 About Encarus VarinaeStatblock:
LG Aasimar Oracle of Shelyn 1 | AC 15, HP 10/10 | F+1 R+0 W+4 | Init +3, Per +2
Elcarus Varinae
Feats
Traits
Spells known
Being a description of Encarus Varinae, as told by Kale Garimos, owner of the Silver Stoat, to Gundel Harriven, an itinerant tinker:
“You want to about Encarus, eh? Yeah, he draws the eye, doesn’t he? Beautiful to look at in spite of, well, the obvious, if a little unnatural-looking. And he’s a bit of a queer fish with it. But he’s a good lad, heart’s in the right place and you’ll find few folk round these parts with a bad word to say about him, not that many would claim to know him well. “Where did he come from? Well, from his mother, you dolt. Missed a few lessons about what happens when a woman takes a shine to a man, did you? I’m joking of course, but truth be told it’s hard to talk about Encarus without talking about his mother anyway. If you were to ask about Iuliana Varinae, most folk would tell you straight up that she draws the eye too, if you know what I mean, in a much more conventional way. No question she’s a good-looking woman, with her pale skin and her dark hair and her fine features. They’d also probably tell you that she’s a bit proud, a bit standoffish, a bit willing to look her down her nose at you, and they wouldn’t be wrong, but she’s nowhere near what she was when she first came to Heldren. “Must be two decades ago now when she first showed up. Alone she was when she rode in on the most beautiful white horse you’ve ever seen, Iuliana hooded, cloaked and just as beautiful as her mount. Quite the sight it was, let me tell you. Stepping down she was obviously huge with child and clearly no father in tow. Of course folks wondered and talked and politely asked because that’s just what people do, but she didn’t want any help and she shut that line of questioning down right away. Set herself up in the old Numida place just outside the village proper and began to sort it out. Must have taken a while as it had been empty for some years since Cloda passed, and believe me, it can’t have been easy work in her condition. Help was offered of course, but she rebuffed it just as firmly and seeing as she clearly didn’t want anyone sticking their nose in her business we just left her to it. A fine job she made of the house too. “Can’t have been much more than a month later when the babe made its appearance and a funny-looking thing he was. Same light skin but hair so blonde it was almost white. And with this horrible weeping condition all over his body, whole patches of his skin just peeling off, the poor mite. Of course it was a while before we saw much of him but we knew he’d arrived and but for that he seemed healthy enough. Encarus, she called him and she doted on that child. Still does, as a matter of fact. Don’t get me wrong, we all love our kids but this love was something fierce. Stronger than a wounded bear and sharper than a swarm of angry hornets, she’d move mountains for that boy. In fact if it came to it in that contest, let me tell you, I wouldn’t be putting what coin I have on the mountain. “And that’s really the way things continued. Encarus really was a beautiful child from the start, all pale curls and big golden eyes and his face always seemed well-defined. Or at least I don’t remember it if he ever had that baby fat that most babes have. Just a shame about those sores, for try as his mother might – and believe me, she tried everything – they weren’t just a temporary thing. It’s a bit of a sick joke really, you’ve got this boy with Shelyn-blessed looks spoilt by such an unfortunate condition. Not that the Eternal Rose has ever struck me as being one for that kind of cruelty. “What we didn’t know at the time, though, was that Encarus actually was marked by Shelyn. See, he always used to wear long-sleeved baggy clothing and gloves. I guess you’d want to cover him up as far as possible if you were in his mother’s position, and you wouldn’t want rough cloth rubbing against those wounds, I’m sure you can imagine how uncomfortable that would feel. And I suppose the gloves were to remove the temptation to scratch, you know how kids are. But I think they were also to hide a secret. Don’t know if you got a look at his left hand earlier? Perhaps not, wouldn’t necessarily be the first thing you’d notice but you’d probably spot it provided you had more than a quick glance. Anyway, from his fingers to his forearm is this tattoo of a bird’s tail, twisting feathers in all the brilliant colours of the rainbow. Except it’s not a tattoo, it’s a birthmark, and you don’t need to be a priest – pardon me Elder Father Natharen – to realise that’s the symbol of Shelyn. Now I don’t know if it’s true, and to be fair I’m not in a position to see a whole lot of his body, but I don’t ever remember seeing that touched by his skin condition. “It was quite some time before any of us knew about that mark, mostly because we just didn’t see much of him. Iuliana continued as she started and raised the boy alone. She sorted out the garden and grew her own food – she didn’t know one end of a spade from the other to start with and you could tell that she didn’t like to ask but, as well you know, many Heldren-folk are farmers and that’s just what we do. Picked the concept up easy enough, but you could see she’d never done a day’s hard labour in her life. You only had to look at her hands to tell she must have been highborn in some way. Of course back then we didn’t know she was a mage either but neither was anyone surprised when we found out. It just fitted, you know? “And to give her credit, she got on with it and before long she had a credible vegetable patch. Knew some about herblore too, according to Tessaraea and she knows what she’s about. Obviously she wanted to be as self-sufficient as possible but inevitably she had to buy some things so we saw a bit of her at least, always with Encarus holding her hand or hiding in her skirts. Didn’t seem to want for gold either. Sold that beautiful horse to Sophia for what I’ve always assumed was a tidy sum – Sophia certainly seemed delighted to have some time with such an impressive steed before she parted with it – but if you ask me she must have had a fair bit more coin stashed away. And that was their life, pretty much, Iuliana raising her child, teaching him and as far as I can say, she seemed happy enough with her lot in life. Might not have had a lot to do with the rest of us, but as the years went by they became just another fixture of Heldren and inevitably, with time, a little of her glacial remove began to thaw. “You’ve heard the old phrase – Nirmathan, I think – it takes a village to raise a child? Well it seems like Iuliana hadn’t, right up until the moment she had. And then she took it very literally indeed. Don’t know what it was – there’s speculation and rumour, of course – but the difference was night and day. What do I think? Well, I have my thoughts but I’ll keep my own counsel on them if you don’t mind. Anyway, it went from Encarus being mostly house-bound to suddenly being part of the village. Iuliana comes into the barber’s one day and asks if Encarus can work with Argus and learn with him for a bit. Think that cost her a bit in pride to ask the question but of course Argus is a decent enough sort and, possibly taken by surprise at such an out of character request, agreed. And once he’d done a stint there, she went and asked Sophia if he could spend some time with her at the stable. On this went over several months till he worked his way around near enough the whole village. “Me and Menander were happy enough to give him a stint here and I’ve no regrets. Encarus was diligent and hard-working, picked up what was asked of him quick enough, though not always easy to get more than one or two word answers out of him to start with. Shyness, I’d guess you’d say, and not really surprising given he’d not had too much to do with other people. And those skinsores would be enough to make anyone self-conscious at the best of times, never mind those awkward years when you’re coming into manhood. Hard to know as it’s understandably not something he’d talk to me about but they don’t seem to affect his health too much. Sure, those sores aren’t pretty to look at and you can tell they’re painful – you should see them when a patch of skin has peeled off, all pink and raw underneath. But he seems as fit and healthy as any lad of that age. And he was polite and kind and his mother had clearly taught him manners and discipline as well as book learning. “All of which remains true, really; that’s Encarus. Not sure he was particularly interested in working in a tavern the way he was in say, the time he spent at the temple with Natharan and Zaarida, or at Willowbark’s, but I don’t know that he came to the end of it all with much of an idea of what he wanted to do with his life. I don’t suppose many people do at that age, and not all of us have the luxury of choice. But the one thing that was obvious to anyone with eyes was that he was brilliant with kids. Not so much peers, I think there was a wary distance on both sides and like I said, there’s not too many close with him. But with the younger kids, he’s a natural. It’s funny, children always know when someone’s different and you can’t stop them staring at his appearance for all the obvious reasons I’ve mentioned. But they’re also surprisingly non-judgemental, so as soon as they’ve got used to him they love him. Knows how to talk to them on the right level, creative at engaging and playing with them, he’s a born teacher. Pretty much a new generation of Heldren is going to owe knowing their letters and numbers to Encarus. “He’s still really close with his mother, I’ve never heard of any major teenage rebellions and she finally loosened the apron strings somewhat. Some parents refuse to accept that their children are people in their own right and that’s a hard lesson to learn. I’m sure it was for Iuliana. I doubt she’d admit to it – and I’m not stupid enough to ask – but I reckon she might just be a bit happier as a result. I mean, she’s got a son she should be proud of, one who has made the most of the cards he was dealt and so far as I can see he’s happy with his lot too. And really, that’s all you can ask for, isn’t it?” The secret history of Anfrija Kseniya, winter witch of Algidheart:
Anfrija Kseniya, cold, proud and beautiful as an icicle seemed to have it all. An ambitious Jadwiga witch, she capably and ruthlessly began making a name for herself in the soaring city of Algidheart in Irrisen, Land of Eternal Winter. Able to trace her lineage back over the course of four centuries, the raven-haired beauty was a fast-rising power in the upper echelons of the Bleakmarch’s capital city. Possessed of a haughty intelligence and a sharp political mind, she rose from the middle classes of the Barony to be shown favour by Duchess Weneschia herself. Truly, for a while it seemed that for Anfrija Kseniya, all futures were possible. Privately, however, all was not well. Anfrija burned for a child but try as she might, she was unable to conceive. Magic and rituals, herblore and alchemy, she tried anything and everything but to no avail. For all her influence, power and personal spellmight, in this one thing Anfrija was powerless. However much she might wish it otherwise, she was forced to reckon with the reality that she was probably barren. Unused to even mild setbacks, never mind absolute failures, she refused to accept the situation and, in an act of pure desperation, one night she uttered a prayer to Shelyn, begging the goddess of beauty to grace her with a child. Given her status as a noble witch in a city dominated by the worship of Zon-Kulthon, this was a plea born of both recklessness and futility. And yet the Eternal Rose heard the offering and choose to grant Anfrika this boon. Why she chose to do so, none could say, for who truly understands the motives of the divine. Perhaps she simply took pity on her and wanted to give this loveless figure something to love, or perhaps Shelyn saw the potential to plant a small seed of hope and change that could be nurtured into fruition.
With this threat now dealt with, Anfrija could breathe more easily but the seeds of fear were sown and on some level she suspected that Hranagar was right and, regardless of his highborn status, her son was destined to end up a soldier. Nor was it the end of her issues. First, her beloved cat Thonna was found dead in a curious state of petrification. Crows also began to settle outside her home, on the rooftop and by the windows. Anfrija’s once sure touch began to desert her and she began to be consumed by hitherto unknown feelings of doubt and dread. As a superstitious people, these dark portents only seemed to grow and inevitably whispers began that there was a problem with the baby, escalating as the woman was unable to shake the growing association with ill omens and dire prophecy. ”The child will be weak.” “The child is cursed.” “It will be a feeble, miserable creature.” “She is unfit to be a mother.” “The babe should be slain in the womb.” Fearing that such a threat was indeed a real risk, and that her own life would be considered little more than collateral damage in the harsh culture of the witches, once more Anfrija desperately offered a prayer to Shelyn. She dreamed lucidly that night of a songbird, rainbow tail shining brightly. It sang joyfully of freedom and dreams of a new future, but one that lay far away and would come at a cost. The message was clear enough: the goddess was willing to help her escape her current situation, but would require the witch to sacrifice the power and influence she had so carefully accumulated. To the proud woman that felt like an impossibly large sacrifice but in the sober light of the morning, when weighed against her own life and that of her longed-for child, it was a deal that could only have one outcome. Plans were made and Anfrija carefully began to lay the foundations of her escape from Algidheart. Practicalities and distractions, words whispered in the right ear and palms greased with the right amount of gold, Anfrija’s hard practical demeanour hid a constant churn of fear and something she slowly began to recognise as hope. And she had begun to act not a moment too soon: other plots had been hatched and machinations were already in motion, the Cold Sisters having decreed that the baby was indeed a cursed, twisted thing, a potential threat to the Jadwiga, and thus could not be suffered to live. Fortunately, Anfrija caught word of this secret declaration and, realising that she could wait no longer, prepared to flee that very night. Recognising that escape alone may not be enough if retribution would also follow, the witch reached out in prayer to Shelyn for a third time. And for a third time, the goddess responded, this time in the form of a vision. With it, the Eternal Maiden explained that as a child conceived under particular divine circumstances, it may indeed not be born as a normal baby. It would be shaped by heart and deeds of its mother, also those of its father, and for all of the auguries around it, until its birth it would be unclear how this may manifest itself. Shelyn imparted to Anfrija a powerful spell to ward the child against witchcraft and to hide him from the sight of the Irreseni until he comes into manhood. In doing so, the child would be touched by the goddess herself but once again there would be a price. Taking the situation to its logical conclusion, Shelyn spelt out the woman would be need to move far beyond the icy claws of the Jadwiga, must hide her powers of witchcraft and magic, and would need to assume a new identity. In short, Anfrija Kseniya would cease to exist. What that new life would be like was hers to shape, but having already killed to protect her unborn child, Anfrija knew that whatever challenges and hardships were thrown at her, she was willing to accept her side of the bargain for the chance for her and her child to live. For an hour the witch laboured through the ritual, toiling first through physical sacrifice, meeting mental iron with steel of her own, and, for the first time in her life, weeping through emotional libation as Shelyn laid her soul bare, leaving her feeling drained in a way Anfrija had not believed was possible. Once it was done, she gave herself but a short time to recover before girding herself with her thick bearskin coat and centring herself with her old mental resilience for the missions ahead, she took one small bag left her home under cover of darkness. Despite being forced to act earlier than intended, Anfrija’s careful arrangements paid off and everything ran according to plan. The right heads looked the wrong way – blissfully unaware of who she really was anyway – and the guard that should have been at post was conveniently elsewhere for a few minutes. As she crawled on her hands and knees, struggling with her swollen belly, through a door reminiscent of those low-ranking visitors are forced to use at the keep, the grim irony of her new station was not lost on her at that moment. Finally, six months on from the night of conception, the night that irrevocably changed the course of her life, Anfrija departed from Algidheart for the last time. The next few days were fraught as she cautiously, but as quickly as she dared, made straight for the closest border. As much as those days took their toll in myriad ways – to be so close and be caught would be devastating, her very life would be forfeit – they passed uneventfully. And so in early Neth 4693 AR, Anfrija Kseniya left the Land of Eternal Winter, never to return. A curious coda, or how Encarus Varinae came into his inheritance:
Arguably the one truly significant turning point in the life of Encarus Varinae occurred when he was 13 years of age, embarking on the gradual journey from boy to man. He awoke suddenly one night, in the hours of madness between midnight and dawn, his left hand and lower arm burning with intensity, if not real pain. Coming to in a state of full conscious, he was immediately aware of the presence of an unknown figure inside the house. Moving as quietly as his awkward adolescent frame would let him, he saw the door to his mother’s room was open and a hooded figure, blade in hand, poised over the sleeping woman. So engrossed was the figure in its dark business that it seemed entirely unaware of Encarus’ presence, at least until the blast of prismatic light, born of panic and anger, knocked him straight off his feet. The would-be assassin’s head hit the floor with a sickening crunch but mercilessly no blood, a blow that the man would never get up from. Shocked at the sheer force of the magic he could feel coursing through his body, not to mention the dead figure on the floor, Encarus had no idea what had caused it or what to do about the situation. The power and noise of the attack jolted Iuliana awake, quickly appraising the situation, if not the specifics, and swept her son up into a powerful hug, crushing him to her. In a shaky voice, he explained to her what had happened and Iuliana’s heart turned to ice as she began to fear the worst: not only had the assailant managed to bypass her magical wards to enter the house, this felt like a sign that the protections she had laid on her child had expired. Taking control of the situation, she gave what comfort she could to the boy but made it clear that swift and decisive action was needed. Checking the still-warm body, the man’s heritage was not immediately apparent – not that this necessarily meant anything – and there were no identifying markers to tie him to any particular culture of organisation. Naturally she feared that he had been in the pay of the winter witches, though he could equally simply be an enterprising sneak-thief: after all, a known spellcaster made for a potentially richly rewarding target, if one fraught with deadly risk. This was the theory she imparted to Encarus, though making clear it was just supposition and that there was no easy way to tell who he was or why they had been targeted. Swearing him to secrecy, Iuliana imparted to him the urgency of the situation and the need to dispose of the body so as not to cause unnecessary fear in the village, nor to provoke any potential reprisal against them. Seeing the sense in this, as well as being in thrall to his mother, Encarus quickly agreed and the two of them removed the corpse to a safe distance away, layering nondetection magics on top of an already impressive hiding place. Their work done, and with the adrenaline now fading, they made it home just as dawn was threatening to light up the sky. “Get some rest,” Iuliana said gently, “we’ll speak in the morning.” Encarus didn’t need telling twice, though no sleep found his mother that night. Turning things over and over, for the first time in forever she felt the cold grip of fear. Going back and forth on what to tell Encarus – whether to tell him the truth, or at least some part of it – she ultimately decided to wait and see how things played out. For now she would stick with her default position: unless there was a very good reason to tell him, she could see no advantage to telling Encarus about his heritage. That part of her life was indeed his whole lifetime ago, and she was literally a different person. Without a good enough cause she could see no reason to upend either of their lives. Choosing simply to reiterate her speculation of the night before, instead Iuliana chose to focus her attention on the magic that Encarus had begun to manifest. With a little experimentation and encouragement he was able to produce simple spellworkings with relative ease, and together they began to explore his newfound powers. Despite their best efforts, however, Encarus was unable to reproduce the rainbow burst that he conjured forth that first night. This marked a new stage in their relationship dynamic, but just as importantly, Iuliana was forced to accept that the safety net that she had woven continually around the two of them no longer existed. With a heavy heart, she recognised that her son needed to learn how to control his magic and protect himself, but also belatedly realised that as fiercely as she loved him, Encarus needed more in his life than just her. To that end, she told him that his learning would be expanding and he would be starting to work with others in the village just as soon as she could arrange it. No further attacks followed and despite her fears and suspicions, slowly over the weeks and months that followed, Iuliana allowed herself to fully breathe out again. Perhaps she had been gone from Irrisen too long and had forgotten too much, or perhaps she simply had too high a sense of her own importance in the first place. Politics among the Jadwiga is fast-moving and brutal, reputations rising and falling with the passing of seasons or the passing of mere days. The Cold Sisters and other important witches long ago moved on to more pressing problems; tomorrow’s possible threats soon become yesterday’s news. And the name of Anfrija Kseniya was long ago forgotten, just one more ambitious young witch whose power waxed and then suddenly waned, a tiny footnote in the history of Irrisen. |
