Sargon
Sargon
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Sargon is large and well-built, covered in green scales that get darker as they get thicker. He has dozens of scars on his body, earned from many fights against dangerous foes.
Special abilities
Sargon has a deep connection to the wilderness that has been honed through both training and brutal tests of the wild. Through this connection he has learned to become part of this ferocious side of Nature, and can even tap into the deep magic of natural world in order to cast spells. He is a stealthy and deadly hunter, and uses his cunning to bring down his quarry. He devotes his combat skills to fighting Monsters, and more recently Aberrations.
Apparel & Accessories
Sargon does not wear Armour or standard clothing, preferring to adorn himself with belts and bandoliers in order to carry his various equipment.
Specialized Equipment
Sargon's Weapon of choice is a Kharasaki Dagger-Whip. It is a sharp Blade on the end of a length of chain that can retract entirely into its handle for better concealment. He uses it in a fighting style that combines a Bullwhip and Rope-fighting. It has recently become enchanted so that Sargon can tackle tougher foes, and has its handle wrapped in an enchanted Otyugh tentacle that glows in the presence of Aberrations.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Sargon left his tribe's lands in The Drown after spending several years as a Brave protecting the tribe from the dangers of the swampy jungle. He was dissatisfied with his life in his adopted Tribe, and still haunted by his perceived mistakes in defending his birth Tribe before its decimation. Seeking a new life, he was advised to look to new lands.
Sexuality
Sargon has an entirely pragmatic approach to sexuality, like many Lizardfolk. He does not see any point in forming physical relationships beyond producing offspring, and believes that a romantic relationship (such as that betweeen his Mother and Father) would only be a result of a natural partnership between parents raising their children. He does not generally find other individuals attractive or unattractive physically speaking, but values the friendship of those who share his goals or points of view.
Education
Sargon was trained by his Father and Brothers in the ways of the Ranger. He was being groomed for eventual leadership of his Tribe before disaster struck and his Tribe was decimated by a Monster Attack. The remnants of the Tribe joined another, and Sargon withdrew into the wilderness while continuing to serve as a Guardian of his adopted Tribe. Eventually he was convinced by Mama Mamba, a family friend and local wisewoman, to leave the Drown to seek a new purpose.
Employment
Initially a Lottery Participant seeking to make a new home in Ferndale, Sargon took up adventuring in the company of several friends and now finds himself embroiled in political scandal, subversive warfare, and the stirrings of an ancient calamity. He has pledged his life and future to continuing to try and protect those who cannot protect themelves, even if that means trying to fight Destiny.
Accomplishments & Achievements
Ranger of the Drown
Lottery Participant of Ferndale
Knight of Tarsis
Accomplished Chef
Lottery Participant of Ferndale
Knight of Tarsis
Accomplished Chef
Failures & Embarrassments
Sargon believes he will never forgive himself for the failure to protect his Tribe from the Monster that brought them ruin.
Years later, seeing the devastation wrought upon Ferndale by the machinations of Lewis Gorvasc hit him hard, seeing another new home struck by a similar fate. He had already sworn vengeance against Gorvasc for his mistreatment and effective murder of the Ferndale Miners, but the near-destruction of the town made Sargon conclude that the very next time he saw Gorvasc then the traitor would die, law or no law.
Mental Trauma
Sargon finds it difficult to relax or 'switch off' - he is worried that if he is ever unvigilant, then disaster may only be moments away.
Intellectual Characteristics
As a Lizardfolk, Sargon is pragmatic almost to a fault. He struggles with imagery such as Metaphor, and sarcasm is a complete unknown to him. He prefers to sit in quiet observation rather than lengthy conversations, and believes that you can tell more from people's actions and body language rather than their words. When speaking he tends to be somewhat blunt, not to the point of deliberate rudeness, but just in a desire to be as clear and precise as possible.
In a Natural Environment he can rely upon years of experience and lessons from his family, and finds himself in surroundings that he feels he truly understands. He has tested himself on countless occasions against the dangers and trials of the wild, and knows never to let his guard down and treat Nature with a healthy respect.
Morality & Philosophy
Sargon believes that the purpose of Strength is to protect the Weak. This extends beyond the physical, while it is important for skilled combatants to defend those weak in body, it is also important for the intelligent to educate uninformed, for the wise to correct the ignorant. He puts himself opposite 'Monsters' in this regard, he sees a Monster as not just a mindless malformed creature of destruction, but also those who are selfish or bullies. Those who misuse their talents rather than in support of others seem to him to be a sinister perversion of the natural order.
Taboos
Sargon does not like to partake in alchohol or other mind or mood-affecting substances, as he sees such things as compromising his constant state of vigilance. He is uncomfortable whenever he feels his senses are diminished or obscured.
Social
Contacts & Relations
Whisper - Travelled together for a short while before coming to Ferndale. They share a desire to wander, and to work to improve the lives of the friends they meet. Sargon admires Whisper's natural ease with dealing with strangers and ability to make himself welcome.
Tania - Met in a tavern on his first night in Ferndale, Tania and Sargon work well together in battle, with her spells augmenting Sargon's abilities. Sargon sees a similarity with Tania in that they both tend to be the quieter, more introverted members of the Party.
Tarik - Met at the same time as Tania, Sargon is impressed with Tarik's partnership with his Faerie Dragon companion, Ido. They often find themselves teaming up when the Party needs to split, and Sargon has noted that Tarik has a mysterious connection to the wilderness.
Arane - Released from a cage within an Elven temple, where she had been captured by a deranged Priestess of Aesa. She has since joined the party and is often minding the Airship when not joining the others on the ground. Similar to Tania, Sargon has great respect for her spellcasting prowess and she has proved a capable battle companion.
Liza Klubb - a Half-Orc who is the Blacksmith of Ferndale. Sargon and Lysa get on very well due to their shared blunt and pragmatic natures
Captain Crispin - Commander of Tarsis' 4th legion, Sargon assisted in clearing his name. Following several other services to the Crown of Tarsis, Crispin effectively knighted Sargon and his friends.
Geoffrey - Gnomish restauranteur who was similarly stuck in contract with Gorvasc. Sargon's party saw that Geoffrey's lot in life was improved.
Gorvak Bluntaxe - an Orcish Merchant who took a dramatic liking to Sargon's cooking - the party put him in touch with Geoffrey and the two have gone into business together.
Ferelis - Elven Innkeeper and Wizard. He provided a safe haven for the Party on a couple of occasions in Tarsis, and also enchanted Sargon's favorite weapon.
Tania - Met in a tavern on his first night in Ferndale, Tania and Sargon work well together in battle, with her spells augmenting Sargon's abilities. Sargon sees a similarity with Tania in that they both tend to be the quieter, more introverted members of the Party.
Tarik - Met at the same time as Tania, Sargon is impressed with Tarik's partnership with his Faerie Dragon companion, Ido. They often find themselves teaming up when the Party needs to split, and Sargon has noted that Tarik has a mysterious connection to the wilderness.
Arane - Released from a cage within an Elven temple, where she had been captured by a deranged Priestess of Aesa. She has since joined the party and is often minding the Airship when not joining the others on the ground. Similar to Tania, Sargon has great respect for her spellcasting prowess and she has proved a capable battle companion.
Liza Klubb - a Half-Orc who is the Blacksmith of Ferndale. Sargon and Lysa get on very well due to their shared blunt and pragmatic natures
Captain Crispin - Commander of Tarsis' 4th legion, Sargon assisted in clearing his name. Following several other services to the Crown of Tarsis, Crispin effectively knighted Sargon and his friends.
Geoffrey - Gnomish restauranteur who was similarly stuck in contract with Gorvasc. Sargon's party saw that Geoffrey's lot in life was improved.
Gorvak Bluntaxe - an Orcish Merchant who took a dramatic liking to Sargon's cooking - the party put him in touch with Geoffrey and the two have gone into business together.
Ferelis - Elven Innkeeper and Wizard. He provided a safe haven for the Party on a couple of occasions in Tarsis, and also enchanted Sargon's favorite weapon.
Religious Views
Sargon does not particularly devote any time or prayer to any of the Gods, but both his Birth tribe and his Adopted tribe venerated Gardaran, and Sargon identifies with him the most of any of the Gods.
Sargon is a large, intimidating-looking Lizardfolk. His rough and taciturn exterior bely a noble and gentle heart. He has dedicated his life to protecting others from Monsters of all kinds.
View Character Profile
Alignment
Neutral Good
Honorary & Occupational Titles
"The Shamed" - draconic translation of Sargon's name. He was re-named according to the customs of his people when his decimated Tribe was absorbed by another. The name was chosen by his new Chief in order to discredit any claim Sargon may have had to leadership, and Sargon did not dispute it as he truly felt responsible.
"Muttallu" - Sargon's Birth name, no longer used.
Birthplace
The Drown
Children
Current Residence
The Imperial Airship Envoy
Gender
Male
Eyes
Yellow
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Green to Dark Green, with paler scales extending from his Stomach to his Jaw
Height
6'6"
Weight
225lbs
Leaving The Drown
The witch doctor stirred her cauldron in the flickering candlelight of her reed hut, pausing occasionally to let the vapours drift lazily up to her snout. She once stood over six and a half foot as a young, bold warrior of her clan, but age and the labours of her life had made her a hunched, wizened thing. Her scales were dark, almost black, and were as tough as oak.
She lifted her head towards the door to the hut, dozens of talismans and fetishes rattled on their leather thongs in the small movement. There was no sound but the buzzing and chirping of insects from the inky night outside, but it was not a sound that caught her attention. A primal pulsing in the back of her mind warned her of another mind's silent approach.
Standing statue-still and watching the door, she almost seemed another piece of furniture in the cluttered hut. After a few more moments, she relaxed and went back to stirring. A large shadow moved outside, barely visible in the oppressive night.
“You may enter, Sargon” she called out. There was a moments pause as the figure outside hesitated, then pushed the reed door open and shuffled in.
Sargon was a larger specimen than the witch doctor. Also a member of the Lizardfolk race, he loomed at nearly seven feet, his scales a deep forest green, and his snout and limbs mottled with fresh scars. He carried a large crab, its limbs limp in death.
“You bring me food? Is this a transaction, shamed one?” observed the witch doctor, a wide grin creeping along her long snout.
“Mother Mamba, I have a request for information.” rumbled Sargon. He placed the crab gently on the small table, and taking out a hunting knife began to remove white flesh from the creature's armored shell. He passed each piece to Mamba, who carefully dipped each portion in a bowl of spices before adding it to the bubbling cauldron. They worked in silence as the hunter claimed all the meat from his prize, and soon the cauldron was fuller and the strong scent of a rich gumbo filled the hut.
“I know what it is you wish to ask, shamed one.” Mamba whispered eventually, while she spooned the thick and spicy contents of the cauldron into two wooden bowls. Sargon didn't appear to react to the apparent insult, as he had not before.
“If I had your powers, I imagine I would also be able to pull meaning from the minds of my visitors.” observed Sargon.
“I need no Bocor art to know your mind, shamed one. I do not need to ask any loa to give me the secrets inside your skull. I hope you do not forget that I was present for your hatching?” Mamba sank slowly into her seat, a mass of cushions and pelts that seemed like a large nest of a thieving bird. She spooned gumbo into her maw, smirking at her visitor. “You have emptied your hunting grounds of your usual quarry, and you seek me out to point you in the direction of further prey.”
There were a few moments of silence as the two Lizardfolk chewed their food, before eventually Sargon slowly nodded, his eyes meeting Mamba's in the gloom.
“It is not my opinion you want, but you're having it anyway” continued Mamba, scraping away at the bottom of her bowl. “You can kill a great and terrible being every night, and it will not help you. Your fate was decided from your birth, and you will never achieve it for as long as you are Sargon.” The witch doctor slowly placed the wooden bowl to one side, her dark eyes never leaving her visitor's face. “I oversaw Kifaru's judgement of you, but I did not agree that it was the best decision. I lifted you from your birth shell and handed you to your father, and was pleased when he named you Muttallu. You were re-named, in accordance with our traditions, for your shame, but this does not excuse you from your duty.”
“I have no position to question Kifaru. I lost that right along with my father” interrupted Sargon. “And I can no longer perform my old duties. My honoured father was teaching me to rule and to protect. My inability to do the latter has left me with nothing to concern myself with ruling.”
“So you wish to destroy every monster you lay eyes upon for what? There is no foe you can defeat that can undo the past. You cannot protect the dead from what has already happened!” Mamba's voice rose into a shrill shout, and the constant buzzing and chirping outside the hut came to a sudden silence. “You want me to name a new hunting ground for you? Very well. I command you to leave our lands. Wander. Look for those who need your help, for there is no more place for you here! You have made this perfectly clear.”
Sargon bristled with uncharacteristic embarrassment. He started to get up from his place on the floor, pushing his own empty bowl away from himself.
“Are your scales getting soft, child? Why come here for my opinion if you do not wish to hear it?” Mamba cackled. She was busying herself packing a long pipe, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “I am not a spiteful old crone. I do not speak harshly to shame you further. You need no help from me in this area.” she lit her pipe with an arcane spark from a finger-claw, as a sudden scent of hot metal briefly pierced through the lingering aroma of the gumbo, before being replaced by the heady tones of her pipe. “Kifaru took you in after your clan was slaughtered, a pragmatic and admirable act, for though you failed to stop the drake that rampaged through your village, you are still every bit the warrior your father was. Kifaru regrets this though, for even he can see what I see, though he does not know it. You will find a new clan one day, and he fears that you will claim his.” Sargon opened his mouth to protest, but Mamba spoke over him. “Your intentions do not matter, former prince. You skulk on the outskirts of our lands and hunt day and night, and this is how Kifaru wants things. If you leave he will consider this his good fortune, but this is because he is not wise. This will not always be your life, and this clan will lose a protector with you gone. This is how things must be.”
Sargon stared at the floor as Mamba spoke. He was never comfortable with discussing his past, but he had known that Mamba would never not have lectured him on their history. The discussion of his adoptive chieftain's motives was not something he had heard before, however. The more the witch doctor spoke, the more he understood that she was right, and that he could not continue with things as they are.
Mamba roused herself from her nest, and padded slowly over to a clutter of wicker baskets in a corner of her hut. “I have something for you take with you, when you leave” she stated matter-of-factly. “It is not food.”
She held out something wrapped in cloth in a curled hand. Sargon rose to his feet and approached, to see a large red egg in a bed of straw, wrapped in the unfurling cloth. It was much smaller than the eggs of his kin, but far too large to belong to any of the birds or reptiles that nested in the area.
Mamba caught his curious look. “This may be important to you, or it may turn out not to be. Either way, I wish for it to leave this lands with you when you go” she intoned as she handed the parcel over. Sargon held the the egg carefully in his hands as he pondered it's strange weight, before carefully packing it in a hide bag at his waist. “I'll have my crawlies see you out of our lands, so I'll know when you've left. Just say your farewell to the swamp, I will hear it.”
“What of the others?” queried Sargon.
“They will not ask after you for some days. When they do I will tell them you have gone. Some may even wish you well. If you do not return before I make my final journey into the waters, then know I will tell your father of you when I meet him again. I know he will be proud.”
Sargon left the hut in silence, closing the reed door behind himself. Mother Mamba returned to her nest and her pipe, and relaxed as she sensed Sargon's mind slip away through the morass, his direction indicating that he had no wish to linger and that he was making straight for the border. She smiled a toothy grin as she exhaled the foul pipe smoke from her nostrils. The spirits of the swamp chatted and gossiped in the shadows of the hut, and Mamba knew that the news of the shamed prince's departure would be whispered to even the most reclusive local loa before dawn.
- -
