Race: Kalashtar Class: Paladin Subclass: Oath of Vengeance D&D Beyond Link
Personal Story
Notes
Quo’ri Memories
01
A Forgotten War: Toriman relives a memory of a fierce battle, not from his own life but from the spirit within him. He sees a warrior, clad in ancient armor, fighting against a horde of monstrous creatures. The warrior is surrounded, outnumbered, and seemingly doomed. In a moment of desperation, the warrior draws a blade imbued with a strange, otherworldly power. The blade glows with an eerie light, and with a single strike, the warrior vanquishes his foes. As the creatures fall, the warrior collapses, mortally wounded. The memory fades, leaving Toriman with a sense of unease and a lingering question: who was that warrior, and what was the true nature of the blade he wielded?
02
“Toriman, as your mind settles, the quiet presence of Iman surges, bringing forth a resonant memory. You glimpse again the ancient warrior from your past vision Session 21 – the desperate battle, the monstrous foes falling before a blade blazing with eerie, otherworldly light. You feel the warrior’s final, sacrificial effort as they collapse, the potent sword falling still beside them.
Then, the memory shifts, guided by your inner spirit. The image clears, showing you that very same blade, instantly recognisable, resting now not on a battlefield, but in quiet repose upon dark velvet. It lies within a distinct stone alcove, deep within what feels like the hallowed vaults beneath Flamekeep’s great Cathedral. Above the alcove, a faded but clear sigil is carved: a seven-pointed star, interwoven with the lines of the Silver Flame.
A profound sense of recognition washes over you, a feeling more certain than sight or sound. Your spirit resonates with the blade across time. Legacy, the feeling insists. Purpose.
Backstory
Toriman placed his hand on the door pushing it inwards. The tavern wasn’t that crowded; it was only Zol after all. He ordered his usual, a glass of peated whisky and a cigar. Finding a seat that overlooked the establishment he made himself comfortable. Digging in his satchel he retrieved Butterflies of Khorvaire, found his place and began reading. Iman fluttered in his subconscious, she loved books and had been thoroughly enjoying this one. After a few pages he paused to light the cigar. He drew this process out, taking extra care cutting it and selecting a match. With hands busy he studied the other patrons, 7 others none the one he was looking for. Drawing the smoke deep into his lungs he returned his gaze to the page in front of him. Partway through a passage on the Droaam Skipper he heard the door open through the murmuring of the other patrons. He didn’t look up, he needed to seem like he was at ease. Taking another drag on the cigar he turned another page and continued to read. Normally this was an activity that he deeply enjoyed, tonight though he just went through the motions. Inhale, exhale, turn a page, take a sip. He scanned the room again, 8 occupancy now - a slender young woman in dark grey and browns had taken a seat at the counter. In his younger years he would have disregarded her - now he knew better. That and Dune had been quite detailed in his description. The Shifter had come to him earlier that day - an outlander had been asking after him. Most in Aruldusk knew him by name and Shifters had a nose for danger. That was the way of things, walk the Path of Light long enough and you would gain allies everywhere. Glancing back toward the woman at the counter, he noted her twitching fingers and how she had angled her back toward him as if to say, I am certainly not interested in what is going on there, she was too obvious. She was inpatient too, her fingers kept clenching and unclenching - she was like a coiled spring.. Toriman turned his focus to the pages in front of him again, sneaking glances toward the stranger when he could. She was really nervous and on edge. He had the feeling that if he drew out the time too much longer she might go for him here - then there would be some explaining to do. Deciding not to trust in her self restraint much longer he placed his book down and mumbled something about his age and to watch his drink until he was back. He made his way to the alley behind the inn. Iman was humming with energy now and he clearly picked out the sound of steps following him. Rounding the corner he reached out and grabbed the hilt of the sword he had left there earlier. Moving the sword to his left hand, he chose a spot in the middle of the alley he could feel a fluttering in his stomach, Iman was agitated with anticipation. He felt the gold seeping to the surface of his skin. The Inspired rounded the corner, her pale sharp features revealing a determined look. The long silverblade in her hand reflected what little light there was in the alley. She paused and they locked eyes, hers grey blue his snapping from green to gold. Her eyes shifted to the blade in his hand and she started the forward her own extended. She had excellent form, clearly an expert. Expert or not most people would have been unprepared for what happened next. When she was two blade lengths away Toriman’s right arm arced up and around, his gold imbued muscles bulging with strength. He released the brick from his now gold patterned fingers. She saw it coming two late, attempting to dodge out of the way. Too slow it smashed into her head and she staggered her blade going wide of the stocky Kalashtar in front of her. Toriman’s sword bit into her side and she slumped down. Had he used two hands it might have gone straight through. Returning his grip to his dominant hand he towered over her broken body. Placing a boot on her sword hand he inverted his blade and thrust downward through her torso and into the ground below. There was a dull thump and golden flash illuminated the alley as Iman discharged her anger into the inspired. Stillness returned to the alley. A few minutes later Toriman returned to Butterflies of Khorvaire, he struggled to take it in though. Iman he knew would be delighting in it though, violence all but forgotten. That was the third this year. The Dreaming Dark were clearly aware of him. He felt he was beginning to understand why the tranquility and refuge of the Adaran Monasteries were so attractive to his kin.