Shadowefil

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

Yep I'm still here!

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

Name: Jatan (no last name, as he never knew his parents)
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Race: Elf
Class: Monk (Level 0)

What you want to be when you grow up?
Jatan aspires to be a master monk and to one day run his own monastery. He believes it is his duty to set others on a path to spiritual enlightenment, as his master did for him.

Who is your mentor?
When Jatan mysteriously arrived as a baby in Loudwater, his parents could not be found. Lacking a home, the orphan was taken in by the head monk at the local monastery: Edgar Blackheart. Edgar became a mentor and spiritual guide for Jatan. He has earned Jatan's unwavering admiration and loyalty, and Jatan hopes to become a head monk himself one day.

Brief Biography:
Little is known about Jatan's parents. The elven boy was left abandoned on the streets of Loudwater late one night. The local monastery that Jatan, like many orphans, was taken to quickly became his home. Although he is an elf, he adapted quickly to many of the human rituals he encountered. Particularly fascinated by the monastery's patron deity, Torm, Jatan delved into religious and spiritual studies. He strives to promote justice and protect the weak, as any true servant of Torm would. In addition to religious studies, Jatan was also taught basic martial arts. Early morning runs with the other boys, solitary prayer, tumbling and combat practice, and meditation became normalized parts of his daily routine. As an elf, Jatan often felt at odds with the other boys, all of whom were human. Although he was never picked on outright, he would rarely be invited to free hour activities, so he spent a lot of time to himself. Most of this time was used to read poetry, which Jatan views as an avenue through which he can become closer to Torm. Though he will never publicly admit it, Jatan longs to befriend other elves, find his parents, and reconnect to that lost part of his heritage.

Recently, Jatan fled the monastery and has taken to hiding in Loudwater. The forced religion hit the monastery even harder than the rest of the town. Few monks agreed to give up their faith. Locals stormed the monastery, dragging Edgar out and publicly executing him. Edgar became the first of several such executions. Knowing in his heart that he must do what he can to resist this tyranny, Jatan has holed up in a shady part of town where he can continue his worship of Torm in secret and bide his time until an opportunity for justice arises.

What person(s) of interest do you know where you are from? Who all do you have a relationship with?:
Jatan knew his mentor, Edgar, (now deceased). He knows many of the other boys and leaders of the monastery, though he was never particularly close to anyone except Edgar. Moreover, many of the monks have dispersed after Edgar's execution, and Jatan has no way to find them.

Equipment:
- A backpack
- Small Hunting Knife
- Spare Robes
- A canteen
- Standard Peasant Garb
- A quarterstaff he took from the monastery before he left (Jatan left his few silver pieces behind to cover the expense, of course).
- A small book of poetry by famous Elvish poet Arphenion

Class Skills:
- Basic meditation
- Basic unarmed combat training
- Basic tumbling
- Basic quarterstaff training
- Dodge: small chance to avoid basic attacks that are seen beforehand
- Potion Use: Some familiarity with holy potions, can slightly enhance their effect

Life Skills:
- Literate in common (not Elven, as he was orphaned and never learned the language or cultural practices of the Elves)
- Basic knowledge of poetry
- Religious knowledge about Torm

Clues:
Realizes that the townsfolk are controlled by some type of magic.

Was told by the monks at his monastery that "Even Gods have enemies."

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

Finally posted - sorry for the wait!

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

The situation would have looked almost comical, had their lives not been in grave jeopardy. Brisa, hanging on for dear life to Dreknor's boot like a cat clinging to a tree limb, was being violently shaken up and down. So far, she had managed to keep hold. Her devotion to the Argurios must be that strong.

Aiden's dagger had buried itself in Dreknor's back, but it seemed to have no effect. In fact, the man didn't even stop to remove it. He simply backhanded the boy sending him sprawling backwards. Jatan winced. He himself was still reeling from being thrown to the ground. Dreknor would kill them all. This was where it would end.

Jatan gasped as he was violently wrenched up onto his feet. Someone had lifted him by yanking sharply on the top of his robe. As he turned to look, the man grabbed Jatan's face to make sure Jatan held his gaze. "Listen closely Jatan, and do exactly as I say, and you just might live through this." He shoved a glass vial containing a strange, tan liquid into Jatan's hand. "Spread this on your injured friend's leg. There isn't much but it will have to do. Then, head straight to the docks; do not stop for anything. Get on the boat and leave. Do you understand?"

It was Kevar, second in command at the monastery. He had come to save them!

He slapped Jatan's cheek, "Jatan! I asked you if you understand?"

He couldn't focus. Everything. Happening. So. Fast.

His body was moving. Kevar was shaking him. "It's not hopeless Jatan. It never is. You need to remember this: everyone, even Gods have enemies."

Gods have...enemies? What does he mean?

Someone shrieked in pain. Turning, Jatan saw Shaben, another instructor at the monastery clutching a broken leg. Shaben had pulled Dreknor off Brisa and Aiden, but Shaben was about to suffer for it. Jatan clamped his eyes shut as Dreknor's fist flew towards Shaben's face, but it didn't block out the sickening crack of bone shattering. The nausea bubbled within him. "JATAN! NOW!" He felt himself pushed towards Argurios and Brisa and he stumbled forward a few steps but his eyes were still locked on Kevar. Kevar was holding something...something Jatan couldn't lift his eyes off…

The quarterstaff, it was magical. The most powerful, and beautiful possession in the monastery. Not that the monastery had many valuable possessions; monks lived frugally, after all. But this staff had been blessed in holy waters and had been enchanted by a powerful cleric of Torm. Surely, Dreknor was doomed.

Like a pole vaulter, Kevar sprung forward with the help of the staff, soaring into the air over Dreknor. He brought the staff smashing down into Dreknor's shoulder. That caught Dreknor's attention, and he winced in pain. Kevar's eyes fixated on Jatan for just a moment or two, but that was all it took. Jatan saw fear. For Kevar to be afraid, he must know that the situation was hopeless. It was a sacrifice. Kevar was just buying them time. Jatan wouldn't waste that gift.

Steeling himself, he sprinted to Argurios and Brisa. Even though he didn't know the half-orc, he had to help him. His leg was broken. "Hold him still," he directed Brisa, hoping she could stay calm long enough to help. He would apply whatever medicine or potion Kevar had given him to Argurios' leg. Then they could leave. Anywhere, literally anywhere, had to be better than this cursed town.

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

Hey sorry my post is taking FOREVER. The holidays have been crazy but I promise I am working on one (slowly but surely haha)

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

I am indeed still here - I'll get to work on it!

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

So...how's life everyone?

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

"Ya'll go on ahead. I'll be right behind you."

The boy was either extremely brave or he had a death wish. It was difficult to tell which. One thing was certain; there was no way he could take on an enforcer all by himself. It was doubtful that they could defeat him together, even outnumbering him four to one. Jatan had seen the invasion of his monastery, had seen seasoned monks' limbs cracked like twigs. Something was not right about these men. They moved faster, hit harder than should be humanly possible.

That's when he recognized the boy's words for what they were - a distraction! He must be giving Brisa and the half-orc time to regain their feet. But Jatan could make use of this distraction too. This guy had to have a weak point somewhere….

There! His eyes! Deep blue, they seemed to hold at bay a deep anger that could come crashing out at any moment, like a violent wave at sea. Blinking. Scanning. Glaring. Vulnerable.

Of course, not all people could be debilitated by blindness. Jatan remembered one particularly challenging exercise the senior monks used to challenge themselves; they fought blindfolded. Edgar was particularly accomplished at this feat. No matter how quietly, quickly, or cleverly his opponent approached, he was somehow able to sense them and send them careening to the floor with a snapping kick or a forceful toss. Still, fighting while blind was no easy task, especially for someone without training. And it was doubtful this enforcer had that training.

It was time to put the theory to the test.

As Dreknor turned his attention towards the boy, Jatan slunk cautiously clockwise, hoping to flank his foe. If the enforcer made a move towards the boy, Jatan would fling himself onto the enforcer's back and attempt to claw at his eyes. It was a risky play, one that could result in serious injury, but Jatan pushed the moment of hesitation out of his mind. Cowardice was not becoming of a follower of Torm. His calves tensed as he rolled onto the balls of his feet, and he sucked in a deep breath...

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

Just posted, sorry again for the lateness! Thanks for leaving that space in your post for me!

Rites Of Passage (a High Fantasy/Forgotten Realms Adventure)

Fear snaked through Jatan's body suddenly. His limbs stiffened, locking against his will. His heart throbbed. It was a struggle even to breathe. Only pitiful rasps wheezed desperately from his lips. Something had slithered inside him, constricting his mind, poisoning his thoughts.

Fear was no obstacle for a monk. Unfortunately, it would be a stretch to call Jatan a monk. He was only a kid, after all. Still, he knew enough to sense divine magics at play. Someone was forcibly tampering with his mind.

"Torm looks after us, Jatan," Edgar had explained when Jatan had first walked into the monastery. "He is a protector of the weak. Those of us who worship him are united by our belief in justice. We defend those who cannot defend themselves. And not too long from now, that responsibility will fall to you." Jatan craned his head, meeting Edgar's twinkling eyes. Those words felt so true. Hearing Edgar speak, it touched something within him. Deeply. Powerfully. Somewhere in his soul he knew he was meant to defend the powerless.

But right now, Jatan was the one who was powerless. Torm, I need you, he thought.

Whether by some act of divine intervention, Jatan's sheer willpower, or some other force, no one knew for sure. But at that moment, his fingers crinkled. His limbs awoke. He heaved as air burst once more though his lungs. And just as he was finally collecting himself…

BAM! A half orc came charging past, scooping up the tiny, shocked, and probably terrified Brisa onto his back and barreling down the street like a human (or perhaps half-orc would be more appropriate) battering ram. Scrambling to catch up, Jatan bolted down the street after him. He wasn't as fast as the half orc, but he did know the area. Only it seemed like they weren't just running to escape the situation…

They were running to escape the town…

Of course. The half-orc had assaulted a priest. There was no other option, really.

Which left Jatan with a choice. Follow the three children out of town and escape the hell that Loudwater had become, or stay and try to right the injustice that was being done. How can I leave this place? he thought to himself, People here need me. If I just leave, no one will be looking out for them. Every lost life...it will be on my conscience the rest of my life...And Edgar. His death will go unavenged. How could I possibly let that happen after all he has done for me?

Edgar's wisdom again rang in his head, "Bravery and stupidity are very different things Jatan."

It was important advice. Edgar had been warning him of something, warning him to not bite off more than he could handle. No, he had to leave. To stay would be stupidity. He was one boy. There was nothing he could do. He would either perish at the hands of the priests or rot away in the slums if he stayed. Sooner or later, he'd have to go. To learn. To grow. To find help. So that, one day, his chance to return and enact justice would present itself.

Perhaps it was a sign from Torm. The chance to leave was, after all, right in front of him. A couple feet in front of him, to be precise, and gaining fast. "Guys, wait for me!" he cried out, propelling his legs to churn faster still.

As he ran, he couldn't help but think he was running from the only place he had ever called home. Who knew when he'd return? If he'd ever return? A single tear slipped from his eye, streaking silently down his cheek and onto the pavement below, but he did not stop running.