Amnon Azaer

In an effort to give this next round a fair shot, I reveiewed the classes and races again, and I ended up settling on a teifling warlock. Then, in order to breath life into him and give myself a frame of reference for his actions and motives, I wrote a little backdrop. In game terms this amounts to a description of the warlock Infernal Pact:

…a terrible scream…a jolt of fear surging through his body, shocking him awake, eyes opening to a lightless room. Breathing heavily, he listened hearing nothing but his own labored breathing at first. Then, a low reverberating sound throughout the house. Thunder? No, too low, too deliberate…coming from inside the house? Then a woman’s voice, his mother’s, coming fast, sharp with fear, and with piercing words…

“He’s a freak! You… you…I hate you! I hate him! Take him, leave me alone”—her fear broke in to wordless sobs for a moment—“…what…what do you want from me? Leave me alone!”

Laying there alone, in the dark of his room, he knew he mother was speaking of him. She hated him. She had always hated him; it was no secret. He had long overcome the grief of that thought, and had grown to hate her as well. More than anything else, he resented his mother, and he hated her deeply for it. He found himself strangely elated by his mother’s fear and listened closely for more.

The thunder came again, but this time it held meaning, “You have done well these past years, thus you shall have your wish. You will be alone. You will always be alone…”

Rushed, as if trying desperately to understand, “What do you mean? No, no you aren’t being fair. Haven’t I done everything you asked? Haven’t I done”—a thud and then sudden silence.

A dizzying mixture of disgust, elation, curiosity and fear found the young boy, and he did not know what to do with it all. He simply laid there in his bed, staring at his partially opened door, watching the darkness in the hallway grow darker. Before his very eyes the darkness in the hallway became tangible, it grew closer, and the door swung open soundlessly. Petrified, the boy simply watched and listened. He wanted to run, to scream, but he couldn’t. His body would not respond to his thoughts, as if he had no control over it…or, as if control of it had been taken from him.

Though he did not understand, he felt a presence in the darkness reaching out to him, searching his mind and seeming amused by what it found. Thoughts began to form in his mind, images, memories… of his mother. He saw her standing over him, sincere hatred in her eyes. He saw her pointing at the small horns on his head. He saw her mouth moving, forming words that stung his very soul, tainting it, ruining it. He was filled with anger, hatred, frustration, bitterness…

The darkness spoke like a slow, deliberate landslide, “…she will trouble you no more. Though it has been too long, I have come to free you from her. I have come to show you that you are not alone, that you will never be alone.”

He could not explain it, but he knew the darkness, whatever it was, to be right. He believed it as he had never believed anything before. Whatever it’s purpose, this creature was telling him the truth, and it made him happy. He was surprised by his happiness, but he liked it. He embraced it as an emotion he had rarely known, and he saw this creature, this deep darkness, as the source of his happiness.

The boy stammered a question to the night in a course, barely audible voice, “What…who are you?”

The darkness solidified before the boy, taking on the form of a huge, powerful shadow shaped in the likeness of man, but unclear and shifting, as if the form were but a temporary thing. Red pools of light coalesced into eyes, and a dim, gray outline suggested a smiling mouth. The eyes shone, the mouth moved, and it answered, “I am your blood. I am your strength. I am your soul. I am your father, and you are my son.”

There was a time of confusion, a blur of thoughts and questions. The darkness answered. His father answered. It was a brief time, but life altering. Where earlier that very day he had felt lost, unloved, unwanted, unneeded, he now felt none of those. He had a father, and his father came to him. He father said he needed him…

In a low, commanding tone, “You are gifted with brilliance, resourcefulness, and resolve. You are stronger than any you have ever met, and you are far more powerful than you know. I have given you all of this because you will need it if you are to grow into a son I can be proud of. I have a purpose in mind for you, and I know you will succeed where no other could.”

“Anything,” the boy replied solemnly, “just tell ask me and I will do anything for you, father.”

He felt sudden pain in his hand, a burning that shocked him. He pull his hand in close, squeezing it, but it hurt terribly. He looked down at it and saw that it was red, red with blood, with his blood. Thoughts of betrayal shot through his mind and he threw his gaze forward, into the darkness that had called him it’s son.

“Why did you…?”

It interrupted him, “Quiet, child, it is only a small wound. It is but the first of many you will receive if you are to grow strong enough to do what I need you to do. Your hand will heal, and when it does, you know power you have not ever known before. You will need only to think of me, reveal the scar of this wound to any who oppose you, and they will know feel your power. Now, look…”

He felt himself forced to look down at a small pool of his own blood, which had formed near his feet as the blood from his hand had fallen to the ground. He stared at the pool, unsure what to make of it. Then, within the deep-red pool, figures began to appear. People, some sort of group, moving about a town or city together, as if with a single purpose. He did not recognize them, nor did he recognize where they were.

His father spoke again, authority heavy in his tone, “ Find them and help them. They will lead you to me again.” With that, the darkness receded. In but a heartbeat it was gone and there was only the night air in his dark bedroom, as if it had never been there. The boy looked around, confused, but with new purpose. After a time, he laid back on his bed in thought, cradling his wounded hand. He would find them, one day. He didn’t know who they were, or how long it would take, but he would find them. He would see his father again.

Whether by chance or by design, the strangeness of Amnon’s night did not end with the coming of day as, once again, Amnon was woken by screams. After a moment of incoherence, he realized this time it was not his mother screaming, in fact his mother had not made a sound since their life-altering encounter with the one who had claimed to be Amnon’s father. No, this time the screaming was coming from multiple people.

Sitting up in bead and listening closely, he could make out shouts of warning along with the screaming. It was difficult to tell, but he thought he heard the words “kobolds” and “run”. Still dizzy with sleep, and feeling as though had a very small foothold on reality after last night, it took Amnon a moment to realize the implications of these words. When he did however, he acted quickly. He jumped out of bed, threw on the same cloths he had worn all week, and rushed out of his room.

Once in the hall, the shouting grew a bit quieter, but it was still audible. From somewhere toward the front of the house, he thought he heard a man shouting, “They’ve killed...”, but he was unable to make out the rest. Those words though, were enough though to inspire continued motion. The door to Amnon’s room opened up to a small kitchen, in which he quickly searched for and then found a heavy carving knife. The knife was old, rusted, and notched, but he knew it would have to do. Tucking the knife in his belt, he ran down the house’s short hall, pausing for a breath in front of his mother’s room.

The door to his mother’s room was slightly open, and there was no sound coming from within. He thought of opening the door to see what had become of his mother, even going as far as placing his hand on the door. Before he did though, he decided against it. He truly did despise his mother, but if a gruesome sight awaited him behind this door, he didn’t know how well it would sit with him for the rest of his life. In the end, it was simply all too much to work out in such a short time. So, he left his mother’s room behind, and headed toward the small house’s back door. Before he could reach the door though, it burst open, the door crashing in toward him.

Quickly following the broken door, a green-skinned, reptilian creature with bloodshot eyes and yellowing teeth moved over the wooden threshold. Brandishing a crude javelin in one hand, the creature saw Amnon, grinned, and began to move toward him snarling a wicked smile.

Despite his best effort, Amnon was not prepared to be standing face-to-face with an armed Kolbold. He reacted blindly and out of fear, shear impulse causing him to leap back awkwardly. In doing so, he caused his too-heavy knife to slip from his belt onto the ground. Suddenly weaponless and prone on the ground, Amnon felt himself begin to panic.

The Kobold saw the boy before him drop his knife uselessly, and then cower on the ground. Grinning even more broadly, it raised the javelin for a quick throw.

Seeing the creature raise the weapon, Amnon knew his life was close to ending, and that there was nothing he could do about it. He found himself suddenly thinking about his father, remembering that he had said he needed Amnon to do something for him. Though the circumstance of his meeting with his father was strange to say the least, it had changed Amnon somehow. He truly wanted nothing more than to believe that the powerful being was indeed his father and that he did indeed need him. He wanted nothing more that to do as his father had commanded, he wanted to make him proud. Without really understanding them, he remembered some of his father’s words, “…Quiet, child, it is only a small wound. It is but the first of many you will receive if you are to grow strong enough to do what I need you to do. Your hand will heal, and when it does, you will know power you have not ever known before. You will need only to think of me, reveal the scar of this wound to any who oppose you, and they will know feel your power.” Feeling a bit awkward about it, but without any other ideas, Amnon held up his hand, which was still covered in dried blood, and opened it toward the Kobold while thinking of his father.

Amnon felt power well up from within him. He felt long years of anger and resentment toward his mother shift from raw emotion into tangible energy and force. he felt it gather inside his mind and his chest and just when it had reached a potency that he felt he simply could not contain, he felt all of it, years of built up energy, rush toward his should, down his arm, and out of his wounded hand. He watched, shocked, as raw, black energy leaped forth from his hand. The energy arched out, crackling, and striking the Kobold in its chest. The creature shuddered for a moment, its eyes wide with pain and surprise. Then it went suddenly limp and fell to the floorboards, black blood already beginning to trickle out of it’s lifeless mouth.

So, I was going to write up another couple pages about this, but I kind of decided that I’d rather just say it all normally. Anyway, here is roughly how Amnon’s story continues…

Amnon’s mother’s small house was one of those on the outskirts of Fallcrest, less than half a mile from the city proper. This part of the city was attacked by kobolds, and as far as the village ever discovered, Amnon’s mother was killed by kobolds during that assault, though the truth is that she was killed Amnon’s father, an unnamed demon with unknown motivations. With his mother’s death, Amnon, inherited her moderate wealth and ended up being adopted by the Azaer family, a mercantile family. Amnon never really found out why Amara Azaer, the family matron and head of the family business, decided to adopt him but he suspects it was because it entitled her to Amnon’s inheritance.

While living with the Azaer’s, Amnon was embraced as a skilled businessman, though he was never really treated as a member of the family. He was obviously hiding dark secrets, but no one was ever ale to pry them out of him. In order to occupy his mind and train himself in some sort of self-discipline, Amnon threw himself into his work with his inherently detached and professional demeanor, which he developed as a means of deflection against his past.

His work also provided enough of a reason for him to slip away on occasion and try to learn more about his father. During these times, Amnon would study the art of being a Warlock, in order to gain more infernal power such that he could both fulfill his father’s wish to do some task he mentioned at their first meeting, whtever that was, and in order to try to learn more about his demonic heritage in any way he could.

All of this happens over the course of about 15 years, during which time Amnon’s memory of his mother and father, and his drive to please his father gradually begin to slip into the back corners of his mind, though he still remains somewhat detached and is capable of being very cold hearted if pressed. Also, occasionally he still has dreams of the night his father appeared and his mother died, though he never ever talks about them.

During these same 15 years or so, he ends up meeting and becoming friends with the rest of the party, as defined by the background story that we are still working on. During this friendship, he has begun to view the rest of the group as the closest thing he has ever had to siblings, and so I suppose it could even be said that he has begun to care for the other group members, even though he rarely shows this. This is true even though the group’s outlook on life are in some cases very different than his own. In a manner of speaking though, this is not entirely unlike relationships that some real siblings possess with each other. In fact, there is a day, preferably not very long at all before we begin our campaign in which Amnon is walking down the street, toward our group as the we are getting ready to go somewhere together, when he sees something that he was absolutely not expecting. The sight hurls him back 15 or so years through time, to night in which is father had shown up out of the thin night air:

He felt himself forced to look down at a small pool of his own blood, which had formed near his feet as the blood from his hand had fallen to the ground. He stared at the pool, unsure what to make of it. Then, within the deep-red pool, figures began to appear. People, some sort of group, moving about a town or city together, as if with a single purpose. He did not recognize them, nor did he recognize where they were.

His father spoke again, authority heavy in his tone, “ Find them and help them. They will lead you to me again.”

Before him, Amnon see’s our party, minus himself, walking along the road, as yet unaware of his approach. To his tremendous surprise, he realizes they are the very same group that his father had asked him to seek out a decade and a half ago…

Feedback and/or questions about any of this are welcomed.

BTW cool ass story I enjoyed it. I read the first part while I was messed up and it was freaking me out but lol it was tight overall. The only questions I was going to ask were; Did he learn the Warlocking on his own like out of some books of ill repute or did he have someone train him? What form does his curse take, like does he just whisper some demonic utterance that curses them or do something more intense (I thought about him inflicting a small wound to curse but he might be covered in wounds pretty quick). Has he given any thought to finding his father, or for that matter has he seen him again since that night?

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Did he learn the Warlocking on his own like out of some books of ill repute or did he have someone train him?

I hadn't really though about this, but I suppose it would make the most sense for him to have somehow aquired a few books with dark secrets that he has been reading, studying, practicing, and re-reading.

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What form does his curse take, like does he just whisper some demonic utterance that curses them or do something more intense

You mentioned something about inflicting a small wound to curse, which I would say would act as a sort of a physcal "component" to allow him to curse others, perhaps cursing them in a physical way. However, I was actually thinking about doing this a little differently. Rather than inflicting a small physical wound, I was planning on him having to suffer a minor psychic wound, like a cut on his psyche. Having had a tremendously horrid childhood, etc., his psyche is pretty well scarred to hell, so a small wound wouldn't have much of an impact on him. Likewise, his curse would manifest itself on his victims as a psychic disturbance.

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Has he given any thought to finding his father, or for that matter has he seen him again since that night?

He has not seen his father since that one night. At first he thought about him constantly, but as time passed he begin to think of him less and less. Until recently, he had gotten to the point in which he only thought about him when he was reminded about him by his somewhat re-occuring dreams of the night they met. However, ever since he saw the group and realized they were the ones in the vision his father had shown him, his father has become a constant subject of thought once more.