Kharazim Gellantara

Description:

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Before you stands a figure dressed in burgundy red ornate cloth. Golden embroidery and leather straps decorate the outfit. His head is covered in an ivory white hood, but you can make out a pair of radiant blue eyes beneath. His body, 174 centimetres in height, seems to be agile, with well defined muscles. It bear witness to rigorous, but disciplined, training, over many years. In his hand he holds an ornate Bo, made of the finest Snakewood, with decorations consisting of metal bands and silver ornaments.

Height: 175 cm
Weight: 66 kg
Eye color: Vibrant Blue
Skin color: Caucasian white
Hair color: Dark blonde
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Diety: Kelemvor

Bio:

Little is known of Kharazim Gellantara’s early years. He was born in a common household in the lower levels of waterdeep. His father was a carpenter and his mother was a scribe’s apprentice. Kharazim quickly found his passion, sailing. Already at the age of thirteen, he got hired as a deckhand on one of the larger trade-ships sailing along the sword coast. The captain was tough, but fair, and he valued loyalty and discipline above all other traits his crew possessed.

As the years went by, Kharazim became more and more familiar with the life on board the grand trading vessel. He climbed ranks, and at the age of twenty, he was appointed to be Sailing Master and head of navigation.

On a trip back from the isles of Lantan, the ship was loaded with valuables, spices and exotic goods. The captain was eager to return to Waterdeep as they were one week behind the planned schedule of delivery. He insisted that Khazarim set the rout to the west of The Moonshae Isles, to take advandate of the strong winds swooping across the Trackless Sea. Kharazim knew this was an extremely risky route. Not because of pirates, but because the winds on the Trackless Sea during this time of year was not only strong, but fierce. Known to tear sails and break masts. But the order from the captain was clear, and it would be madness to openly oppose the orders of the revered captain.

And as Kharazim feared, the weather became increasingly worse. The wind tore at the massive sails, the waves crashed over the ship’s railings. The crew struggled to stand upright on deck. Just as they passed the isle of Moray to the east, the main mast broke. It came crashing down, taking five of the crew with it, as it slided off the boat and into the treacherous waters. In mere seconds, the majestic trading vessel was turned into a floating lump of wood, without any means to manouver. The crew were panicking, and even the stout captain was trembling. Some three-hundred metres towards there were jagged rocks sticking out of the water. Like huge needles of rock, waiting to crush anything it touched. Kharazim stood steadfast at the wheel, but to no avail. Without the main sail, there was no way to steer properly. Soon after, the ship smashed into the rocks. Khazarim fell overboard into the freezing dark water, and then… Darkness.

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Kharazim wakes up. He sees nothing but smooth stone walls. “What is this place? Am I dead?” he thinks. A drop of water hits his forehead. It feels real enough. He hears rain outside. The sound of footsteps closing in. A door opens, and light flows into the room. Before him he sees a robed figure. An old man in a dark red robe. The man must be well past seventy years old.

“What is this place?” Kharazim asks. His mouth feels dry, and his body is in pain. The man doesn’t reply. He leaves a bowl of herbal-soup and a jug of water near Kharazim’s bed. “Eat. Drink. Rest. Patience is virtue.” the man says. He then leaves the room. The sound of a lock closing shut follows. Time passes, and Kharazim feels stronger for each passing day. He sees no one but the old man, and all he ever says is “Patience young man.” That is, untill one day the old man asks Kharazim to follow him outside. It is noon, and the light is dim. He takes him out to what seems to be some sort of monastery courtyard. Kharazim hears whispers, but sees no one.

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“We found you washed up ashore” the old man says, and continues: “We are used to picking up bodies from the shore. The Spear Reef is merciless towards the seafaring men. This is the first time in over three decades we see a survivor. You spirit is strong indeed.” As he speaks these words, Kharazim sees about two dozen men appear out of nowhere from the shadows beneath the walls. They are all dressed in ornate red robes.

“We are the Shadowdancers of Moonshae. We see what no one else sees. We hear what no one else hears. We are everyone and we are no one.” The group chants before asking: “Will you be our brother?”

As the mysterious group of men chanted these words, a sense of purpose filled the heart of Kharazim. After all, these men saved him from certain death. His ship was gone, and his reputation as a navigator would never be redeemed. In this moment, there was no other thinkable reply he could give them: “Yes.”

And so his training began. Weeks of continuous meditation, days of self starvation. Rigorous physical training. But most important of all, learning how to control the very essence of life, Ki. For eight years his training went on. Kharazim hardly left the monastery perimeter at all. He slowly became more adapt at the techniques of stealth. The past few months, while meditating, mysterious visions had begun to appear in his mind. Visions about forgotten knowledge, ancient lore and dusty tomes. All hidden away within a massive vault with solid stone walls. He brought the matter to his mentor’s attention. The same man that had fed him after the washed ashore eight years ago. His mentor was Ianorin Loyalar of the Shadows

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“Young man, I have seen your skill grow. You have mastered all the techniques that are offered to you within these walls. These visions you have, it is the Ki within you telling you to seek greater knowledge. To truly master the techniques of a Shadowdancer, you must venture on a personal journey. Only then can your skill continue to grow.”

Kharazim was torn. In eight years he had seen no one but his mentor and his shadowdancer-brethren. How had the world changed? Would he be up for the challenges waiting for him outside the monastery walls? Ianorin saw the worry within his eyes.

“There may be perils, yes. But without hardship, there can be no learning. And even if death would be grasping for you, know that Kelemvor is just. For he is the balance of the scales. So as long as you follow your senses and the flow of Ki, you have nothing to fear.”

These words calmed Kharazim, and after sitting down for a full day of meditation in the monastery, he said farewell for now to his fellow shadowdancers, and departed in the night. His goal was not entirely clear for him, but he felt he had to go towards the east. A few days later, he set foot on the Sword coast.

An so starts the true journey of Kharazim Gellantara.

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Kharazim Gellantara

CS' Rage of Demons Hansssa