Jul 26, 2024 11:22 am
I have decided to go with Tiefling, can hide under an hood if needed. Written a back story . . .
The Shrine of Eldath had been all he knew. His mother heavily pregnant had been sheltered there from a danger she never spoke of, and there he had been born under the watchful eyes of the Monks.
It was here he learnt of their ways. Taught to be a member of the order. Taught to work with leather. Taught about discipline and respect. Taught about family. Their way was peaceful and persuasive, yet their ways hardened his body and mind. All the while his Mother was there with pride in her eyes and love in her heart, touch, and words. It was a peaceful time.
He never saw the evil building in the shadows. Why would he, how could he, for he was just a boy. An innocent looking upon the world with rose tinted glasses. How could he have seen or understood the lust of men, as their hungry eyes watched his mother’s supple body. How could he know of the dark whispering that went on in their heads, as dark influences wormed their way deeper and deeper into their souls. He knew not of darkness, he had learnt of Life and Healing, and the language of the angelic. His innocence had disguised the looks of mistrust. The whispered tones of hatred. The destruction of gossip.
It had not taken long after the death of Abbot for the rot to show. Without her love the black foulness ate faster at their souls. In a moonless night the claws, blades and flames had come. They hide behind the shadows, they hide behind the flicker light. Distorted, melted and ravenous. Wood splints filled the room, as noises assaulted his ears. Their bodies fell upon his mother ripping at cloth and flesh a like. Her cries breaking through the roaring madness, "Run Darling, Don’t let him have you, Run!"
And he did. Claws snatched at him, and flames leaped at him. But he ran, all the time his mother’s screams pushing him on. His legs ached, his lungs burnt, and he was drenched in sweat. Yet he was not fast enough and the claws started pulling him down. His mother’s screams turning to a deep frightening laugh . . .
Taniwha wakes with a jerk and sweating profusely despite the chill. Four years it had been since that night and still the same nightmare, which he never escapes from. Four years since the gods left him alone in the world. Four years since the destruction of his home. Yet the dream found him again and the feeling of unease, it was time to move on again. Take what he can and run.
The Shrine of Eldath had been all he knew. His mother heavily pregnant had been sheltered there from a danger she never spoke of, and there he had been born under the watchful eyes of the Monks.
It was here he learnt of their ways. Taught to be a member of the order. Taught to work with leather. Taught about discipline and respect. Taught about family. Their way was peaceful and persuasive, yet their ways hardened his body and mind. All the while his Mother was there with pride in her eyes and love in her heart, touch, and words. It was a peaceful time.
He never saw the evil building in the shadows. Why would he, how could he, for he was just a boy. An innocent looking upon the world with rose tinted glasses. How could he have seen or understood the lust of men, as their hungry eyes watched his mother’s supple body. How could he know of the dark whispering that went on in their heads, as dark influences wormed their way deeper and deeper into their souls. He knew not of darkness, he had learnt of Life and Healing, and the language of the angelic. His innocence had disguised the looks of mistrust. The whispered tones of hatred. The destruction of gossip.
It had not taken long after the death of Abbot for the rot to show. Without her love the black foulness ate faster at their souls. In a moonless night the claws, blades and flames had come. They hide behind the shadows, they hide behind the flicker light. Distorted, melted and ravenous. Wood splints filled the room, as noises assaulted his ears. Their bodies fell upon his mother ripping at cloth and flesh a like. Her cries breaking through the roaring madness, "Run Darling, Don’t let him have you, Run!"
And he did. Claws snatched at him, and flames leaped at him. But he ran, all the time his mother’s screams pushing him on. His legs ached, his lungs burnt, and he was drenched in sweat. Yet he was not fast enough and the claws started pulling him down. His mother’s screams turning to a deep frightening laugh . . .
Taniwha wakes with a jerk and sweating profusely despite the chill. Four years it had been since that night and still the same nightmare, which he never escapes from. Four years since the gods left him alone in the world. Four years since the destruction of his home. Yet the dream found him again and the feeling of unease, it was time to move on again. Take what he can and run.
Last edited July 26, 2024 12:51 pm