "know" people in this town, but I don't really know them, any of them. I must get out of here before I end this miserable life. The first chance I get, the first caravan, first group of adventurers I meet, I'm taking it, I'm leaving. Already I have left my job and gathered all my savings, bought provisions. I won't be more ready than now.