About Reza ibn Tarsa al-FarisSubject to Change at Neil's Discretion Human Paladin 1
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Skills Spoiler:
[0] Acrobatics -5
Feats: Endurance You gain a +4 bonus on the following checks and saves: Swim checks made to resist nonlethal damage from exhaustion; Constitution checks made to continue running; Constitution checks made to avoid nonlethal damage from a forced march; Constitution checks made to hold your breath; Constitution checks made to avoid nonlethal damage from starvation or thirst; Fortitude saves made to avoid nonlethal damage from hot or cold environments; and Fortitude saves made to resist damage from suffocation. You may sleep in light or medium armor without becoming fatigued. Weapon Focus, Scimitar +1 on Attack Rolls Traits:
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Reza al-Tarsa Even today, when I close my eyes to dream, I still see my true mother’s face. I know such a thing seems impossible, for the last time I saw her was when I was a child, barely more than an infant. And yet, I see her still. At times, it is only her eyes. Sometimes her hair. Sometimes, it is not even a sight, but the scent of jasmine and spices that I associate with her breath on my face as a babe. Perhaps these are all lies, of course, but if they are, they are not unpleasant, yes? And a man such as myself sometimes needs a few pleasant lives in his dreams, when one’s days are so often filled with unpleasant truths. Sometimes, of course, it is not my mother’s face I see, but my saviour’s. Haleen’s. For she raised me, just as surely as did Lyria, or as anyone else could be said to have raised a child of slaves. For that is what I was. I know this truth, as surely as I know my name, or the kiss of the sun on my face in the full day of this city of thieves and merchants. And after all, who can tell which one is which, yes, even on a day made reasonably pleasant such as this, in such fine company as yourself, my friend? Ah. Yes. I digress. Please, pass the wine and we shall continue. Well, you asked me of my past, friend, and yes, I was born a slave. My parents were Keleshites, from the Padishah Empire itself. Slaves, also, yes, for that is not uncommon there, either. When they were young, before they even had met, my father, Musa, and my mother, Tarsa, were bought by a merchant whose name I do not know—though I thank him for the meeting of my parents, I suppose. At any rate, I was raised amongst the other slaves, at first allowed to be reared by my mother, for the merchant had no interest in segregating child from parent, at least until I was weaned. My father, meanwhile, was sold to another merchant to keep him away from me and my mother. When I was but a few months old, the merchant brought my mother and I to Qadira, where, upon arrival, a rival merchant slew him, and took me from my first master. My mother died, then, in the fighting between the two men. I was raised further in Halit’s household until I was nearly seven years of age, learning the basics of servitude: how to wipe up the spills, how to cook, how to avoid being punished by avoiding being caught—the usual, though I was not very successful at the latter. We were brought from place to place in Qadira, as part of Halit’s merchant caravanserai. I remember most vividly how he would threaten to sell me off as soon as I reached the height of his belt. Fortunately, he was tall, and I was always short as a child. But even then, I had had enough. I sought to escape one night after a particularly bad beating when I had stolen some dates from my master’s tent. I was not chained, for we were in the middle of the desert, and so the guards had no fear (they thought!) of my attempting to flee. I got up from my pallet, and approached the edge of the caravan, when one of Halit’s guards saw me. Drawing his sword and shouting, he approached. And that was when I was going to die, or so I thought. I never saw Haleen strike the man, but he crumpled like a sack of rice. Still wiping my nose with snot from my tears, I was quite loud enough for her to hear me. She approached, grinning down at me. “And what have we here?” she asked, rubbing my shaved scalp with her empty hand. Her other, I saw, contained a bag thick with what I later learned were coins... and covered with a bit of blood from the unconscious guard. “A runaway?” I nodded, afraid she was about to report or kidnap me. “Good. Then we shall run away together, you and I?” Shocked, I was, of course. I thought she would try and capture me, selling me for profit as Halit so often threatened to do, or, feed me to the gnolls of the hinterlands, as my fellow slaves promised to do once Halit had had enough of me. We travelled together for three days, southwards, ever southwards, and in time I became so exhausted she had to carry me in a sack she made of my shirt and her talaba. I recall visions. I saw a woman, dressed all in light, who reached out a cool hand to wipe my brow.
Eventually, we arrived in a forested town not far from the Katapeshi border. There, Haleen traded for fresh clothes and food, and after resting, we travelled on. I still do not know her business with Halit, though I heard in later days that he was found dead that night, a blade through his black heart. I was still weak from the escape, and from malnourishment. At times, Haleen had to carry me. And so it was that, when she rescued a young elven girl from gnolls, that I was curled up in sleep, my thumb shoved right down my mouth, and snoring softly.
Haleen and Lyria raised me, kept me safe, and from them both I learned kindness and compassion. From Haleen I also learned the way of the sword, or what she could teach me. When she saw my skill, she began looking for an appropriate teacher, for she knew I could be more than a mere swordsman. It was from my childhood, though that I found my faith: Sarenrae, the goddess, must have looked kindly upon the starving slave I once was, and allowed me to live. I look back fondly, though, on the days of my youth. Lyri practising her scrollwork, Haleen coming back from a day’s work in the markets, and me, whacking away at a tree with a branch as if by striking it I could snuff out the world’s evils. When I was thirteen, Haleen came to me in the kitchen, accompanied by a tall woman, heavily muscled, and with skin nearly as dark as my own. Her eyes were bright, though, with something I recognized: unquenchable faith. She introduced herself as Waajida, of the Dawn’s Vigil, and told me I had been given the chance to join their order as an apprentice. I shamed myself by weeping, or so I thought, until Waajida told me that to weep out of sadness was no weakness, but a strength. I asked what she meant, and she told me something that still stays with me to this day, my friend. “Weeping for those we love is a sign of how strong our love is. The Dawnflower weeps for the world’s evils, and would see us become what she intends for us to be. Do not be ashamed of your tears for your mother, here, or for your sister, in the other room. Be proud of them, and of this your family, for thoughts of them shall give you strength even in the darkest of days.” I bid farewell to Haleen and Lyria then, and joined the order. Years followed, of training, prayer, and learning. I learned the ways of my faith, and the Taldani tongue. Oh? Yes, sorry, you would call it the “Common” tongue, though let us be honest with ourselves, sayidi, that tongue is hardly ‘common’ around here? Hah. Pour a bit more of this delicious wine, my friend, and let me finish the tale. I spent years, as I said, training. I came home from time to time, able to see Haleen and Lyria while on furlough from the Dawn’s Vigil. I watched my chosen mother grow older, but not lose her strength. I watched Lyri’s joyful face as she was able to become an apprentice in the Guild, and hugged her with joy of my own at the Dawnflower’s guiding her to her true calling, for her mother, I know, was a mighty wizard in her day, and her daughter would be even greater someday. This I know for a truth, for does she not travel with us, and have you not seen the power of her magick? As I said, I came home sporadically, and joined the order as a full Faris. Hm? Ah. Yes, in Taldani that would be a ‘Palatine,’ though here, the Faris are simply the holy warriors of the Dawnflower. A Paladin knight, then, if you will. I do like the imagery, of course, but by the Dawn, how in the name of the Emperor do your people not die of heatstroke in that ridiculous plate armour you wear? Still. As I came home only occasionally, and less often as my duties became more stringent, I returned one day to my home, and was greeted by Haleen. She was thinner, depressed it seemed. That night, she left, leaving me only this note. The same one, I think she also left for Lyria, for the look in her eyes that morning is the same that haunts my own face in the mirror. I have lived in these sands all the thirty years of my life. I have fought men, killed when words of peace would not work. And yet I have not felt dread like I felt that morning. Lyria and I searched for months, but to no avail, until we heard of sightings of a woman matching Haleen’s age and description in Kelmarane. And that is my story, my friend. There is of course, far more to it, but I give you the most salient pieces to understand my path to this place. I go to Kelmarane to find my mother, the one who raised me and saved me from slavery. And by Vows to the Dawnflower, I shall find her again. And if any have harmed her, they will feel the full wrath of a Faris of Sarenrae. Ah. That is the caravan master’s call, sounding the hour, is it not? We shall have a few more hours of daylight to rest in, before we set out for Kelmarane. You should take to your bedroll, friend, for I suspect there will not be much rest between here and our destination. Indeed... I feel a storm coming, and not one easily weathered. |
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