Saz Eristrad
04-13-16, 12:40 AM
-I-
What we found there
His first memory was of fire.
When we found the man, his body was burnt and scarred. Burns and cuts that healed badly riddled his torso. His eyes were cold, as though the warmth had gone from them forever. The shackles burrowed deep into his wrists were too ingrained to ever be removed. We wondered how he had survived, and if he would be so lucky beyond the darkness.
We only knew he lived because of his breathing. That infernal sound will haunt me forever. Like ashes carried on the wind rattling through a grate, every intake of breath sounded dry and metallic. His lungs had been reduced to frail, pained things.
Through his chest was a wicked blade. Blood had ceased flowing from the wound long ago. Half-hearted, I approached him and placed a hand on the pommel of the sword. I looked up into his face, and his gaze seemed to acknowledge me.
I had a mind to offer him the kindness, but he smiled in spite of his condition.
He smiled the most wretched mockery of a smile I have ever witnessed. No man who had seen hell ought ever be able to curve his lips upward. When he spoke, my mouth fell open. “I saw a flame.”
I wrenched the blade slowly free of his form as he wailed in agony. The black weapon slid out coated in viscera with a sick slurp. When I finished, he fell to his knees grasping the wound.
My men toiled for three hours to sunder the chains that bound him. All the while, he laughed with us, shared our drink and broke his fast with us. He told us that his name was Saz, but that was all he could remember. No dark tale of how he came to be chained in this place, and no memory of the horrors that left him in such a state. As I came to know Saz better, I cleaned his wounds and laid salve over his burns to ease the heat that doubtless tormented him. I spoke with him of my family, and of work, and wondered if he remembered such things.
“I remember a fire,” was all he said. When asked to explain, he only shook his head. “There was always darkness,” Saz told me. “I often felt like there was something before that, but it always hurt. It burned.”
I asked if he was able to walk, and he could. Then I asked if he wished to accompany us, and he did. I took one of my spare cloaks and wreathed him in it. “I’m afraid that the shackles have fused with your flesh,” I told him. “If I were to remove them, it would mean taking your hands.”
“I do not mind them,” he replied. “It is enough that the chains are gone.”
“And what of the sword?” I asked.
He reached for the blade that once impaled him, and he took it in a firm grip. “It is a familiar thing,” he said. “I have so few, I cannot help but remain fond of them. Even those that caused me pain.” I collected cloth from the healers and we wrapped his profane weapon, then he slung it across his back. “And if I am to travel with you, it may be of use.”
Saz struck me instantly as a strange man. His body looked frail, almost ghostly white, and yet he carried on with the endurance of a fit man. All of his limbs seemed skeletal from malnourishment. That he retained any strength at all terrifies me, in truth.
-2-
Coming Home
Our return to the village was met with the generic disinterest most mercenary companies receive. Several odd glances toward Saz notwithstanding, the entire journey proved uneventful, and we all missed our beds. I offered my spare room to him, and Saz gratefully accepted.
When we ate dinner, my wife spoke at length with him about the kingdom. Saz seemed thrilled to hear about the world, like a child learning for the first time about the vastness of Kebiras, of Althanas, and of all the places in between. My daughter Sasha would not look at him.
There was something to be feared about a gaunt man who evaded death for countless ages, I confess.
I have spent most nights in the archives of our village, and even had correspondence with some of the more impressive libraries across the world to discover the nature of Saz’s plight. Many doubts have been expressed about the veracity of my claim, but Saz remains clear and present proof of my discovery.
He works in the company now, a hired hand for anyone willing to pay the price. His body has healed remarkably, I am glad to say, and he looks much more like one of the villagefolk than he did when he arrived. Sasha has grown quite fond of him in the past few months.
-3-
Ominous Warnings
I received word from one of the Druids of Raiaera. Based on my description, he believes Saz to have been a sacrifice of some kind. Of course, with Saz still living I find that possibility to be somewhat farfetched.
But I have seen stranger things.
Saz left the village several weeks ago, on a job in the west. His travels to Althanas may shed some light on the past he has forgotten, which is my great hope. If there is any kindness among the divine, they will give the man back his life. And with luck, I might see him again.
Sasha is not happy, though. I fear that she will leave and go after him. I hope that she does not.
Saz is 5'11", has striking eyes that almost seem black, and is on the slim side. He wears tattered black robes and his body is wrapped in bandages. On his back hangs a large blade, wreathed in cloth.
Inventory: Black Robes, Linen; Shackles, forged of a strange metal. (They are nigh unbreakable, cannot be sold, and are strictly a plot device.)
Abilities:
Inhuman Endurance: Due to his long and difficult time sealed away in the darkness, Saz is easily able to withstand punishment. He takes much longer to wear down than an average person, able to take twice the beating an average person could without stopping.
Fire in the Blood: Something stirs within Saz. Natural cold does not bother him, and ice based elemental damage is slightly less effective. He is less sluggish when afflicted by frost.
At this point, Saz is incapable of harnessing the power of the blade on his back. For all intents and purposes, it is to be construed as an Iron quality Greatsword.
What we found there
His first memory was of fire.
When we found the man, his body was burnt and scarred. Burns and cuts that healed badly riddled his torso. His eyes were cold, as though the warmth had gone from them forever. The shackles burrowed deep into his wrists were too ingrained to ever be removed. We wondered how he had survived, and if he would be so lucky beyond the darkness.
We only knew he lived because of his breathing. That infernal sound will haunt me forever. Like ashes carried on the wind rattling through a grate, every intake of breath sounded dry and metallic. His lungs had been reduced to frail, pained things.
Through his chest was a wicked blade. Blood had ceased flowing from the wound long ago. Half-hearted, I approached him and placed a hand on the pommel of the sword. I looked up into his face, and his gaze seemed to acknowledge me.
I had a mind to offer him the kindness, but he smiled in spite of his condition.
He smiled the most wretched mockery of a smile I have ever witnessed. No man who had seen hell ought ever be able to curve his lips upward. When he spoke, my mouth fell open. “I saw a flame.”
I wrenched the blade slowly free of his form as he wailed in agony. The black weapon slid out coated in viscera with a sick slurp. When I finished, he fell to his knees grasping the wound.
My men toiled for three hours to sunder the chains that bound him. All the while, he laughed with us, shared our drink and broke his fast with us. He told us that his name was Saz, but that was all he could remember. No dark tale of how he came to be chained in this place, and no memory of the horrors that left him in such a state. As I came to know Saz better, I cleaned his wounds and laid salve over his burns to ease the heat that doubtless tormented him. I spoke with him of my family, and of work, and wondered if he remembered such things.
“I remember a fire,” was all he said. When asked to explain, he only shook his head. “There was always darkness,” Saz told me. “I often felt like there was something before that, but it always hurt. It burned.”
I asked if he was able to walk, and he could. Then I asked if he wished to accompany us, and he did. I took one of my spare cloaks and wreathed him in it. “I’m afraid that the shackles have fused with your flesh,” I told him. “If I were to remove them, it would mean taking your hands.”
“I do not mind them,” he replied. “It is enough that the chains are gone.”
“And what of the sword?” I asked.
He reached for the blade that once impaled him, and he took it in a firm grip. “It is a familiar thing,” he said. “I have so few, I cannot help but remain fond of them. Even those that caused me pain.” I collected cloth from the healers and we wrapped his profane weapon, then he slung it across his back. “And if I am to travel with you, it may be of use.”
Saz struck me instantly as a strange man. His body looked frail, almost ghostly white, and yet he carried on with the endurance of a fit man. All of his limbs seemed skeletal from malnourishment. That he retained any strength at all terrifies me, in truth.
-2-
Coming Home
Our return to the village was met with the generic disinterest most mercenary companies receive. Several odd glances toward Saz notwithstanding, the entire journey proved uneventful, and we all missed our beds. I offered my spare room to him, and Saz gratefully accepted.
When we ate dinner, my wife spoke at length with him about the kingdom. Saz seemed thrilled to hear about the world, like a child learning for the first time about the vastness of Kebiras, of Althanas, and of all the places in between. My daughter Sasha would not look at him.
There was something to be feared about a gaunt man who evaded death for countless ages, I confess.
I have spent most nights in the archives of our village, and even had correspondence with some of the more impressive libraries across the world to discover the nature of Saz’s plight. Many doubts have been expressed about the veracity of my claim, but Saz remains clear and present proof of my discovery.
He works in the company now, a hired hand for anyone willing to pay the price. His body has healed remarkably, I am glad to say, and he looks much more like one of the villagefolk than he did when he arrived. Sasha has grown quite fond of him in the past few months.
-3-
Ominous Warnings
I received word from one of the Druids of Raiaera. Based on my description, he believes Saz to have been a sacrifice of some kind. Of course, with Saz still living I find that possibility to be somewhat farfetched.
But I have seen stranger things.
Saz left the village several weeks ago, on a job in the west. His travels to Althanas may shed some light on the past he has forgotten, which is my great hope. If there is any kindness among the divine, they will give the man back his life. And with luck, I might see him again.
Sasha is not happy, though. I fear that she will leave and go after him. I hope that she does not.
Saz is 5'11", has striking eyes that almost seem black, and is on the slim side. He wears tattered black robes and his body is wrapped in bandages. On his back hangs a large blade, wreathed in cloth.
Inventory: Black Robes, Linen; Shackles, forged of a strange metal. (They are nigh unbreakable, cannot be sold, and are strictly a plot device.)
Abilities:
Inhuman Endurance: Due to his long and difficult time sealed away in the darkness, Saz is easily able to withstand punishment. He takes much longer to wear down than an average person, able to take twice the beating an average person could without stopping.
Fire in the Blood: Something stirs within Saz. Natural cold does not bother him, and ice based elemental damage is slightly less effective. He is less sluggish when afflicted by frost.
At this point, Saz is incapable of harnessing the power of the blade on his back. For all intents and purposes, it is to be construed as an Iron quality Greatsword.