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Elysium Squad RG Thread
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<blockquote data-quote="Eluvan" data-source="post: 2746056" data-attributes="member: 24812"><p>Cassient</p><p>Silver Drakontos Male </p><p>Sorcerer 4</p><p>Alignment: Lawful Good</p><p>Deity: Pelor</p><p></p><p>10 Strength (+0)</p><p>12 Dexterity (+1)</p><p>14 Constitution (+2)</p><p>14 Intelligence (+2)</p><p>12 Wisdom (+1)</p><p>19 Charisma (+4)</p><p></p><p>Initiative: +1</p><p>Speed: 30’</p><p></p><p>Melee Attack Bonus: +3</p><p>Ranged Attack Bonus: +4 (20’ range increment)</p><p>Damage: 1d6 (MW Shortspear)</p><p>AC: 11 (+1 Dex), touch 11, flat-footed 10</p><p></p><p>Ranged Touch Attack Bonus: +3 (35’ range)</p><p>Damage: 3d8 Cold (Lesser Orb of Cold)</p><p>AC: 11 (+1 Dex), touch 11, flat-footed 10</p><p></p><p>Hit Points: 21</p><p>Fortitude Saves: +4</p><p>Reflex Saves: +3</p><p>Will Saves: +6</p><p>+2 on saves vs. sleep and paralysis effects</p><p>+2 on saves vs. cold effects</p><p></p><p>Feats: </p><p>Draconic Heritage</p><p>Consecrate Spell</p><p>Draconic Power</p><p></p><p>Abilities:</p><p>4 extra skill points at 1st level, 1 extra skill point per level thereafter</p><p>Low-light vision</p><p>Summon Familiar (Alertness, Improved Evasion, Share Spells, Empathic Link, Deliver Touch Spells, +2 Natural Armour) – no familiar currently summoned</p><p></p><p>Sorcerer Spells Known:</p><p>Level 0 Spells: (6/day, DC 14)</p><p>Detect Magic</p><p>Light</p><p>Mage Hand</p><p>Prestidigitation</p><p>Read Magic</p><p>Ray of Frost (CL 5)</p><p></p><p>Level 1 Spells: (7/day, DC 15)</p><p>Disguise Self</p><p>Lesser Orb of Cold (CL 5)</p><p>Protection from Evil</p><p></p><p>Level 2 Spells: (4/day, DC 16)</p><p>Summon Monster II</p><p></p><p>Skills: </p><p>+10 Bluff [6]+4 (Cha)</p><p>+9 Concentration [7]+2 (Con)</p><p>+7 Diplomacy [1cc]+4 (Cha; +2 synergy from bluff)</p><p>+6/+8(16/18) Disguise [2]+4 (Cha; +2 synergy from bluff when acting in character; +10 if Disguise Self is active)</p><p>+9 Knowledge (Arcana) [7]+2 (Int)</p><p>+4 Knowledge (Religion) [2cc]+2 (Int)</p><p>+11 Spellcraft [7]+4 (Int; +2 synergy from Knowledge (Arcana))</p><p></p><p>Equipment: </p><p>MW Shortspear (1d6 damage, x2 crit, 20’ range increment)</p><p>Wand of Mage Armour (50 charges)</p><p>Wand of Magic Missile (CL 3, 50 charges)</p><p>Cloak of Resistance +1</p><p>4x Potion of Cure Light Wounds</p><p>Backpack</p><p>-5x Candle</p><p>-Ink</p><p>-Inkpen</p><p>-20 sheets of paper</p><p>-50’ Silk Rope</p><p>-Signet Ring</p><p>-10x Tindertwig</p><p>-Waterskin</p><p>-498gp, 8sp, 5cp</p><p>Scroll Case</p><p>-Scroll of Alarm</p><p>-Scroll of Animate Rope</p><p>-Scroll of Comprehend Languages</p><p>-2x Scroll of Identify</p><p>-Scroll of Ventriloquism</p><p>Spell Component Pouch</p><p></p><p>Languages: Common, Draconic, Auran, Elven</p><p></p><p>Height: 5’9”</p><p>Weight: 160 lbs</p><p>Skin: White</p><p>Eyes: Icy blue</p><p>Hair: Blonde, streaked silver</p><p>Age: 78</p><p></p><p>Description: </p><p>Cassient is a lean young man of athletic build and exotic good looks. His features are boyishly handsome, his persistent stubble trying but failing to give him more of a manly air. His hair, very fine and light, hangs loose to his shoulders. At first glance it appears merely very pale blonde, but a closer inspection reveals that it is streaked through with silver. The effect is subtle, but quite striking once it is noticed. His eyes are a chill blue, the colour of the sky on a clear, cold winter day, and thick lashes make them seem larger than they are. </p><p> His clothes are practical and inexpensive, but not exactly plain. He wears baggy linen trousers of a deep purple hue, and a simple white side-buttoned top over which he also wears a faded orange sleeveless jacket. It’s almost incredible, but somehow the colour combination seems to work for him. He carries a finely crafted and ornately carved short spear strapped across his back and that, combined with his physical fitness and easy, confident gait are enough to mark him out to a casual observer as probably some kind of mercenary.</p><p></p><p> Background:</p><p> [sblock]Cassient was born in a small village named Deira, nearer to Theropa than anywhere else but basically in the middle of nowhere. He was the only child of his family, for his birth was a complicated one and his mother died a few days later despite the best ministrations of the village priest. His father Arten, stricken with grief, nonetheless did his best to raise his son as well as he knew how. Money wasn’t too much of a problem, as Arten owned the only inn in the village and made a big enough profit to keep them both very comfortably. Of course, there were other problems; Cassient was not a normal child by any stretch of the imagination. It wasn’t apparent at first – he looked just like a normal baby, and for the first few weeks he seemed to be just that. But shortly enough it became apparent that he was not aging at anything like the normal rate. Without any idea of the secrets that had lain latent in his wife’s blood, Arten had no clue why it could be that his son seemed doomed to be perpetually an infant. Yet still, Cassient was his son, and he took the best care of him he could, and did his best to ignore the gossip of the villagers as to what was wrong with the child. </p><p> </p><p>While his father lived, Cassient’s strange aging patterns were the only thing to point to his strange heritage, and he just accepted growing up that there was something very different about him without ever having any idea what it was. The other children of the village avoided him, casting suspicious or even fearful glances in his direction, and of course during the course of the childhood years he spent there three whole generations of normal children grew up within the village. Of necessity then, he learned to be quite self-reliant growing up. His father was caring, if somewhat distant – and very old for most of the time covered by Cassient’s brief memories of him. Cassient’s first coherent recollections come from when he was between eighteen and nineteen, and by that time his father was already middle aged. He died when Cassient was forty-one, and just starting to move into puberty. </p><p> The village priest took care of him for the brief interval until his father’s instructions could be carried out and word taken to distant relations in Theropa. On the day of the funeral, Cassient’s second cousin once removed, a merchant by the name of Ildaren, came to Deira and took the boy back with him to the city. It didn’t occur to Cassient to think about it at the time, but he was older than his new guardian by almost ten years. </p><p> </p><p>Cassient didn’t settle well into his new home. Ildaren was married, and had three children. All of them were in real terms very much younger than Cassient, of course, but as far as physical and mental development went two of them – twin boys – were slightly younger relative to Cassient, whilst the youngest of the family, a girl, was barely more than a toddler. Of course, during his stay of about twenty years with the family, all three children were to grow up and leave home whilst he himself still had not come to adulthood. For his own part, Cassient wasn’t used to living with so many other people and, particularly as he was still very much in the throes of trying to come to terms with the death of his father, it caused real problems. Ildaren’s three children were all intensively inquisitive about the newcomer, and their attentions quickly became incredibly annoying to Cassient who wanted nothing more than solitude. The first few awkward days were enough to sour relations with the two brothers. Cassient got on rather better with Elyn, the young daughter, feeling something like a protective, big-brotherly instinct towards her. The relationship was strained by the apparent reversal of their ages that seemed to occur so rapidly to Cassient, but even so they remained close. </p><p> </p><p>Feeling stifled and unhappy in his foster home, Cassient spent a great deal of time exploring the streets of Theropa. It was something of a novelty to him, having never been to a city before, and despite the crowds that filled the streets he found that walking them was much like true solitude. Spending so much time walking the streets of Theropa, taking little real notice of whether he was in a ‘nice’ part of town or not at any given time, it’s perhaps not surprising that when Cassient finally did make some friends, they were entirely the wrong sort. He caught a pretty girl picking his pocket one day, and grabbed her hand as it slipped into his coin pouch. She didn’t try to run, and he stood awkwardly for a long moment, looking at her and not knowing what to do. She let him suffer for a little while before grinning easily, her bright blue eyes full of mischief, and introducing herself as Rhielle. He was stricken, and when she suggested that he should come meet some friends of hers he followed as meekly as a kitten. </p><p> </p><p>That one touch of her hand was about as close as he ever got to Rhielle, despite his best efforts, but he did get to know the rest of her gang. They were all young – just kids really, emulating what they saw their elders doing in the real thieves’ guild. The Guild allowed them to run their operation independently; it was tiny, always centred around small pickings, and it also conveniently gathered together all the potential young recruits in one pool. Cassient, for his part, never did take to pick-pocketing. He was valued, though, for his ability to talk the hind legs off a donkey – and then keep it distracted while a partner ran away with them. Circumstances had meant he’d never been very talkative or sociable before, but given the opportunity and incentive he suddenly realised how naturally it came to him. In the illustrious company of that small-time gang of petty thieves, his natural force of personality blossomed and flourished. As he grew up – which he did, slowly and tortuously, soon becoming easily the oldest veteran of his little gang of thieves – he also began to develop very striking good looks. He let his hair grow long, and when he was around fifty silver streaks started to develop in it. By this time Rhielle had grown up and moved on, and Cassient’s first precipitous infatuation never bore any fruit, but there were many more over the years Cassient spent as the biggest fish in that small pond and he never again experienced any of the same frustrations in actualising his desires. </p><p> </p><p>The biggest impact of this period, though, was something that happened entirely by chance. He picked a mark one afternoon, as usual, and as usual he kept him talking with a plea for directions and then a show of stupidity that lasted as long as it took for his accomplice to sneak up and cut the man’s purse strings. This time, though, it appeared that the mark was not as easy as he had appeared. He played along with Cassient’s act, but as the other boy crept up behind him he spun and with a backhand blow sent him sprawling on the cobbles. Cassient turned to run, with something of a head start, but with a sinking feeling realised that the alley he had turned down was a dead end. Terrified, and filled with adrenaline, he wished fervently that he was someone else as he backed up against the far wall of the alley. He watched in dread as the man turned the corner into the alley, and looked blankly around. His eyes settled on Cassient and he asked gruffly “you see a boy run in here?” </p><p> </p><p>Dumb and uncomprehending, Cassient shook his head and the man stalked off. It was only after a few minutes of recovering himself that Cassient happened to look across at the window just next to him and see in the faint reflection that he looked like an old man. </p><p> </p><p>After his initial shock, he set to trying to work out just what he had done. It took some time, but with intuitive gropings in the dark he eventually managed to perfect the trick until he could repeat it almost as often as he wanted, and make himself look like anybody he could imagine. It was mostly just a matter of visualisation and will, and then the necessary gestures and syllables to invoke the spell – which, amazed, he slowly realised it was – just came to him naturally. After that he continued to push himself, and mastered a number of minor tricks. None others as useful as that, but still the difficult experience of forging ahead and mastering his inward potential with no guidance but his own intuition was a heady one, and he was delighted with the advantage his powers gave him. </p><p> </p><p>After that, Cassient began developing a distinct suspicion as to what it might be that accounted for his extraordinarily slow aging, and inwardly thrilled at the thought of the eldritch wonders to which he considered himself heir. </p><p> </p><p>There was nothing in particular that told Cassient it was time to move on, but slowly he began to resent the restrictions that staying with Ildaren was putting on his freedom, slight as they were – he was an old man by this time, and had little time or energy to devote to attempting to keep a rebellious and inexplicably young distant relation in order. He also began to yearn for a change of scenery, and so around the time of his sixtieth birthday he decided he would leave. He left a hastily scribbled note of thanks and farewell for Ildaren, and before he left he paid a visit to Elyn, his ‘little’ foster-sister – now twenty-three, married, and in relative terms at least seven or eight years older than him. There was no extended leave-taking; she just embraced him, and whispered “good luck, little brother.” She had teased him with that name ever since she first realised that she surpassed him in terms of rough relative age. “Try to make some nicer friends wherever you’re going, okay?” she chuckled, and then kissed him once on the cheek and left.</p><p> He was left in shock, never having thought that any of his adoptive family had worked out the kind of company he kept, but as he started down the road the shock began to wear off and he realised how warm and unjudgemental her words had really been. He grinned fondly, and set out to see where he could get to that was far away and didn’t cost much.</p><p></p><p> He settled, in the end, for a caravan headed to Hipposus. A small display of arcane frippery had convinced the caravan master to give him a seat in one of the carriages in return for the deployment of his eldritch powers against any bandits or highwaymen who might think to raid the caravan. The fact, of course, was that Cassient had little or no actual offensive magical power, but that was inconsequential as far as he was concerned. The carriage he found himself in had four seats. Two of them were occupied by a young married couple, who kept up a stream of gossip and chatter throughout the journey but otherwise did little to commend themselves to Cassient’s memory. The last occupant of the carriage was a different matter entirely. He was a middle aged man, lean and weathered in appearance and dressed in simple peasant’s clothing. He seemed unremarkable at first, and Cassient had resigned himself to dull travelling companions and taken to staring out of the window at the passing countryside. </p><p></p><p> It was only after some time that Cassient realised the other man was studying him, quite intently and openly. He looked back, somewhat nonplussed, but said nothing. The couple occupying the other two seats of the carriage continued their incessant chatter, not apparently noticing the silent connection that was being formed between their travelling companions. Cassient and the strange man simply sat looking at each other for some time, Cassient trying unsuccessfully to gauge anything regarding the other man’s intentions or motives. It was hopeless. He simply sat there, a small smile on his face, regarding Cassient with an impassive gaze that betrayed nothing at all except for a twinkle of amusement that seemed natural and perpetual. </p><p></p><p> Finally Cassient’s discomfort grew too great, and he spoke. “My name is Cassient,” he said simply.</p><p></p><p> The other man nodded, replying “I am Khshatra”. </p><p></p><p> Cassient raised his eyebrows. The name was of no language he had ever heard before. Khshatra just gave a smile and nodded, obviously guessing his thoughts. “It’s not a name you’re likely to have come across before.” He examined Cassient a few moments longer, still smiling wryly. “You seem a little young to be the caravan’s mage.”</p><p></p><p> Cassient shrugged and smiled back, as disarmingly as he knew how. “I’m a prodigy, I suppose.” </p><p></p><p> “Or a good liar,” Khshatra replied with a raised eyebrow. </p><p></p><p> “Or both,” Cassient grinned. </p><p></p><p> The two talked together for most of the journey, and Cassient found to his surprise that they formed a bond quite quickly. It wasn’t exactly that they had anything much in common, he realised, but simply that Khshatra seemed implicitly to understand him and accept him. When Khshatra asked him to come to dinner at his home in Hipposus the next night, he enthusiastically agreed. </p><p> </p><p>That night he slept in a cheap inn room, and he spent the next day exploring the city. In the evening he went to Khshatra’s house, a modest home on the outskirts of the city, where he ate a hearty meal and spent a long and pleasant evening in conversation. Over the following weeks Cassient visited Khshatra often, and they talked of many things. Cassient soon realised that Khshatra subscribed to a very different worldview than he himself. Cassient for his part had always felt a basic urge to be a good person, but it had never been very strong or well-defined. It tended to be easily overcome by distracting forces, and found no real expression in the form of religious faith or the like. Khshatra on the other hand was clearly somebody who devoted a great deal of time to the contemplation of such matters. When Cassient one day asked if he worshipped a god, Khshatra replied with a smile that he venerated Bahamut more than any other. Cassient, puzzled, tried to enquire further but got no meaningful answers as to how it was that Khshatra came to worship the Platinum Dragon.</p><p></p><p> Meanwhile, Cassient was eking out a living doing whatever odd jobs he could find, and spending whatever free time he could find chasing a young priestess of Lathander named Daena. He’d met her while carrying a message to the temple for a couple of coins, and immediately fallen for her. It was, at first, as solidly-founded on physical attraction as all his other infatuations, but slowly as he spent more time in pursuit of her he realised that he actually <em>liked</em> her. The realisation was something of a startling one. Before long Cassient was in a perpetual sunny daze, preoccupied with thoughts of her. He thought about her god, too, at first simply because her veneration of Pelor was an aspect of her but gradually more and more because he himself felt something of a connection with the Shining One. He seemed to represent everything Cassient admired in Daena, everything he aspired to himself and everything that inspired him. </p><p></p><p> The best testament to the skill of Khshatra as a teacher is that Cassient didn’t realise that he was being taught. As they got to know each other better, the conversations between Khshatra and Cassient became more and more obviously philosophical in nature. They would spend long evenings in Khshatra’s cosy living room, sipping wine and talking about anything and everything. All the while Khshatra would subtly test Cassient’s established views and ideas, exposing the contradictions and forcing Cassient to define his own paradigm. They talked about Cassient’s magical gifts, too, and he began to refine his own theory regarding their origin until the gradual realisation came upon him that it was no longer a theory, but a fact. He knew for certain that draconic blood flowed in his veins. He told Khshatra, who had just smiled enigmatically, holding his gaze with his own. Slowly, Cassient had realised the truth, and had begun to laugh. Khshatra laughed with him, and the two embraced. </p><p></p><p> Over the following years Cassient at last began to come into adulthood. His relationship with Khshatra – his great, great, great, great, great grandfather, he now knew – was much the same, but tinged with wonder now that Cassient had come to realise the true nature of them both. He began now to give Cassient some magical instruction, showing him what infinite potential he truly possessed and helping him to take his first tentative steps towards realising it. He taught him the Draconic language, as well as Auran. Cassient learned quickly. In the process that he had come to know so well, Daena slowly began to outgrow him, and though the two remained friends she moved steadily away from her romantic attachment to him. They did still see each other, though, and Daena sensed his growing power and self-knowledge and was glad for him. </p><p></p><p> When he received the summons from Glammerdell, his first thought was simple elation and excitement. His second was that Daena must have had her hand in it. In any case, he views the task ahead of him with unbounded optimism. He realises that it is likely to be the hardest thing he has ever done, by orders of magnitude, yet he welcomes that. He sees it fundamentally as a test of everything he has learned and all the inner strength he has developed, as well as a chance to truly make a positive impact on the world. He is naïve, certainly, and on some level he recognises that; but it does little to diminish his enthusiasm for now.[/sblock]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Eluvan, post: 2746056, member: 24812"] Cassient Silver Drakontos Male Sorcerer 4 Alignment: Lawful Good Deity: Pelor 10 Strength (+0) 12 Dexterity (+1) 14 Constitution (+2) 14 Intelligence (+2) 12 Wisdom (+1) 19 Charisma (+4) Initiative: +1 Speed: 30’ Melee Attack Bonus: +3 Ranged Attack Bonus: +4 (20’ range increment) Damage: 1d6 (MW Shortspear) AC: 11 (+1 Dex), touch 11, flat-footed 10 Ranged Touch Attack Bonus: +3 (35’ range) Damage: 3d8 Cold (Lesser Orb of Cold) AC: 11 (+1 Dex), touch 11, flat-footed 10 Hit Points: 21 Fortitude Saves: +4 Reflex Saves: +3 Will Saves: +6 +2 on saves vs. sleep and paralysis effects +2 on saves vs. cold effects Feats: Draconic Heritage Consecrate Spell Draconic Power Abilities: 4 extra skill points at 1st level, 1 extra skill point per level thereafter Low-light vision Summon Familiar (Alertness, Improved Evasion, Share Spells, Empathic Link, Deliver Touch Spells, +2 Natural Armour) – no familiar currently summoned Sorcerer Spells Known: Level 0 Spells: (6/day, DC 14) Detect Magic Light Mage Hand Prestidigitation Read Magic Ray of Frost (CL 5) Level 1 Spells: (7/day, DC 15) Disguise Self Lesser Orb of Cold (CL 5) Protection from Evil Level 2 Spells: (4/day, DC 16) Summon Monster II Skills: +10 Bluff [6]+4 (Cha) +9 Concentration [7]+2 (Con) +7 Diplomacy [1cc]+4 (Cha; +2 synergy from bluff) +6/+8(16/18) Disguise [2]+4 (Cha; +2 synergy from bluff when acting in character; +10 if Disguise Self is active) +9 Knowledge (Arcana) [7]+2 (Int) +4 Knowledge (Religion) [2cc]+2 (Int) +11 Spellcraft [7]+4 (Int; +2 synergy from Knowledge (Arcana)) Equipment: MW Shortspear (1d6 damage, x2 crit, 20’ range increment) Wand of Mage Armour (50 charges) Wand of Magic Missile (CL 3, 50 charges) Cloak of Resistance +1 4x Potion of Cure Light Wounds Backpack -5x Candle -Ink -Inkpen -20 sheets of paper -50’ Silk Rope -Signet Ring -10x Tindertwig -Waterskin -498gp, 8sp, 5cp Scroll Case -Scroll of Alarm -Scroll of Animate Rope -Scroll of Comprehend Languages -2x Scroll of Identify -Scroll of Ventriloquism Spell Component Pouch Languages: Common, Draconic, Auran, Elven Height: 5’9” Weight: 160 lbs Skin: White Eyes: Icy blue Hair: Blonde, streaked silver Age: 78 Description: Cassient is a lean young man of athletic build and exotic good looks. His features are boyishly handsome, his persistent stubble trying but failing to give him more of a manly air. His hair, very fine and light, hangs loose to his shoulders. At first glance it appears merely very pale blonde, but a closer inspection reveals that it is streaked through with silver. The effect is subtle, but quite striking once it is noticed. His eyes are a chill blue, the colour of the sky on a clear, cold winter day, and thick lashes make them seem larger than they are. His clothes are practical and inexpensive, but not exactly plain. He wears baggy linen trousers of a deep purple hue, and a simple white side-buttoned top over which he also wears a faded orange sleeveless jacket. It’s almost incredible, but somehow the colour combination seems to work for him. He carries a finely crafted and ornately carved short spear strapped across his back and that, combined with his physical fitness and easy, confident gait are enough to mark him out to a casual observer as probably some kind of mercenary. Background: [sblock]Cassient was born in a small village named Deira, nearer to Theropa than anywhere else but basically in the middle of nowhere. He was the only child of his family, for his birth was a complicated one and his mother died a few days later despite the best ministrations of the village priest. His father Arten, stricken with grief, nonetheless did his best to raise his son as well as he knew how. Money wasn’t too much of a problem, as Arten owned the only inn in the village and made a big enough profit to keep them both very comfortably. Of course, there were other problems; Cassient was not a normal child by any stretch of the imagination. It wasn’t apparent at first – he looked just like a normal baby, and for the first few weeks he seemed to be just that. But shortly enough it became apparent that he was not aging at anything like the normal rate. Without any idea of the secrets that had lain latent in his wife’s blood, Arten had no clue why it could be that his son seemed doomed to be perpetually an infant. Yet still, Cassient was his son, and he took the best care of him he could, and did his best to ignore the gossip of the villagers as to what was wrong with the child. While his father lived, Cassient’s strange aging patterns were the only thing to point to his strange heritage, and he just accepted growing up that there was something very different about him without ever having any idea what it was. The other children of the village avoided him, casting suspicious or even fearful glances in his direction, and of course during the course of the childhood years he spent there three whole generations of normal children grew up within the village. Of necessity then, he learned to be quite self-reliant growing up. His father was caring, if somewhat distant – and very old for most of the time covered by Cassient’s brief memories of him. Cassient’s first coherent recollections come from when he was between eighteen and nineteen, and by that time his father was already middle aged. He died when Cassient was forty-one, and just starting to move into puberty. The village priest took care of him for the brief interval until his father’s instructions could be carried out and word taken to distant relations in Theropa. On the day of the funeral, Cassient’s second cousin once removed, a merchant by the name of Ildaren, came to Deira and took the boy back with him to the city. It didn’t occur to Cassient to think about it at the time, but he was older than his new guardian by almost ten years. Cassient didn’t settle well into his new home. Ildaren was married, and had three children. All of them were in real terms very much younger than Cassient, of course, but as far as physical and mental development went two of them – twin boys – were slightly younger relative to Cassient, whilst the youngest of the family, a girl, was barely more than a toddler. Of course, during his stay of about twenty years with the family, all three children were to grow up and leave home whilst he himself still had not come to adulthood. For his own part, Cassient wasn’t used to living with so many other people and, particularly as he was still very much in the throes of trying to come to terms with the death of his father, it caused real problems. Ildaren’s three children were all intensively inquisitive about the newcomer, and their attentions quickly became incredibly annoying to Cassient who wanted nothing more than solitude. The first few awkward days were enough to sour relations with the two brothers. Cassient got on rather better with Elyn, the young daughter, feeling something like a protective, big-brotherly instinct towards her. The relationship was strained by the apparent reversal of their ages that seemed to occur so rapidly to Cassient, but even so they remained close. Feeling stifled and unhappy in his foster home, Cassient spent a great deal of time exploring the streets of Theropa. It was something of a novelty to him, having never been to a city before, and despite the crowds that filled the streets he found that walking them was much like true solitude. Spending so much time walking the streets of Theropa, taking little real notice of whether he was in a ‘nice’ part of town or not at any given time, it’s perhaps not surprising that when Cassient finally did make some friends, they were entirely the wrong sort. He caught a pretty girl picking his pocket one day, and grabbed her hand as it slipped into his coin pouch. She didn’t try to run, and he stood awkwardly for a long moment, looking at her and not knowing what to do. She let him suffer for a little while before grinning easily, her bright blue eyes full of mischief, and introducing herself as Rhielle. He was stricken, and when she suggested that he should come meet some friends of hers he followed as meekly as a kitten. That one touch of her hand was about as close as he ever got to Rhielle, despite his best efforts, but he did get to know the rest of her gang. They were all young – just kids really, emulating what they saw their elders doing in the real thieves’ guild. The Guild allowed them to run their operation independently; it was tiny, always centred around small pickings, and it also conveniently gathered together all the potential young recruits in one pool. Cassient, for his part, never did take to pick-pocketing. He was valued, though, for his ability to talk the hind legs off a donkey – and then keep it distracted while a partner ran away with them. Circumstances had meant he’d never been very talkative or sociable before, but given the opportunity and incentive he suddenly realised how naturally it came to him. In the illustrious company of that small-time gang of petty thieves, his natural force of personality blossomed and flourished. As he grew up – which he did, slowly and tortuously, soon becoming easily the oldest veteran of his little gang of thieves – he also began to develop very striking good looks. He let his hair grow long, and when he was around fifty silver streaks started to develop in it. By this time Rhielle had grown up and moved on, and Cassient’s first precipitous infatuation never bore any fruit, but there were many more over the years Cassient spent as the biggest fish in that small pond and he never again experienced any of the same frustrations in actualising his desires. The biggest impact of this period, though, was something that happened entirely by chance. He picked a mark one afternoon, as usual, and as usual he kept him talking with a plea for directions and then a show of stupidity that lasted as long as it took for his accomplice to sneak up and cut the man’s purse strings. This time, though, it appeared that the mark was not as easy as he had appeared. He played along with Cassient’s act, but as the other boy crept up behind him he spun and with a backhand blow sent him sprawling on the cobbles. Cassient turned to run, with something of a head start, but with a sinking feeling realised that the alley he had turned down was a dead end. Terrified, and filled with adrenaline, he wished fervently that he was someone else as he backed up against the far wall of the alley. He watched in dread as the man turned the corner into the alley, and looked blankly around. His eyes settled on Cassient and he asked gruffly “you see a boy run in here?” Dumb and uncomprehending, Cassient shook his head and the man stalked off. It was only after a few minutes of recovering himself that Cassient happened to look across at the window just next to him and see in the faint reflection that he looked like an old man. After his initial shock, he set to trying to work out just what he had done. It took some time, but with intuitive gropings in the dark he eventually managed to perfect the trick until he could repeat it almost as often as he wanted, and make himself look like anybody he could imagine. It was mostly just a matter of visualisation and will, and then the necessary gestures and syllables to invoke the spell – which, amazed, he slowly realised it was – just came to him naturally. After that he continued to push himself, and mastered a number of minor tricks. None others as useful as that, but still the difficult experience of forging ahead and mastering his inward potential with no guidance but his own intuition was a heady one, and he was delighted with the advantage his powers gave him. After that, Cassient began developing a distinct suspicion as to what it might be that accounted for his extraordinarily slow aging, and inwardly thrilled at the thought of the eldritch wonders to which he considered himself heir. There was nothing in particular that told Cassient it was time to move on, but slowly he began to resent the restrictions that staying with Ildaren was putting on his freedom, slight as they were – he was an old man by this time, and had little time or energy to devote to attempting to keep a rebellious and inexplicably young distant relation in order. He also began to yearn for a change of scenery, and so around the time of his sixtieth birthday he decided he would leave. He left a hastily scribbled note of thanks and farewell for Ildaren, and before he left he paid a visit to Elyn, his ‘little’ foster-sister – now twenty-three, married, and in relative terms at least seven or eight years older than him. There was no extended leave-taking; she just embraced him, and whispered “good luck, little brother.” She had teased him with that name ever since she first realised that she surpassed him in terms of rough relative age. “Try to make some nicer friends wherever you’re going, okay?” she chuckled, and then kissed him once on the cheek and left. He was left in shock, never having thought that any of his adoptive family had worked out the kind of company he kept, but as he started down the road the shock began to wear off and he realised how warm and unjudgemental her words had really been. He grinned fondly, and set out to see where he could get to that was far away and didn’t cost much. He settled, in the end, for a caravan headed to Hipposus. A small display of arcane frippery had convinced the caravan master to give him a seat in one of the carriages in return for the deployment of his eldritch powers against any bandits or highwaymen who might think to raid the caravan. The fact, of course, was that Cassient had little or no actual offensive magical power, but that was inconsequential as far as he was concerned. The carriage he found himself in had four seats. Two of them were occupied by a young married couple, who kept up a stream of gossip and chatter throughout the journey but otherwise did little to commend themselves to Cassient’s memory. The last occupant of the carriage was a different matter entirely. He was a middle aged man, lean and weathered in appearance and dressed in simple peasant’s clothing. He seemed unremarkable at first, and Cassient had resigned himself to dull travelling companions and taken to staring out of the window at the passing countryside. It was only after some time that Cassient realised the other man was studying him, quite intently and openly. He looked back, somewhat nonplussed, but said nothing. The couple occupying the other two seats of the carriage continued their incessant chatter, not apparently noticing the silent connection that was being formed between their travelling companions. Cassient and the strange man simply sat looking at each other for some time, Cassient trying unsuccessfully to gauge anything regarding the other man’s intentions or motives. It was hopeless. He simply sat there, a small smile on his face, regarding Cassient with an impassive gaze that betrayed nothing at all except for a twinkle of amusement that seemed natural and perpetual. Finally Cassient’s discomfort grew too great, and he spoke. “My name is Cassient,” he said simply. The other man nodded, replying “I am Khshatra”. Cassient raised his eyebrows. The name was of no language he had ever heard before. Khshatra just gave a smile and nodded, obviously guessing his thoughts. “It’s not a name you’re likely to have come across before.” He examined Cassient a few moments longer, still smiling wryly. “You seem a little young to be the caravan’s mage.” Cassient shrugged and smiled back, as disarmingly as he knew how. “I’m a prodigy, I suppose.” “Or a good liar,” Khshatra replied with a raised eyebrow. “Or both,” Cassient grinned. The two talked together for most of the journey, and Cassient found to his surprise that they formed a bond quite quickly. It wasn’t exactly that they had anything much in common, he realised, but simply that Khshatra seemed implicitly to understand him and accept him. When Khshatra asked him to come to dinner at his home in Hipposus the next night, he enthusiastically agreed. That night he slept in a cheap inn room, and he spent the next day exploring the city. In the evening he went to Khshatra’s house, a modest home on the outskirts of the city, where he ate a hearty meal and spent a long and pleasant evening in conversation. Over the following weeks Cassient visited Khshatra often, and they talked of many things. Cassient soon realised that Khshatra subscribed to a very different worldview than he himself. Cassient for his part had always felt a basic urge to be a good person, but it had never been very strong or well-defined. It tended to be easily overcome by distracting forces, and found no real expression in the form of religious faith or the like. Khshatra on the other hand was clearly somebody who devoted a great deal of time to the contemplation of such matters. When Cassient one day asked if he worshipped a god, Khshatra replied with a smile that he venerated Bahamut more than any other. Cassient, puzzled, tried to enquire further but got no meaningful answers as to how it was that Khshatra came to worship the Platinum Dragon. Meanwhile, Cassient was eking out a living doing whatever odd jobs he could find, and spending whatever free time he could find chasing a young priestess of Lathander named Daena. He’d met her while carrying a message to the temple for a couple of coins, and immediately fallen for her. It was, at first, as solidly-founded on physical attraction as all his other infatuations, but slowly as he spent more time in pursuit of her he realised that he actually [I]liked[/I] her. The realisation was something of a startling one. Before long Cassient was in a perpetual sunny daze, preoccupied with thoughts of her. He thought about her god, too, at first simply because her veneration of Pelor was an aspect of her but gradually more and more because he himself felt something of a connection with the Shining One. He seemed to represent everything Cassient admired in Daena, everything he aspired to himself and everything that inspired him. The best testament to the skill of Khshatra as a teacher is that Cassient didn’t realise that he was being taught. As they got to know each other better, the conversations between Khshatra and Cassient became more and more obviously philosophical in nature. They would spend long evenings in Khshatra’s cosy living room, sipping wine and talking about anything and everything. All the while Khshatra would subtly test Cassient’s established views and ideas, exposing the contradictions and forcing Cassient to define his own paradigm. They talked about Cassient’s magical gifts, too, and he began to refine his own theory regarding their origin until the gradual realisation came upon him that it was no longer a theory, but a fact. He knew for certain that draconic blood flowed in his veins. He told Khshatra, who had just smiled enigmatically, holding his gaze with his own. Slowly, Cassient had realised the truth, and had begun to laugh. Khshatra laughed with him, and the two embraced. Over the following years Cassient at last began to come into adulthood. His relationship with Khshatra – his great, great, great, great, great grandfather, he now knew – was much the same, but tinged with wonder now that Cassient had come to realise the true nature of them both. He began now to give Cassient some magical instruction, showing him what infinite potential he truly possessed and helping him to take his first tentative steps towards realising it. He taught him the Draconic language, as well as Auran. Cassient learned quickly. In the process that he had come to know so well, Daena slowly began to outgrow him, and though the two remained friends she moved steadily away from her romantic attachment to him. They did still see each other, though, and Daena sensed his growing power and self-knowledge and was glad for him. When he received the summons from Glammerdell, his first thought was simple elation and excitement. His second was that Daena must have had her hand in it. In any case, he views the task ahead of him with unbounded optimism. He realises that it is likely to be the hardest thing he has ever done, by orders of magnitude, yet he welcomes that. He sees it fundamentally as a test of everything he has learned and all the inner strength he has developed, as well as a chance to truly make a positive impact on the world. He is naïve, certainly, and on some level he recognises that; but it does little to diminish his enthusiasm for now.[/sblock] [/QUOTE]
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