History

I'm not sure how the decision was settled upon to not smother me, upon seeing my purple skin, post-birth cleaning. I'm not sure how the nursemaid persuaded my birthgivers to allow her to take me to raise. There had to have been words akin to "prevent the barony's image from being tarnished" in her speech. And I still dont understand how at any point, I was permitted to live, let alone anywhere near the mansion I was born, as my presence simply being upon the grounds pulled scandalized whispers from guests.

But here I am.

My birthgivers were powerful barons in Brevoy. I shant say their name, not because I fear retaliation, but because I spit upon it, and they will get what is coming to them without my gossip. The family got their power from being conniving diplomats that dabbled with Rakshasas--beast fiends whose sole existance is to destroy civilization from within politically--but that information was kept in hushed tones. At least, I have to imagine that the whispers started after I was born, as it is difficult to hide a tiefling child's nonhuman, nonelven aspects. I was not the first tiefling child born on the land, but I was the only one at the time; I'd heard stories from my mams and pas about them, that any time one cropped up in the bloodline, they were swiftly quieted. I was told that my birthgiver, being young and foolhardy, was swayed to give me up; that losing her firstborn--especially in such a foul and red-handed way--was "bad luck." No one was sure if that was truth or sheer superstition, sewn by the Rakshasas themselves, but it was taken seriously.

I was raised by the servant staff of the mansion, and I lived with them in the staff quarters. Gossipers, the lot, I learned much from them, from toddling on my tiny hooves when it came time, to how to interpret political lanugage as I got older. There was always a hand to guide mine, but I always felt alone, regardless. There was little that I was not privvy to, and I learned many adult things far too early; as such, I knew from very young that my birthgivers didn't want me and why. That quite ruins a child's perception of themself and others; there was expectations put upon me prior to my birth, and my appearance alone shattered all of it, tearing everything, including the sanctity of bloodline, from my grasp. I knew that I was to be the first in line to carry on the Barony, but because I would bring shame upon my bloodline, I couldnt even be acknowledged as one of my family. I was told, that the story told to guests and political allies and enemies alike, was the family took pity upon a handmaiden who had been defiled.

Knowing this made it hard to feel wanted. There was plenty of warmth from my mams and pas--the servant staff who cared for me--but they were obviously busy people, and as I grew older, I could tell I was a passing thought, a liability. I did have an education outside of the staff; I was, by the generosity of my birthgivers, as was told to my face, allowed to sit in on their younger childrens'--my younger siblings--lessons. I was not allowed to ask questions, and was forced to sit in the back of the study hall, but I was given the same material, and quizzed the same as my siblings--except in the art of Ruling; I was not permitted to learn how to be a diplomat. They, being half-elves, and I full elf, had different growing milestones. As years passed, and they outgrew me and new younger siblings began learning, and lessons began repeating, I would spend time haunting the acreage of the mansion. I taught myself about the nature of Brevoy, and when I could, pilfered books from the vast library. Sometimes, I would put my stealth skills, learned by sneaking upon unsuspecting wildlife, to use in eavesdropping on guests and my birthgivers, trying to learn more about what should have been my birthright.

In my thirties, I reached puberty, and I began to exhibit more and more of my Rakshasa parentage. The change marked an even more pointed isolation; I was no longer welcome in lessons, I was shooed from the main halls of the mansion, and no one would come looking for me if I stayed out in the acreage past dusk. If I were caught by one of the young masters, I would be heckled, often likened unto the horses in the stable, until I could shake them with my more advanced knowledge of the grounds. I began spending most of my time in nature, learning to fend for myself, as I could tell the tide was turning. And turn it did, when one day several of my estranged younger brothers cornered me, heckling me more than usual, threatening my person and life with their dueling swords. Upon the eldest getting too close for comfort, fearing for my life I stabbed him with my horn. The rest of the children scrambled off, whether in fear or for help, I dont know, but the ensuing scuffle broke my horn clean in half, leaving the broken tip firmly planted in the eldest's shoulder. The shouting of my estranged brother's pain matched the searing pain in my horn, and instinct moved my hooves to flee. I knew I was leaving a trail, but I couldnt stop; I had injured a rightful heir to the barony, and I knew there'd be no mercy were I caught on the mansion's land.

I could hear the mansion's hunting dogs behind me long into the night, well beyond my body screaming to stop. At some point, I fell, too exhausted to move any further. I must have passed some arbitrary ownership line, as I am here to speak about it. Im not sure how I managed to pick myself up, sobbing, from the ground when I awoke, or how I had not fallen prey to the many beasts that call Brevoy's forests home in my exhaustion. I hardly remember putting one hoof in front of the other, and dragging myself further forward, farther from the only lands I knew. I travelled for days uncounted, navigating by starlight at night, not knowing where I was going, but trying to find somewhere far from the danger behind me to settle down. I did find a glade after an unknowable amount of travel, and sat under the boughs of nearby trees to shelter me from a storm that night. The dancing lightning seemed to welcome me home, and being tempted into venturing out into the clearing, upon my horn I was gifted a spark, the smallest of kisses of electricity--nothing like the raw, unfiltered power of a true bolt of lightning. I sat in the storm, sparkles dancing about my claws, like a blessing from the skies.

I am what is known as a Druid, by scholarly folk. My time in nature, becoming one with it, has given me knowledge and abilities I could never have imagined. I speak to and for the land itself, I hunt and betray my would-be hunters, I help and curate the animals that live in my presence. I learned to become one with them, even if temporarily--so much so, I had heard legends spoken of me in town, of a purple unicorn in the Stolen Lands. Lightning, no matter how fierce, has never severely hurt me, no matter how well of a lightning rod my horn acts, and I can call it down upon aggressors from a clear day. And yet, I long for the cities. Wild and untamed as I am, I can only pinpoint my Rakshasa parentage as the source of these instincts. The draw to political power, to becoming more successful that those who had failed me. It's funny, really. One nursemaid ensured that another Rakshasa would go on to do Rakshasa things.

As I grew older, I couldnt ignore the call in my very being to dabble in high society, to rain down the outer planes upon those who had failed me--to get revenge. I used the dark fascination I instilled within others as my tool. In a land dominated by humans, elves, halflings, and everything in between, I was an oddity, a curiosity, a fetish. I used and honed my pilfered skills in deception and dealmaking by selling my body and my information for information and power. I stalked cities, using magic and cunning to reign terror on those who betrayed me, making friends with my family's enemies. For decades I lied, cheated, and slept my way to the upper levels of society--and yet none of it got me any closer to what I wanted.

Until I was handed an invitation to an Aldori party. One of the Swordlords were gearing up bands of mercenaries, scholars, and would-be polititions alike to kill a bandit lord that was becoming a larger threat than could be tolerated, with those successful earning trade deals with the Aldori to help fund a barony. The promise of your own barony... it was too good to be true. But I went anyway. I fell in with a group of adventurers as ragtag as I am; a gnoll with questionable knowledge, an awakened stuffed rabbit who ran its mouth far too much and tried very hard to hit things with a sword far too large for it, a ratfolk looking to strengthen their trade lines with the new barony, and a time-displaced aasimar carrying out a dubious request from their spouse who collected baronies like trading cards. I played the group's navigation and land specialist, as I knew the Stolen Lands like the back of my hand from living there for decades. As well, they were woefully lacking someone truly knowledgable about what they were getting themselves into, and for whatever reason I did not wake up with a weapon in my chest in the days following.

In fact, we were successful in our task. The bandit lord was a drunkard, but a foe blessed by the gods. My healing magics hardly kept my team on their feet, and I'm still not sure how we managed to win that fight, but win we did. We gutted the fort of bandits and banditry, and converted it into our town center. We had a barony... The aasimar, a paladin of Shelyn, was chosen to be the primary contact of our diplomatic council. It still eats at my Rakshasan instincts, but it was for the best--I was part of a barony, a ruling part of a barony.. But my revenge had to be put on the backburner. We were a newborn barony, and though the Swordlords were backing us, we still had to put forth the diplomatic expertise to attract citizens, build a town... Do all the things that I had never learned to do.... So I voluntarily became the Warden of the new barony. After all, I had the most knowledge for the position, and helped quell many interactions between citied folk and the wild folk. My one foot in the wilds and one foot in politics helped immensely, and we grew, attracting the scuffed and the rabble, much like ourselves.

Current

I'm not sure how I died. But I must assume that I died, to come here. I have.. a lot to learn about myself, to unlearn from my fucked up childhood, and a lot to come to terms with myself.