About Sigmar DarastrixA fairy tale, a report and a child’s account of a strange man:
Once upon a time there lived a mighty sorcerer-king. Because his crown was so heavy, his coffers so full and his magic so strong, he thought himself the mightiest man in the world. Only one thing vexed the proud king, and that was stories of dragons. Dragons, he was told, had no match in this world and few in the next, being the pinnacle of creation. The king’s pride could not abide such stories, and so it was that he set out alone to find a dragon to best.
The king traveled far, beyond the borders of his realm even, and everywhere he went he asked where one might find a dragon. At last, his journey took him to a bleak land of shabby towns and raddled people. Believing that a realm should reflect its ruler, the king thought that this land must belong to a poor monarch indeed, and asked a villager who their leader was. All the greater was his surprise when the villager answered, “We toil for the Crimson King, the dragon who lives on our highest peak, mightiest in all the world.” The king departed for the mountain. It was a perilous climb, steep and rugged, but with magic in his soul and hubris in his heart, he reached the peak. There the mighty dragon awaited him. “What does a meagre human wish of me?” it asked. “A contest!” answered the king. “I wish to prove the mastery I have earned over every asset nature has gifted you!” “And what will you offer when you fail?” “The blood of a king, just as you will give me one drop of your own for every competition in which I best you.” “For your conceit, I should eat you whole,” the dragon snarled. “But your despair will taste sweeter than your flesh.” With this, the contest began. The king had heard how dragons could soar through the skies as nimbly as salmon through the surf. He therefore challenged the dragon to a race over the clouds. With his magic, the king had long since mastered flight and took off into the air as confidently as any bird. Upon reaching heights forbidden to avian-kind, however, a shadow loomed over him. This was the dragon, flying higher still, and with a single beat of its great wings, it summoned a hurricane that sent the king crashing back to the earth. So it was that the proud king had to acknowledge his loss. Undeterred, he then challenged the dragon a second time, this time to a contest of kindling. For the king had heard how dragons could command flames just as he commanded armies and would prove his superiority with this purest of destructive furies. Calling upon his sorcery once more, the king conjured an eruption of fire with such force it cracked boulders, sending them rolling down the mountain in a rockslide. But the dragon merely laughed. It let loose an infernal breath so hot it melted any boulder, sending them pouring down the mountain in a molten stream of magma. There it met the only remaining forest in the dragon’s lands and set it alight. As the sun was blotted out by black smoke, the proud king once again had to acknowledge his loss. Yet proud as he was, he did not give up. He challenged the dragon a third time in what was to be a contest of magic. The king evoked the limits of his sorcery now, transforming himself into a great beast of tangled fur and sharp teeth, large enough to match even the dragon. In turn, the dragon mirrored his spell, also changing shape. But where the king transformed into a beast, the dragon transformed into a man. For, said it, it is so very easy for the pettiest of paupers to pretend at brilliance. Mortalkind did so every day of their miserable lives. Indeed, one had only look to the king himself for proof. For the magnificent to guise themselves as ordinary, however? This was a grand feat. The king recognized the truth of the dragon’s words and, one final time, acknowledged his loss. The king, no longer proud but despondent, lowered his head. “You have bested me, dragon. My life is yours to take.” “I will not eat you,” replied the dragon. “You promised me your blood and I shall have it, but you may go. Return to your kingdom.” Although baffled at these words, the king was beholden to the dragon now and did as he was bidden. He left the bleak land and returned to his own realm where he had been greatly missed. Yet all cried bitter tears in his kingdom and could not tell him why. The king passed a farmer and asked him why he wept, but the farmer could not bear to say. The king then passed a guard and asked him why he wept, but the guard could not bear to say. At last, the king reunited with his queen and asked her why she wept. To her fell the unhappy duty of telling the king how a dragon had stolen their children in the night. The prince and two princesses – three blood drops of the king – were never seen again. From this we are to learn that even the loftiest among us have our betters. For blood is blood, the hen will never compare to the eagle, and a man is just a man. --- The journal of Kresser Dragonbane, 4th Alturiak, 14XX. The Crimson King is dead. As is most of my company, damn its flaming hide. And by Bane’s blood, if that silk-stockinged bint denies me their part of the reward, I’ll have her join them. Will send the gold to their families. Awful hassle, but least I can do. On topic of family, not sure what to do with kid. CK had this cult worshipping it. Heard of this with other dragons. Maintain the lair, run errands, fan their f*cking egos, that sort of thing. Usually just kobolds. This one was people. Casters too, the lot of them. Dragon maybe teaching them. Think they were all related, though. Not sure. Wouldn’t listen to reason. Attacked us afore we ever saw dragon. Relentless. Killed Vaalyun. Had to kill them in turn. Does a person die twice if you go on to kill the thing they died for? CK tough. But plan worked. All I’ll write on it. Let the evil thing be forgotten. Stupid name. Found cult quarters in lair afterwards. Kid there. Maybe 4 years old, not good at gauging humans’ age. Odd one. Quiet-like. All left of cult. Probably killed his parents myself. This part of job no one prepares you for. Might be mercy, but can’t bring myself to off him. Taking him with me to town, find someone to rear him. Will sell dragon remains. No glory in this one. Too many bad memories to make some damn red dragonhide pantaloons out of it. --- ”Where you off to, kid? You’re all wimpery and whiny. That’s not a good look!” The voice is as cocky as it is cheery. I look up from the cobblestones to see a man. He’s young. And strong. And handsome. And weird. He wears a red leather jacket, which is kinda cool, I guess. But no shirt underneath. One, two, three, four, five… Boy, that’s a lot of stomach muscles. He’s just pacing up and down a dead end of the alleys, and… punching at the air? ”What do you want?” I ask him, sounding more alarmed than I mean to. I’m still rattled. But I don’t know this man. A child learns to be careful on the street, a girl doubly so. ”What, are those fancy ears of yours just for show? I’m telling you you look like a wuss!” He never stops his mock fighting. His punches are fast. Very fast. As quick as his grin. I don’t understand why he’s provoking me. Haven’t I suffered enough this evening? ”What’s it to you?” My voice still can’t carry any proper anger. “Nothin’. But I bet those tears will mean something to whoever you’re going home to.” This gives me pause. I don’t want my dad to worry. He always worries about me. The man just keeps up his pantomime. He moves onto kicks now. He can kick very high. I wipe at my face. “That’s better. Gotta keep up that brave face, right?” “I guess.” I should move on. These streets are no place to linger. But there’s something about this man. Some intrigue, attraction or magnetism I can’t explain. He keeps smiling. Even during his routine, he never stops smiling. “So what was that all about earlier, those guys stopping you?” I flinch. I get angry again. “You saw that?” “Sure did!” “… They stole my bread.” Now he laughs. He leaps through the air to strike at the brick wall and laughs. ”Is that all?! Hah! And here I thought you were crying over something serious! Psh. Bread is boring, anyway.” My empty stomach hurts and I get angrier. ”It was all I had for today! The temple won’t give me any more!” “Oh yeah?” He looks at me now. He has funny eyes. Amber. “Well, that’s no good. What are you gonna do about it?” I think he might be dumb. “What am I supposed to do about it? They’re bigger than me. And there are more of them.” “Yeah, you are real scrawny.” The man has no trouble talking through his exertion, his punches and kicks. He isn’t even breathing heavy. “Guess it’d be easier to work on that second part, then.” ”What?” ”Getting more of you.” ”… You’re weird.” The back alleys are in no short supply of crazies. I’ve let this one distract me long enough. I make to leave. ”Hey now, givin’ up like that is what got you crying in the first place. Doesn’t matter if its weirdos like me or bullies like them, you have to stand up for yourself.” He stopped his routine. He doesn’t follow, but he’s facing me now. I stop. That silly grin never wavers. ”Can you just say what you mean to say? I need to go.” ”Heh. I mean you need to ask others for help. Girlie like you is a mark all on her own. That’s why you gotta rely on your friends!” He is dumb. And I’m dumbfounded. ”You stopped me to give me a lecture on friendship?” ”Sure!” The punches resume now, except he’s striking at the brick wall, not empty air. The blows reverberate through the alley. ”You might call it a simple lesson. But then you’re real simple for never havin’ learned it, ha hah!” ”Hey, screw you!” ”That’s the spirit! That’s the fire you need if you’re going to stand up to thugs like that.” ”What are you even suggesting? That I form a posse or something?” ”That’d be awesome!” His blows focus on a particular brick. Cracks are forming on it. ”But nah, probably not for you. Not yet. For now, just that you travel in groups so you – so everyone they prey on – won’t get jumped.” “You think it’s just that easy?” He kicks at the wall and somersault through the air. The motion is as graceful as it is unnecessary. “I mean… yeah? Kinda? Why do you think birds fly in flocks? Why do fish swim in schools? Why do… snails crawl in, uh… I dunno, but point is that individually they’re weak. On their own, they’re prey. But together? Now we’re cookin’! And when people get together? Oh man!” The boyish grin grows wider. “You think any one dude built this city? Nah, that’s done by hundreds over, like, generations. Get enough people together and you can do anything. They’ll build towns, reroute rivers and then topple the dumbass ruler they put in charge of town! Hell, the right people working together can even slay a dragon. ‘Together we stand, alone we fall’ and all that!” I must be as dumb as him to still be listening. But there’s an earnestness to the man’s words that make up for the lack of pretty speech. More than that, I feel… targeted. He’s touching thoughts buried. I understand what he’s saying. “But I don’t want…” I hesitate. Why am I telling him this? “I don’t want to rely on others. I… want to be strong.” He laughs. “Yeah, thought you were the type. Could smell it on ya. But listen,” Another blow against the wall. Except this one is different. It doesn’t strike; it cuts. There are gouges left in the brick. Claw marks. “Strength is great, but everyone has their limits. There’s no shame in asking for help. The lone wolf is cool and all, but even wolves travel in packs.” ”… Have we met before?” ”Never seen you before in my life, kid! But ‘like knows like’ or however it goes.” I look up and down his chiseled form, his fancy jacket, his sharp jaw. We are nothing alike. But he follows my eyes and taps his temple with a smirk. I understand. Alike in mind, he means. I think this man strange. I think him simpleminded. And I think he’s really trying to help me. “… What are you doing?” I finally ask after a pause. “Me? I’m warming up!” Heavy footsteps crash down the street. ”Ey! That the guy?” Assenting hoots follow. Men, a dozen of them. I smell them before I can get a proper look in the dark. Leather, sweat and drink. I don’t need a proper look. I know who they are. These are part of the Untamed, one of the worst gangs in the slums, infinitely worse than the hoodlums who robbed me. What are they doing here? I back away. The man walks forward. No. No, he saunters. “You lugs are just in time! I’m all limbered and ready to party!” He cracks his knuckles. They brandish clubs. “You some kind of maniac, picking fights with us Untamed,” the biggest of the bunch growls. “Attackin’ my crew… You lookin’ to die?” “Nah, just looking to get paid. Local kettle hats promised me a fat stack o’ gold for running you dolts outta town. Though I admit, smacking your underlings about to lure you out was just as much business as it was pleasure!” A blade whispers in the dark. “I’m gonna kill you.” “Kid, I’m afraid that concludes our little talk,” the man says to me. He’s still smiling. The smile is only growing wider. “You should run away now.” Yes, I should. I don’t know why I instead yell at him, “No, you can’t fight them all! You can’t win!" I don't want him to get hurt. "Run! What about everything you just said? You said groups are always stronger than any one person! Was that all bull’?” For the first time I see an expression other than amusement on the sharp features. He looks surprised. Then he looks at me like I’m the dumb one. Then he smirks again. ”Heh! Kid, I was talking general-like. About people. About kids like you. But me? Puh-lease, I don’t need any help. I’m no bird nor fish nor flaming snail. I’m not even a wolf. I’m not even people. I’m different from you. I don’t need anyone. I’m Sigmar Darastrix. And I’m a damn dragon.” A shark crack rings through the alley as a nose breaks beneath the man’s fist – a scaled fist.
Appearance:
Sigmar Darastrix is an undeniably handsome young man. Actually, he may be trying to ensure you cannot deny this, as his typical ensemble includes an ostentatious longcoat in red leather with no shirt. This garment is kept perpetually unbuttoned, its tails billowing behind him dramatically and ensuring that his *sick pecs!* and *perfect abs!* are visible to all. It is a fashion statement only palatable to the most laddish of 13-year-old lads, the ranks of which Sigmar never seems to have matured from, mayhap wilfully so.
Gauche stylings aside, the young man almost carries these through sheer confidence alone. Sigmar is never without a swagger in his step and a smirk on his lips, traits attractive to some and infuriating to others. It is not immediately clear where this self-assurance stems from. He is tall, yet the six ft. aren’t overly impressive. He is strong, yet the lean musculature veers closer to swimmer than strongman. He is imposing, yet he carries no weapons. This may lead the ill-intentioned observer to conclude the young man a rube, an overconfident teenager whom life is yet to knock off his peg. This is half true. Sigmar is, in so many ways, a bit of a fool. Again, wilfully so. But those who look beyond the veneer find the amber eyes not quite so vapid as his easy demeanour might otherwise suggests. Twinkling, yes, but not vapid. These contrast with his pale skin and dark hair, both well groomed.
Personality & motivation:
Sigmar is a mess of contradictions. While first impressions paint the picture of a youth as carefree, brash and infuriatingly overconfident as only a teenager can be, that layer is in fact paint thin. Because while the young man is happy to showcase his prowess, there is a part of him that simply revels in anonymous violence. And while he is personable and even charming, he never puts any effort into maintaining relationships. If character truly is what we are in the dark, then Sigmar isn’t much of anything. When not on a job or with someone else to play off of, the young man is quiet, lazy and lacks much of a drive to do anything. While there’s no denying that he really does enjoy fighting and showing off, his more over-the-top antics and thrill seeker behaviour may be no more than a coping mechanism. Given a more modern setting, a psychiatrist might diagnose him with depression.
A troubled childhood is the culprit, as is so often the case. Alone in the world, a vestige of a dragon cult whose members - his family - died for a monster that never cared for them, Sigmar is left with very little. Little but a base drive for recognition, and a dull pain that sometimes sees him lash out at a world he doesn't feel part of. Of course, the dragon blood flowing through his veins only makes him feel more alienated from mortal-kind. At his lowest, Sigmar has all the worst tendencies of what tabletop circles call the ‘murder hobo’, violence being just a way of life. However, merely feeling removed from people doesn't mean the young man cannot admire them. Paradoxically for a loner so self-reliant, he has a deep appreciation for cooperation in particular, crediting it as the reason simple races like humanity can triumph over monsters so much stronger than themselves. Monsters like dragons. Deep down he is an idealist, and at his best, Sigmar is every bit the hero he wants to be. History (and allies):
What is there to say about a foundling? Beyond the background suggested above, Sigmar was passed around foster parents and orphanages, none of which were ready or able to help, nor even understand, the dragon-blooded child handed them. Just old enough at the time of his family’s demise to understand the loss, Sigmar was left with some hefty emotional baggage. This baggage is only further burdened by the knowledge that he owes his life to the same man who killed said family. Sigmar is aware of Kresser Dragonbane, leader of the party that slew the so-called Crimson King, his own draconic progenitor in magic if not in blood. He is still unclear on that point.
Sigmar hasn’t seen the famed dragon slayer since the day Kresser dropped him off on a doorstep. He’s not sure he wants to. Frankly, having heard the stories surrounding the red dragon in growing up, the youth isn’t sure what he would do should they meet. Thank the man for saving him from a life of brainwashed servitude? Kick his kidneys loose? One or the other. Sigmar doesn’t like to think that far ahead. All Sigmar cares for is the here and now – instant gratification. It is this drive that saw him strike out on his own at just fourteen. For the last five years he has been wandering from town to town doing whatever odd job lets him flex his muscles, sometimes literally so, for the viewing pleasure of himself and others. Most days though, there’s some mean fool that needs a beating. Sigmar is only too happy to oblige. Heck, if said fool is just mean enough, he’ll do it for free! Work is its own reward, don’t you know? Flaw:
Emotionally stunted (also way overconfident). A chicken or egg quandary: Is Sigmar so self-assured because he knows he carries draconic blood, or does the blood of the proud reds impart an inherent conceit of its own? Whatever the case, the young man typifies the ‘fool’ in foolhardy. There is just about no fight he won’t fling himself into with glee, no matter the odds. After all, he’s just that good, or so he believes. And in the event his adversary truly outmatches him, well… That’s why he chooses jobs pitting him against the crooked, vile and monstrous. Sigmar doesn’t mind dying if it’s for the right cause. Not like he has a whole lot else going on in his life.
Of course, the primary reason the young man leads such an empty existence is – in part - another expression of his alien lineage: the inability to relate to others. Childhood trauma, a rough upbringing and the magical blood of tyrants have left Sigmar emotionally detached. He has trouble reading others’ feelings and rarely knows what is expected of him in any given social situation. This only contributes to his devil-may-care attitude; not knowing what’s appropriate, he leans further into the inappropriate. Even so, he harbours no ill will towards the people he wishes he could connect with. Sigmar realizes that the problem lies with himself, ‘different’ as he is. Crunch, lv. 5:
Sigmar Darastrix
Male human Unchained Monk 1 (Scaled Fist), Sorcerer 4 (Dragon Drinker?) 19 Years of Age CG medium humanoid [human] Init +4; Senses - low-light vision, perception +12 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 17, touch 16, flat-footed 11 (+2 Dex, +4 Cha, +1 nat armor) HP ? (1d10 + 4d6 + 1 Con mod x5 + 2 FC) Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +6 [+3 vs charm, compulsion] 5 fire resistance -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Weapon: unarmed, +9 attack (1d6+6), bludgeoning Weapon: 2 claws, +10 attack (1d4+6), b/p/s -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 20 (+5), Dex 14 (+2), Con 13 (+1), Int 12 (+1), Wis 13 (+1), Cha 18 (+4) Base Atk +3; CMB +8; CMD 24 Feats (class): Dragon Style, Eschew Materials, Stunning Fist, Unarmed Strike Feats (choice): Dragon Ferocity, Eldritch Heritage [Abyssal], Favored Prestige Class [Dragon Disciple, spellcraft], Feral Combat Training, Skill Focus [perception], Spell Focus [evocation], Weapon Focus [natural] Traits: Magical Knack [Magic; +2 caster level, never exceeds HD], Reactionary [Combat; +2 init.], Irrepressible [Faith; Cha to Will vs charm, compulsion] Skills (6/Monk, 20/Sorc, Int included + 1 FC): Acrobatics +10, Climb +9 [1 point], Intimidate +12, Know (arcana) +9, Perception +12, Spellcraft +11, Swim +9 [1 point] B. skills: Lore (dragons) +9 Languages: Common, Draconic -------------------- Wealth -------------------- Adventuring Gear: backpack (m) Other Gear: Belt of Giant Strength +2, Headband of Alluring Charisma +2, Amulet of Mighty Fists +1 Weight: ? lbs./? lbs. Coin: 12000/12000 gp -------------------- Magic -------------------- Cantrips: Detect Magic, Jolt, Light, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Spark 1st (7/day): Burning Hands, Heightened Awareness, Mage Armor, Magic Missile, Windy Escape [FC bonus] 2nd (4/day): Scorching Ray -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Class: bloodline (draconic), Flurry of Blows Blood Havoc: Whenever you cast a bloodrager or sorcerer spell that deals damage, add 1 point of damage per die rolled. This benefit applies only to damaging spells that belong to schools you have selected with Spell Focus or that are bloodline spells for your bloodline. This ability replaces the sorcerer’s 1st-level bloodline power. Racial:
Crunch:
Sigmar Darastrix
Male human Unchained Monk 1 (Scaled Fist), Sorcerer 3 19 Years of Age CG medium humanoid [human] Init +4; Senses - perception +8 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 17, touch 15, flat-footed 15 (+1 AC, +2 Dex, +3 Cha, +1 nat) HP 30 (1d10 + 3d6 + 2 Con mod x4) Fort +6, Ref +6, Will +5 (+2 vs sleep, paralysis, stunning effects) Fire resistance 5 -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Weapon: unarmed +1, +7 attack (1d6+7), bludgeoning Weapon: 2 claws +1, +8 attack (1d4+5), b/p/s -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 18 (+4), Dex 14 (+2), Con 14 (+2), Int 8 (-1), Wis 12 (+1), Cha 16 (+3) Base Atk +2; CMB +6; CMD 21 Feats (class): Dragon Style, Eschew Materials, Stunning Fist, Unarmed Strike Feats (choice): Eldritch Heritage [Abyssal], Feral Combat Training, Skill Focus [Know (planes)] Feats (item): Weapon Focus [natural] Traits: Magical Knack [Magic; +2 caster level, never exceeds HD], Reactionary [Combat; +2 init.] Skills (4/Monk, 6/Sorc, Int included + 3 FC): Acrobatics +9, Climb +8 [1 FC], Know (arcana) +5 [3 points], Perception +8, Swim +8 [1 FC] B. skills: Handle Animal +10, Sleight of Hand +9 Languages: Common (Taldane), Draconic -------------------- Wealth -------------------- Magic gear: Traveler's Any-Tool, wand of Infernal (Draconic?) Healing [43 charges], Wayfinder with Opalescent White Pyramid ioun stone (cracked), Manual (Fruit!) of Gainful Exercise +1 Str, Clamor Box Other gear: backpack, rope (hemp, 50 ft.) Weight: 18 lbs./100 lbs. Coin: 0 gp -------------------- Magic -------------------- Cantrips: Detect Magic, Light, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Spark 1st (6/day): Burning Hands, Mage Armor, Shocking Grasp, Windy Escape -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Class: bloodline (draconic), Flurry of Blows, stunning fist (1/day, DC 15) Racial: Adoptive Parentage - Draconic language & Skill Focus (planes); Skilled |
