Description
At what looks to be nearly eight feet in height, this may be one the tallest
Arial you have ever seen. That being said, his lithe, dark-feathered form is
hunched at his shoulders as it appears he tries to take up as little space
as possible. His wings are tipped by feathers of crimson, also seen on the
crest above his yellow eyes. The talons and claws are the same glossy gray
as his falcon-like beak. Simple, tight-fitting leathers hug close to his
body, surely providing a freedom of movement.
Role
Beginnings
Added Mon Oct 14 01:38:54 2019 at level 9:
- Born in Ayr'Trinil.
- Father was a guard to the Queen and mother spends her time shopping.
- Took a big fall into the canyon onto his head when he was very young.
- Not the brightest knife in the shed. Once described as being "as smart
as a stick." He takes this a compliment.
- Both favorite color and favorite taste are blue.
- Enjoys making little dolls of those he meets.
- Believes he is part of the Shadow cabal. There are many others and the
only reason you don't hear about them is because they are very good at
being part of the Shadow cabal. Obviously.
- He is ready at all times for his next message and next task. He sees
the instructions in what the normal people might call mundane details.
Little secrets
Added Wed Oct 16 19:46:28 2019 at level 23:
Mother had a thing for strength. It intoxicated her. Every day, as she paraded
around the square in Ayr'Trinil, her colorful plumage announcing her wealthy
station, she saw him. She lived for seeing the tall, brooding guard with dark
mahogany feathers. Her knees would go weak as he paced the square. She dreamed
of his crimson eyes piercing into her own, his dark claws holding her, to be
under his spell.
Father was a fierce fighter and guard to the Queen. He had a weakness for
attention, particularly the attention of beauty. It intoxicated him. Every day,
as he paced the square, he looked forward to passing the colorful beauty with
the brilliant feathers. He could swim in the sweet perfume that surrounded her
and dreamt of being close to her.
It was forbidden. It could never be. They could never be.
For nearly a year they managed to conceal their meetings and then she went into
hiding. To the public, a mysterious "sickness" kept her house-bound. To those in
the know, however
Father continued his rounds, his features betraying his dismal mood.
Mother was determined to raise the little one, her little Ween, and defied both
convention and custom. He was different, after all, already as tall as others
years older. He would be a champion. Rules were for others, for the unworthy.
It did not take long to see that she was entirely unmatched for motherhood. The
once-quiet looks of disdain and judgment she weathered had now become blatant
shunning. It had become crystal clear that she would not be allowed this victory.
And so came the accident. Wrapped tightly in deep blue blankets, she took Ween
to the rim of the canyon. Lo, and behold, but a sudden gust launched Ween from
her grasp. He tumbled and fell to the bottom of the canyon, out of sight into
the waters below.
Mother was inconsolable. She had lost her most precious gift.
Ah, well. Back to shopping and back to parading the square. She had missed it
so much. She was welcomed back with open wings.
A fetish fetish
Added Wed Oct 23 21:29:25 2019 at level 30:
His first memory is the flash of pain. Then darkness. Cold, wet, darkness.
Sound muffled. Clomping splashes getting nearer. A huge hand plucking him from
the shallows. Darkness giving way to dark blue, the blanket over his eyes. A
warm taste of something running down his face. Sweet, this blue. Intense
sunlight as the wet blanket is peeled from his over his bleeding head.
Held aloft by his saviour, a troll female. Weak, defenseless and in shock, he
falls unconscious.
Years passed as the trolls raised him. He proved more deft than even the most
cunning of them, and so was taught whatever tricks they knew, though only as
quickly as a troll could teach. Here was their own creature, their own weapon
who opened up treasures for them behind the most complicated locks or in the
highest canopy of trees. Task after task they would give him and time after
time he would succeed, earning their favor and treasured rewards.
As he grew in stature, he grew in curiosity. He had rarely stepped out of the
mountains and had exhausted nearly everything the trolls could think to task
with, while also seeing every possible reward. That he was sharper than those
who raised him is no surprise, but it also gave him a belief he could see
things in others. Intentions, secrets, even omens in the very winds and it
drove him slightly mad that he seemed to be the only one with this vision.
As an attempt to quiet his madness, he took to making the dolls. As he would
watch from the shadows, he passed time by constructing crude versions of
others by hand, whether in found objects or carvings. He could focus his mind
and settle the silt in his thoughts. This led him to believe that he would
steal a bit of the very essence of his subjects and embed it within his
creations. That the subjects generally enjoyed seeing themselves represented
made his efforts all the easier.
Ween finds an in.
Added Fri Oct 25 23:37:08 2019 at level 33:
As his travel increased so did his watchful eye catch more and more secrets.
He coveted secrets and treasured the ones he would gather.
On the way to collect another reward, he walked through the alleys of Hamsah
toward the square. As he turned left off of North Khalid road, he spotted an
old, frail beggar, his hand extended for alms. Their eyes met for a moment.
There was a glint in in the man's eye, Ween was sure of it and he gave the
man a knowing nod. The man reached down and rearranged the already-straightened
blanket at his feet. This was a sign. This was confirmation. Ween was not alone.
Every week or so he would have some similar encounter. A crow perched just too
long. A series of puddles among wagon tracks at all too perfect a separation.
Wayward pebbles that should not be where they are. He took to leaving his own
calling cards. What would look like a bear's scratch on the bark of a tree or
a young sapling felled at an odd angle.
This was no coincidence and, given the increasing number of sightings, there
surely at least a handful of others like him. He wished to learn more of them,
but where to look?
All paths seemed to lead one place. A hub of activity with visitors from far and
wide. The Inn of the Eternal Star. It couldn't be. Not there. And yet
It was the perfect disguise. Hiding in plain sight. A simple public house, but
a place that housed so much knowledge, so many secrets. What better way to hide
than to be transparent?