Mizfara ben-Ashkari the Judge, Jury, and Executioner, Captain of the Brigade

Role

Chapter 8

Mizfara had been dragged along on another of her father's caravans, and
this time the destination was Galadon. Acompanying them was a motley
assortment of merchandise: a dwarf who had struck a guard while drunk, a
family of humans with debts they couldn't pay, and the lone elf. To this
day she can't remember what the elf's crime was supposed to have been.
In Udgaard, being an elf was usually enough.

Malnourished, abused, and not especially attractive, the man's prospects
were not good. She assumed that was why he stopped marching once they
reached the foothills. Her father's captives did this from time to time,
when they realized all hope was lost, thinking it preferable to be slain
than to arrive at market. It was a vain hope. Circling the straggler,
her father's men intended to motivate him into continuing the march
or beat him to the point where he could be carried.

If only they had seen things as Mizfara had, perhaps events would have
unfolded differently. If only they'd looked in his eyes. Her father was
blind to such things, though, having seen only fear, anger and despair in
the eyes of his chattel for so long. Beyond a cursory inspection to
verify that the captives could see, he noticed very little. But not
Mizfara. She saw in this one no anger, no despair, nor, strangely, any
trace of fear. Only an odd sort of determination. Had she been older she
might have remarked on it, but looking back she's glad she didn't.

The men set to their task. One punched the elf in the gut, which brought
him to his knees. Another clubbed him in the back with the flat of a
sword, causing him to pitch forward onto all fours. The first man then
kicked him in the chest. Hard. Mizfara saw blood dripping from his mouth
as he began to mumble. His tormentors found this quite amusing, thinking
him mad, and paused in their abuse to trade jests at his expense. How
ignorant they were.

The mumbling stopped, and with it the laughter. The man slowly rose from
from the kneeling position he'd been forced to assume. Lifting his head
at last, he regarded them with eyes of pure flame, even as a soft, white
glow winked into being about his body. Those who had been watching the
spectacle now scrambled for their weapons, but it was too late. The
beaten one, his wounds now vanished, began to chant in earnest, raising
his hands to call down the wrath of his deity on those present. Their
cries of anguish filled her ears when Mizfara lost consciousness.

Role

Chapter 7

After her father's slave caravan was destroyed, Mizfara was taken to
Darsylon to be cared for. Unlike her father and the men he had hired,
when the elf uttered his holy word she was not harmed. The paladin took
note of this. Peering into her soul, he saw that her true nature was not
like that of her father, and for that reason took her with him when he
returned to the city of his people.

At first she was full of rage. Rage against the man who had slain her
father, rage at the fact that she was now orphaned in a city of
strangers, rage at her inability to control her own fate. Gradually,
however, the elves' kindness began to soothe her spirit. Ashamed of how
much more slowly she learned things compared to the elves around her, she
began to study privately with some of the priests in the temple.
Consequently, her speech and mannerisms more resemble those of the elves
than of her own kind.

Showing no talent for magic and prevented from becoming a priest, Mizfara
naturally gravitated towards more martial pursuits. She took great
pleasure in training with the junior members of the Darsylon guard, though
it was often a frustrating experience. Training only with swords, Mizfara
was at a severe disadvantage. Unable to grasp the art of wielding two
blades, most of the more sophisticated techniques were off limits to her.
She had almost resigned herself to being a second-rate swordsman, when her
tutor surprised her and suggested she seek out one named 'Kavan' in
Voralian city to the east...

Role

Chapter 6

Mizfara is quite thoughtful for a felar, though still prone to the feral
rage for which her race is known. She has only recently begun to accept
this part of herself, previously viewing it as an unfortunate lapse in
self-control. She is intensely self-reliant and will not call upon others
to aid her in any task she could reasonably expect to accomplish on her
own. So far she has applied that principle to the task of increasing her
stature in the guild, but that may not always be the case.

Mizfara is deeply ashamed of the life her father led prior to her being
orphane, and indeed of her own part in the process. In reality there was
little she could have done differently, being only a child, but it plagues
her nevertheless. This shame, rarely acknowledged at the conscious
level, drives her to strive against those whose hearts are dark, like her
father's was.

Fierce though this struggle may be, Mizfara is somewhat detached from it.
She does not kill out of anger or hatred, but instead views herself as an
instrument of judgment on those who sorely deserve it. While she may be
curt when speaking to an enemy, she is nevertheless polite, and endeavors
to treat her foes with dignity even when they have been vanquished.

Role

Chapter 5

She fights. She kills. Another day, another struggle. When the toil and
blood weigh on her heavily, Mizfara often finds her thoughts
returning to a particular lesson she received in Darsylon. The story of
Marcatis, Keeper of the Scales, Judge of Men. While the elves can by no
means lay claim to Marcatis, he nevertheless holds a place of honor at
Temple in Darsylon, along with the other lords of light. And so it was
that Mizfara learned the basic tenets of his faith, along with the rest,
while she was in the care of the priests.

It was not until she left the city, however, that these teachings truly
gained "relevance". Again and again she would bring low those who would
murder or oppress; and on occasion she too would taste death. But
according to the faith of the Keeper, death has no sting for the
righteous. In Marcatis, Mizfara sees the hope for ultimate redemption
from the sins of her past. Subconsciously, perhaps, she also craves
certainty regarding the "justice" of her activites vis-a-vis the wicked
up until this point.

Is she just another soldier, taking orders and fighting in a war whose
true essence ultimately eludes her? Or is she something more?

Role

Chapter 4

For many years Mizfara has fought alone. She has risen in the guild
alone, and striven against the wicked alone. But she is alone no more.
Submitting herself to the leadership of others, and committing herself to
the service of the Light, Mizfara has become a Squire of the Fortress.
The struggle is still there, but now she faces it with the knowledge that
she is not alone; now she fights with brothers and sisters at her side.
This filial aspect of military life holds great significance for Mizfara,
since she was raised an orphan with no family or siblings of her own.

Role

Chapter 3

I thought it odd when the duergar approached me. Mostly because he was a
duergar, but also because he was one of Droghnund's soldiers. Droghnund
certainly isn't the type for duels; we have that in common I suppose. But
here was Dragrahl, asking that I grant him honorable combat. Fair enough.
If this is the manner in which he would taste judgment then so be it.

We converge on Evermoon Hollow. Perhaps the sylvans sensed something was
amiss. For whatever reason, they seemed oddly scarce that day. It was at
the altar that our paths finally met. He noddded, and it began.
Regrettably, before I could react, I felt the heavy weight of his
blackjack at the base of my skull. An ignominious beginning to combat,
but I would not deny him the craft of his guild.

I felt myself lightened of those few things I carried, as I struggled to
regain consciousness. Dimly I was aware of ropes being bound around my
extremities. Then, all of a sudden, the fight had begun. In hindsight it
was probably a poor choice, but I broke his wrist, and then his shoulder.
He sustained grievous wounds. Then, befrore I knew it he was gone,
running for safety. "Yeh win," he shouted, as he sped away.

Close on his heels, I encountered my stolen items at the gates to
Ar'toldein. This duergar had some honor after all. Uncommon, but a
pleasant surprise. Nevertheless, our duel complete, the larger struggle
resumed. Stepping into the forest, he was nowhere to be seen. I had
expected him to run for the safety of the village, but it seemed ulikely
that he would have made it to Gol'golath already.

Sure enough, he had paused near the bandit's camp to lick his wounds. It
was his undoing, and mine, perhaps. Almost before his body hit the
ground, the duergar's voice reached out to me from across Thera. "Yeh
have no honor? I said yeh'd won!" His words stung. Many times I have
weathered the insults and mockery of the wicked, and will do so again, but
this accusation was different.

I would not knowingly commit treachery, even against a duergar, but there
was no way to convince him of this fact. Are not duels to the death?
Was I justified in pursuing once he had declared me victor of the duel?
Or, in my zeal, had I become that which I seek to destroy?

I pray that the Keeper grant me the wisdom to make sense of these events,
and the humility to atone if my actions were in error.

Role

Chapter 2

As far as most everyone is concerned, Mizfara daughter-of-Ashkar died some
forty years ago, when her father's slave caravan was ambushed by an
unknown number of assailants. Or else she was taken captive, which meant
she might as well be dead. Not many knew Mizfara's name, in those days,
but many more knew, and despised, the name of Ashkar ben-Hazaz, her
father. Because of this Mizfara has, until recently, not publicized her
ancestry. She was ashamed of her father and so buried that part of her
life, revealing it only to a select few.

She is ashamed no longer. Mizfara certainly condemns her father's
activities, and would be the first to agree that he was a wicked man,
fully deserving of the judgment he received. However, she no longer
internalizes his guilt as her own. Her father's sins are not hers, so she
has no need to feel guilty or ashamed of them. They are what they are.
By taking the name that is hers by custom: ben-Ashkari, "Daughter of
Ashkar", she announces to the world that she is alive, and furthermore
not afraid to be associated with her unfortunate past.

As a matter of fact, Mizfara considers her past to be a powerful testimony
to the ability of all Therans to overcome the dark circumstances of their
own pasts and instead live righteous lives.

Role

Chapter 1

It has been a long road for Mizfara. She is weary. The mantle of
leadership weighs heavier on her than it ever has before, but she has no
desire to lay it down. No, an oath taken long ago is still an oath, and
her duty is a solemn, holy, one.

She thinks back, often, on the scope of her life. Pondering. Wondering
whether her stewardship of the Keeper's gift was adequate. Questioning
whether she has truly atoned for the sins of her past, from a time now
remembered perhaps only by the elves.

She contemplates the judgment that is to come.

Often she recalls the days of her youth, spent in the Keeper's shrine
hashing out her understanding of the faith. These she recalls fondly.
She is curious whether, in the existence that is to come, she might once
again enjoy such things. She hopes so.

But for now there is the war. Always with her, its consistency is
comforting in a way, though she would end it in a heartbeat were it within
her power to do so. But alas, it is not. And so she prepares for yet
another day, well aware that it may be her last.

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