Nasir

[borborygmus]

Nasir

Xanethi mercenary

Player Information

Name: Jess

Contact Information: If you know me, you already know how to contact me. If you don't know me, PM me.

Character Information

Name: Nasir

Race: Xaneth

Age: 21

Gender: Eunuch

Place of Origin: Masrah

Class: Mercenary

Relationship Status: Single

Channeling Capacity: (

-Type: Both internal and external (fire-related effects only)

-Focus Used: Own blood

-Degree of Skill: Low

Appearance: Nasir is unusually tall and slender, rather elongated in form, with a surprising grace to his movements. He is quick, with good reflexes, and a steely strength hidden within his lithe body. It is not hard to see that something is different about him, which is reinforced by his light voice, sounding young and oddly gentle – not childish or feminine, but not that of a man, either.

His hair is black and soft, reaching to his shoulders; there is no hair on his face nor on his body. Nasir is dark olive-skinned, and his eyes are dark, and rather kind, although there is a quiet sadness to them as well. His face is angled and refined, with high cheekbones and a straight nose. It is smooth and unlined, but there is something indefinably strange about the shape, and it is hard to say what age he is. He is dressed in a mixture of the Masran style and what is common in Alteiryn, in a grey undertunic, underneath a flowing dark green surcoat that reaches to his knees, and loose grey trousers that tuck into soft leather boots, lacing up to his knee.

Nasir carries a slender curved scimitar, well-forged if plain steel. On his belt, there is a khanjali, a long double-edged dagger, and there are two more knives, small enough and balanced to throw, hidden in his boots.

Special Skills: Nasir has been raised as a warrior from his early childhood. He has mastered the art of the sword, and even with only a knife or his bare hands alone, he is still a deadly fighter.

As a servant of the Malik, his education was twofold: his primary purpose was as a bodyguard, but he was also expected to adorn the court. Nasir can write a hand that is fine enough for any scribe, and has a good education in history, geography, poetry, music, law, politics, and court etiquette. He had most interest, however, in folktales, listening to whatever stories that visitors to the court would tell, and has memorized something of a wide repertoire.

Strengths: Highly educated, articulate, and intelligent. Skilled swordsman and hand-to-hand fighter. Some mild ley-channeling ability.

Weaknesses: Social stigma of being both a bastard (for those who know what it means for a Masran to have a single name) and a eunuch (for those who guess), crippling fear of the dark, deep water, and difficulty dealing with cold temperatures. Also, wanted in connection with the assassination of the Masran Malik.

Personality:Nasir is an observant and curious person, with keen eyes and a sharp mind behind them. He has a passion for stories and legends, reading books whenever he can get them – he reveres the written word with something approaching awe – and listening to the tales carried by strangers from faraway places. Nasir would rather earn a living as a storyteller than as a warrior, but the second is far easier. Most others do not care about words the way he does, and they need his blade, not his pen.

He tries to live by the code of honour that Saif taught him, as far he can. Even though he sells his sword, he works for the lesser wages of a caravan guard rather than taking the more profitable choice of warfare, though with his experience and literacy, he could easily become an officer. Nasir respects others, particularly women, and treats strangers with courtesy. He will help someone who is in trouble if it is in his power. Without truly acknowledging it, even to himself, Nasir is searching for some greater cause to follow.

Nasir is a stranger, an outlander and a traveler who rarely stays in one place for very long. The kind of men who usually work with him are not the sort with whom he can form a close friendship; at the best of times, mercenaries are not good men. He is not reserved, and the other guards in the caravan he is currently accompanying are friendly acquaintances. But he has taken none of them into his confidence, and the strangeness that they can sense around him leads them to allow a little distance.

Yet he is not solitary by choice. He is often intensely lonely, and although he has no sensations of sexual desire, he still dreams of having a family. When Nasir learns to care for another, his loyalty is a gift that is hard to match. Even though he has difficulty connecting sometimes, he spends as much of his time as possible with others. He frequents taverns, not to drink but for companionship, learning new stories and sharing those of his own.

He is terrified of darkness, cold, and water (any water he can't stand up in, at any rate). He sleeps with a lantern on every night, and his money is expended mainly for candles and lamp-oil. Sometimes, in order not to be alone at night, he will hire a prostitute to stay the night with him. He cannot touch her, of course, but her presence helps him to feel less fear, and for such women it is a chance at a respite from a very ugly life. For once, a man is actually paying them to sleep with him.

History: I grew up in Masrah, far away from this country, in a beautiful place, a white-walled palace filled with silk and perfume. It was an indoor garden designed for the comfort and pleasure of the Malik, the ruler of the land. They said he was wise, and learned, and powerful, the greatest man ever to lead the realm and perhaps even holding the blood of the divine. I was one of the few allowed into the inner chambers, when I accompanied Saif to show the great Malik my progress in learning to become his most devoted servant.

The Malik was fleshy and corpulent, and even under the heavy fragrances that he wore I could smell the odour of old sweat. His language was neither wise nor learned, but laden with curses and harsh language. But I believed, as I had been taught, that he was chosen by God, and I tried not to let these thoughts intrude. He seldom spoke to me, and I did not dare to speak to him; I tried to keep out of his way and hide behind Saif as much as I could. Only later, when I had enough wisdom to see the truth for myself, did I understand that the Malik was nothing more than any other man, and then I lost my fear of him.

I am starting this story badly. I have not yet told you about Saif son of Daula. He was the master of the Malik’s personal bodyguard, and he was everything that I had imagined the Malik should be, when I first pictured him, before I met him and saw the truth. Saif was a great hero, who had earned the respect and friendship of the Malik through years of service as, first, a common soldier, and then as the Malik’s protector. He was strong of arm, dark, and seemed impossibly tall to me. He was clever, and kind, and he treated me as if I were his son. I was given to him to train when I was barely four years old. He was not an easy master, I had to work hard to please him, but he was never cruel.

He taught me everything through games, trying to make it enjoyable for me. The art of the sword became a dance. Lessons in politics and court etiquette came over the chessboard. History was told to me as a dramatic tale, the great people of the past coming alive through Saif’s words. He had a unique gift for making them seem to breathe and walk among us right there in that room. Now that I am older, sometimes I wonder where he might have learned to tell such stories.

I was six when the Malik’s physician came for me. I was given a cup of strong alcohol to drink, and taken to a room that was heavy with the smoke of opium; lulled and drowsy, I sat down to rest, and the next thing I knew I was bound to the table and the physician stood over me with a knife. Though my wits were dulled, the pain I felt was beyond excruciating; it broke through the fog of the drugs and spirits as if I had been set on fire. Blessedly, I lost consciousness soon afterwards, and only later awoke to find myself different.

All I had between my legs was a small row of neat sutures and indescribable agony – nothing else.

For weeks after the operation, I could not hold in my urine. I was deeply ashamed of myself, and it burned my unhealed wounds like fire, but I could not control it. I slowly healed to the point where I could walk again, and then, eventually, control my bladder. As I returned to normal society, however, I found that the other boys inexplicably shunned me, even those who had been my friends. I sought them out, but the kindest of them turned their faces away, and those who were not so kind would point and laugh and say a strange word that until then I had not known: Eunuch. Half-man.

I did not understand why until Saif sat down with me and explained that I had been changed forever, and I would never again be like them. I remember he wept as he told me I was not to be a man, but that strange word – eunuch. He told me that I would never be able to love a woman, or to father a child, but that if I was brave, and honest, one day I would be a great warrior, and that he would always be proud of me.

To fill the void left by these former friends, I threw myself into my studies with Saif. I also peopled my surroundings with imaginary friends and family. I pictured a mother, with warm, dark eyes and a comforting voice like velvet. A brother, a little older than I was, who would come to my defense against the people who pointed and laughed. A sister, who would play with me, and tell me stories, and whom I in turn protected from her enemies. I dreamed that they spoke to me out of the fire that I had always loved. My father, of course, was always Saif son of Daula. In my dreamings, he was not only my teacher, but also my true-blooded father, and I was a great prince of the realm.

It was not until I was a little older that I learned who I really was, no prince, but a bastard. My mother had been the Malik’s favourite concubine; she was a woman renowned for her beauty, her wit, and her art. Shula was her name, and she was a fiery spirit, taken as a captive from the desert nomads and said to have the ancient blood of the Naara in her veins. It was also said that she spun tales that could captivate even the dullest mind. And the Malik had loved her with all the heart that he had to give for it.

Then she had betrayed that heart, for she had given birth to a child that was not his, a child with dark skin. I, Nasir, son of no-one, was that child. The Malik had ordered that Shula should be strangled for it, for he could not bear to spill her blood, and yet his rage was too great to permit her to live. Before she was put to death, however, she begged him for the love that he had once born her to spare my life. He promised her this one gift, and that he would take me into his service and give me a decent life; then he took his revenge. My castration was done to prevent me from continuing Shula’s line. The Malik kept his promise to Shula in that he kept me at the court, but he wanted her blood to end forever with me, and so he ensured this.

I grew older. I was taller than the other children my age, and stronger. There were others whom Saif trained to become warriors, but I outstripped them all in the training ring. I had greater speed and range, and I had a focus and drive that they did not. I wanted, above all other things, to be worthy of Saif’s respect. He gave it freely, but I wanted to earn it, and I was ready to suffer any amount of pain for that goal. I was often sore after hours of practice with the sword, the dagger, and striking with my hands and feet. I read voraciously, and wrote with the concentration of an artist, perfecting my calligraphy as I copied the words of the poets into my journal late into the night. I watched everything around me, hoping to impress him with an observation or intuition about the dynamics of court.

I had very little to distract me. While the noble boys my age were all mooning after one girl or another in the court, I could concentrate on my studies and training. They showed off, struggling amongst themselves for pride of place, and even tried to assert their own independence, rebelling against Saif’s authority. I never did. I was quiet, and observant, and I learned when others allowed lessons to go by them unnoticed. This continued until I was nearing eighteen – the age when I would have been considered a man, if things had been different. I was to join the Malik’s personal bodyguard when I came of age, the work for which I had been brought up since birth.

Saif came to me the night before my name-day, and he woke me in the darkness with a hand to my face, so that I would not call out and wake anyone. He whispered in my ear, and these were his words. I remember them as clearly as if he speaks them into my ear at this moment. "Tomorrow you will be grown, Nasir, and my work will be complete. You are my last student, and the greatest one I have ever had. I am proud of you. You have a great destiny ahead of you; your name shall be written in fire on the pages of history. Remember it, and remember everything that I have taught you."

“No matter what blood you come from, you will always be my son.”

In the morning when I awoke, I thought it had been a dream. I often dreamed that Saif would call me his son, and this seemed to be no different.

That day there was a ceremony to honour the warriors of the court – for the other boys my age were also named on that day, and we would all be raised to adulthood together. Some of us would be sent to war, to fight for the Malik in faraway lands. Some of us, those who were not as skilled at combat, would remain in the country to become civil servants – for we had all been taught politics, law, and history in addition to the blade. And a very few of us would dedicate our lives to protect the Malik.

Saif had kept the Malik safe for many years. There were scores of enemies who hated the Malik, and who sent assassins to take his life, but none had gotten past Saif and his men. The Malik chose that day to honour Saif above all other men in the court, and brought him to stand beside his throne. He took Saif by the hand, in front of every nobleman and woman, and embraced him as a brother, naming him his Wazir and praising him as the most faithful of men.

And Saif drove a dagger straight into the Malik’s heart.

As the Malik screamed and fell, his other bodyguards closed in and the court panicked. I fought to get to his side, but Saif let his blade fall and opened his arms to their swords as if he would embrace them. He died calmly, without lifting a hand to defend himself. I even saw him smile. I could not reach him in time, for the crowd barred my way as they stampeded to escape in every direction. I watched him die, and I could do nothing. My heart still aches at the failure.

Why did Saif betray the Malik? Why did he let himself die afterwards? I do not know the answers to these questions, and perhaps I never will. I wonder, sometimes, if my dark skin was his…if he had once loved the lonely woman that had been stolen away from her desert home. I look at myself in the mirror and try to see Saif in the face that looks back out at me. But there were many dark-skinned men at the court, and I will never know for sure if he was only my teacher, or if he was something more.

I left the palace and fled into the city, blinded by my tears but knowing full well that I had no other choice but to run. All knew that Saif had loved me well. His treachery tainted me by association, and within hours I would be hunted like an animal. I did not even have the time to collect my belongings before I took passage on the first merchant ship out of the port. I looked back many times, and as the city began to pass out of my sight I allowed myself to weep. I had lost my dreams. I had lost the nearest thing to family that I had ever had. I had lost everything, and I did not know what the future could possibly hold to make up for it.

I spent all my money for the voyage, and I was finally put ashore in a strange port, among men with harsh accents and suspicious eyes. I sought work for days, but I found very little, only menial labour on the docks that barely brought me enough to eat. I slept curled up behind a barrel, surrounded by the chill of the night sea-breeze and the stench of rotting fish. I could have sold my weapons, but they were all I had to remind me of Saif and my home.

Finally a land merchant who had recently lost the service of one of his guards spotted me in the streets. His name was Abdul, and he asked me if I knew how to use the sword I carried, and I told him yes. Abdul had a shrewd eye, and he could see that I carried myself differently from the average dockyard lout; he offered me a job, if I could prove myself halfway capable in a fight against the man he had appointed as officer of his guard accompaniment.

I had been trained by Saif son of Daula, the finest swordsman in the land, and the mercenary was barely fit to handle a bread-knife, let alone a scimitar. I had the man disarmed and pinned in a matter of moments. That was the beginning of my life as a mercenary; I went from place to place, protecting those who offered me the best rewards – and I chose the merchants who would take me farthest away from the country of my birth. I had no wish to be dragged in chains before the Malik’s son and successor, and I wanted to see for myself the lands from which had sprung the legends that I grew up on as a child.

Edited May 18, 2011 by borborygmus

[Comatose]

Gah. You beat me to posting the first character. Brilliant as always .

[Kuri Shardweaver]

Well. Congratulations on the first Approved Character of EC, Jess! Well done, he still looks like a fun one from what I saw before!

[Link Von Kelsier Harvey]

I didn't read the post. But I already know everything about Nasir. He's a white dragon, and he's level 18 when you finally recruit him. But you can only get him if you beat the Black Knight.

[Kuri Shardweaver]

But the Black Knight always triumphs!

On a serious note, I'd kindly ask that you at least look over the character and offer an actual, non-humorous opinion of him, as otherwise that post kind of seems like spam, and I'd like to avoid any issues with Borb/Jess.

[borborygmus]

xD That's alright. I'm not going to take any offense at it; however I would just like to say that my Nasir is not, in fact, a white dragon - nor have I ever played Fire Emblem or heard of it before just now (when I googled to find out what the connection between Nasir and white dragons).

[Comatose]

I must confess, Nasir the white dragon is who I thought of when I saw your character app, haha. And now the Nasir I picture looks kind of like the other one (sans blue hair and orange skin). Also, I have him, cuz the black knight went DOWN!!!! Level 20 Ike and Mist baby!

That being said, while Nasir the dragon is actually I really neat and kind of complex character, I like your Nasir better