Azrael

Race: Shadow Elf

Class: Warlock

Patron: Valxun

Family: Izzoko, Illumi, Brundi, Gorran

Background

Personality traits:

* I only attack when victory is guaranteed
* I have a reckless bloodlust that gets set-off in close-range combat

Core Tenets of House Thurianni:

1. Honor in death
2. Loyalty; no secrets among Shadar-Kai
3. Service

Azrael’s story starts deep in the recesses of the underdark, where the prevailing House Thurianni managed to carve out a decent life for the surviving few. Facing complete extinction, the still-breathing Shadar-Kai managed to escape an unprecedented pre-emptive strike coordinated by the High Elves of Thornmoor who had made no effort to differentiate the Shadar-Kai from their lifelong nemeses—the Drow. House Thurianni was now mostly composed of the Graymoon clan—Izzoko and Illumi, parents of Azrael, Brundi and Gorran Graymoon. Only one original Thurianni—Blazan, just a boy of 65 years still remained. Blazan would continue undergoing schooling in the art of death and while he showed promise in this regard, he had more importantly come to symbolize something larger than himself: House Thurianni still survives. He was to be protected at all costs—even if it meant defying the core-tenet of House Thurianni: no one is above death.

Izzoko—a hardened and trained killer, came to recognize traits in Azrael that were completely lost to him and many others of House Thurianni who had experienced a shared, devastating loss. A witty and charming youth, Azrael enjoyed playing games of hide-and-seek that would sometimes last for days at a time, offering valuable insights on the logistics of kill-contracts, and impersonating the Drow cousins of which they’d sometimes interact. Izzoko was careful not to let these bonds cross certain boundaries, for he was weary of the Drow and the rest of the horrors that roamed the Underdark. Sensible enough, Izzoko recognized that the Drow were valuable trading partners with whom they shared a unique cultural experience, and had never shown themselves to be an overt threat to House Thurianni. Still, Izzoko’s untrusting nature never allowed for deep, personal bonds to be forged with any other but a fellow as Shadar-Kai—a tradition that was well-established long before him.

Upon recognizing Azrael’s dissenting character, Izzoko faced something of a dilemma. House Thurianni no longer had any true central leadership, for Blazan was only a boy; resources from generations of dead Shadar-Kai were dwindling and kill-contracts were becoming fewer and further between. Izzoko unfeelingly recognized the lack of contentment among the remaining of House Thurianni and was faced with a cold truth: dwelling in the underdark was increasingly proving to be an unsustainable solution. Should he then still uncompromisingly subject Azrael to the rigorous training required of an assassin, or should he take a chance and assign Azrael to the tutelage of a silver-tongued Drow trickster in the hopes that Azrael may one day rise to be the leader that they all needed? Against his better judgment, Izzoko assigned Azrael to a Drow encampment to be trained in subterfuge and deception under the apprenticeship of the Drow spy Ariya Do’Urden.

Azrael spent five days per week with Ariya’s camp before returning to House Thurianni on the weekends, where he was expected to demonstrate the skills that he’d been learning throughout the week. While Azrael was resentful of the change at first, he acclimated quickly to his new lifestyle arrangement, and in time would begin to even dread his return home. The Shadar-Kai’s inquisitions were endless; how was he supposed to demonstrate the niceties of inflection when asking for a favor, or the importance of tone and cadence when inspiring someone to action? The magic of diplomacy was lost outside of its unique context, and Izzoko was growing unimpressed with Azrael’s personal development. Izzoko commanded that Azrael would be removed from his tutorship if he would continue failing to produce satisfactory results. Azrael threw himself at his father, clutching his Ormi-mushroom-infused fluorescent teal seal of House Thurianni on Izzoko’s cloak.

“Father, please! Only through the ways of trickery and subversion can we rise from the darkness; we cannot stand on the stacks of slain surfacers and claim that we have then ascended into light!”

Izzoko sit put, unflinching, before extending his reach to coldly push Azrael back in his stool and characteristically pressing his opposite hand firmly to his philtrum.

“Hmph,” Izzoko dismissed with his extended hand flailing in accordance, “so be it.”

While Azrael’s plea to reason was heeded, his emotional outburst left an indelible impression on Izzoko. Azrael was to be watched. Closely.

As agreed upon, Azrael embarked to the Drow encampment to the east the following day. Upon recognizing Azrael’s approach, a hiding Ariya slightly exposed herself from her hiding position behind a high stalactite. Izzoko, brooding in the distance, instantly recognized her in the slightest disruption of his visual field. The hairs on the back of his neck stood stiff as the stalactite from which Ariya was now clinging. With blood surging into Izzoko’s dominant hand, the disconcerted Shadow elf stifled a deeply-embedded reflex to draw the deadly rapier by his hip; instead, his sharpened nails forced their way deeply enough into his ebony palm to draw blood.

The hidden Ariya leapt from the high-hanging stalactite before warmly embracing the apprentice Shadar-Kai from behind.

“Ho-HO! Those detection skills- what did I teeellll yoooouuu?” The lithe, picturesque Drow kind-heartedly admonished. Azrael showed no signs of embarrassment as he beamed back at the Drow in admiration.

“Weak...” the hidden Izzoko darkly repined, his mind racing in a flurry of rage, disdain and betrayal.

“Ha-I know! You know I know!” Azrael reprised, still beaming as Ariya took him by the shoulder and lead him further into the camp, their chatter continuing. Their friendly banter was lost, muted to the seething Izzoko who was stewing in a range of decidedly unfavorable emotions. This diversion from complete and perfect duty would not go unpunished.

Izzoko continued to monitor the two from a distance. Ariya’s tutelage consisted of various scenarios and prompts to which the unsuspecting Azrael must respond. Some of them were improvisational and responsive by nature, while others were designed to test speechwriting and elocution. This teaching style was curious, but undeniably valuable. Azrael seemed ever-prepared to the various situational angles that Ariya would employ as the scenario continued to play out. The training appeared to indeed be very complex in nature and was nothing that could be replicated by any of in House Thurianni. Izzoko was again flustered by another pressing decision—should his son continue to develop valuable leadership, decision-making and oratory skills at the expense of the poisoning of his character? Ultimately, Izzoko again put the needs of the House above his personal objections and let the training play out, under his occasional inspection. Izzoko would no longer question the young Azrael ad nauseam after he’d returned home and instructed the other House members to do the same.

As the months passed, Izzoko noted the increasing despondency of Azrael upon his returning home. Azrael rarely ventured outside of his quarters, and when he did, he didn’t participate in his old childlike pastimes. He was often found fiddling with a gnomish contraption—an amalgamation of small rods, squares and spheres that randomized its configuration upon resolution. Izzoko estimated that Azrael had solved it several of dozens of times over, as it would radiantly display the whole spectrum of visible colors upon its being solved. Each time Izzoko saw those colors illuminate the otherwise completely dark room to the west of the common living quarters, he’d slice his palm in the same manner he had previously when he’d first observed the relationship that Ariya and Azrael were building. Quoth Ariya, Azrael was to be her pupil for just two more months—surely Izzoko’s patience would be rewarded in the end?

And so it went, with Azrael embarking to the encampment and Izzoko imperceptibly stalking him, until one day when all the Drow that were typically found loitering around the outskirts were curiously absent. There was no warm-hearted embrace presented by Ariya; in fact, there was no greeting at all. Azrael approached the only visible Drow, two armed soldiers who appeared to be guarding the entrance to Ariya’s personal quarters. Azrael was briefly nodded to before being allowed entry. Puzzled, Izzoko crouched stationary for what he thought would be only moments before the typical classes would commence in the yard. Moments passed into minutes, which passed into hours until it became painfully evident that no such class would be taking place. At no point was Azrael reassigned to his typical, separate living quarters; he was now staying with Ariya in her own home. Izzoko stopped digging into his palm. His slender fingers now hung loose. Izzoko donned his cowl and walked home in his signature dignified saunter down the main stretch of the road, appearing completely unconcerned with whatever roving monsters might befall him in the Underdark.

Azrael returned the following weekend, rejuvenated and jovial. He was partaking in his usual activities and was honing his tracking and hiding skills with the help of Brundi and Gorran, his two siblings. When dinner was set, Azrael was now happily recreating the scenarios that Ariya had tested him against. Azrael was animated, more than ever—in fact, more than any Graymoon had ever been. Izzoko hid his malice behind a mask of contentment and nonchalance—a mask Azrael would surely have detected if it were not for his new-found elation. Illumi appeared genuinely happy and proud of her son as she turned to Izzoko at the head of the stone table, her catlike eyes softly and sweetly creasing in unison with her cheeks to form a wholesome smile. Izzoko squeezed his wife’s dainty hand and matched her expression as best he could before closing his eyes and softly nodding. Azrael continued to be the life of the table and dispensed anecdotes as fast as he could remember them. It was the last time Azrael was ever to fondly recall these memories.

The weekend came and went. Azrael packed his dungeoneer’s pack and set off for Ariya’s encampment. Some two hundred yards away, Azrael picked up on a curious scent. Two feint yet pungent competing auras beset his nostrils, one smelling like a grungy body odor, and one smelling distinctly of iron. Azrael slowed his approached as he moved more cautiously towards the encampments, quickly dodging from one tall stalagtite to the next. When he got within eyesight of the goings-on, he abruptly gasped before pulling his cowl tighter to his mouth to suppress his surprise and doubled back behind another stalagtite. Azrael’s almond eyes flickered away the quickly accumulating tears in his eyes before his Shadar-Kai blood kicked in to curb the remaining fear rising within him. Azrael replayed the image just displayed before him while his back clung to his relatively secure hiding spot. Flashing before him was the image of several eviscerated Drow—heads bludgeoned or otherwise ripped clean off, it was impossible to speculate how many. Azrael kept visualizing the image and marked the areas that were the best plausible vantage points. Acting quickly, he dodged from stalagtites to boulders as he climbed the narrowly ascending chasm. Azrael perched from the stalactite near where Ariya had once so dramatically surprised him, his eyes racing to check each side of his peripheral vision before fixing them to what appeared to be the main scene. What appeared to be at least eight dead Drow soldiers lay in bedlam about the Underdark floor, although their exact numbers and identities were impossible to glean as a product of both Azrael’s distance and the level of carnage displayed in the murderous act. Of the information Azrael could discern was that their deaths appeared to be derived from a combination of devastating slashing and bludgeoning attacks, and that the congregating population of Drow was cut by two-thirds. Cold calculations began automatically computing in the young Shadar-Kai. Soldiers of greater might than Ariya were slain, yes. But surely she could have managed to secure a hiding place among the sheer abundance of them available at the encampment? Azrael’s mind kept computing equations that were quickly solved and fed into more complex ones, that were then solved together and fed into the end probability: Ariya’s chances of survival were 50/50.

The young Azrael was taught at an early age that combat should never be engaged unless victory is absolutely certain. The anguish Azrael was subjected to in the face of a 50/50 probability was maddening, and inspired him to take action that he’d never dream of in any other instance. Azrael leapt from the Shadows and into the Drow encampment with his rapiers drawn as he frantically demanded answers, “What happened here!” He charged the four Drow, his rapiers rapidly swapping targets as he continued to prosecute them, “Where is Ariya!” Azrael then trained his rapiers to two of his cousins with whom he’d grown very close over the past year. Their faces ceased to hold their initial signs of contempt as they morphed into an even more unfavorable emotion—pity.

“Azrael,” Nuni, a petite Drow began before turning to her brother Alanon for affirmation. Alanon softly nodded to Nuni in consent before returning his gaze to Azrael, “Ariya is,” he switched back to Nuni who was now growing tearful but repressing her sobbing by digging her underbite and tightly sealing her lips. Alanon fought back tears himself before reverting his gaze back to Azrael with conviction and dignity, “Ariya is dead.” Alanon tenderly gestured to a body on the Underdark floor that was completely headless. Azrael’s frenzied emotions failed to follow suit with that of his Drow relatives’ as he switched his focus from the Drow to the lifeless body to which Alanon was now presenting him. Azrael denied his cousins words immediately and turned back to them with his rapiers once again trained on them in accusation, “No, you’re wrong! Nuni, Alanon, you are wrong!” he alleged. Nuni could no longer hold back her tears as she collapsed in hysterics. Alanon just looked with back in melancholy to the denying Azrael. Azrael dropped his rapiers to the ground and rushed over to the lifeless hourglass silhouette of a person they claimed to be Ariya.

It carried trademark golden studded-leather armor that once shone light into delicate mauve eyes, yes.

It displayed the elegant and painstakingly manicured fingers of his former teacher, yes.

It held a shapely figure with which Azrael had recently become intimately familiar, yes.

It was his love, yes.

Azrael kneeled with his hood hanging down to nearly touch the corpse of his lifeless love. The Drow stood near him for some time before eventually looking back and forth to each other to confirm what they were next to do. Eventually they carried on with dragging all of the bodies to the back of the camp, where they began to arrange them side by side. Azrael sat there silently, paralyzed in inaction until the Drow confronted him with reality.

“Azrael, we need to put her with the others. You’re welcome to investigate the bodies, but, we of course ask that you do so respectfully. This attack happened while we were all at the merchantplace-“ the Drow soldier turned to the others in remorse, “we can’t figure out the character of the attack. Was it a hoarde of Orc surfacer looters? I mean, how would they have escaped detection of our fallen?” The Drow soldier speculated skeptically, turning back to the others. Nuni spoke up, “It couldn’t be. But what else kills with a combination of both either warhammers, clubs and mauls, in addition to claws and swords? What could do this!? The Duergar, maybe, but they’d have to have the aid of some conjured bear, or, a shapeshifter? They took some gold, but left the bodies untou-“ Nuni stopped as she realized her distasteful verbiage, “the bodies weren’t looted. They got in, killed, and got out. They knew our schedule. The nearest Duergar encampment is miles from here. They would have had to have plotted this exact strike for-what, months in advance?” Nuni hypothesized, turning to the others to help substantiate. “The Duergar are a plausible explanation, yes. They’re known for their illusory skills and functional tactics. But their motive is questionable, at best. They don’t operate-“ Azrael silently rose with his head still hanging down to the deceased Ariya. “The Duergar are dead. Anything from here to Um’kiltcha, is dead. Anything other than the Drow here, and my Shadar-Kai, are now dead. A messenger will arrive to conduct a contract with my people in a week’s time. But I am telling you right now that the contract will be accepted no matter the pay. Just make it rational. And we will make it fatal,” Azrael declared before solemnly walking his way back to the only people who could exact justice on those who’d committed the atrocities that plagued him so.

The fleet-of-foot Shadar-Kai messenger Adarak returned from the Drow encampment a week later to the common living quarters of the Graymoons. Azrael sat with his back to the conversation between Adarak and Izzoko.

“They’re offering this,” Adarak threw a pouch of gold on the table before continuing, “up-front, and two-thousand upon completion. I tried to argue for three, and I thin-“

“Done.” Azrael interjected succinctly as he sat still with his back to the conversation. Izzoko looked to Azrael briefly with reproach before his emotion completely subsided as he turned to confirm to Adarak, “I agree. It’s done. We need the contract, and if they’re supplying bodies for-“ Azrael took immediate exception to his fathers verbiage “SOLDIERS.” Azrael whirled around to stand defiantly as he glared at Adarak before continuing, “Supplying soldiers—there will be no more bodies. Of any black-skinned compatriots.” He turned his glare to Izzoko who gravely nodded to confirm his son’s objection. “If they attacked the Drow, there’s no way to be sure they wouldn’t do the same to us. We have to reach market soon, and can’t afford to send away our traders when our defense is at a premium. We will strike by the morrow. Go and confirm this with Alanon at once.” The obedient Adarak nodded once before taking off to immediate duty.

The team of the Drow and the Shadar-Kai was as symbiotic as it was deadly. The fifteen descending Shadar-Kai eliminated all Duergar threats on the periphery in seemingly the blink of an eye. All but Azrael took back to the shadows as the Drow casters began their siege on the central portion of the Duergar encampment. Azrael charged a thick-bearded Duergar caster who was chanting an invocation before it was cut short by the piercing of Azrael’s duel rapiers. “Blaucgh!” the Duergar emoted as his spell failed to materialize. “siv siv siv siv” sounded the voice of Azrael’s sinking rapier strikes. The Duergar laid flat, soaking blood into Azrael’s black leather as he drove his body into the Duergar before digging his rapiers back out and setting his sights on another who was now paralyzed by Drow arcane magic. “shink” the Duergar’s head cleaved clean off, tumbling down a shallow decline of the Underdark floor. Another Duergar caster’s invocation was interrupted by a \*plug\* of a fellow Shadar-Kai’s arrow, an opportunity Azrael took to lunge into the body of the spellcasting Duergar. “siv siv siv siv siv” the Shadar-Kai plunged endlessly in bloodthirsty rage. A hammer-wielding Duergar charged over to crush the prone Azrael, who twirled the body of the incapacitated Duergar to take the brunt of the blow by leveraging his deeply-sunk rapiers to vault the body towards the assailant. With a kick of the lifeless Duergar from underneath, Azrael freed his swords from their attachment to the corpse and whirled in a cyclone to cut the tendons of the hammer-wielder “AAARGH!” the Duergar recoiled as his cry was cut short by a singular slice across the Adam’s apple from a lateral thrust by the prone Azrael. Springing up from the ground in a singular motion, Azrael dashed towards a fleeing Duergar. Azrael’s long but quick strides reached the escaping Duergar in mere seconds; his fatal strikes lasting even fewer. The Shadar-Kai looked on from the shadows in a combination of amazement and derision. This was not the fighting style they’d finely cultivated, and yet, it was brutally effective still. The Drow rejoiced as they delivered coup de graces to the unconscious dark dwarves and the Shadow Elves converged to loot the fallen. Azrael stood still with his blood-soaked cloak to the center of the battlefield. Izzoko approached him, tactfully but firmly stating “Never again will you put yourself at such uncertain odds.” Azrael nodded once in compliance before sheathing his rapiers, continuing to stare lifelessly into the dark beyond.

The funds House Thurianni acquired were enough for Azrael to take to the surface under his disguise of Ayani, a High Elf merchant persona of which he’d been meticulously cultivating. House Thurianni’s path to power and security were now more certain, and they could once again begin to operate systematically and with purpose. Azrael knew the role he played and he would not let the emotions he had for Ariya endanger his now singular goal. He was to cause instability in the economy in Ethergaarde by disrupting its infrastructure and causing divide between the working and noble classes. He was to ingratiate himself with the nobles and diverge their resources into expensive projects that would ultimately be sabotaged. He was to create disorder and chaos among the Etherknights and the reinforcements of Thornmoor. Most importantly, he was to cause Skipta to make grave mistakes of the decisions he’d make for the welfare of Ethergaarde. Azrael was to uproot the city and pave one in the image of him—the new face of the Shadar-Kai.