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garrettauthor · 5 years ago

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The latest.

CHARACTER: CENRIX (KEN-rix)

RACE: SCOURGE AASIMAR

CLASS: WARLOCK

PATRON: THE CELESTIAL

I wrote him a hella awesome back story, but it’s very long, so it’s under the cut:

Long ago, an angelic Deva named Azmodios was sent to the city of Starfall by his deity, Liliira, the goddess of happiness, contentment, and freedom.

To better serve Liliira’s purpose, Azmodios took human form. He lived in Starfall for decades, always appearing to be an old man. Every so often he would leave Starfall on some pretense, and then return in a new form, so that no one noticed the kindly old man at the outskirts of the city appeared to be immortal.

Over time, as one might expect of a servant of a goddess of good, Azmodios became endeared with the people of Starfall. In recent years, his attention fell in particular on a widow named Yinnilith. An elven woman, Yinnilith always showed kindness to Azmodios — or Cedric, as she knew him, for that was the human name he had taken in his latest incarnation. Yinnilith would visit Cedric often, bringing him small gifts — sweetmeats she had made, or small woven baskets she had crafted, in order to help him with the simple life he lived as a respected elder in the area.

In time, Azmodios fell in love with Yinnilith, against his better judgment. Thoughts of her rarely left his mind, and he found excuses to visit her in her home, no longer content to simply wait for her to visit him instead.

In time, his love became irresistible. One night, after they both had had a bit too much wine, they shared a bed for the first time. Over the next several weeks they saw each other more and more, until one was rarely without the other.

Eventually, Yinnilith became pregnant. It was then that she revealed her true form — a succubus named Corpraxia, in thrall to the goddess Beshaba. She had discovered Azmodios’ true nature, and had embarked upon a years-long campaign to corrupt him — possibly the greatest debasement a fiend could hope to achieve. She taunted Azmodios with his fall from grace, and promised to take exceptionally good care of their child. Then she vanished.

Distraught, Azmodios reverted to his true Deva form. He vowed never again to take human shape, for the loss of his divine senses had been what caused his laxness in the first place, and had prevented him from detecting Corpraxia’s true form. He threw himself upon the mercy of Liliira and begged her forgiveness for his mistake.

Liliira did not forgive him, and she cast him from her service. But, being a forgiving god by nature, she told Azmodios that he could regain his status, and his place at her side.

“You may join me again,” she said. “But only if you heal the evil that you have put into the world.”

Corpraxia bore her child and named him Cenrix, son of Cedric. With her spawn in the world and permanently bonded to her, she had no immediate interest in his upbringing, and so she left him on the steps of an orphanage to be raised by humans, while she went about pursuing other prey for her seductions.

Cenrix was raised among the other children of the orphanage. Everyone took him for a human, though his actions quickly set him apart from others. He grew up tall and exceedingly handsome, with fair golden hair and exquisite features and physique. The only mar on his physical form was a dark purple birthmark on his left cheek, in the shape of one set of antlers.

The orphanage was managed by nuns who worshipped Eldath, goddess of peace. No doubt Corpraxia hoped that her child, being of fiendish blood, would disrupt the desired tranquility of the abbey. But Cenrix seemed to favor his father’s blood, growing into a fair-minded and kind child.

During his early years, he knew nothing of his parents. Corpraxia was pursuing her own agenda across the kingdoms while Cenrix became, as she thought of it, “old enough to be useful to her.”

Meanwhile, Azmodios sought a way to atone for the sin he had committed. The angel rooted out every den of demons, devils, and cultists he could find, seeking some way to heal the evil he had helped bring about in the world. But no matter how many foul enemies he found and defeated, he never felt the sense of inner peace that he knew would come when he finally earned Liliira’s forgiveness.

By the time Cenrix was in his tenth year, he had become a charismatic and athletic boy, a favorite of the nuns and friends with every child in his orphanage. It was then that Corpraxia finally reappeared to him, one day as he was in the market buying firewood on an errand from the orphanage. She came to him as Yinnilith, the same elven form she had worn when seducing Cedric, his father.

When Corpraxia first spoke to Cenrix, he was hesitant. He knew better than to talk to strangers, and furthermore, something deep inside told him this woman was dangerous. And yet, another part of him was almost fiendishly happy in her presence. Cenrix had never experienced this sort of inner conflict before, and it unnerved him greatly.

“Who are you?” Cenrix asked the woman.

She spread her arms out to him. “Why, my darling boy. Don’t you recognize me? I am your mother.”

Everything Cenrix had been taught told him that this could not be true — orphans had no mothers, and if they did, their mothers certainly did not approach them so nonchalantly in the middle of market day.

And yet, the same forces that had once been warring inside him were now in full agreement — he KNEW she spoke the truth, and that he was her flesh and blood. Overcome with emotion, he flung himself into her arms, and she clutched him tightly until his tears subsided.

Though Corpraxia spent the rest of the day with him, she told him that she could not stay, and neither could she take him home with her. She had many important things to do, but she would come to visit him as often as she could. And just before leaving, she taught Cenrix the first magical trick of his life — a simple spell that would let him more easily sway the minds of those around him, at least for a time.

With magic now at his disposal, Cenrix at last began to fulfill his mother’s wishes for the orphanage. He had always been able to persuade others to see his way of thinking, even the adults of the orphanage. But now he was a child with a spell, and it was SO much more fun. He began to influence others to do more and more outlandish things, and though they always ended up angry with him in the end, his natural charm was enough to keep him out of serious trouble. True, he now had to wash the privies far more often, but it was so worth it to make one of the nuns walk absentmindedly into the street in only her underclothes.

Month after month, Corpraxia would take time away from her pursuits to come visit Cenrix, teaching him more and more of the fiendish powers at his command. Slowly, Cenrix’s mind turned towards more towards mischief and trickery than the values of peace, justice, and mercy that he had been naturally inclined to, and then educated to believe even further. After all, the nuns had cared for him a long time — but Yinnilith was his mother, and his devotion to her was nearly absolute.

But as is the case with most minions of the Lower Planes, Cenrix slowly found his life falling apart. Once, he had been the most beloved person in the orphanage. As his teenage years advanced, he found himself mistrusted. Whenever some misdeed was done, great or petty, suspicion immediately fell on Cenrix. His resentment was not lessened by the fact that he was, in fact, often the one behind such pranks.

One day in his fifteenth year, he was sharing his woes with Corpraxia — still in her elven form. He rested his head on her shoulder and spoke of his latest punishment from the Abbess, who had confined him to his room for a week after he had tricked a younger child to climb down a well rope and had become trapped, requiring three nuns to come and pull him out of the darkness.

“My child,” said Corpraxia, stroking his hair. “It breaks my heart to hear of them being so cruel to you. You were only having a bit of fun. Boys will always get up to such antics. And it isn’t as though the child was seriously hurt.”

“I know,” said Cenrix, quickly wiping away tears and trying not to let her see. “No one ever sees the joke. It’s just a bit of fun! I don’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“I know, my darling,” said Corpraxia sweetly. Then she paused for a long moment. “But you could, you know.”

Cenrix felt a stirring of worry, almost fear. “What do you mean?”

“I have taught you much more than simple tricks to make others dance at the end of your string. You could do real harm if you wanted to. They’re lucky that you don’t.”

“Of course not,” mumbled Cenrix. “Why would I want to harm them?”

“Never,” said Corpraxia softly. “But it might do them good to see that you can. Then they would know better than to punish you for such small, harmless fun. They wouldn’t dare raise a hand against you then.”

Though Cenrix was reluctant, Corpraxia’s hold on him was strong, and eventually she persuaded him to show more of his power. He returned to the orphanage with a new purpose: to turn the nuns’ mistrust into genuine fear, so that they would not dare to shame or punish him again.

The next day, the Abbess heard screaming from the orphanage’s courtyard. She came running to find a crowd of children and nuns standing in horror, and before them was Cenrix. At first the Abbess could not tell why everyone was so frightened, until she looked up. Sister Meriweather stood on the peak of the orphanage’s roof. Her gaze was vacant and staring, and dark energy swirled around her, sapping her will.

“I can make her jump,” said Cenrix. “I could make any of you do it, too. I could really hurt you — really hurt you, if I wanted to.”

“Cenrix, stop!” cried the Abbess. “Sister Meriweather, come down from there at once!”

“I don’t want to,” said Sister Meriweather, almost too quiet for anyone to hear.

“And she won’t want to,” said Cenrix. “Not unless I tell her. Promise me you’ll never punish me again.”

The Abbess’ blood ran cold. But she had been doing this a long time, and she had dealt with all sorts of children. Admittedly never one as dangerous as Cenrix, but she still understood children.

She forced herself to smile.

“Of course not, Cenrix,” she said gently. “It was foolish of me. Of course we won’t punish you anymore, dear boy.”

Cenrix frowned. “Do you mean it?”

The Abbess came forward. Cenrix tensed, but she slowly and gently put a hand on his shoulder. “I promise.”

Cenrix relaxed and looked up at Sister Meriweather. “Very well. You can come down now.”

The cloud passed from Sister Meriweather’s sight. Suddenly she realized where she was, and with a cry of fear she fell to her belly, gripping the roof of the orphanage.

Immediately, the Abbess slapped Cenrix across the face and bore him to the ground. Two nuns ran forward to help her restrain him, while the children around them screamed.

Sister Meriweather was gotten down from the roof, and as quickly as they could manage it, Cenrix was thrown out of the orphanage to fend for himself on the streets. But word had spread throughout Starfall of the boy who had devilish powers, and he found it ever harder to manipulate people into giving him scraps of food and shelter for the night. His resentment grew, stoked further by Corpraxia, who supported him just enough to keep him alive, but not enough to lift him from his wretched circumstance.

Meanwhile, word reached Azmodios’ ears of the unusual activities that had been going on in Starfall. He assumed that Corpraxia had returned to the city and was beginning to stir up trouble again, and he set out for the city in all possible haste.

One night, Corpraxia was comforting Cenrix in a dark and abandoned building. Cenrix lay his head in her lap, and she stroked his hair even as she hissed in his ear of all the ways in which he had been wronged.

“It is all the Abbess’ fault,” she told him. “She should be punished. All of them should be punished. They promised they would leave you alone.”

“But I don’t want to hurt anyone,” said Cenrix.

“Of course I understand,” said Corpraxia sweetly. “But no one will listen to you unless you make them. If the Abbess were gone, everyone would know that they could not harm you again without consequences.”

Cenrix looked up at her in horror. “But I can’t kill her. She was kind to me.”

“Until she wasn’t.”

Cenrix wavered, teetering on the brink.

The door of the abandoned building blew inward in a shower of divine energy. Azmodios stormed into the room, wreathed in holy flames. He saw Cenrix and Corpraxia — in the form of Yinnilith — both of whom stared at him, mute with shock and fear.

“Devil,” growled Azmodios. In an instant he flew across the room and snatched Yinnilith up, holding her by the throat even as he cast Cenrix aside. “What mischief have you gotten up to now? No, never mind. It matters little, for I am here to end it. And you.”

“Cedric,” said Yinnilith, wide-eyed and feigning innocence. “How I have missed you, my love.”

“Cedric was a lie, as is this form you wear now,” said Azmodios. “Shed it. You will wear your true, unholy skin when I destroy you.”

Cenrix finally mustered himself. He didn’t understand who this man was, but his mother was in danger. He threw himself at the deva and tried to free Yinnilith, but pulling on the angel’s arm was like trying to dislodge a boulder from the side of a mountain.

“Stop!” cried Cenrix, tears streaming down his face. “Leave her alone!”

Azmodios removed one hand from Yinnilith’s throat and flung Cenrix aside. But then he glanced at the boy. He saw the same high cheekbones, the same brilliant blue eyes, the fair hair that had only existed in remnants upon Cedric’s greying pate.

He froze.

“The child,” he whispered.

“Yes,” said Yinnilith, grinning sadistically. “Your darling boy. And it was he who committed the devilry here in Starfall — not I, my darling.”

Azmodios’ mouth twisted. “No doubt it was at your doing. I will let him see the truth of the mistress he has served. Then I will end you both.”

Blazing white fire erupted from his hands, and Yinnilith screamed. Before Cenrix’s horrified eyes, her form twisted and melted. Her skin turned purple — the same purple as the birthmark on Cenrix’s cheek. Horns sprouted from her head, and wings from her back. Soon a succubus hung from Azmodios’ iron grip.

Cenrix felt his heart nearly stop.

Azmodios flung Corpraxia to the ground and loomed over her. White light poured from his hand, filling the room with blinding light. When Cenrix was able to open his eyes again, the light had formed into a sword nearly as long as he was tall.

Azmodios raised the blade. “For Liliira’s honor, and to earn her forgiveness.”

“No!” Cenrix threw himself forward and flung his arms wide, blocking Corpraxia’s body with his own.

And Azmodios stopped. In Cenrix’s eyes he saw fear. But he also saw love, and compassion, and the desire to protect the only parent the boy had ever known.

Liliira’s words came back to his mind.

“You may join me again,” she had said. “But only if you heal the evil that you have put into the world.”

Heal the evil. Not destroy it.

Azmodios lowered his blade. Corpraxia’s sharp teeth showed in a grin.

“Your mercy does you proud, my love.” Her silky voice felt as if it was caressing Azmodios’ very ear, and he shivered with horror and desire. “Though what would your goddess think of your hesitation, I wonder?”

In a flash of purple energy, she vanished. Cenrix turned to find her gone, and then he turned back to Azmodios in confusion.

“I … what did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” said Azmodios, heaving a sigh. “She is gone. But not forever. What is your name, boy?”

Cenrix narrowed his eyes. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because it is time for your healing to begin.”

Azmodios broke his own vow to himself, and he took human form one last time. He became Cedric, but a younger version, perhaps only forty years old. And looking into this adult man’s face, Cenrix could see his own eyes, his own hair, the shape of features that were so indelibly his — everything but the purple antler-shaped mark on his cheek.

Over a period of time, Azmodios told Cenrix everything he could about how he had come to be born. Cenrix was not a human, as he had always thought, but an Aasimar, albeit one with a dark and terrible corruption in his bloodline. But that corruption could be expunged — or at least resisted.

“How long must I fight it?” asked Cenrix.

“As long as you live,” Azmodios told him sadly.

For the first time since he was a young boy, Cenrix was instructed again in the virtues of good, of mercy, of joy and compassion. Azmodios worked to convince Cenrix that his life should not be about trickery and deceit, but honor and defense of the innocent. The boy had powers, innate magic from his blood. But it was Cenrix’s choices that would determine the outcome of those gifts. He was not born evil. He was not born good. Only his decisions would determine what sort of person he would turn out to be.

And in the end, Azmodios found his task much easier than he had feared it would be. With the right encouragement, Cenrix found that he enjoyed helping others again, and using his gifts to make the lives of others easier and more joyous.

After a time, he even returned to the orphanage to make amends. He did not ask their forgiveness — he only asked that he be allowed to serve, in whatever capacity they might require him.

The Abbess was reluctant to accept his apology, and he was too old to be readmitted to the orphanage’s care, in any case. But Cenrix labored for weeks, first outside the orphanage, cleaning walls and mucking stables. And then at last he was permitted within the walls again, and he never showed any signs of reverting back to his evil ways. Each day, he returned to the small home on the outskirts of the city — the home that had once been Cedric’s — and spoke with his father of what he had done.

This went on for three more years, and once again Cedric became favored by the people of Starfall. None knew of his parentage, of course, and so his early teenage years were chalked up to a particularly nasty streak of teenage rebelliousness. But when someone needed help fixing a door, or a child fell ill, or a young person became lost in the woods, Cenrix would appear and do his utmost to help. And so he became beloved by his city, and they claimed him as their champion.

Until the day that Azmodios told him he must leave.

“Leave?” said Cenrix. “Where?”

“That is not certain,” said Azmodios. “But your gifts are too precious to be given only to these people. The world needs the aid that you can provide — and so do I.”

And then, for the first time, Azmodios told Cenrix of his own fall from Liliira’s grace. He told Cenrix of the conditions by which he could earn his goddess’ favor again. It was not enough for Cenrix to be a servant of the people of Starfall. With the power of his conflicted bloodline, Cenrix was still capable of great evil. The only way to heal it was to go out and do great things, not the meager acts of service he had performed until now.

And so, Cenrix set out into the world to seek his fortune and perform whatever service he could. And Azmodios left him, to pursue his own purpose of purging evil from the land, always in service to his lady Liliira. He would visit Cenrix in dreams, giving him instructions, guidance, and counsel — but never too much, for he wished his son to find his own way to combat the world’s evil.

Yet on the first night after their parting, it was not Azmodios who appeared in Cenrix’s dream. It was Corpraxia.

She appeared to him in her elven form again, as Yinnilith, but standing in an inky black void. Cenrix recoiled from her.

“What are you doing here?” he said. Four years of education at Azmodios’ hand had instilled a revulsion of his mother. “Begone. I never wish to see you again.”

“Then I am sorry to have disturbed you,” she said. Her voice was filled with sadness and regret. “Yet I will not promise to leave you forever. You are my boy. My darling boy, and I have missed you these long years.”

“You are trying to sway my mind,” said Cenrix. “It will not work.”

But despite the conviction he forced into his voice, he could feel his heart breaking at her words. For five years she had been his only friend, the only one who showed him kindness or compassion.

He knew it was only because she herself had driven him away from everyone else. He knew she had manipulated him into being alone and despised by those he had once called friend. But a scared little boy still lived in Cenrix’s heart, and he wanted his mother.

“I am not,” said Corpraxia. “I swear it. I only wanted to look at you. I feared your father might never leave you alone. I love him still, as I love you. But he will never accept me. He will never forgive me.”

“What you did is beyond forgiveness,” said Cenrix heatedly.

She reached out and cupped his cheek. “You mean creating you? If that, in fact, damns me forever, then let it damn me. I would not take it back. I have done nothing greater, made nothing finer, in all the long years of my existence. I have seen you grow under your father’s tutelage. You are more powerful than I could ever have made you, for there are things I could never have taught you — just as there are things he will never be able to teach you. But I will.”

For a long moment, Cenrix was not strong enough to pull her hand from his cheek. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering if this would be the last time he would feel his mother’s touch again. Then, at last, he pulled her fingers away.

“You will not. You will leave, and you will never return.”

“I already told you I will not promise that,” said Corpraxia. “You have a hard road ahead of you, my child. Your father will help you upon much of it. But he will not be able to help you against doubt, for he sees it as a weakness. He will not be able to help you against fear, for he does not feel it. And he will not be able to help you against temptation, for he fell victim to it once, and so he will never face the possibility of its existence again. But I am a mistress of doubt, a queen of fear, the embodiment of temptation. When your father’s teachings fail you, I will return. And with both our help, you will grow more powerful than you ever could with just one of us by your side.”

Cenrix could never fully explain why — but he never told his father of that first visit, nor any of the times Corpraxia returned to him thereafter.

So Cenrix’s journey began.

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