Beshaba's Smile - Andrid Severi's Character Sheet

[Fez]

Name: Andrid Severi
Nick Name: Red Ink (Amnish slang for “bad luck”). Often shortened to simply, "Red".

Race: Aasimar. Unknown to him he has a pinch of "Eladrin" blood running through his veins, specifically the knight-errant "Ghaele".

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Deity: Shar. Although strongly devoted he is incredibly secretive of his faith.

Origin:
Born in the poorer docks district in Athkatla, he still retains (much to his annoyance) the lower class Athkatlan accent. Like most of the country he is descent from Calimsham and thus is shorter than the average human and has dusky skin. His celestial blood is evidenced through the slight points of his ears and his unnatural way of seeming to stare straight through people.

Languages:
• Common.
• Celestial. He dislikes using or hearing it and cannot write it. His prayers to Shar are made in it, as he finds it ammusing to use a "goodly" tongue to worship an evil god.
• Halfling. As Hin make up 15% of the population in Athkatla, it’s understandable he picked this up.

Traits:
• Only cares for himself. If it serves his long term interests he’ll turn on even the staunchest of allies.
• Usually quite polite but has a sarcastic sense of humour.
• Loathes other Aasimar.
• Oddly enjoys the company of Hin more than other humans.



Short(er) History:

While most of the Aasimar race became paragons of good and order, this can be changed all too easily. Whether Beshaba smiled on his birth or Tymora turned her back, it was clear from day one that he would be one of the few that fell through the planar cracks. Born an unwanted son to a dockside concubine, Andrid’s early years were less than pleasant. While lucky not to have been drowned at birth as was the custom with unwanted children, it is arguable that his fate was all the more worse for it. His mother was only interested in his use as an object to scam past clients for a few coppers and once he grew too old to be used effectively in this manner, he was cast out. He never saw her again.

Like most outcasts of his young age, Andrid quickly found himself running with a group of other street children. While the taint of his celestial blood screamed against it, he was forced out of necessity for survival to commit less than legal or moral acts. Burglary, muggings and outright warfare with other gangs saw Andrid quickly developing a hard outer shell. His celestial heritage became a hindrance for him, as it made him different from those he had surrounded himself with and different is not a good thing to be when such people are young, violent, criminals. More than once he found he had to defend himself violently due to simple taunting gone too far. He did not understand why he was different, only that he was and it seemed to be the cause of much of his problems.

It was not until the mid teens when Andrid first even heard the word, “Aasimar”. A group of Sharran clerics caught him an several other youths while looting their (less than) secret temple. The other boys were quickly slain but when the vengeful priests turned to Andrid, the head priest was intrigued. She knew immediately what the child was, and saw him as a message from her God. For surely Shar wished her to take this boy who should have been an agent of good, and twist his hopeless situation around him so that he might serve her instead. The priest offered Andrid a choice between servitude and death, one that he easily made.

Over the next few years Andrid acted as a house boy for the temple. He was taught to clean and eventually cook. During this time he found himself content, as he subconsciously looked to the head priest as the mother figure he never had. He was taught to write and how to speak properly, although he never managed to lose the lower class accent. Eventually she began to tutor him in the Sharran faith, slowly placing honeyed words in his ear until he eventually came to accept it. She explained what he was in depth, showing him picture after picture of golden-haired warriors of good. It was not the Aasimar that Andrid focussed on at these times however, rather those surrounding them, all smiling. Slowly a deep hatred and dull rage began to form in his gut and he found himself loathing such beings, Aasimar that had been lucky enough to be in the position to gain such love, where he had not.

Once he came of age, Andrid was tasked by the Sharrans to be a spy of sorts. He took up various positions as a private guard around the city and would report back the comings and goings during his shift. It was the first time in his life where he felt he had any real power over another. He could deny others entry for whatever reason, or outright attack those who seemed that they did not belong. He began to take on somewhat shadier tasks, and rather than be a simple guard he became muscle to get a client’s point across.

This all came to a crashing halt, with the recent plague in Amn. Athkatla was hit hard; by the end of the plague 20% of the population would be dead. Among these were the Sharran priests, who due to the temple’s location in the poorer quarters of the city, were more susceptible to the plague. Distraught at the loss of the only place he would ever consider “home”, Andrid fled the city on the first merchant vessel he could gain passage with. A vessel that brought him to the city of Baldur’s Gate.


((For those interested: http://forgottenrealms.wikia.com/wiki/Amnian_phrases lists some Amnish phrases.))

[Fez]

First Impressions

*written in the somewhat shaky hand of one who learned to write at a much later stage in their life. Despite this, the language oddly appears to be written by one of some intelligence*

Before the most untimely end of my most blessed Mother, it was suggested that I keep a journal, if ony to improve my writing abilities. I suppose now is as good a time as any, since I am new to this region and will need some way to keep my thoughts in order, lest I become like the natives.

At times I am rather tempted to risk plague and return to my homeland. These northern... Barbarians, have no concept of tact nor business.

The voyage to this thrice cursed region was apalling at best. One less than bright sailor thought it would be a good idea to supplement his rations from barrels filled with spoilt goods. Suffice to say he died a rather agonizing death. While usually I would pay such no heed beyond a brief moment of ammusement, this incident served to hinder my arrival at the city somewhat.

Our apparently worldly captain decided it would be best to be truthful in his reports to the harbormaster before docking. With all the intelligence a kobold such as he could muster, he chose to report the death but forgot to mention its cause. Due to the plague in my homeland the ship was quarantined and we were left to sit on that rotten ship for a month, with only the mercy of The Bitch Queen to accompany us. I will henceforth vow never to travel by such means again.

Apart from the odd stares and questions, I have had very little contact with these barbarians. Most seem willing to smile and assist strangers on the road, regardless of how risky such a meeting could be. I have taken all advantage I could of such "charity", all the while the fools are quite happy to give it, no doubt fooled by my outwardly pleasant demeanor. One such imbecile even risked life and limb to save me from a giant. The kobold went so far as to tend my wounds and bless me, asking for naught in return. I cannot imagine how such naive beings have managed to survive past their tenth winter.

If this were not enough, even the most simple of threats are lost on this strange group. In my homeland, if a masked man were to offer "insurance" one would gladly pay the small token to ensure their skull was not caved in. Yet here I find I am forced to eventually resort to such statements as, "Your money or your life". Never have I missed home as much as when after such a statement was issued, the brute proceeded to bludgeon me rather than pay my paltry sum. He is lucky my foot slipped on that stone...

I am further appalled at the bigotry of this city, Baldur's Gate. In my most beloved home land faith and worship are free, where one can praise whatever God they wish. Yet here I find the worship of my most lovely and dark Lady is a crime. I suppose this will simply require further adherence to Her faith, as such a faith must be carried out in secret.

Alas, perhaps I should give this place more time. I may after all find a pearl admist the muck.

((Thanks to those who have now saved my worthless bum on several occasions, my character might not think much of it, but I do!))