I have recently started playing Dungeons & Dragons with some others. The character I have chosen to play is “multi-class,”. meaning they are able to use skills and abilities from more than one class in the game. (This comes with a handcap, in that multi-class characters progress slower, since they have to “feed” experience into both classes separately, and can’t “level-up” everything at the same time.)
The character I am playing is a combination Monk / Sorcerer. Monks are a melee combat class – based on, as an example, the Shaolin monks (as portrayed in so many movies) – practitioners of martial arts. Sorcerers on the other hand are, as the name implies, magic users. But their magic comes completely from “within”; they are filled with magic and don’t have spellbooks and such, as most of the other magic-using classes do.
Sorcerers don’t just “happen”, though. There’s some (story) reason why they have innate magic. One of the common reasons is that they have some sort of ancestry which includes, somewhere in their family tree, a dragon.
And, now, I present to you, the backstory of my character … Lhoris Ualiar.
The elven city of Faena Dorei was, as are all things made by elves, stunningly beautiful. Those who inhabited it would be horrified and shamed otherwise. Thus it was that the lone building with a shattered rooftop was surprising. It persisted in its current state as a reminder to Andresin Ualiar of just what he had caused to happen – solely by who had been the mother of his lone child, and what havoc that had wrought.
However, this is not Andresin’s story.
No, rather, it is that child’s – the elvish mix-breed, Lhoris Ualiar. To understand Lhoris, let us turn back, instead, to times when that building was still complete and whole, undisturbed …
During the first few years of Lhoris’ life, from the time he could speak, he understood he was different from all the other elves, the ljosalfar, around him. For one thing, his eyes were not the typical soft brown or green, nor even the deeper green of his father. The very first time he opened his eyes, they were a distinct yellow-green tint. He was told his father turned to his mother and said, “He has your eyes, my dear,” and this statement was greeted with a smile.
His skin tone – not the pale, almost milky-white, of father, but the darker, yellow-green-brown of his mother. Thankfully, it was not the full-on grey or worse of the lowly dokkalfar. That would have been an unbearable blot on both his and his father’s mere existence.
His mother had left Faena Dorei, and his father, when he was barely five years old. “It’s for the best, Lhoris,” his father had said, with no further explanation. He had forced himself to not weep for his missing parent, even with eventually later coming to understand the reason she’d left. Before reaching that understanding, though, he’d been admonished by many others how “no true elf” would ever form that deep an attachment.
It wasn’t until several years later that his father even told him what his mother’s name was. And he’d been warned that he must never cry out her name, since doing so would summon her.
And thus it was that Andresin had finally told Lhoris the full story of his mother and how Lhoris had come into the world.
Lhoris … you know how I have spent all of my adult life in the study of dragons. And how, prior to your birth, I went on many journeys to further that research? There are, after all, several dozen scrolls in the city center library, all penned by me, and the numerous forms of correspondence I continue to receive, seeking my knowledge and guidance.
Several years ago, I had been gathering information about an adult bronze dragon who had temporarily taken up residence several weeks’ journey away. Metallic dragons are rare and the mere notion that an adult one might be so close was too tantalizing.
Thus, I hastily departed. After the journey, during which nothing much of importance happened, I arrived in the vicinity and made camp, next to a small flowing brook, allowing myself to welcome the sounds of the water and nature around me. We get so little of that in its purest form here in the city.
Barely an hour had passed, deep in meditation, when I caught the hint of a sound I subsequently realized had been the faint sound of flapping. A short time after that, I was hailed by a female voice from further up the brook.
I looked up and saw … the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon. Her hair was a shimmering yellowish-brown and flowed down her back. We talked that night and I explained what I was doing there. She smiled and asked what I wished to know, cementing in my head the certainty of who she was.”
I do not know that either of us was in love, but we both quickly became extremely … fond … of each other. So much so that, when I invited her to return here, to Faena Dorei, with me, she agreed. She was endlessly fascinated by how we lived and did her absolute best to make others comfortable with her presence.
As the seasons turned, she and I acted as two who are that close to each other do at times. Immediately after you were born, she begged me. She said, “Andresin, as much I wish I could, you and I both know I cannot stay here forever to raise him. Please, you must agree to do so – when the time comes for me to leave.”
Holding you in my arms, how could I possibly refuse?
By the look on your face, I can tell you understand just who and … what … your mother is. I don’t know if you’ve read sufficient of those scrolls of mine, yet, in your studies, but I will tell you directly.
One of the curious bonds between a female dragon and its offspring is how the mother will always respond to a cry for help. Indeed, it is generally accepted that a dragonling will never call for its mother, by name, unless it is in dire need.
So, you also, hopefully, now understand that you, too, must never call for her.
Know that she will be there should you do so, and that she will be of a mind to utterly obliterate anything and anyone near you which might provide even the merest hint of a threat to you.
I believe you are old enough, now, to learn her true name. And I will teach it to you, written down, and you can say parts of it for my ears only, to ensure you are able say it properly, should the need ever arise.
Thus it was that Lhoris learned his mother’s name was Harynth, known as the Lady of the Skies. And, as his father had admitted in full, he was a mix-breed of ljosalfar and a bronze dragon. His mother had maintained humanoid form for the entirety of her pregnancy and most of the time she lived in Faena Dorei prior to leaving completely.
He finally also understood why, as a very young child, there had been occasional nights when his mother had been absent and he could hear the sounds of lightning, with the massive flashes of light shining through the windows, illuminating the skies. Those had been his mother, reverting to her true form and releasing her built-up tension of being confined to a humanoid form and the constraining walls of an elvish city. Dragons were not intended for city life and, no matter how uncomfortable it had been, she truly had stayed for as long as she could.
Lhoris had recently turned twenty years old – a trifling number for elves, who typically measured lifespans well into the hundreds of years. On the other hand, elvish children were few and far between, so the passage of time for an elvish youth was considered worthy of notice.
While growing to this age, he had, of course, gone through the expected physical changes of his body growing. He was now as tall as his father, a healthy six feet, and his body was not particularly shaped differently from any other fully-grown elf. If you were looking at his back, in the dark, he would be indistinguishable from any other resident of Faena Dorei.
All elves, of course, could see in the dark, but such conditions removed all hints of color, leaving everything as simply a shaded monotone. The darkness would hide the different complexion of his skin, which stubbornly persisted to be that same yellow-green-brown, now fully understood by Lhoris to be characteristics of bronze thanks to his mother.
Nothing, however, could hide his eyes. They had changed from their initial faded tint to become glowing green orbs. Any time he was with someone in the evening or at night, the subtle sense of discomfort of others was clearly conveyed to him.
Thankfully, over the past year, his eyes were changing once more. The glow was disappearing, but now he was left with simply a dull, solid green showing. He could still see with perfect clarity, and he supposed there was a certain advantage from the lack of distinct irises – no one else could determine what he was actually looking at.
But he had begun feeling very uncomfortable “in his own skin”. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was bothering him, but he felt some sense of … something … building inside him and he couldn’t figure out how to release it.
Then, one evening, he had stopped at one of the many small botanical buildings which were scattered throughout Faena Dorei. None of the ljosalfar had a need for sleep, as such, but it was customary to spend some time in a meditative trance, and it was most comforting to do so with a closer exposure to nature.
Lhoris seated himself at one of the small tables and had begun to relax when, suddenly, whatever had been building inside him demanded release. And it demanded to be released NOW!
Without thinking and unable to control himself, he tilted his head back and … roared! The sound reverberated throughout the small building, startling the few others there out of their trances, and they all began running for the doorways to the street.
As his roar continued, he felt a crackling of energy in the back of his throat. Suddenly, a blast of lightning erupted through his mouth, bursting through the ceiling and the roof.
When it finally died down, he felt limp and empty, staring up, now, at the starry sky, revealed by the gaping hole which had, until a few moments ago, been the remainder of the building.
Before he had a chance to come to terms with what had happened, uncontrollably, Lhoris was standing before the Elders of Faena Dorei.
“Lhoris Ualiar! Your presence here can no longer be allowed. You are summarily banished from this city. You have until sun down tomorrow to collect whatever you wish to take with you and then you are to depart.”
Elnaril Dayarus, the current head of the Elders, looked at him with something akin to pity, as one would gaze upon a wounded animal, contemplating putting it out of its misery.
“Normally, we would consider you far too young to be held responsible for the destruction you have caused, but this is impossible to overlook. You have done too much damage and you are clearly unable to control … whatever you are. But it is now clear, for all to see, that no matter what you are, a true ljosalfar is not it. I speak for all of us when I say we do not wish you ill. But your future … your fate … is elsewhere.”
Another voice whose speaker Lhoris could not identify added, “… preferably far, far, away from here.”
Eyes downcast, Lhoris turned as the Elder addressed his father.
“Andresin Ualiar! While you may assist your son with preparations for his journey, your punishment is that you may not accompany him. For the next ten years, you are required to forego any of your research journeys or any other travel away from Faena Dorei.”
Andresin nodded glumly in acceptance of this punishment, although Lhoris was unsure which was the greater loss for his father – his son, or the ability to travel for research.
“This hearing is complete.”
The abruptness with which he’d been banished from his home left Lhoris unsure of what to do or where to go. Aside from stories told by his father and others, he knew nothing of the outside world and even less of whatever had … awakened … inside himself. All he did know was – it was uncontrolled and he was likely to hurt those around him.
At first, he had contemplated calling for his mother, but feared she would view his banishment as a personal affront to herself and wreak vengeance on the entirety of Faena Dorei. But that would be wrong. After all, he had harmed them far more than any possible wrong done to him.
He spent a season wandering and becoming more accustomed to the manners of the other races around him – the humans, dwarves, gnomes, and so on. He was shocked the first time he met other elves, both those of the wood and even those of the underground. Perhaps Faena Dorei’s expectations of the dokkalfar and their behavior were incorrect, he thought, or just from much earlier times.
Whenever he could feel whatever it was inside him starting to build up, he would find a secluded spot, far away from others, be it field or mountain or wherever. And then he would wait for the roar and burst of destructive energy before continuing to travel.
One day, making his way along a path through woods, he heard the sounds of a nearby waterfall. His waterskin could always do with being topped off and it would not be a terrible thing to take some time to bathe as best he could.
Using the sound of crashing water as a guide, he quickly found his way to the waterfall and pool which formed beneath it. Stepping into the small clearing, he was surprised to see a male human standing directly under the fall. His tunic was folded and put to the side of the water and the man was … just standing there.
As amazing as it was how the human could withstand the brutal pounding of the water, and how chilled he must be, Lhoris moved closer and discovered yet another astonishing fact. The man not only balanced on what was clearly a slippery, wet rock, but he did so while standing on one foot, his other leg bent. He also was performing some odd sequence of movements with his arms.
“Greetings to you!” he called.
The man opened his eyes, barely turning his head and not interrupting his motion at all. “And greetings to you as well, young elf.”
“I’d meant to use these waters to bathe, but I must ask. How are you accomplishing that?” Lhoris gestured generally at all the man was doing.
“All of this? It is a simple task, if one but studies. It is a matter of training in the arts of motion and the discipline to remain unperturbed by my surroundings.”
Lhoris sat down, fascinated, continuing to watch the man.
“Is this discipline just for the body? I note that the seasons are turning again and that water must be extremely cold for you.”
“Perhaps it is cold, perhaps it is not. My mind is equally subject discipline. Were I to allow my practice to be disrupted, I suppose I would feel the cold. But then I might shiver and would surely tumble, falling into the water. Even worse, though, I would be failing myself, and my master back at the monastery would be most disappointed in me.”
“Your … master? Monastery?” Lhoris thought he knew the meaning of those words, but sensed they were being used in a different form from his expectation.
“Yes. My master is the head of the Jaistralerion Monastery where we train ourselves in the ways of motion and the striking through the use of that motion. Some of that training is, of course, for our minds, or our bodies would be unable to do what we do.”
Saying this, he went through a complex series of movements with such speed they were blurred even to Lhoris’ quick eyes, catching only the barest hint of the man’s hands and legs flicking in motions that mimicked striking imaginary foes. Somehow, in the course of doing so, the man had also switched which leg he was standing on, yet his torso had not shifted even an inch.
“I … find myself in need, I think, of training such as you describe. Not for the ability to move as you do, but for the mental control.”
“Ah, but the one is impossible without the other.” The man paused for a moment. “I am finished here now. If you would forego your bath and walk with me, I can introduce you to my master and the two of you can decide if you are suitable?”
“I can always find my way back here, or to another stream or location to bathe. I accept! Oh, and forgive my manners. I am Lhoris Ualiar.”
“Yashiro Noritada.” The man leapt off the stone, flipping in the air to land gracefully on his feet outside of the water. Using the edge of his hand, he brushed some of the water off his body. He grabbed his tunic, putting it on and lacing it up.
Lhoris had lived and trained in Jaistralerion Monastery for the past twenty years. It was just before mid-day and, as usual, he joined the other monks in the central courtyard, for communal exercise then practicing forms and movements. In total, thirty-two bodies, his included, moved as one – in perfect synchronization – going through the motions of combat, punctuating each strike against imaginary opponents with a sharp exhalation of breath and a shout, allowing them to add force to those strikes.
With his body trained to move almost without thought, Lhoris allowed his mind to drift and recall those first days just after his initial arrival …
Master Zhu Xuefeng had heard his story and accepted him as an aspirant. One of his first tasks to show his dedication had been to clear out a storage room, removing the contents, cleaning and sorting them all. The room itself was to be scrubbed spotless and then the contents returned.
Far in the back corner of that room a staff leaned against the wall, looking as if it had been discarded. It was out of place, compared with the other boxes and furniture and clothing in the room. When he asked one of the other monks about it, he was told it had probably been some treasure or trinket of an earlier Master and not to be overly concerned – just treat it as everything else in the room.
And then … Lhoris had placed a hand on it and gasped. The same lightning he expelled when overfull flowed from his body into the staff, making it shimmer briefly. Somehow, the staff called to him as he held it. Unsure of what this meant, he brought it to Master Zhu, full of questions about the meaning of this sensation.
“We always suspected it was an artifact. And you seem to have proven that theory, awakening it. Think of it as a way for a mage to more easily channel their powers and focus their energy.” Zhu mused for a moment. “Once you gain a measure of discipline over yourself, your mind and your body, I will allow you to have it and train with it as well. It is, after all, a well-made staff and that is certainly one of the weapon forms we train. But I believe you will discover, for you, it has other uses. And I expect you to master those as well.”
In the intervening years since then, Lhoris had, indeed, trained diligently, gaining control over both his body and his innate magic. Once he began training with weapons in addition to his own fists and feet, all forms with a staff were included in his repertoire. Somehow, using that staff to channel magic felt natural. He had already gained control of his energy and this simply enhanced his capabilities, making it so much easier to use his magic.
Training to simultaneously channel magic and move his body for combat was difficult, but that was what continuous training was for – achieving the necessary discipline of his mind to let nothing around him disturb his motions and gestures.
As they completed this day’s sequence of motions, Master Zhu stepped onto the platform. All the monks turned to face him, right fist to left palm, bowing in respect. Master Zhu carried Lhoris’ staff. To everyone else present, it was simply yet another staff, albeit known to be the one Lhoris trained with. Only to Lhoris’ eyes did it have the same slight shimmering effect it held since the first time he’d touched it.
“Lhoris Ualiar! Step forth and stand before me!”
This was a ritual he’d seen several times and he was surprised it was now his turn. As he leapt deftly on to the platform, Master Zhu turned toward him.
Lhoris bowed deeply to his Master and stood, approximately 40 feet away, in a relaxed “ready” position.
“Let us see what you have learned.”
Barely moments after uttering those words, Master Zhu flung the staff at Lhoris, and immediately lunged at him, arms set to deliver a series of devastating blows, should they land.
Knowing this assault would occur, Lhoris snatched the whirling staff with his left hand and dodged to the side, rolling, to narrowly avoid the strikes. Coming to his feet, he spun, the words already forming in his mouth as he poured magic into the staff. In an instant, the energy released from his outstretched hand, a blast of lightning arcing towards Master Zhu. He followed that by bringing the staff around, swinging it for a strike at the nearby man, and preparing to make his next attack.
As expected, both his strikes missed. In all his time at the monastery, he’d never seen anyone so much as lay a finger on the Master, even by accident, and that included someone accidentally tripping with a tray of utensils, flinging them all at him. Instead of following Lhoris’ missed attacks with a response strike, Master Zhu stood, relaxed and smiling.
“I believe you are sufficiently ready. Lhoris Ualiar, you have trained here for many years. I declare, before all those assembled here today, you are now qualified as a serious student of our ways and are worthy of being declared a Nanakyu in rank. Your name will be recorded with that title and let none question it.”
All of the monks bowed, this time to Lhoris, in respect for his accomplishment. He returned the bow and turned once again to his master.
“I will not say you have learned all you can here, for that would take a lifetime, even possibly your lifetime as a measure. But, you have learned enough to understand how to learn more.
“I grant you possession of the staff you hold. It is a powerful ally in your hands and you must treat it with the respect it deserves.”
“Of course, Master.” Lhoris stood straight, the staff at his side, the lower tip barely touching the platform, and bowed, not allowing the staff to waver by even a hair.
“But, as is our custom, it is time for you to venture forth. This is not a dismissal, as you have suffered before. Instead it is an invitation. Use this opportunity to seek out other trainings and learn from them. Spend time with others, teaching them our ways as well. Once you have become even more capable, return to us that we may also learn and expand what we know.
“And remember – while traveling, do not strike until and unless it is needful. But, as you have been taught, when it is necessary to strike, do so without hesitation, and with all the force you can bring to bear.”
Lhoris bowed once more.
Zhu’s voice softened. “And now, Lhoris, before you depart, will you humor your master one last time?”
“Anything which is in my power to do, Master.”
The corner of Master Zhu’s mouth twitched slightly, showing just the hint of a smile. “Light the sky for me and for all those assembled here. Show us your full power.”
It was impossible to not smile in response to this request. He had first come to this monastery as the result of the very first sudden and uncontrolled burst of his magic. Doing the same, but demonstrating his self-discipline and mastery over that same magic flowing through him felt like an appropriate pairing with the cause of his arrival. He tilted his head back, and took a deep breath, filling his lungs. Then, he did something he had not done in years.
Lhoris roared.
This was not the quick, sharp exhalation shout of a strike being made. This was a guttural scream, reverberating through everything and everyone around him.
And then, barely an instant after he started, he released his raw power, pouring it into the roar. Lightning burst forth from his mouth, spreading brighter than the sun, and turning the sky above him white with its intensity.
