Donjon de Naheulbeuk
Ethan's Dark Elf Thief
no 2-handed weapons
3 destiny points
1 Quality Knife 35 gold 1d6+1 -1 ATK -4 PARRY
1 Basic Knife 10 gold 1d6+1 -2 ATK -4 PARRY -1CHA -1DEX (when thrown)
Leather Bracers 30 gold prevent dismemberment
Cloak, Sword Belt, Dagger Belts, Sheathes, Eyepatch, Necklace (Annabelle), Ring (Family Emblem)
Form-fitted Leather Armor (+1 DEX)
Special Clothes, 3 Torches, 7 Day Rations, Flint and Steel, Waterskin, Rope
My name is Rizz’en Mavellar. My father was an agent of Slanoush, blessed with a demonic claw as proof of his worth towards the cult. His training was towards the destruction of the surface world governments. His story, however, pales to that of my mother.
She exudes the “truth” of Slanoush. She nearly died from disease at birth, after her own mother died from giving birth. However, when she was found, she survived the disease and now isn’t affected by such things. Her father’s abilities didn’t stop there, though. Her appearance can be enhanced at any point in time, showing the terrible beauty of those taken by the demon god’s desires. A simple word is all she needs to make you trust her completely, enslaving the minds of the weak and helpless. He “trusted” her with a key, though to this day, I think he meant more to this item than was originally noticed. This key also started me down on the path to where I am now.
The cult attracts the more “interesting” characters. During one of the rituals, I sat outside to wait for mother to return. A shaking old man happened upon me in the dour mood I was in. He spoke to me, treated me like a reasoning person and without hate or disgust towards a child from the cult leader. In fact, I believe he desired to know me more than anyone else in the area. He became my friend, though his past is still obscured from me. Whatever he was aiming for, he wanted worldwide repercussions. I remember him asking about the key once and after I spoke of that, the key disappeared the next night. For this, my sister and I were to blame. The “Dark Gemini”, despised by the dark elves for the loss of an artifact from their “beautiful creator”. Father and Mother split up not long after, me with my father and my sister with Mother. I haven’t seen her since, but every now and then, I get strange feelings. I think I can feel her sometimes.
Ironically, I got into darker things after leaving most of my people. Father took me to the city, where we would live from there on. I guess I wanted to get out from under the shadow of the guilt my people put upon me. That pushed me to the sewers, where I felt free for once from the prejudice of unrelenting dark elves and the curiosity of other races. I was born anew. I had no idea this birth was into a darker existence that I knew before. Kidnapping proved easy money when the targets were wealthy politicians. Who would have known that this was just the scape goat those very same politicians were looking for. Manacles were slapped on me faster than I could blink and was then tortured for information about a group I had no idea even existed. Apparently, this so-called group I belonged to was full of extremists and they wanted every ounce of information out of my bleeding body. As punishment for my silence, I was sold into slavery.
Rituals of Slanoush were less demeaning than being stripped before people and sold to the highest bidder. I had no idea where I was other than not in my homeland anymore. A beautiful, dark-skinned human woman bought me, her tall and imposing husband beside her. I was hooded and taken to their estate. Her husband seemed quite pleased with their purchase, as apparently I had qualities much desired for slaves. Although some may refer to me as handsome and in decent physique, I never considered myself something with desirable traits. I had no idea either about how they would attempt to “gain” these things until after we reached the slave cells.
The very act I avoided with the cult was exactly what I couldn’t refuse within their imprisonment. My traits made me desirable for a “bull”, to give strong traits to future generations of slaves. These girls of different races and ages being forced into the same predicament as I sickened me to my very soul. We knew our purposes and my refusals at first to partake provided endless agony until I had to finally relent. I know not how many I sired or were sold to other slavers. All I remember are the names of every girl I held and cooed soft words of comfort into their ears. Giving a prayer for each one to one day escape this horrific world and know that for a few moments, another being shared their pain and would not forget them between the horrible cracks of this world.
Three years this continued until a plan of escape came to fruition. Five other slaves joined me in the plot, which occurred in the middle of the night. We stole into the owner’s mansion at the witching hour, hoping to slip through unnoticed. Guards weren’t posted about as usual, but I did not take much note of that fact. In a boudoir I found something that I needed to bring with me. There was this incredible outfit that nearly called to me and touching the fabric made me nearly see places and things I had never seen or done before. After getting most of the outfit on, a hand not belonging to a slave grabbed my shoulder. I instinctually pulled my dagger and stabbed the person behind me. The beautiful human woman who was my owner took the blade straight to the gut. I didn’t see hatred in her eyes and very little confusion. It seemed she not only understood, but was glad to see me. Knowing we didn’t have more time, I cleaned the blade off and we ran. To this day, I still have a 5000 gold bounty on my head. Not to mention all of her heirs want my severed head on a platter. However, I still need to free the girls and those with my likeness one day. Also, the rest of that outfit may come in handy.
Although I try to not think about those times, there are other things that cannot be wiped from my mind. Such as the face of Annabelle. A simple, human woman who ran a small shop. For some reason, she and I fell in love. I was in bliss for the first time in my life. Her son was as my own and we enjoyed our short time together. Perhaps it was because she didn’t believe in gods, removing me from my heritage. Yet, that was not to be. Raiders assaulted the small town we lived in and took her from me, killing her child in the process. Grief-stricken, I gathered information on her whereabouts, but to no avail. I will find her someday. Last I heard, she was in a prison pit and by whatever forces lead me, I will take her from that place and back to the sunlight. No matter the cost.
Perhaps this is why I travel the roads. Looking for the happiness taken from me. Looking for the life that was denied me all these years. Looking for a sister I have no idea may be alive. Looking for revenge upon the one that disgraced my sister and I from our home. Regardless, I will keep looking. If I keep my eyes high and set on the horizon, I will be able to overcome anything.