Nazar Strixa Corvotus
Tiefling Rogue Arcane Trickster
Eye Color: Dark Gray, Nearly Black.
Skin: Light Gray, Nearly Marble.
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Hair Color: Raven Black [DM Note: (Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way)]
Short. Chubby cheeks, and lips twisted in a pout. She has wide eyes, kind of sharp. Has light feathers (the sort that smaller birds get, as if a cross between human hair and the fluff of birds) on her forearm, calves and napes of the neck, leading along the shoulder in a thin line. She wears an elaborate outfit draped with furs and feathers, trying to look threatening. She has a really small stature, and tries to give the illusion of otherworldliness. She wears a pair of boots with an avian-like sole and heel she carved herself in an attempt to make herself taller and more imposing—-the practicality of them is saved only by a set of hooked talons crafted into the heel with which she can use to secure herself on precarious surfaces, even rooftops. She frequently wears a partially gilded obsidian skull of a giant raven on her head, bits carved away to ensure comfort during wear as well as security. There is a detachable metallic crown that secure’s the helmet’s eye-openings with grates for use during combat to act as a functional helmet, despite how decorative a device it may be.
She is blunt and to the point, and will never let people know that she’s unsure of herself.
To be her own person, beyond the confines laid out for her.
The only bonds she has are with her parents, and frankly neither are ideal.
Entitlement, and being self-centered. She thinks her blood paves her all the paths.
Weapon of Choice: Beaked Falchion (Tirnoq) and Winged Crossbow (Arbolus)
A unique mechanical three-shot crossbow made by Nazar’s father, Navaris, Arbolus is rather advanced and complicated in its construction. It is also capable of firing larger ballista-sized
bolts that lock into the three bolt-barrels with a unique rear fletching piece, and utilize all three strings to send it flying, at the cost of some intense recoil and telltale ping when the mechanism falls away from the siege bolt.
2d6 (3 Piercing Damage, and +3 Force Damage. Target must make a saving throw against the knockback effect, rolling 1d20 against a DC of 14. Larger targets must only roll higher than 7. Cannot used be twice in the same turn. This ability is dependent on ammunition: you must have Siege Bolts to use this power. Otherwise, no limits on usage per day.
A unique beaked falchion with S-shaped quillions and elegant pictographic markings along the blade. Given to Nazar by her mother for her 18th birthday, the majority of its powers are still as of yet seemingly untapped, if it possesses powers at all. The blade does not seem to be destructible by any common source.
1d8 (+3 magic damage) Slashing damage. 575 Gold. 6 pounds, well-balanced. One-handed.
Spinelstrike (AoE) – Spinelstones buried within the sword ignite it with the power of the chaotic void, allowing its wielder to swipe in a divisive line, knocking enemies back and inflicting deep, poisonous wounds. Inflicts 2d6 force damage and 1d4 poison damage to all hostile targets within a 30 foot radius. If the target is inorganic or immune to poison, they receive 1d4 corrosive damage in lieu of the poison. Disadvantage against large targets. Targets may make a dexterity saving throw, but the result must be above 14 to make the throw. Should they make the throw, they will not be knocked over, and they will take half the damage. Can be used twice a day.
Nazar was born a strange and otherworldly entity—- daughter to an owl deity, and a raven deity, in the provincial region of Morevaq. Her mother, Mavenna, was, as her father Navaris would put it: “a flighty bird,” a chaotic force of nature, who dropped her at his windowsill the night after she’d been birthed. She never learned much about her mother, her father was quiet when it came to her; Quiet and resigned. Nazar never paid any attention to whatever wistfulness he possessed when it came to Mavenna. But Nazar did pay attention to his whispers. None of the whispers were very kind, but…her mother wasn’t a kind woman.
“She’s beyond your reach,” Nazar told her dad, and he gave her a weak smile.
“You could say that,” he’d say. The conversation never went further.
Her father tried to protect her, kept her in the Saroy Boyqush, a strange fortified manor possessing a tower of unusual and sometimes changing dimension. It is, for all purposes of explanation, living in the service of Navaris. Waterlocked on one side atop a cliff, and bordered by the Brambled Breach between itself and the other provinces of Morevaq, this ever changing and twisting tower, remaking itself in a myriad of nascent ways—-could still not sate Nazar’s hunger for more. She became bored, even with the many anomalies her father could present.
Navaris, in so many ways, didn’t want Nazar to grow wild and chaotic like her mother, but at that point her mother was nothing more than just a story. Nazar was nothing more than a child playing make-believe. Then she was nothing more than a teen sneaking out, sleeping in the hollows of trees she’d carved out herself and exploring the nearby cities. Hunting around in the forests. She grew sick of home, absolutely disgusted. Sick of the books, the boredom and the boundaries that she should never cross. Sick of whatever is binding her to Morevaq. She’d rather deal with brutes and blood, anyday. There’s nothing engaging, nothing interesting about a home that coddles you.
She used to steal herself away from the tower, especially when her father was in some way indisposed, to go and visit the nearby kingdom and its many villages and factories. Her father often directly oversaw production of all exports, mining, and processing in the Kingdom, acting as their benevolent calculator and ruler above his chosen governors. When he would catch her out of the castle, especially if she was causing trouble, an Otic Knight, one of his mechanical creations, would leap down from the many towering structures around the city and snatch her up to take her back to her father. Much of what she learned while she was out facilitated her abilities as a rogueish child and a sneaky little thing. She learned to watch more than speak, and garner more information that would allow her to further escape, or at the very least, further annoy her father—-obsessed with order, control, and the reduction of all imperfection.
Mavenna, in celebreation of Nazar’s eighteenth birthday, showed up at the gates of Saroy Boyqush. She was every bit as glamorous as Nazar ever imagined. Nazar had never felt more like a child playing dress up than in that moment, meeting someone who from that point prior could only have been a figment, a dream, a creation of opulent imagination. Her mother was bursting, bleeding with power and warmth: warm hands, cold heart. Without hardly a word to Nazar, she pressed her long black talonic finger onto Nazar’s forehead. Met by an intense warmth rushing through, burning through her body, and a strange pool of blackness swirling inside of her that feels freezing cold—-Nazar nearly faints from the strange torture. It felt like being forcibly thrown into a frozen lake, and bursting through its hardened skin. It nestled inside of her, so achingly familiar, but so achingly painful.
She didn’t hear what her mother said. Something about a birthright? A bloodright? She lay there, set carefully onto her opulent four-poster bed, while her father sat there and looked on at Mavenna, pained and embittered. Nazar didn’t really care about his pain, didn’t care about the longing looks he sent her mother, mentally shouting at him to get ahold of himself. She kept burning and it hadn’t stopped. She wasn’t sure it ever would.
When she awoke, her mother was gone. Weeks had gone by, it seemed. Winter had come. There sat a crossbow on the table beside her, and a blade of blackened steel beside it. She didn’t pay much attention to them at first, because—There was a heat inside of her then, a burning, bubbling bowl of blackness that ready to toil and create the most sublime trouble, far more than she’d ever concocted with her own mischief. The spattering of feathers on her skin had grown fuller, yet hadn’t spread.
She found herself escaping the castle more and more, and her father protesting less, and less. She knew he was watching her closely, with his Owl familiars, like Lethis, the closest thing she ever had to a pet—-a curmudgeonly mechanical owl, beckoning to her father’s will without mercy. She found herself escaping to the forest her mother gave to her when she was born—-the forest her father was never able to alter, as it was created on a bed of spinel bogs, completely in Mavenna’s control. Nazar carved her way into the hollows of large trees for weeks at a time, making a home there away from her place of relative captivity to struggle with her powers among the creatures of the forest, despite knowing she could only escape for so long.