Nicholas Aevell-Shirai's page

He had a mother, once. A young woman who was kind and happy. She served drinks at a bar. Everyone knew her name and everyone was happy around her. Her uplifting smile was second only to her angelic voice and her flowing dance. When he was born it was said her smile had never been brighter. No matter how hard it got in this oasis town in the harsh deserts she never stopped smiling and singing and dancing.

It is unfortunate that Nicholas does not recall one wit of this. His mother died when he was young, too young to remember. His first memory is not of a smile or a song but of the bleak reality of the orphanage where he lived. Or rather... a conversation he overheard when he was left there.

There were few children here. The town was a peaceful place. Accidents that happened normally left children with a single parent or friends or neighbors. Despite having friends and neighbors both, none took in Nicholas, and so he was brought here.

He remembered staring out a window wondering where he was. Confused, he looked for a familiar face, and saw two. One, the old priest on the hill and the second the owner of the bar where his mother worked. Not that Nicholas knew at the time who they were other then friendly.

They weren't so friendly this time though. They were huddled together. Nicholas moved closer, curious to hear what they were saying.

'Tis a shame that... to die so young...' The Priest said, his head hung low.

'Is it true?' The bar owner demanded, 'Have they still not caught the monster who did it?'

'Yes... it is true... Her killer runs free to this day. If only the boys father were here. He might have been able to do something.'

'That deadbeat probably doesn't even know he has a son.'

At the time, Nicholas did not understand. All he knew was that he was lonely and wanted his mother. He walked forward and asked where she was. The two adults turned away, their faces filled with shame.

For two years Nicholas stayed at that church, at that orphanage. The single priest who took care of it, a man of Sarenrae, did his best to teach and care for the boy. But there was something missing and the longer it stayed missing the more it hurt. It wasn't until She came that he knew what it was.

She was older, grey haired and stone faced. She came to the church and spoke to the priest. At first they argued. Nicholas had long learned to respect the older mans privacy. Naturally, he was close by listening as soon as possible. Unfortunately the conversation was over by the time he had snuck into position. Then the woman marched right toward where he hid.

'I am your grandmother. I am here to take you.'

Family? Nicholas hadn't know he had any left. The idea scared him but also excited him. He went along willingly, though at his age it was not like he had a choice. The last thing he saw was the man who had spent the last two years caring for him mournfully waving at him. At the time Nicholas did not understand but he learned quickly.

She was taking him away from the town, to the edge of the deserts! They traveled long and hard and by the end of it Nicholas had never been so fit nor so tired. It was only the beginning though. When they arrived at their destination, Nicholas was immediately put to work. Hard work. At first he complained but he learned quickly what that got him. More weeks passed and each day Nicholas felt worse then the last...

Until he didn't. The lifting, carrying, pushing and pulling had slowly but surely built muscle upon his young body. When the tasks set before him stopped hurting, when the physical exertion was almost fun, that was when things got worse again. He went from labor to training. He was taught to move silently, taught to fight with any number of blades and even taught some small magics.

It wasn't until a year had pass, exactly, that an explanation was offered. Nicholas was a hero. He had been born of a great man and he would go on to do great things. He needed to learn, to be prepared, because the mission ahead of him would be hard and harsh and bloody. Nicholas, who had only ever heard of his father in whispered, harsh words, who could not recall even his mothers smile, drank in this story from his Grandmother like a boy dying of thirst.

What was his mission he asked?

For a long while his Grandmother remained silent, as if weighing whether to tell him. Finally she said in a low voice, a whisper that feared being over heard, 'Your mission is both grand and personal. You must find the one who killed your mother, who has done great harm to others, who yet pretends to be a hero...'

'You must find Connac Aevell... and you must kill him.'

Knowing the truth made it easier. He saw to it that his Grandmother never regretted telling him. What had been desperate attempts at trying to survive the training before became unbridled focus and determination. He no longer learned, he became. Every lesson taught was something he absorbed and in time, in time, he grew.

There was even a time, on a night he could not recall, that his Grandmother performed magic on him. The spell or ritual or what have you was painful, to say the least. It burned a mark into his forehead. It was more then a mark though. If he concentrated he realized he gained clearer insight into his opponent, allowing him to better predict what they would do. Opening it was tiring but invaluable in battle and he learned to see through this eye as well as his other two.

The day came on the eve of his thirteenth birthday. Connac Aevell had been found. He needed to go there, needed to take the mans life. His Grandmother did not wish him luck or well but she did not need too. She gifted him supplies and that was all he needed from her to know that she wanted his success.

Nicholas set off toward the distant town. For the first time in his life he left the desert. It was during this journey that he began to realize just how strange he was. Not just his darker skin, which stood out amongst the many paler folk of the forests and plains, but his skill as well. As he moved he did some good deeds along the way. If his Grandmother were there to ask he would have told her it was to stay in practice but in truth he simply liked helping people.

His journey came to an end all too soon though. He found where Connac was and proceeded to study the mans every movement. He waited in the shadows until the right moment to strike. He planned out of his every move, including how to escape.

He lay in wait... and then he struck!

Only to be rebuffed. The man moved with speed Nicholas could not match, diving aside and drawing his own blade in response. The moment was gone but the mission was still on so Nicholas pressed silently.

Connac did not remain silent though. 'Who are you? You seem familiar.' He called, receiving no answer. "A bit young to be an assassin don't you think?'

Nicholas' only reply was a blade to the man's heart, which was parried with some skill. The bard tried again and again and though his pleas sounded earnest the young man refused to give in. His Grandmother had told him the truth, told him that Connac was a liar and a deceiver that could not be trusted. Nicholas was losing though. He needed to make an opening. His mind came up with a way and he charged, yelling out for the first time, 'For Riya Shirai! For my mother!'

Whether or not Connac recognized the name was uncertain but the man was clearly stunned by the shout. His blade was already in place to parry a strike from the side and so in his surprised state he failed to move in time to stop the dagger to his gut. That was when Nicholas acted, shifting out of the visible range. It was only for a moment but in that moment the young man was able to reposition himself without the Connac being able to counter. It meant Nicholas impaling himself on the blade but if it meant the death of such a wicked man then it would be worth his own life.

He felt the pain and felt his bloody leave him. He did not feel himself fall, though. One moment he was standing, smiling, and the next he was on the ground bleeding to death. Connac had let go of his sword. He could feel it still in his gut. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. The pain was all he could feel as he started to drift away.

And then... and then...

And then the pain receded. Was he dying? Probably. Why else would the pain ebb? Nicholas did not fight it. He let himself be pulled into the painless void... Only to find that it was not a void, not devoid of sensation. He still felt pain, still felt exhaustion, but it was simply less. Nicholas fought to open his eyes, fought to discover who was saving him. Had his Grandmother found him? Was it...

His eyes opened. The sun hurt but he ignored the light stabbing into his eyes and tried to focus on the silhouette hovering over him. Who? Who could it... Connac? Connac Aevell? Indeed it was. The finely dressed man loomed over him, his expression full of horror and worry. His hand was pressed down into Nicholas' side and it glowed with a gentle, bright light. 'Come on now kid, don't die on me. There's no way in hells I'm going to let Shirai's kid die...'

Nicholas lost consciousness then. It was hard to say if it was the confusion of being saved by the man he had come to kill or simply the pain he was in but either way he was gone. When he awoke, it was to a familiar place, though only thanks to his weeks of studying Connac. The mans home. He was in a guest bed, wearing simple garb. His weapons were no where to be seen but he was not chained or restrained in anyway.

Tentatively he made his way out of the room and down the stairs. There, drinking what smelled like some strong ale, was Connac. He looked up and the mix of emotions on his face was hard to read. Finally he settled on a polite smile. 'Welcome back. You look... well you look like you recently impaled yourself on a sword but I'm sure you'll bounce right back soon enough.'

'I... I don't understand.'

'Sit. We... need to talk.'

And so Nicholas sat. And so Connac explained what he knew. Years ago, thirteen years ago in fact, he was in a desert with a group of friends. They were resting then. Their journey had been hard thus far. Or at least Connac assumed they were. As drunk as he tried to be it was hard to recall. It was there, during one of his nightly binges, that he met a woman with a voice that surpassed his own and a dance that could at least match his skills. The courtship was brief, fun and happy, but in the end he had to go. After... after defeating the Red Priest of Windswept Wastes, the heart of the harsh desert lands, he sought out the town where he had been in the hopes of finding her. Instead he found the town covered in sand, ruined by a sandstorm. Assuming the worst he left. But he never forgot her. Never forgot Riya Shirai.

Nicholas sat across the table fuming. He wanted to grab a piece of silverware and jump at the man. The only thing preventing him was the knowledge that his wounds would open again.

Connac did not miss the anger and doubt and with a smile did the one thing he could think of to prove his story. From the air itself he called fourth an image of a woman, a dark skinned woman with a smile like the sun. Nicholas froze as the image turned to him and began singing. He had forgotten. How could he have ever forgotten?

When the song came to an end Nicholas was crying. Connac slid a cup across the table. 'I'm sorry... son.'

Present Day

It's been five years since Nicholas and Connac's fateful encounter. In that time the young boy grew into a fine man. Not a day went by after his recovery that he did not train with Connac. The knowledge that someone out there wanted his father dead and would now want him dead too was a constant source of motivation. The fact that Connac even dispelled another lie, saying that Shirai herself had been an orphan, only fed the young mans determination to not be caught unaware.

Strangely enough Connac refused to act, at least at first. His son was here now, he said, and he was not going to make the same mistake twice. When Nicholas was old enough they would find this person together. Only... only the day they were ready to set out, the day that Nicholas turned eighteen, a shadowy figure took his fathers life.

Helpless, Nicholas could only watch in horror as Connac bled out in his arms. The mans final request was heard. Nicholas knew what he had to do. Find the Band of the Black Banner. Get them back together. With their help, Nicholas would surely find the one who killed his father.

Personality
Nicholas has taken after both his mother and father in many ways. He appears fair and lean, his voice is melodic, and his eyes are the bright Sapphire of his father. Despite the carefree attitude of both his parents, Nicholas has led a very strange life, and is a bit more serious then either of them. Recent years have taught him the value of levity but he could never quite cut lose like Connac could. He is a good man though, albeit young, and is determined to leave a heroic mark on the world like his father before him.

Physically
Nicholas is of fair features and dark skin. His hair is jet black, like his fathers, and is kept in a long but neat pony tail. He also has a well trimmed goatee. His eyes are a piercing blue that he inherited from his father and there is an angular slant to his features, a roguish look, that came with them.

His fight with his father left him weak for many months after. Despite training for years since the encounter it could be said that the young man is, in some ways, more fragile then he was before. He is definitely more susceptible to physical ailment. That said, his lean form has only grown harder from intense training to compensate.

Currently he wears a pair of simple breeches, an open collared white shirt, and a blue sash around his forehead. On either hip appear to be long daggers sheathed in rough leather. In battle the daggers are drawn and the sash tied around an arm instead. Moving the sash reveals a mark on his forehead, a tattoo of an eye that, strangely enough, opens into an actual third eye. This secret is kept hidden otherwise for it brings ill omens and unsettles those who look upon it.