Post by GrazztsCodPiece on Jul 14, 2013 16:58:57 GMT -5
Xintharii was the result of an unfortunate encounter between a roving band of drow marauders and a wood elf maiden living in the Wealdath forest. On a reconnaissance mission, Ixea and a handful of her peers were ambushed and taken by those she sought to watch from afar – Ilythiir intent on plunder and murder. They were not kind to her. Generations of pent up hatred between the races were unleashed upon her body and mind. As the Ilythiir’s orgiastic celebration came to a close with the approaching dawn, her kin struck – death was unleashed in the form of hundreds of arrows. Out of the small troupe that was captured, a torn and barely living Ixea was found and taken back by her kin.
A month passed and little could be done restore Ixea’s mind. The assault upon her severed her hold on sanity, and to everyone’s disgust, she was also pregnant. Her pregnancy was viewed as a curse – auguries were cast to determine the fate of both the child and mother and, to everyone surprise, the fates called for the preservation of both mother and child. Ixea’s clanspeople tore their clothes in anguish – they called for the death of the abomination. Qua’tell, clan leader of Ixea’s people, solved the impending riot by casting both child and mother out to the border of their lands. Although she, and her unborn child, were cast out they were to be watched by Ixea’s direct family – they took this responsibility with deep apprehension and regret, but did care for the two tragic figures as commanded.
A wail in the cold night, about a year later, announced the birth of Xintharii – his mother was insane beyond reason and had wasted down to a thin shadow of her former self. Some uttered that she held on to life only for the birth of the child – the chance to remove from herself the creature that dwelt within her… Her birth was unassisted as few dared to approach her at this point. After the babe came to the world, she calmly got up and walked out into the cold night – she uttered a long and forlorn wail, a fitting announcement to the bastard child that now dwelt within the Wealdath.
The years flew by – for child and mother both. Removal from her family made her condition worse, she dwelt in the books that once defined her childhood – books of elven heroes and the elven court of Myth Drannor. It was with these that she raised Xintharii – a bastard scion to the courts of old, a guardian to old elven traditions. However, the reality of the situation would often show itself and she would punish Xintharii severely for both his existence and lapses in her imagined training. For Xintharii, this time was both a blessing and curse - mostly a curse. His mother’s condition allowed her to, every so often, remember her reality. It was during these periods that she took out both her anger and hatred on the manifest object of her condition – the child. Xintharii bore the beatings and abuse with stoic love for the one creature that provided him the only comforts he knew. He did the best possible, he learnt how to wield blade and shield but it was not martial skill that drove his hand, it was the passions that his mother instilled within him – hatred for himself and the unrealistic goals to uphold the old elven courts.
Xintharii would often disappear into the woods of the Wealdath to watch his peers, his people. During these encounters he was ridiculed and beaten. Children can be cruel, after all. Xintharii had little choice but to flee, bloody and swollen, to his mother’s side for comfort; she gave none. Her shame was deep indeed and she would rain blows upon him to beat down the shame of having had her spawn be seen, to beat the beast free. The only times he received comfort, true comfort and praise, from his mother was when he played along her lofty ideas of an elven warrior. During these times she would smile and dote upon him – she would read to him from the book of tales with the love of a proud mother.
This twisted existence continued until he was but a few cycles from reaching majority. On one of his excursions to spy upon his peers he met with the son of Qua’tell, a bold warrior – the spitting image of his father. Xintharii was easily spotted by the experienced trackers and goaded into the open, chased out like an animal from its hiding spot. He was brought before his peers and jeered. Xintharii was somewhat used to this, this was after all a rather common thing in his life, and he accepted the verbal abuse with stoic indifference – he merely craved the company of others. The spawn of Qua’tell would not let this be just another encounter – he despised the creature before him, this bastard child that stained the land with his steps, soiled the air with its breath. Qua’tell’s son challenged Xintharii to a game, a simple children’s game – a foot race. Xintharii, thinking that acceptance was within his grasp, agreed. The race was one-sided – Xintharii ran like the beast that he was through both bramble and brush, he was beyond pain and exhaustion; he easily won by three horse lengths. Qua’tell’s son was mortified – a hush lay over the clearing and all watched in both awe and fear. In his shame Qua’tell’s son decided to act out what had long been discussed within the halls of his father, the eradication of the darkness within their lands – the removal of both Ixea and Xintharii. The chieftan’s son lunged at Xintharii with dagger in hand – a fight ensued. The battle was over in a heartbeat as Xintharii took the stabbing dagger in his arm; the pain released the rage pent up in his heart – he rained ruin upon the chieftain’s sons head with his bare hands.
After a few moments he stopped, the veil that had fallen over his eyes cleared and he looked at the bloody form before him – although alive, the chieftain’s sons right eye would never see light again. The silence in the glade was more damning than all the epithets ever hurled at him and Xintharii fled to his mother’s side. Short of breath, he reached his mothers’ home and tried to relate the events of the glade – his mother merely smiled and patted him in the head. She carefully leaned close and whispered “Flee now, beast of my womb, for you will soon meet the fate that was due to us.” She casually jerked the dagger free from his arm and hurled a few items at Xintharii – the few meager belongings that he could take with him to make his way through the world, but most importantly, the children’s book. His mother saw the confusion and hurt in his eyes and smiled kindly, she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, slapped him viciously across the face and then gently nudged him away. Ixea was found later that same day not more than 100 paces from her ramshackle home – she was curled in the sleep of the innocent; she was finally free. Xintharii fled – he fled for his life, forver seeking the acceptance of his mother; a thing that will never be and thus now wanders trying to live up to the lofty ideals of the old elven court. His persona is but a thin veneer of civility that covers the claws of a beast.
A month passed and little could be done restore Ixea’s mind. The assault upon her severed her hold on sanity, and to everyone’s disgust, she was also pregnant. Her pregnancy was viewed as a curse – auguries were cast to determine the fate of both the child and mother and, to everyone surprise, the fates called for the preservation of both mother and child. Ixea’s clanspeople tore their clothes in anguish – they called for the death of the abomination. Qua’tell, clan leader of Ixea’s people, solved the impending riot by casting both child and mother out to the border of their lands. Although she, and her unborn child, were cast out they were to be watched by Ixea’s direct family – they took this responsibility with deep apprehension and regret, but did care for the two tragic figures as commanded.
A wail in the cold night, about a year later, announced the birth of Xintharii – his mother was insane beyond reason and had wasted down to a thin shadow of her former self. Some uttered that she held on to life only for the birth of the child – the chance to remove from herself the creature that dwelt within her… Her birth was unassisted as few dared to approach her at this point. After the babe came to the world, she calmly got up and walked out into the cold night – she uttered a long and forlorn wail, a fitting announcement to the bastard child that now dwelt within the Wealdath.
The years flew by – for child and mother both. Removal from her family made her condition worse, she dwelt in the books that once defined her childhood – books of elven heroes and the elven court of Myth Drannor. It was with these that she raised Xintharii – a bastard scion to the courts of old, a guardian to old elven traditions. However, the reality of the situation would often show itself and she would punish Xintharii severely for both his existence and lapses in her imagined training. For Xintharii, this time was both a blessing and curse - mostly a curse. His mother’s condition allowed her to, every so often, remember her reality. It was during these periods that she took out both her anger and hatred on the manifest object of her condition – the child. Xintharii bore the beatings and abuse with stoic love for the one creature that provided him the only comforts he knew. He did the best possible, he learnt how to wield blade and shield but it was not martial skill that drove his hand, it was the passions that his mother instilled within him – hatred for himself and the unrealistic goals to uphold the old elven courts.
Xintharii would often disappear into the woods of the Wealdath to watch his peers, his people. During these encounters he was ridiculed and beaten. Children can be cruel, after all. Xintharii had little choice but to flee, bloody and swollen, to his mother’s side for comfort; she gave none. Her shame was deep indeed and she would rain blows upon him to beat down the shame of having had her spawn be seen, to beat the beast free. The only times he received comfort, true comfort and praise, from his mother was when he played along her lofty ideas of an elven warrior. During these times she would smile and dote upon him – she would read to him from the book of tales with the love of a proud mother.
This twisted existence continued until he was but a few cycles from reaching majority. On one of his excursions to spy upon his peers he met with the son of Qua’tell, a bold warrior – the spitting image of his father. Xintharii was easily spotted by the experienced trackers and goaded into the open, chased out like an animal from its hiding spot. He was brought before his peers and jeered. Xintharii was somewhat used to this, this was after all a rather common thing in his life, and he accepted the verbal abuse with stoic indifference – he merely craved the company of others. The spawn of Qua’tell would not let this be just another encounter – he despised the creature before him, this bastard child that stained the land with his steps, soiled the air with its breath. Qua’tell’s son challenged Xintharii to a game, a simple children’s game – a foot race. Xintharii, thinking that acceptance was within his grasp, agreed. The race was one-sided – Xintharii ran like the beast that he was through both bramble and brush, he was beyond pain and exhaustion; he easily won by three horse lengths. Qua’tell’s son was mortified – a hush lay over the clearing and all watched in both awe and fear. In his shame Qua’tell’s son decided to act out what had long been discussed within the halls of his father, the eradication of the darkness within their lands – the removal of both Ixea and Xintharii. The chieftan’s son lunged at Xintharii with dagger in hand – a fight ensued. The battle was over in a heartbeat as Xintharii took the stabbing dagger in his arm; the pain released the rage pent up in his heart – he rained ruin upon the chieftain’s sons head with his bare hands.
After a few moments he stopped, the veil that had fallen over his eyes cleared and he looked at the bloody form before him – although alive, the chieftain’s sons right eye would never see light again. The silence in the glade was more damning than all the epithets ever hurled at him and Xintharii fled to his mother’s side. Short of breath, he reached his mothers’ home and tried to relate the events of the glade – his mother merely smiled and patted him in the head. She carefully leaned close and whispered “Flee now, beast of my womb, for you will soon meet the fate that was due to us.” She casually jerked the dagger free from his arm and hurled a few items at Xintharii – the few meager belongings that he could take with him to make his way through the world, but most importantly, the children’s book. His mother saw the confusion and hurt in his eyes and smiled kindly, she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, slapped him viciously across the face and then gently nudged him away. Ixea was found later that same day not more than 100 paces from her ramshackle home – she was curled in the sleep of the innocent; she was finally free. Xintharii fled – he fled for his life, forver seeking the acceptance of his mother; a thing that will never be and thus now wanders trying to live up to the lofty ideals of the old elven court. His persona is but a thin veneer of civility that covers the claws of a beast.