Ubaid

[Ubaid]

Character Name Appearance Race: Benshira Gender: Male Age: Thirty-Six Birthday: Birthplace: Eyktol Appearance: Ubaid is of middling height, standing only 5'5". His build is that of a dancer, his limbs well formed and supple with just enough muscle to lend a pleasing firmness to his form. His skin is a sun-kissed caramel and unblemished by rough living or sickness. His features are almost statuesque in their appearance with a high-boned face and broad jaw, his nose aquiline and proportioned well to the rest of his features. His hair is a dark brown, bordering on black and when free hangs roughly to his upper shoulders. But more often it is gathered into a scholars knot at the back of his head. An elegant and short ponytail favored more by pre-valterrian cultures than the Benshira. He has not divorced himself entirely from the style of his people however, he has grown a well groomed and even goatee to match. His ears are pierced though it is not often that he wears anything in them, a legacy of a former master. His eyes are one of his most stunning features in a culture unfamiliar with the Benshira for they are brilliant shade of turquoise-blue giving his features an exotic cast. For clothing Ubaid favors the traditional dress of the area he is currently occupying. Although he often chooses to accent the fashion with brightly colored sashes or belts in nostalgic reference to the tunics the men of his race favor. Character Concept So character concept... Well the vision I have for Ubaid is for him to be something of a radical tomb-robbing mage. He is a scholar, a wandering mage with an interest in the ancient powers of those who studied the art long before recorded history. I envision him gathering groups of adventurers and mercenaries to delve deep into forgotten tombs in search of ancient lore and relics of power. I picture him seeking out learned magi of fame to exchange lore and enhance his own mastery of the magical arts. His goals will be mysterious to almost everyone, indeed most might think he is doing what he is simply for personal gain. In truth however Ubaid's goal is to find a way to banish the influence of the gods from the world. To free the moral world from the forced servitude of the divine. To Ubaid the gods view mortals as playthings, toys from which to extract amusement or worship. Whether or not his goals are impossible, whether or not he is right or wrong that is his true desire. Character History Gather close and listen, for this is the first and only time I will share my tale with you and I will tell no lies in this account. I am now called Ubaid, but once I was known by another name. I was Thultep, from the tents of Surkesh, of the sons of Malech and my tale is one of a betrayal, a goddess, chains and revenge. I was born in the endless sands of Eyktol in the tent of my father Surkesh, his second son. I am told that my birth was a difficult one and that my mother died while she first held me in her arms. She left behind my elder brother Kulot and my elder sister Rula, it was a day of celebration and mourning as my family remembered my mother and welcomed me into the world. As with all men I remember little of my time as a babe but I know that I was treated well by my family. If my father or siblings had any anger or blame for me over the death of my mother they did not show it. If there were ever such feelings in truth I would never have known anyway, the indoctrination of Yahal was strong with my father and siblings. Indoctrination, yes I call it that now for I see the truth! Although at the time I only knew that I did not take to my religious lessons as eagerly as the elder matrons would have liked. I do not know why I felt no draw to the teachings of my people’s god. His power was certainly manifest in those of his chosen who walked among us so it was not disbelief that made me question my teachers or deny their answers to the mysteries of life. But my path towards apostasy began as most things of great importance do... Quietly. I remember feeling distinct shame at first. I would question myself, 'Why do I feel this way?' or 'why should I be different?’ With age however my shame slowly bled away, I grew to be a small but handsome boy with a fine voice and smooth limbs. I danced well, I sang better and spoke best. I was, and if I am honest with myself, still am intensely proud of my body and voice. I became a favorite of my uncles, aunts and cousins and I was spoiled as far as the Benshira can spoil a child. The shame that had clouded my heart as an adolescent gradually turned to pride as I realized that being different, was not an evil thing. That it made me special and gave me what others could not have. Books were a gift that my family quickly learned I appreciated most. From the books I received as gifts came knowledge, my mind became quick and well honed. I had a gift for language and absorbing the meaning behind the words. I supped from the knowledge of cultures I would never have heard of without the vellum pages and I quenched a thirst for learning that only made my soul parched for more. Even as a young man I was a clever thinker and I was able to well apply the knowledge I gained. It was not all poetry I read and my learning was fast appreciated by the rest of my family. I learned to set bones, to better care for livestock and to recognize the symptoms of sickness. I learned to tie knots that none in my family had ever heard of, I knew the best oils to soak hide in to make it waterproof and I impressed the other children with games that I claimed as my own invention but were merely what I had read about in papers on culture and life in the great cities. Reading was my escape from the endless sands, from the chores and the endless monotony of shepherding livestock from shabby grass to muddy oasis. It set me further apart from the children of my own age, when they played at swords with broken tent-poles or practiced stalking across the sands I hid in the shade and dreamed of worlds beyond. Athleticism did not come naturally to me and when the other boys grew bulky and strong of arm I remained slight and short. My brother Kulot was as fine a physical specimen as the Benshira could produce, though his face was scrunched, his eyes beady and his wits slow he was strong of arm, quick of foot and he learned to ride better and younger than anyone else in my family. We were both shades of different people, he was devoted and unquestioning in his faith of Yahal when I had little time for the religious sermons. He won all of the races and wrestling contests asI sharpened my wits and tongue. We were a close pair, together we were unstoppable. But time saw us drift apart, our interests diverged and as my brother was groomed to lead the family after our father I was left with less and less to do aside from indulge my hobbies. As the years slowly moved on I allowed myself to drift further and further from the Rapa and their teachings, my family ignored my wayward lifestyle or at least pretended not to notice. Prayers became less about a communion with Yahal for me and became more about paying lip-service for the sake of appearances, when I was older and alone I eventually stopped praying entirely. Instead my mind became occupied with other things and deeper curiosities than the Rapa would have liked. But my greatest preoccupation was with a girl by the name of Nefra, from the tents of Kresh, of the sons of Basalom. Nefra was everything I had ever wanted, her laugh was water to my soul and her wit was stone upon which I was whet. Her ice-blue eyes saw deeper into me than any gaze ever had, she danced with a skill that surpassed imagining and her beauty overthrew my every notion of what the word meant. Though I saw her only for a short time each year we were close to one another, we would walk across the dunes and I would read to her beside the oasis. I tell you now that I could never do her true self justice with mere words. The woman in your minds is but a pale imitation of the real thing. I could never in truth bring the woman from my memory onto page, not if I had a thousand lifetimes with which to write of her. Know that she was my match, the part of my soul that I did not know I was missing. The only child of the Benshira I have ever met who loved my books more than I. More than anything else in those pages she loved tales of heroism and epic love. My fondest memories are of us together and the time we shared beside cool waters, reading together. But there was another who was with us in those halcyon days. Kulot, my brother was there as often as it was just Nefra and I. I remember other girls whispering and blushing when they saw me, I remember some of the bolder ones making promises that would have seen them beaten had their families known what fruits they offered me. But never she, never my beloved Nefra. Her loving whispers were only for Kulot and his eyes never once strayed from hers. We were a match of perfect quality, our children would have been lovely enough to make the harsh dessert sun weep tears of joy... But this would not be our fate, Nefra loved my brother Kulot best and he returned her affection a thousand fold. No matter what ploy I would try to win her heart for my own Kulot need only smile in her direction and she would melt with joy. A marriage of love is not a common thing among the Benshira, but my father Surkesh and her father Kresh could see the joy that they shared together. Eventually when I was fifteen our two families arranged for Nefra to be promised to Kulot and for them to be wed when they became adults under tribal law. This was the first true rift between myself and the rest of my family, I railed against my father’s choice and I hated my brother. The night when the marriage promise was announced was the first and only time my brother and I ever came to physical confrontation. In drunken pain I lashed out at him and struck him across the brow... He beat me as though I were still a child and compounded my shame when he forgave my outburst and offered me the honor of being his second for the wedding, I refused and left my father’s tent in seething hurt. From that day on my family and I grew further and further apart until we were strangers living under the same sky. I raged against the fate that saw me born as the second of two sons, I raged against the god in whose perfect plan I and my beloved Nefra were not a part. I was youthful and I know now that it was merely jealousy that fed the flames of my rage and not true grievance. But it was in this time of rage that I first began to see the threads of what I now know as ultimate truth... But that truth will not be spoken of now... Now we return to my life on the night of Kulot’s wedding to Nefra... To... -Betrayal-  I do not remember when I devised my plan, perhaps it was the night I spurned my brothers offer of peace. Perhaps it was in the years leading up to the night of the wedding. I procured bitter roots and using a recipe I learned from an old book extracted the essence of the plants into a colorless liquid. It was a juvenile thing, I meant to pour some measure into Nefra's water and ruin the wedding night by giving her a foul ache in her belly. It was not meant to cause lasting harm, for even then I did not hate her as I hated my father or my brother. But the gods are cruel to those who love them like my darling Nefra... Perhaps it was an error in my reading, perhaps it was a mutation in the root or even a weakness of Nefra's constitution, but what was meant to be a painful but temporary and I stress that word -temporary- ache did not fade... Nefra, the woman who I loved, the single most beautiful creature in all of creation died seven nights after her wedding to Kulot in terrible and horrific agony. I was not permitted to stay at her side as she died as her only proper companion was her husband but I remained outside the tent she and Kulot would have made their own and I wailed every prayer to Yahal I had been taught as a child. I swore every oath and made every promise I could devise to the god of my people. I would end my wayward ways and devote myself to his goodness if only he would spare Nefra from the fate my jealousy had chosen for her. When Yahal did not answer I turned my prayers to every god or goddess whose name I knew both good and evil. But no answer came to my pleas, no answer came to my begging... As Nefra breathed her last, as her cries of suffering and pain finally faded my prayers turned to curses. I swore every vengeance I could imagine on every divine being I could think of. I swore to hate them, I promised to make them feel the pain I felt and that I would never bow my head to them again. In horror at my outburst my family tried to silence me, to allow the traditional mourning to begin... But I refused, I raged at the gods until my spittle was flecked with blood and I could not breathe for the bile in my belly. When I could not cry my hatred anymore I resolved to end myself, quitting the tents of my family while the mourning was at its height I fled into the desert and intended to die amidst the sands with my grief and guilt. I walked with my sorrow for a long time, night turned to day and then back again. It does not take long for a man to die in the desert, his skin blisters and without water even the simple act of blinking causes great agony. For six cycles of day and night I walked, I remember thinking I should have been dead after the first, or at least so weak that I could go no further. But something sustained me, the hours bled into a seamless vista of loss and emptiness. On the second night she appeared to me. A shade, a wight... It was my darling Nefra, though I had feared her specter since I took my first step into the darkness I did not run. I welcomed the death I imagined she brought, longed for her to visit her vengeance on my unworthy body. She was a luminous shape in the distance and when she spoke her words came to me, whispered in my ear as a lovers promise. She told me many things, which she claimed would have been. Even now, with my faith in the gods shattered I know that the future she whispered to me was the truth. She told me that she and Kulot had been destined for one another, that he and she had been chosen to become great and wise leaders for the Benshira and that the Yahal had meant for them to live long lives and to help guide the chosen people for many decades to come. She whispered to me of the wonders that they would have helped to create, of the lives she would save with her gentle touch. She sang of the great evils Kulot would have protected the Benshira from. She told me the name of the child she would have born and of the deeds he would have performed for our people. Her words tore at my soul and ripped asunder my heart, for I recognized the truth in them. But the most painful thing she whispered to me just before the fingers of dawn stretched across the dunes... She told me that my brother would come to me next. Still I walked... I could not bid my feet to stop. Through the heat of the day I stumbled and fell across dunes, driven forward. Something in my soul demanded I keep walking. Perhaps I was running from my brother or perhaps it was the lash of the god I had rejected. My thirst was powerful but I did not die. My feet were aflame but I did not fall. The third night he came to me... My brother, Kulot, just as Nefra said he would. He was a gray spectre of what he once was, in his hand he held a dagger that dripped dark hearts blood and upon his chest was the wound it had caused. He said nothing to me for a long time, he walked at my side and I could not escape his accusing eyes. It was not until dawn threatened to break that his voice found my ears that he whispered to me what he had come to say. He told me that he loved me, that he forgave what I had done and the thing that nearly stopped my heart, the final disgusting words that still haunt me today. 'Yahal forgives even those who cannot forgive themselves.' Those words caused me agony, true physical pain. As he vanished with the rise of the sun he promised that his son, my nephew would come to visit me the next evening.  The day gave me no peace, my thirst and my hunger consumed me but I could not veer from my mad path through the sands. I welcomed the moment my neverborn nephew would come to me, I thought that it would surely be my end.  My nephew appeared to me as a young man of indistinct features and character, he greeted me as a friend, his ghostly arms enveloped me and when he spoke it was not of what I had done or of the future that could have been... But of the future that could yet be, he begged me to turn around and return to the tent of my father to beg forgiveness of he and Yahal. He promised that if I were to return to my people that I could devote myself to them. That though I would never be a respected or beloved again I would still be able to give myself to those around me. To put all of my gifts to the betterment of my people and that if I did so Yahal would one day permit me to rejoin my brother and Nefra in a life beyond this one. His words held nothing for me, I knew that this spectre had not come to end me. It was another torture inflicted by Yahal. I spit in the face of my ghostly jailer. I would not beg the love of a god who had allowed an evil man to take the life of his chosen, I would not serve him. I would not serve any god who professed power over fate but would not intervene to save his followers. When I told the specter of my unborn nephew this his voice changed and it made a final pronouncement. 'If you will not serve the gods... You will serve your fellow man. She will come to you on the sixth night if you do not return. You are warned.'  The ghost of the unborn vanished like mist and I walked the rest of the night in silence, though in my heart all the fear and self-loathing was swallowed again with rage. Whatever terrible vitality had sustained me for the previous days and nights left me on the morning and I collapsed at the base of a dune. Delirium and heat-madness overtook me then and when I finally came to my senses it was night once more and my final visitor had come. She was laying beside me when I opened my eyes, she was luminous and I knew at once that she was not mortal. Her alabaster skin was smooth and nude, her every feature perfect and wonderfully erotic. I cannot describe her any more than that without the memory of her overtaking my very being and driving me to distraction. The final detail I can share is that in her eyes I saw Nefra and I entwined in a loving embrace, I saw the future I had longed to share with her. It was then that I knew the terrible truth of what lay next to me. -Goddess- 'You never wanted to serve.' The voice of Nikali is not a physical thing, I did not hear it so much as feel it within every fiber of my being. 'Always proud, too consumed to worship the god of your people.' Her words set my flesh afire and filled me with desire despite their content, my weakness and inner pain. If I had not been held in place by her gaze I would have thrown myself upon her in mad lust. 'I am not here for Yahal, though he knew I would come. Your desire spoke to me Thultep. But everything about your lust was selfish. Disgusting and self-centered. You loved Nefra but loved your visions of her even more.' The goddess touched me then, her hand atop my heart. Her touch was soft and warm, everything I had imagined a woman’s touch to be and more. 'You could not accept her choice, could not accept the choice of your family or the gods. You would not allow your love to flourish in a new fashion. You took your desire for her and made it into a poison that ate away her insides. You could have accepted her choice, you could have desired her and served her from afar. She would have loved you after a fashion for your support and protection. But if you could not have her whole then you made sure nobody could.' Her honeyed words were filled with accusation and cut me to the core. 'And you have the audacity to curse us? The gods? Why should any of us have bent to those final prayers, you who have never served us? Tell me why.' The Goddess paused then, she waited for my answer, but I could not speak.  Now, now all these years later I know my answer but back then I had none to give. My silence was all the answer she required regardless. 'So be it, if you will not serve the gods, if you will not return to Yahal and accept the forgiveness he offers then you will learn to serve your fellow mortals and accept what they offer instead.' The goddess removed her hand upon my breast and gave me her mark, stain of gray above my heart... A chain to bind me. The giving was traumatic and my vision exploded with darkness as consciousness fled me. -Chains- When next I awoke I was no longer laying on the sand. I was in the back of a wagon surrounded by bars and the oppressive smell of unwashed bodies. All around me wretched humans huddled close together and watched the world through terrified eyes. The Benshira did not keep slaves, but my reading had taught me of the concept. I knew that I had been taken by slavers. They fed me and gave me water... I ate... The urge to die had not left me, but I knew that to eat and drink would make them happy. I knew the compulsion for what it was, the curse of a Goddess. Once my health had returned and my skin had healed of the sun-blisters and burns one of the slavers took me behind the wagon. I served him in ways I did not know were possible for a man and I knew shame because I could not bring myself to say no. He was the one who discovered my mark, the gray chains above my heart. It filled the slavers with great joy to see it. They spoke of how valuable I would be at market and discussed where I would fetch the most miza. I allowed myself to be paraded and shown like an animal, I enjoyed it and slowly began to forget who I really was. Men and women fondled me, they haggled over me like an animal and traded fortunes over my flesh. I moved from owner to owner, my life consumed in a haze of gratification and desire. In some cases I was no better than an animal chained to the floor for the gratification of a master, to others I was a substitute for a lost lover and other desires uncounted. All of my intellect and pride subsumed by the glamor of a goddess. Then -he- found me. The man who would become my last master. His name was Arakhan and he was a mage of considerable power and learning. Well into his sixties I was nineteen when he purchased me to serve as his companion and body-slave. It was in the city of Ahnatep and he gave me the name Ubaid which I choose to bear still to this day. As far as a slave-owner goes he was not the worst, he was not violent or abusive. He gained his pleasure from three things. Conversation, teaching and watching the excess of others. I served as an outlet for all of these things for him and my sense of self returned in his service. We shared long conversations together, he taught me many things about magic and allowed me to read from his vast library of books. He gave me access to many exotic pleasures on the provision that I followed his direction and allowed him to live vicariously through me. The pleasures were the least important thing to me, I grew to love my conversations with my master and relish the lessons of magic he gave me. Within him I confided my secrets, I told him my entire story as you know it till now and I found within him a kindred soul who did not judge my actions harshly. He spoke of his own clashes with faith, of his own desire to separate himself from the plans and machinations of the gods though he never revealed the truth of his own vendetta. For eleven years I served Arakhan loyally, I gave him what he desired and in serving him he gave me a greater reward. Power. Eventually he came to treat me less as a slave and more as an apprentice to his knowledge and my own abilities grew under his nurturing tutalage. I was thirty years old when my master finally passed on. In his service I learned much, an adept of magic and history. The curse of Nikali, Ranuri still held power over my heart but as my concentration and willpower grew I found I could resist the siren call to serve more easily. Only the touch of bare flesh could overwhelm me and even then only if the urges of those touching me were powerful. My master freed me on his deathbed and left me his collection of tomes and ask that he be cremated. I granted his wish and burned his body with Reimancy before I left the city behind and began my travel north.  Nikali was right... In serving another I had found my purpose. I no longer wish to die, my crime still haunts me and I will suffer in the world beyond for what I did. But I am not guilty alone, the gods themselves have always toyed with mortals. Playing us against one another, destroying us when we rise and forcing us into dependence. Magic is freedom, magic will free me from the gods and one day I will use it to free the world from them. This is my purpose in life, my goal in living. I will find a way... Or I will make one.  -Revenge- I remained in my master’s home for a short time after his death, but it is not good for a former slave to linger in his master’s house. The memories were too powerful and my purpose could no longer be suborned to another. The first step of my journey was to learn, to train. My master had opened the door for me, had removed the veil from my eyes and gave me the tools but to master those tools was something I would have to learn alone. One does not lightly challenge the gods, the arts and skills of mages both great and small were my target. I sought no further apprenticeship, but rather sought to exchange knowledge or when exchange was impossible to claim it for my own by force. I also found that no matter my willpower, I was eventually forced by the cursed gnosis above my heart to suborn myself to the desires of another from time to time. I favored women of ill repute or tavern wenches who were fascinated by the mystique of the magi, for a time I would do all I could to make their dreams come true but with their immediate desires sated I would move on quickly before the hooks of my curse could dig deeply. Finally, with a foundation of knowledge of many disciplines’ I could begin my true work... My studies have since turned to history, our ancestors were mighty before they were undone by the gods... By looking to history we might find the might to make ourselves independent from the gods. The gods did not drive me to murder, but they could have spared my victim. If it be there will they can save or destroy any number of mortals. They allowed Nefra to die, they allowed my brother to murder himself, just as they allowed Galifer to slay Alahea and then destroyed the world in their own very human tantrum. We are all slaves to the gods, we are all slaves to their whims, their desires and their feuds. For the past six years I have wandered from city to city, settlement to settlement refining my art and seeking relics and magic from the ancient past. And now we come to end of this portion of my tale, the closing of this chapter to my testament. Know this, the gods are not so different from you or I. They are as flawed as we... In my jealousy I slew the woman I loved. Think on this... If a mortal can do such a thing, what can a jealous god be driven to do? (Here is my Ranuri approval! http://www.mizahar.com/forums/topic53225.html PLEASE NOTE: This is a Negative Gnosis!) Language Fluent Language: Common Basic Language: Nador-Canoch Poor Language: Myrian Skills Skill EXP Total Proficiency Wilderness Survival (Desert) 14 SP 14 Novice Malediction 20 SP 20 Novice Reimancy (Fire, Wind) 10 RB, 16 SP 26 Competent Lores Lore - Meditation Lore - Tomb Robbing Possessions 1 Set of Clothing -Simple Shirt -Simple Pants -Simple Undergarments -Simple Cloak -Simple Boots 1 Waterskin 1 Backpack which contains: -Comb (Wood) -Brush (Wood) -Soap -Razor -Balanced Rations (1 Week's worth) -1 eating knife -Flint & Steel 100 Gold Mizas Heirloom: Grimoire - A simple bound leather tome, a quarter of the pages are full of Ubaid's writing, the rest are blank. Housing Location: Sahova House: Room in the Citidel. 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