The Tahneddra Chronicles
- 6’2” - 170 lbs - 212 years of age - yellowish skin with a hint of green - black eyes - black hair with tinge of silver - crescents of brown splotches on the outside of his eyes - darker splotches down the arms and the side of the body - two tails of hair protruding from his jawline, one on either side - silver hoop earrings - wears leather armor dyed with blue and silver, and patched with many pockets - in a public area, he covers himself with a large, dark-blue baladrana, ensuring the hood hides his face
From Ja’adoc’s journal:
How good it is to run your blades through the tentacled maw of the illithid. How sweet the victory of spilling the blood of our hated enemy. Killing, the so-called “honour” of a coming-of-age rite. I lost every friend I had to this, to the call of battle, to violence.
I was taught from a young age to slay all races who might stand in my way, who might enslave us again. Never would the githyanki be slaves again. I never understood such fear. Why live like that? Why live a life consumed by the fear of the unknown? I took many beatings for asking such questions, fostering my bitterness.
I hated how they murdered any race they encountered. I hated how they caused so much needless bloodshed. I hated them. I hated my own people.
The day I fled my world, was the day I forsook my rights as a githyanki. I stole my commander’s silver fullblade, a gift granted only by the queen. I was foolish, but now I live with that mistake, now I run.
It took a lot to convince the humans. How taken back they were to see a githyanki on his knees. I found I was good at skills other than swordplay. Alchemy was my forte, and the humans found such abilities useful. Thus, I became the first githyanki slave.
How odd it is that I have demons to thank for my release. Now, I find myself on the small island of Mellor, a free man. That is, if freedom is defined as a fugitive, clandestine existence.