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+---
+     layout: default
+     tabtitle: "Azulien Blackblade"
+     title: "Character Backstory: Azulien Blackblade"
+     tags: [gaming, dnd, writing]
+     short_desc: "Here's the character backstory for one of my older characters
+     from a game long since forgotten: Azulien Blackblade. Enjoy!"
+---
+
+Here's the character backstory for one of my older characters from a game long
+since forgotten: Azulien Blackblade. This character was a fighter-sorcerer,
+built for a custom 3.5 game run by my friend Bill. He was loads of fun to play,
+though I may have spoken up when I should have stayed silent. He died as a pile
+of pieces, after taunting a demi-god and, expectedly, being eviserated. Enjoy!
+
+## Character Backstory: Azulien Blackblade
+
+I was a prestigious man. Once I wore the robes of a wizard. I studied at the
+greatest libraries, spoke with the most intelligent scholars, and kept company
+with the Archmages. But one day that all changed. The day I will never forget in
+all my life: the day the Urdeshi attacked.
+
+We were travelling through the northern regions of the desert, making our way to
+ruins located among the dunes. As we stopped to drink and rest, our party was
+beset upon by raiders, shielding their faces with wrapped fabrics, and attacking
+us relentlessly with blades and spears. Of the 15 in our band, only 3 lived
+through the attack. We were the unlucky ones. My robes were bloodied and torn,
+my spellbook was burned before my eyes, my components along with it, and my
+knowledge of the arcane became a secret lest I beg for death. Many times I had
+considered revealing my talents, and welcoming the purge that would follow. The
+particular group of Urdesh we found were skeptical of magic: they broke all our
+potions, our wands, anything that didn't smell normal. My familiar, my dear
+raven, was roasted and force fed to me. I didn't eat for days afterwards.
+
+They tought me how to fight. How to use the weapons they used. They tought me
+how to skirmish with only a scimitar to defend myself with. How to cast aside
+blows, how to use a handful of sand to distract my opponent from my incoming
+blow. They taught me pain. They taught me to not fear an incoming attack. Not to
+fear death. From that, only rage grew. My hatred for the Urdesh slowly filled my
+now-empty mind. Where once was scholarly knowledge and magical aptitude there
+stood only revenge. A lust that was never fulfilled. A hunger that was never
+sated.
+
+For 5 years of my life I was haunted and tormented by the Urdesh. I was made a
+puppet in their games; a gladiator in their arenas. My skills with the scimitar
+and spear grew to legend. Armed with my rage and my revenge, I would let no
+other gladiator steal from me the potential to see my captors destroyed. I would
+never bow, never break, never surrender. My blade grew black from all the blood
+and sand and grime. With each fight, I became more. I was no longer a slave, now
+I was a name: Blackblade; the Raven Swordsman; Death. Names appropriate to my
+appearance and my promise. The old me was dead, and the new me was never alive.
+
+My insatiable revenge crept into the corners of my mind, revealing the
+locked-away arcane knowledge. The fury of hundreds of gladitorial battles,
+thousands of cracks of the whips, and millions of possibilities of better lives
+all converged on the power I had stored away. No longer was I afraid of them. No
+longer did their skepticism seem like a threat. Now it was their weakness. Now,
+vengeance was mine.
+
+With the cover of darkness, I scoured my memories for every shred of arcane
+knowledge I could muster. I found my cantrips, my little tricks I had used to
+harass the pretty girls at the college. Flares and dancing lights wouldn't do
+what I needed, but they could help. I needed more power. I crept deeper. There I
+felt it. The coldness of death, but the screaming of life, entwined. I could
+feel the grasp of skeletons and ghasts, but they did not scare me; it was almost
+like familiy. I could see the faces of people I had never known. They seemed
+familiar, almost connected to me. I could feel their anger, their undying need
+for vengeance. Like me, they were captives of fear and torment. Their rage was
+almost unbearable, but I would not turn away. I would not submit to an illogical
+existance as a mindless machine of death. I would overcome the rage, channel the
+rage, harness the anger, focus the vengeance. I would take their blessings of
+undeath and turn them upon my enemies as a curse. I knew now that the power I
+had was not from study. It was always within me, welled up like a great lake,
+full of untapped resources. I felt the presence of their blood grow, their power
+now released. They were now me. I was their vessel. The scimitar I used, Raven I
+called it, was now a weapon of death.
+
+Their time had come. They had no reason to fear the unknown, until now.
+
+The first to go was the guard. As he came, right on schedule, to deliver my
+food, I offered him a choice. I had grown to like Mukeesh. He was stupid, and
+because of that he was compasionate. He was too afraid. He was too loyal. He
+died. From him, I lifted the keys with magic, commanding them into the lock,
+releasing me. As I left, I could feel his blood calling to me. With his
+head-wrap and Raven I made my way to the barracks. It was night time. There were
+little defenses around those who defend. They died one by one. I would cup their
+mouth, and slit their throat just enough for them to wake before they bled out.
+Their last moments were all the same: horror, struggling, moaning, pleading,
+acceptance, sorrow. They wept occassionally. There were a few who were
+unsurprised, and stared into my eyes until their's went dark. They were the
+brave. They had faced death. But none can win against death. The blood running
+from my captors veins was unbearable. I tasted it, the nector of life. It was
+ambrosia, life itself, sustaining me. Their lives were my feast.
+
+I made my way through the camp, finally settling on the gladiator pits. Some of
+my bretheren ran, some clung to some twisted form of loyaly and fought. The all
+died. I drank in their life, their essence, and their sacrifice healed me.
+Through the death of my enemies I grew strong, through the blood of the fallen
+did I reclaim my dominance. Not only were the powers of death mine to harness,
+but the fruits of its labor were sweet and nourishing.
+
+The last to fall was my teacher. He was the only one I awoke before I killed
+him. I waited for him to pray, to be ready for his gods. He tried to fight me,
+but the master had become weak. His attacks were predictable. His tactics were
+rotten. His flesh was soft, and my blade was sharp. He died a warrior, as he had
+lived. His blood was the most satisfying of them all. I have no remorse for him.
+It is pathetic to pity anyone; death comes for all.
+
+I gathered up all the resources I needed, took all the coin I could find, and
+left. To this day I still hear tales of the Swordsman of Death who slaughtered
+an entire Urdesh gladiator camp. "They are right to fear him." I always reply.
+"Death is patient but swift. It may come on the wings of an angel or the sword
+of a stranger. But death always comes." I escaped that night and found a human
+settlement. My scars and tattoos I covered as best I could, but they always
+found me out. A run-away slave, an escaped prisoner; a fugitive. The humans
+would at least treat my as their own. I found temporary refuge, but left
+quickly. In the following days there were many hunters that I encountered. One
+of them gave me the scar that marks me today. His name was Al-Kadaf, and his
+blade was called Plight. It cut me from above my left eye to my right cheek. He
+told me that wound would stay forever. My blade ending his life was my only
+response.
+
+Still I am hunted. Still the Urdesh search for the Raven Swordsman. But I go by
+a different name now. I am Azulien Blackblade, Scourge of the Urdesh. Send your
+hunters. Send your armies. I walk with death. I hunger for your life. And
+tonight, I will feast.