Items:
A dozen target arrows
Description:
Age:25 Sex:Male
Hair:White Eyes:Blue
Skin:Light Build:Athletic
Height:6'1" Weight:160lbs.
Birthplace:Imperial City (House Cathak)
Demeanor:Calm, Calculating
Favorite Saying:"Why do now what others can do for you later?"
Dress:White Legion officer's long coat, tan pants with a black blood-stripe.
Extended Background:
Cathak Dylar was born to a prominent family within House Cathak twenty five years ago. One of six children, his father had long since sought to increase his influence with the house. Like his brothers and sisters, Dylar was taught from a young age to cherish political, monetary, and martial power. He was accepted into the prestigious House of Bells academy and quickly gained a reputation for proficiency in a variety of close combat weapons as well as archery. His mastery of combat was second only to his ability to convince and manipulate those around him. Though not the oldest child, Dylar clearly had his father’s favor during his childhood.
By graduation day the unthinkable had happened. Cathak Dylar was the only child in the family not to exalt. Almost overnight his father’s attention shifted to his more powerful children. Unable to ever achieve the kind of status and power he had thought to be within his grasp, Dylar joined the Legions. Crestfallen but not defeated by his failure to attain near godhood, he pushed himself and advanced through the ranks. Finding the lesser educated officers and enlisted men easy to manipulate and command, he rose to prominence and eventually landed a commission as a Major stationed outside Arjuf.
Driven to regain his rightful place in his family and in House Cathak, Dylar volunteered for the most visible and dangerous assignments. When the opportunity to join a Wyld Hunt presented itself, he immediately signed up. Curtailed by lack of manpower and funding problems, Cathak Dylar was to lead a small group of mortal soldiers in the service of a single Immaculate. Their mission was to scout a small lakeside village where an Exaltation was predicted to happen with week. If the prediction proved accurate, the group would call for reinforcements and deal with the Anathema threat. Their orders were vague and the Immaculate Monk was troubled by the seers lack of information.
Arriving at the village the group’s concern was validated. Burned houses and fresh corpses lined the once peaceful farming community’s streets. Still in shock at the sight of the massacre, the group was ambushed by armed men. Though outnumbered by the mortal bandits, the disciplined legion soldiers, Dylar, and the Immaculate fought bravely. The clash surged through bloodied streets, alleyways, and into abandoned homes. Each time a legionnaire struck down a bandit, another took his place and the fighting seemed hopeless. At the very brink of exhaustion Dylar, battered and bleeding, shouted to the heavens in a rage. He could not believe his life was to end in this manner. So great were his goals and he had achieved so little. He could not accept it. He would not accept it. In that moment, Cathak Dylar was granted a second wind.
Radiance poured over him, through him, and into his very soul. Dylar embraced the rays and felt his body leave himself. As though standing in a dream he watched himself move with grace and speed that could not be real. As though the very sun had set upon the landscape, light burst from every pore in Dylar’s body. Runes and script of long dead languages surrounded his body and circles of archaic symbols expanded at his feet. Terrified men broke and ran only to be cut down from behind. Within seconds the last of the bandits lay dead before the legion major and his Immaculate companion. In a trance, Dylar stood facing away from the monk and swayed as if being gently rocked by a breeze, unfazed by his injuries. Struggling to his feet the injured Immaculate witnessed in horror as Dylar struck down the men. Dylar’s eyes were pure gold and looked upon the servant of the Dragons as if they had never met before. In an instant the Immaculate Monk realized the terrible mistake the seers had made. They had not come to find an Anathema in the village; they had brought one to it. Mustering the last of his strength the Immaculate shouted and charged the blank faced Dylar.
His dream shuttered and flickered into a nightmare as the slaughter of the mortals was revealed to Dylar’s consciousness. In the sickening crunch of bone and flesh, a golden white light burned his eyes and his head thundered in pain. Wincing back confusion, blood, and sweat, Dylar blinked. He looked down and saw his sword wreathed in thick blood, its length protruding from the back of the monk. The soft tap of the Immaculate’s chin coming to rest on his shoulder shook Dylar to the core. Slumped against him rested the still standing monk, his frozen expression a combination of fear and revulsion. His face beginning to contort, Dylar felt the pinch in his gut. Buried solidly into his stomach was the Immaculate’s essence laced fist. With a shudder and a blood sputtering cough Dylar collapsed.
Hours later Dylar awoke to find that only he had survived the battle. Confused and terribly injured he fled the scene and took refuge in the woods. Over the next days he recovered from his wounds and began to piece together what had happened. Flashes of memories not his own ran through his mind but only served to confuse him further. By the time he left for the Legion garrison outside Arjuf, he had accepted that he was now one of the hated Anathema, a Solar. Torn between his loyalty to the Empire and his current situation he decided discretion would be best. Dylar reported that he and his men came under attack from the Anathema and only he survived.
While a mass search was underway for the fictional Anathema, Dylar stayed away from his Legion companions at the garrison. He became certain that those around him suspected his horrendous transformation and withdrew from social contact. As he paced anxiously in a secluded garden he became aware of a tug at the corner of his mind. As the feeling grew stronger and stronger, Dylar felt compelled to head towards it. Tentatively at first he pushed his way into the outskirts of the city. The further he walked the more brilliant the intensity of the feeling became. By the time he heard the first whisper in his mind, he was at a full run blindly into the wilderness. Barely able to keep himself from tripping, Dylar continued in a state of near madness.
With a sudden rustle of leaves, all sound vanished and Cathak Dylar for a sickening instant realized his feet no longer touched the ground. Tumbling down into the darkness, he found himself in a heap at the bottom of what appeared to be an ancient well. Something spoke to him in gentle, urging tones, but he could not understand the language or where it was coming from. A glimmer of golden light flickered for just a moment in the corner of the well and Dylar leaned forward. In a crack no more than two feet wide and the height of a man, there was a crude cavern opening. Feeling his way into the dark cave Dylar swore under his breath. The tension of the situation had worn him thin over the last days and he was irritable and angry. With a pause Dylar came to the end of the passage and took in a rather peculiar sight. What looked to be the inside of a natural cave had been carved into and expanded. Human sized pillars circled the cramped room and focused to the obvious center. There was a larger pillar that looked to be holding the entire ceiling on its own. Glowing in a soft, golden pulse, the pillar looked to be more a natural stalactite than the surroundings. Encircling the glowing pillar were five stone rectangular carvings. As Dylar approached one he felt a lump grow in his throat. Becoming clearer in the glow of the center pillar was the raised shape upon the top of the carvings, that of a young man lying with his hands across his chest. Upon his forehead was engraved a circle with lines radiating outward. He worn a full armor and clasped a large sword to his chest.
Cathak Dylar walked around the room. Each of the five stone tombs had a raised carving of a young man or woman bearing a different symbol upon their brow. The only thing they all had in common was an unusual bracelet each wore on their right wrist. Apparently these five were somehow connected in life and wished to be so in death. The young man with a solid circle on his forehead seemed to draw most of Dylar’s attention and the young Cathak sat next to it, still listening to the calming, mysterious voice in his head. Set into the stone lay two golden metal objects. One was a fine mesh that seemed to be armor and the other was a hollow tube that seemed to be a bracer. Unsure of what to do with them, he placed them back and looked to the central pillar. There, embedded into the natural pillar was a light green gemstone that seemed to be the source of the light in the room. Feeling a sense of peace, Dylar sat and rested.
After several hours of listening to the voice and watching the pulse of the gemstone, he realized he would be missed at the garrison shortly. Climbing out of the well he managed to return before his absence was noted.
Over the next weeks, Dylar went back to the tomb when he could and spent time meditating and experimenting with the golden objects. When he had sufficiently understood their purpose, he hid them amongst his other armors and placed the gemstone within the bracer. Confident that he now understood more about whom he truly was, Dylar departed from the magical place and returned to the city of Arjuf.
Cathak Dylar is currently uncertain of what to do next. He is becoming increasingly paranoid that his secret will be discovered but is unwilling to flee into the wilderness and abandon the Empire, his family, and House Cathak.