Dax' Athla
Dax' Athla (a.k.a. The Banished)
She used to be a hunter for the tribe, under the name Akzu.
She would often trade with the humans from New Galifar and got to learn to speak Common pretty well.
She was not the best at tracking the prey but she was pretty handy with a melee weapon, a good shot with the bow and she always had good ideas about how to trap the prey . One day, everything changed....
Cut off from the Shared Dream of the Lizardfolk, the source of all knowledge and purpose, she has been exiled from Q'Barra, and has found her way to New Cyre, looking for a new purpose, and answers...
Her newfound abilities appeared shortly after, the physical expression of her newfound mental ability to break the hold of the corruption. She embraced the darkness and can now sense it and understand it.
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
On the small-ish side and lean, but muscular.
Body Features
Deep blue leather skin which ripples with lighter blue when she's thoughtful.
Her skin colour changes when adrenaline pumps into her body into a deep black with slashes of red.
Facial Features
Long sharp teeth that peek out a little bit naturally.
A round face that looks cute to humans - until adrenaline flows, she snarls and her frills, usually drawn back, spread out wide around her face, making her look bigger and turning a deep red.
Physical quirks
She licks her eyes to clean them.
Apparel & Accessories
Lizardfolk don't wear clothing to hide body parts or to show status but for convenience: belts to carry a blade and pouches, a glove for an archer to shoot better.
Clothing is also used to impress the enemies: bones worn as necklaces, colourful pelts on shoulders, spikes on bracelets...
Dax likes to keep it simple though, so she can hide easily and not make noise.
Her blades are made from dragonshards - traditional craftmanship in her tribe.
Mental characteristics
Sexuality
None - laying eggs is not a necessity at the moment.
Employment
She used to be a hunter for the tribe, under the name Akzu (meaning "Red").
She would often trade with the humans from New Galifar and got to learn to speak Common pretty well.
She was not the best at tracking the prey but she was pretty handy with a melee weapon, a good shot with the bow and she always had good ideas about how to trap the prey .
Morality & Philosophy
Survival is achieved through cunning and the proper use of one's abilities.
No desire for innovation - the Dream shares the necessary knowledge.
A clear purpose at all times: knowing why the Masvirik’uala are what they are.
Soft skins are fascinating: very brazen despite their fragility. They also bake cookies, which are good.
Personality Characteristics
Personality Quirks
Born in the month of Sypheros, associated with the plane of Mabar
Sypheros is a dim moon, and people often find it difficult to spot in the night sky. Recent observations using powerful spyglasses have confirmed that a jagged crack runs down the center of the moon, as if the moon is splitting in two. Many believe that children born in the month of Sypheros inherit a shifty, untrustworthy nature, and parents often seek to time pregnancies to avoid this month. However, the druids say that the children of Sypheros are not evil; rather, they are comfortable with the shadows and can face them without fear.
Born of the Twilight Walkers Tribe, one of Masvirik’uala tribes that work alongside the humans of New Galifar. Exiled from her people, she is looking for answers...
Character Location
Alignment
Cold-blooded Stronk
Species
Age
27
Date of Birth
14 / 10 / 971
Children
Gender
Female
Eyes
Silver with a narrow vertical black slit
Hair
None, she's a lizard
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Deep blue leather skin which ripples with lighter blue when she's thoughtful. Her skin colour changes when adrenaline pumps into her body into a deep black with slashes of red.
Height
5'2''
Weight
120 lbs
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Letter to Jaela
26th Sypheros, 999 YK
Jaela of the Silver Flame,
I am Dax’Athla, we met months ago in the Keep. In your presence, I faced the Flame and you showed me the path that lies ahead to bind the demon within.
Drego Sarhain’s last words to me as my mentor, before I left the Keep, were to spread the light of the Silver Flame and to aid those in need along my journey. Such words would have felt unnecessary and self-evident to me before I set foot on Khorvaire; I have now come to understand how precious and unique the Masvirik'uala’s ways are. I yearn for the same all-encompassing level of solidarity and community that I knew then, until the Sun went cold.
People on this side of the continent look at me and they see a dangerous, unyielding and unforgiving creature. But above all, the truth that shines through my memories is how much the Masviriku’ala care. It is true that the Masvirik’uala have been forged and honed in the fires of an eternal battle, One against Evil. I used to think it was the way of the world, but it seems only a few cultures are aware and active against similar threats, and yet even the Church or the Gatekeepers can never pretend to the sense of belongness that the Masvirik’uala experience, whether deep in the Dream and in every act of care. Hoping for anything else is like wishing for a Demon to redeem itself.
This knowledge is a vibrant brand on my soul, yet I yearn to belong.
The Masvirik’uala do not need a word for the Force that shaped them. The Dream grounds and guides the Masvirik’uala and I was torn apart when the Sun went cold within me. I fled like an animal and drifted until I found a family who would care for me, but I did not find purpose until I understood that what binds the Masvirik’uala could be named, and a connection grown with different means.
The Dream molds the Masvirik’uala but the Silver Flame binds us all.
I write this so you can understand my thinking as I come to you with a request. Too often we are misunderstood because we believe actions and values are self-explanatory.
In my travels with the Mist Walkers, I have seen the Silver Flame carried in many corners of Khorvaire, yet I grow concerned with the ability of its agents to continue to withstand Evil in some places.
In Salvation, the Church is just Jahanah Teskelyndros facing the weight of the Mournland and countless souls who have come with nothing but greed. Why is the Church not sending more support and resources?
In Sharn, the Church itself is rotting from within. The priests routinely ask for payment to perform their services, and are ignoring the needs of an entire district destroyed by a falling tower during the Last War. The people in the district have been in isolation and squalor for decades, unable to afford to leave nor to rebuild.
Still one woman spreads the light of the Silver Flame in the Fallen district. Faela has repaired a building of the Church, and is helping others however she can. We have provided what help we could with teachings, supplies and coins, but we cannot stay long. With this letter, I want to request help from the Church to Faela and the Fallen district. Everyone in Sharn has abandoned them, including the local Church. They need food, medical supplies, tools and materials to rebuild a place to live, or help to leave if they wish to.
Faela is a better representant of the Silver Flame than any of the so-called Priests of the Silver Flame in Sharn can ever hope to be. These priests go against what the Silver Flame stands for. I fear their hearts are rotten and corrupted, like the Poison Dusk.
I will leave the city shortly but plan to return to investigate the source of their corruption. Myths and stories about the Fallen district mention the feeling of a dark presence looming over everyone who lives there. I’ve felt it, like someone is watching me. I will look further into it.
Will you help and support Faela and Jahanah Teskelyndros?
If you wish so, you can write to me in Wroat until the first of Vult. Then I will be off for several weeks to attend the Summit in Grey Wall.
May the Silver Flame shelter us,
Dax’Athla
Remembrance
22nd of Olarune, 998 YK
The grass is soft under the night breeze. The wood settles down in the burning fire with a gentle crackling sound. Alone under unfamiliar stars, Dax listens to the silence of these plains, only broken up by the cry of a lone bird every now and then. A far cry from the jungles and the swamps she has known for her whole life, where nights are a cacophony of noises from birds, frogs, dinosaurs, and more, echoing the eternal dance between predator and prey. Back there, she would never have dared to sleep by an open fire. Here, the land is soft, with gently rolling hills and a nice wind to tickle your nose. No traitorous vegetation hiding deadly quicksand; no snake pretending to be a tree branch to catch its victim unaware; no pack of lizards silently coordinating to take down a bigger prey; no frogs that can kill you with a mere touch.
She misses it. One has to prove themselves every day, in an endless struggle to remain the best predator. It keeps things simple. Life was simple. Here, prey is tame and predators make themselves scarce. Nature is meant to mold you and make you stronger, not coddle you like a brood guardian.
Of course, the Soft Flesh are the largest challenge to face. In Q’Barra, the tribe means comfort, safety, solidarity. The tribe supports everyone and everyone provides for the tribe. In these strange lands, the tribe is a failure. They lack resources, people go hungry and sick. Their own chieftain was almost murdered in the heart of their camp. Where is their honor? Their eyes must be lowered from such failures, but they do not show any shame. The Prince, as they call him, even acted like training warriors would be an insult to the foreign power that allow them to stay. It makes no sense, but Dax does not know how to explain it to them in their common tongue. How can one expect respect if one does not show strength? Prey is killed but fellow predators are respected.
Thankfully some Soft Flesh have honor, like the one who calls himself Terfel Glas. He provides to his tribe and has the sensible idea to better train and arm the so-called warriors that protect the tent city. He is thoughtful and has already proven himself to be a decisive and efficient warrior. Dax is proud to be indebted to him - it would have cost her much honor to be indebted to many of the Soft Flesh she has met so far. Terfel’s offspring shows promise - maybe she can help him so he has a chance to achieve honor when he gets of age.
The creature called Warden remains a mystery. There is a sincere desire to serve and provide, which brings much honor, as well as very clever ways to approach battle, such as playing dead to trick his enemies. At the same time he is always talking, a constant stream of words, often nonsensical and to no purpose she can see. Surely this is only a diversion tactic, to lull them into lowering their guard before he can strike. He used to be a war machine after all - Dax knows that much. She has been prepared for such an attack, but it has been weeks now and nothing happened. Maybe this is really who he is. She must remember that the rules of the Soft Flesh are not the ones of the Masvirik’uala.
The priest called Kalshana has also shown honor several times, providing for a tribe that is not her own, and staying true to her principles. She looks human, but she smells different from the other humans. She seems the softest of them all, often showing her teeth to others in that strange gesture they call a smile, and offering to brew herbs to everyone she meets, friend as well as foe. Still, she has proven worthy in battle and dextrous with the mace she carries. A soft skin, but a hard core.
Suddenly an unknown bird flies a bit too close to Dax, breaking her away from the reverie and sending a gust of wind to rock the flames. Her frills redden briefly in shame - the lack of attention could have cost her life. Even a youngling would not make such a mistake. Worse, she is evaluating her companions’ honor when she herself has lost face so terribly that she cannot return to her homeland, at least until she figures out a way of regaining her honor. Knowing this, who is she to watch, and judge?
The Masvirik’uala will never accept one who has fallen such as she - breaking away from Masvirik’s corruption has never been done, until she did, somehow. Dax caresses the silver arrow pendant around her neck. She was holding that pendant when she Awoke, and it has been with her ever since. A deep, irrational fear grabs her when she thinks about that pendant. What if she lost it? Could He call to her again? Or worse, what if the pendant has nothing to do with her salvation? If so, how did she break away?
She cannot regain her honor until she understands.
In the meantime, she must remain humble, watch, and learn. The Soft Flesh seem weak at first glance but there is strength in them. She will hone her strength as well so she can one day face her dishonor.
Dax looks up to the stars unchanged. If she watches for long enough, she would see them revolve around her, slowly spinning like the shamans spin around the fire pit during the Day of Remembrance. When she was younger, she used to climb high up in the canopy, lie down on a branch and fall asleep to the comforting movement of the tree. The Dream was there, to welcome her into its familiar embrace, bringing her closer to her kin, providing a shared purpose. Not anymore. When she closes her eyes at night, only darkness awaits.
Darkness, and loneliness.
