When the Army of Light sent out its call for heroes, the faithful of Apsu in theocratic Yandanar answered the call. A nation of graceful spires and aerie-cities build into the picturesque mountains known as the Sunset Peaks, the great mages of the wyvarans (and their most powerful draconic backers) wove a mighty spell to ward their nation while their army was away. When the Army of Light was lost, the wards faded and the wyvarans knew their heroes would never return to them. Yandanar was torn apart by the depredations of jealous chromatic dragons and dark things crawling up from deep beneath the mountains, compounded by decades of civil war. The wyvaran people suffered terribly during this time, and most turned from Apsu in their bitterness.
”Sixty years of constant warfare, and another century and a half of on-and-off wandering, fighting, and occasional doomed efforts at rebuilding—at least that’s what the elders say their elders told them.”
In time, the wyvarans scattered and become renowned as top-notch mercenaries—their wings make them unmatched at guerrilla tactics in difficult terrain, and more than one army has been routed or town sacked by the sudden descent of scores of wyvarans on moonless night raids. ”None of this 'noble stand' garbage the knights love so much, we go in, light some fires, scare off the horses, kill a few archers, and then we’re gone again.”
Keshokkar was born into this mercenary tradition, growing up amongst the Fireclaw tribe and learning his people’s signature fighting styles—swift, brutal hit-and-run raids and night fighting, with a particular penchant for bombing runs at night with bundles of alchemist’s fire. Keshokkar’s life might have been unremarkable, just another soldier traveling aimlessly from conflict to conflict, had not the visions started a little over a year ago. A great draconic form silouetted by a blazing, glorious sun, speaks to him in these regular visions of the proud history of his people, and of the noble work still undone. ”This is a pile of hokum! My people gave everything to Apsu, and our reward was only failure, death, destruction—and abandonment, for where was Apsu when our enemies closed in and the great nation devoted him came crashing down?!” But the dreams persist, whispering to him of redemption and new beginnings—for Apsu and the wyvarans both, perhaps.
Keshokkar is willing enough to believe that the visions really are sent by Apsu, but he doesn’t like or trust the dragon-god much after absorbing his culture’s strong resentment of their former patron. But, if it’ll shut the god up, fine, he’ll go north to the tomb of this Absythor fellow and see what’s what. ”But that’s it then, hear me? I check out this tomb, and then we’re quits! Hello? Ugh.”
Keshokkar is a little shorter than average for a wyvaran, but broader shouldered and leanly muscled. His scales have a dull golden sheen to them—once it would have been considered a mark of nobility, but mostly their gleam just annoys the pragmatic mercenary, who often darkens his scales with soot before night raids. He’s surprisingly gregarious and plays the cynic to the hilt, to the point of even persuading himself, but deep down beats the heart of a patriot who yearns to see his people safe and happy again. ”Sure Apsu’s a vain, flaky bastard, but wyvarans remember what honor is, and I’ll be damned if we let that chump Orcus have the last laugh.”
