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Take a look, if you will, into the past.
Hello everypeoples! I'm putting that story thing with Rakashi and Derek on hold for a little to do this! (Yeah, can't seem to think of how to get from point A to point C and what the hell point F's gonna be and, yeah, you get the idea...)
This is the stuff I have yet to relate about some of my more prominent characters that I find to be important (I use up my own damn time for this crap, you know!).
And...GO!
Rakashi
Born Nightal 15, circa -18,000 DR. Born on the Plane of Shadow, he was raised by his mother (a shadow dragon without a name as of yet) for around ten years before his mother was lost to "the shadows of the land" (none know her true fate). Though the drakes had hopes to kind his mother, this left Rakashi orphaned amidst a tribe of shadow dragons his mother had been chieftan of. The drake that temporarily proceeded the chieftan position had been a friend to his mother, but not very friendly to the young wyrmling and sent him to be tutored under Issrazengoard and his mate, a couple who had lost their own children to a raid of shadow beasts and have been embittered ever since.
They were undeniably neglectful, as well as unsupportive to Rakashi's meek disposition and apparent inferiority complex, but they did encourage his unusually advanced grasp on magic. Yet he was weak in body as well as in spirit and was not favored just for being about to sputtered out spells that were near-ineffective against the beastial perils of the Shadow Plane.
Then, after around 20 years of this treatment, it was confirmed that Rakashi's mother was dead, the young wyrmling's fate was doomed. The shadow dragons had taken care of their chieftan's child only out of fear of her return (and wrath), but with her out of the picture, Issrazengoard lashed out at the wyrmling, who then scurried away into the plains of Shadow. He was not pursued far, he had been badly injured and it was doubtful he'd live out in the Plane of Shadow anyway, so he was left to rot.
He wandered the desolate world of the Shadow Plane for several days, in fact, encountering nothing, until stumbling upon a rip in the tedious fabric separating the Plane of Shadow to the Material Plane. Without hesitation Rakashi leapt through, only to find himself tumbling down a rocky hillside.
The bloodied little drake was fortunate, however, for he tumbled into the path of a traveling cleric of Io, an winged elf by the name of Dalstellixa. Being an initiate of a draconic deity, it was only natural for the elf to come to the shadow dragon's aid, healing him and, eventually, befriending and nurturing the young dragon.
This period of companionship was, however, cut short when, seventeen years later, Dalstellixa was slain by a flight of dragons out for vengeance on the genocide of their kind and the assistance of the avariel race gave the hated elven archmages who crafted the Dracorage. Rakashi was overlooked, however, and survived (it's hard to see a shadow drake in shadows, after all).
This marks a long period of wandering and few encounters worth noting (haven't thought of anything as of yet...), although it was during this period of time in which Rakashi began to discover his druidic abilities. This does, however, take up a large chunk of time, around 7000 years, in fact, until Rakashi holed up in a cliff-side cavern in ancient Murghom. It was far longer than Rakashi thought when Chrirltwor showed up, and a far shorter time until it was left in ruins on the date Nightal 16 -4831 DR. (Note that, before the fall of Chrirltwor, Rakashi had crafted his ability to take a humanoid shape, and chose that of a pale elf lad. Yet, after Chrirltwor’s fall, he darkened the form’s skin to black in a show of mourning. The fact that the form looked like a drow was a complete fluke. Yeah, only Rakashi, huh…?)
The night before, just as midnight would have been sounded, Rakashi's heart was ripped out of his chest by a hired cleric and slayer. With the grey, still-beating organ in hand, the man had rejoiced. That is, until the felled dragon suddenly reared up and took his head from his shoulders. With the infernal might of his rage fueled by the divine power now replacing his heart as well as magicks rivaling the greatest of Narfell's wizards, Rakashi inadvertently destroyed Chrirltwor and killed Dalstinnia, a paladin that had befriended the drake, who had sacrificed herself in a final effort to quell the dragon's anger.
It had worked, but it had not been too late.
Rakashi had then drifted around the ruins in a dazed depression for several days until Jostalphin, looking for the creature with enough power to level an entire city, found Rakashi and whisked him away to his keep for proper combative training to be used as a weapon for conquest.
The shadow dragon, who had seemingly lost his spirit, gave no objection to any of the strict temperament of his brother or the harsh quality of Jostalphin's combat training.
During this time, Rakashi learned to use a naginata (a naginata being a halberd-like weapon used amongst monks to the east) as a primary melee weapon as well as to improve on his battle castings.
Throughout it all, there had stood an uneasy truce between the two brothers. This truce could not stand for long, however, when Jostalphin used Rakashi to attack a fleet of ships from Cimbar. Once more disturbed by his own destructive power, Rakashi away, deep into the Underdark.
Within the deep caverns of the Underdark, he became a protector of a group of some of the less violent of the Underdark’s fauna.
Eventually he was discovered by a patrol of drow while in his drow shape. Thinking him to be a runaway of one of the Houses (this drow community had a more clan-like community, tied together wit the need to protect each other from the terrors of the Underdark), they brought him back to their city. There he soon became the city’s more renown mages, which would usually entitle a high standing of political power.
However, his softer nature and views were not taken very well with the drow, and thus the House he had been adopted into had him on a tight leash. This lasted a few decades, ending when his draconic nature became public knowledge when, during a patrol to investigate beastial activity out in the Underdark, he was forced into dragon shape. The drow fled, leaving him at the claws of the dark beasts.
Battered, bloodied and abandoned, Rakashi once more wandered the caverns to find a place to hold up and lick his wounds.
Once fed up with the uncaring darkness of the Underrealms, he made his way back up to the surface, into the frozen wastes north of the Spine of the World. Here he encountered the kindly white dragon Kaemsayrraldita, who nearly slew the shadow dragon, thinking him just another evil drake. They became friends soon enough, but after a while it became time for Rakashi to leave when a village of arctic dwarves set up nearby Kaemsayrraldita’s lair, much to the white’s delight, for she much enjoyed the company of the tundra-dwelling folk. However, Rakashi could not trust himself around small-folk, and he did not want more blood on his claws, so he left, going south.
Centuries later, Rakashi once again encountered Jostalphin on much more unfriendly terms than last they met. The sunwyrm was still angered at how Rakashi had abandoned “their cause” and attacked the younger drake.
Rakashi lashed out with surprising anger that had been boiling in his grey blood for hundreds of years, seething at his brother’s betrayal and at the sunwyrm’s irritating habit of blaming all others but himself, and astonished Jostalphin with an overpowering display of magic power.
Though angry as he was, Rakashi could not bring himself to kill his own brother, and he left the sunwyrm injured, bloody and bound to a Cliffside for days until the holding spell dissipated. Outraged, Jostalphin’s demeanor towards Rakashi turned more volatile, never forgiving Rakashi for the wrong he did him. This was all spouted hot air, for Rakashi was far, far away, to the east near his once home of Murghom. Facing his inner demons, Rakashi returned to his old him, the cave which seemed smaller than it had years ago.
He improved upon the cave, digging and shaping it into a network of tunnels that crawled under the forested hills (which formed years ago as his old grove group and expanded into the what is now the Great Wild Wood) to the mountains to the north.
At some point during this home improvement, one of his tunnels broke out into the old lair of a deceased silver dragon. The silver wyrm had been slain, apparently, by her own children, who mush have been under some fell compulsion. The mother was dead, covered with wounds, and the three wyrmlings were huddled close against their mother’s corpse, starved to death. The sight left Rakashi in tears, and he did not return to the cavern for several weeks.
Still, he did not leave his lair for several millennia. Lost in his seclusion, Rakashi crafted weapons and items of wondrous power. This was more for a diversion against boredom than any intention to use most of these crafted items. He spent much time around his hoard, a mass of riches gathered over the thousands of years of his life as well as that which him, himself, mined from the Copper Mountains he now inhabited. He was most delighted by the vein of sapphire he found (sapphires are his favorite kind of gem, as they were the same glittering color of this mother’s eyes). He made jewelry, bands, circlets, and other gewgaws with a regularity he, himself, didn’t quite get, but it did well to distract himself through the time. Also gathered from his travels were books and tomes he treasures dearly (yes, he has read nearly every book he has).
It was here that he weathered the Rage of the Year of the Dracorage.
At around the Year of Wild Magic, Rakashi soon found himself lonely and restless, and ventured out to the northeast, into the Dalelands and Cormyr.
Of course, it wasn't long until the great, verdant woods of Cormanthor Forest to call to the druidic drake, and Rakashi was soon deep in the heart of Cormanthor.
There, he was ambushed by drow warriors. Caught unawares, he was overtaken easily and would have been killed had it not been for the intervention of a gnoll by the name of Brielrangnak.
Curious as to why drow would attack another of their kin (odd though Rakashi's drow form appeared), Gnak nursed the dragon back to health and interrogated Rakashi, though it was more of a leisurely conversation than the hateful accusatory one would expect of a gnoll. It was soon that they became fast friends.
Then recovered shadow dragon stayed with Gnak's "tribe" for a few months, becoming a familiar and welcomed sight to the civilized gnolls, until a raid of drow (which was eventually routed) disquieted the drake enough for him to decide to leave his new companions to their endevors. The tribe fell just days after his departure.
Next in this Year of Wild Magic, Rakashi chanced upon a deadly serious lycanthrope by the name of Loki in the port city of Hlath in Chondalwood. The werewolf had been demanding information on a sunwyrm by the name of Jostalphin, and Rakashi made the mistake of replying that he knew of the sunwyrm's keep.
It wasn't long before Loki forced the poor drow to take him to the citadel or, so help him, he'd use his scythe to the most deadly effect on Rakashi's dark hide. Not wanting to fight the lycan who was clearly desperate (despite his murderous exterior), Rakashi accepted his, ahem, request and led him to the wyrm's keep without tarrying.
Jostalphin, being the sick dastard that he was, sent one of his most promising pupils to handle the irrate Loki and his guide mage, the red dragon warrior Dalstaanthix.
Dalstaanthix, however, did not agree with sending her to fight his own battle, which was with the enraged wolf only, and not the weak-looking little drow. She refused Jostalphin's order and told him to fight his own bebolten battles.
With an irrate sigh, Jostalphin waded into battle with the Soul of the Crescent Moon sword readied to strike. The battle ended with a stalemate between the two combatants (see later updates), but it did anger Jostalphin enough to cast away the rebelous red from his teachings.
This, Dalstaanthix, called Dalsta most often, did not really mind, finding the shadow dragon (whom she doesn't really know to be Jostalphin's brother as of yet), to be of a more enjoyable company.
Loki, however, slinked away to lick his wounds, leaving no notion of wanting companionship. Or to ever see their faces again.
And so begins the Year of Rouge Dragons...
Loki
Born during the Winter Solstice (Nightal 20) of the year 1347 DR, the Year of the Bright Blade. He was born the child of the werewolf woman Annandora and the werewolf lord Wennalnar. Loki's white fur was seen as an oddity amongst the "pack" (actually more of a village containing an all-lycanthrope population somewhere in Dambrath) Annandora and Wennalnar had been a part of, he grew up isolated.
However, it is not that the other lycans treated him as an outcast, as a matter of fact, it was he who discriminated against the others, finding them all complete morons, though he never said it aloud. Perhaps the only person he acted nicely to were his parents (Annandora most of all, since Wennalnar was more strict and judgmental).
He was a skilled hunter in any form, taking down large prey without assistance with disturbing ease. At the age of 14 he had taken down a full grown grey render all by himself with few wounds. In his human form he wielded swords and bows with amazing skill, learning to outstrip all other fighters within weeks of learning how to merely hold any weapon he was given.
He was idolized by the younger pups and even some older than himself, but he didn't really seem to notice any of the attention. All he could seem to focus on were the weapons in his hands, be they steel or claw.
Then, one night when the moon was full and Loki at the age of 17, the lycanthrope village was attacked. Apparently humans had decided that they didn't want such a large group of demihumans so near their own settlements and livestock, and thus made a preemptive strike while the lycans were beasts.
However, the humans did not think that beastial things could be so cunning. Or deadly. The humans were slaughtered, their corpses burned in their own settlement as a sign to ward overzealous bladesmen away.
This genocidal behavior reached the ears of the half-drow nobles who controlled that area of Dambrath, causing them to take action.
With silvered weapons readied, a unit of mounted warriors, sellswords from Halruaa, set out an assault on the werefolk village on 1362 DR. The lycanthropes were being slaughtered, daunted by the gleaming silver blades and points. Lancers in worn, battered armor ran down werewolves and skewered wereboars. Archers settled securely on their horses' backs volleyed silver-tipped arrows into roaring werebears and howling werewolf lords before the beasts could bring their awesome strength to bare on their ranks.
Loki, with his left leg dragging, useless, and an arrow shaft sprouting out of his back, staggered into the most prominent of the village's rough cottages and shabby lean-tos, a make-shift shrine to Selune, goddess of the moon they hold so dear.
Within, Loki tore away the roughly-crafted alter and hauled out the sacred relic hidden under the floorboards bellow, a vicious, heavily-arced blade know as the Soul of the Crescent Moon.
When he held the blade up in his clawed hands, the blade raged with silver fire. The glow flowed down the hilt and into his body, healing his wounds. With his strength back, Loki charged out of the shire just as his father's monstrous hybrid form crashed through the eastern wall, three halberdiers harrowing him with their silvery pole-axes, Wennalnar bleeding profoundly while the humans remained unscathed.
Enraged, Loki cut the three men down, the silvery fire of the blade repelling the silver points with an unseen force that left their guards open. Then, with the sacred sword in hand, Loki slew the entire mercenary group, one by one, with the angry fires of Selune with unsettlingly little difficulty.
Yet the damage hadbeen done, and nearly the entire village had been slain, including Annandora, though Wennalnar still managed to survive. Still, Loki found that there was nothing left for him there, anymore, so, a day later, the young werewolf departed with little more than leather armor he had hoarded but was too prideful to wear, a bow, a quiver full of arrows, and the Crescent blade.
For four years, Loki wandered northern Dambrath and the southern reaches of The Shaar, endlessly searching for nothing, yet still following a mysterious call he could not recognize. He encountered gnolls, humans, wemics, and less intelligent beasts that thought the lycan easy prey, each meeting ending violently, yet with Loki striding away the victor.
This meaningless string of battles that spelled out his life angered and annoyed Loki, leaving the werewolf embittered against things that lived, seeing them as abrasive animals unfit to even live their futile lives that spoke out against the “natural order of Calm”, he tended to call it.
He came to hate the things that attacked without reason, but he could not deny that he enjoyed the battles the empty, violent beasts brought to him. Annoyed at how his mind and his instincts worked so conflictingly, Loki finally settled into a life of…relative seclusion in an old tower nestled within the empty western hook of the Forest of Amtar, an abandoned watchtower to borders that no longer existed. It was dusty, unfurnished and held little pleasures beyond a table and chairs. Loki couldn’t have been more pleased.
So it was here that Loki lived in isolation, attacking no neighbors but certainly attracting many of the more violent of the beasts inhabiting his neck of the woods—gnolls and other werebeasts, mostly.
Then, on the night of Greengrass of the year 1372, an aasimar by the name of Jostalphin approached the tower of Loki, fully armored and ready for war, it seemed.
He came alone, striding haughtily and confidently even with an arrow notched and trained upon his face (or, more accurately, his left eye).
Jostalphin laid out a proposition with Loki: come with the aasimar to his keep, hand over the Crescent sword, and be a good little pup and fight for him.
Now, as appealing as that had sounded, Loki snarled and let fly the arrow, which bolted for a golden iris hungrily. The pale warrior caught the arrow in mid-flight with but his middle and index fingers and snapped it in half. And thus their battle did begin.
The two fought for long hours, straight through the night until, not and hour before sunrise, Jostalphin dealt Loki a devastating blow that left the werewolf on the brink of death. Yet the lycanthrope managed to pull through, but when he awoke, he found that his blade, the sacred relic of Selune he had so treasured, was gone.
With a mighty howl of fury, Loki began a zealous search of the continent of Faerun, demanding information from frightened men and women in cites, villages and towns, traveling to the densest jungles of Chult, the frozen wastes of Rashemen, and most everywhere in between, finding nothing.
That is, until, one year later, he came upon a young, black-robed drow mage in the city of Hlath who seemed to know Jostalphin's location. With a murderous glare and a deadly scythe (purchased at some point during his travels) leveled threateningly, the drow, Rakashi, was convinced to show the almost single-minded werewolf to the aasimar's lair.
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