Penton Shallus

***Played by James***

Penton Shallus is the Dragonscale Sorcerer of the Chafing Armor party. He is of great power, but slight of build. Beautiful, witty and deadly. He has also gained the ability to grow dragon wings or even shift into a full dragonborn form temporarily.

Penton is the only player who can fully control "Audrey 3", the Chicken Shack the players travel within.

Penton is in a (long distance) relationship with Skhald, a blind artificer and jeweler. They stay in touch by means of two magically-connected doll's eyes.

Penton was an advisor to Princess Alviana, who set him to the task of finding the broken Staff of Sarafin after she was abducted and possibly killed.

Penton lives with a Vow of Poverty, which, while preventing him from using magic items, gives him powers granted to him by Bahamut.

He has a raven familiar named Éjfél.

His backstory is below:

*My father told me that, after four daughters in a row, he prayed for a son.*

*Mortimer Shallus, a goat farmer, wasn't much to truck with the gods, but he took to his knees at the temple of the goddess of luck, in their farming community outside of the city, in hopes that he might finally sire himself an heir. And as luck would have it, he finally did.*

*Sort of.*

*My name is Penton Shallus, and I am the fifth - and only male - child of Mortimer Shallus and Emilia Ravenwood. I was born just after the worst storm our region had seen in fifty years, and the sun broke through the silver clouds to shine on my wailing face. And shine it did, because it was revealed that someone in the family line had a touch of dragon blood, for I had been blessed (which is how I choose to see it) with a sheen of scales akin to dragonkind. Mother had heard rumors of such from her family, and the proof showed on my newborn skin.*

*After the initial shock, the family took the anomaly as a sign that I was destined for great things. Father said that, whenever I started crying as a baby, Mother would whisper something to me in a language he could not understand, and I would quiet immediately. I assume that she spoke to me in draconic, though Father was never able to confirm that.*

*My four older sisters attended me in varying degrees, from being a pretend child of their own to having something to gum their teeth on. Onelia, the oldest, immediately took charge of my upbringing, assuming I would one day be a fierce warrior and protector of the community. My mother, who took long in recovering from birthing her fifth (and somewhat unexpected) child, was only too happy to let the girls do as much of the legwork as she dared. Being daughters of their mother, they were all quite capable, at least, as much as their ages would allow. Mother recovered eventually enough to get back to selling the various and quality goat-based wares our farm produced to the community at large, thus keeping her away for extended periods and making her daughters all the more important in my upbringing.*

*Onelia was, in many ways, my adoptive mother, as it was to some degree with the other girls as well. She took on much responsibility for her relative age in caring for her siblings, and handled it graciously and competently. We all sensed a... longing in our mother, something in her thoughts that kept pulling at her. Perhaps it was her adventurous past, about which she hardly ever spoke, other than as a warning to 'never make the same mistake she did'. In later years, I found myself wondering how a woman like her - from a noble family and of some spectacular, if mysterious, past - wound up becoming the wife of a goat farmer. I suppose my father wondered that on occasion as well.*

*Thus it was of little surprise, though still deeply hurtful, that she never returned from one of her outings to the city to deliver goods to be sold at some of the finer shops. A courier delivered payment and papers from the haul to our home, but no word from our mother since. Maybe she was waylaid; maybe she died somewhere between home and city; or maybe she finally gave in to that quiet call she sometimes heard but never spoke of. The children took the news with shock, but none of us cried. Onelia was our rock, and she kept strong on our behalf. I was eleven years old.*

*And while father was obviously heartbroken, it seemed a small part of him knew the day would come. Onelia was old enough to make the deliveries into town, and had done it often enough to know the business. Father was also well enough off to be able to hire a guard when the deliveries were to be run, so there was less chance of someone trying to take advantage of a young woman with goods and funds on her. Onelia could throw a good punch, but swords and arrows were another matter.*

*While Onelia had grand plans for my being raised a warrior and local hero, it seemed fate had something else to say about it. I wasn't very strong for my age, and being raised by four girls had made me into what some might consider to be a softie. I spent a great deal of time talking, bartering, working with locals to get good deals on supplies and getting our animals tended by the best. I managed to talk my way into and out of a great many things.*

*My linguistic skills were good for the farm, and the goats thrived. After a few years, the flock had grown enough to the point of needing to hire on extra hands to keep pace. The farm slowly became more of a business than a homestead. And while my father was an excellent hand at herding and farming, he was not so great with numbers. As such, Onelia, over time, became the de facto head of the business, keeping ledgers, hiring and firing, ordering and selling. Dualla and Tricia, my second- and third-oldest sisters, were married and moved to homes of their own.*

*Father, while still toiling away at a meager pace for his age, began to edge toward something he would consider to be 'retirement', which was only working about ten or twelve hours a day instead of sixteen. He had hopes of passing the farm and business to me at first. I shared father's penchant (or lack thereof) for numbers, however, and Onelia was proving to be a fine businesswoman. Truth be told, although I was always on hand and happy to do what needed to be done to keep the farm and family thriving, my heart just wasn't in it.*

*It became more evident over time that I would grow to be a handsome man, which drew attention to me from the most interesting places. Once I walked along the river into a wooded glen, where a faerie nymph nearly accosted me. She smiled and said, "I see the dragon gods have smiled upon you. Let me do as well!" The nymph, whose name I could only make out as Thillissia, then kissed my forehead and I felt a change in me, as if a bit of her presence had flowed into me.*

*"You will to magics!" she said. "Find it and learn!" Before she let me go, she bade me promise that I would return to her on occasion to tell her of my exploits. I plan to keep that promise.*

*And it was true, a well of magic I barely understood awoke within me. I would wake up at night with colored balls of light floating around my head, and other such things. I came to realize that this power was something I needed to learn to control, and I told Father as much.*

*"I understand, son," he'd told me. "You need to go where your destiny takes you." I could tell he was thinking of my mother when he said that, and I reassured him.*

*"I'm not leaving the family, father," I said. "Just making it bigger. The gods will see to that."*

*After a moment of thought, father smiled at the thought. "Seems that fortune never gives you what you want, but it always seems to give you what you need." He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "I know you'll do well, son- for us and for the world."*

*I smiled brightly and tried to sound... priestly. "If fortune wills it, so it shall be."*

*And with that, I bid my family farewell and set out for the city, and for a teacher that would put me in touch with my burgeoning magics.*

*As part of my studies, I found myself to me more and more curious about my draconic nature. I studied dragons, the draconic deities, their natures, and what it means to have dragon blood within. My magical studies as a sorcerer seemed to intertwine with my dragon aspect, so that one grew with the other. Colored lights that I would cantrip would take the form of tiny dragons flying in circles. I took to the draconic language as if it were not something to learn, but something I had forgotten and needed to recall. I was fluent in mere months.*

*In my studies, I came to realize that wealth was a construct based upon imitating a dragon's hoarding of wealth, and it was something of which I felt I was not worthy. Besides, I was able to obtain what I needed through words and actions and magic, so money seemed irrelevant to me. Better the dragons have it than I – they find it more comfortable to sleep on.*

*So I meditated on this idea while also meditating upon the aspects of the dragon gods. As I concentrated, a voice which I now suspect may have been an aspect of Bahamut, the great platinum dragon of legend, whispered that, were I to remain true to my belief that wealth was no boundary to my success and survival, that I would be blessed with certain protections to help me along the way. So I gave away the last of my meager coinage, got myself a stout staff and a plain robe, and went into the world a complete man.*

*Well, almost complete. The end of my training involved calling a companion to me. While one might think I thought of dragons as I meditated, for some reason my mother pervaded my thoughts instead. And so, and the end of my ritual, there stood a raven, looking me in the eye and letting out a curious squawk. Thus, we traveled.*