Micrifa the Victorious Champion

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Role

Chapter 3

I remember the frigid cold, starving so that my younger brother could
eat what meager rations my father was able to provide. Moving to the
desert city of Hamsah Mu'tazz was suppose to improve our conditions.
It didn't, the sweltering heat took the place of frigid cold, yet I
watched my father beg to fulfill our most meager of needs. The pity
in their eyes, the spew of filth at our lifestyle. I remember him
dying in my arms, I remember his adolescent words.

I am a diamond in the rough. It is a matter of perseverence rather
than an innate ability. The first time I lifted a sword was with
a strain. Even now, I strain. But it is no longer out of lack in
strength. Roaming Thera, every adventurer has a desire to serve one
cause or another. But who seeks to truly serve the disenfranchised?
None of them do.

I will not be victim, prey, beggar, urchin, as my father was. I pray
for strength from above to vindicate my Pride. Whatever means necessary,
they, Therans, will learn that a new cause has arisen.

Role

Chapter 2

They've deemed me an indiscriminate killer. I've little doubt each one
to feel the warmth of my blades has deserved it, but I am no oracle.
The majority of Therans are tucked safely inside their cocoons, waiting
to emerge upon maturity and set ablaze to Thera with their pointless
wars. Without conceiving the consequence of their petty differences.

I will be honest. I myself am being tainted by these cabal wars. At
times, I sympathize with a cause much more than I should. I pray for
strength from above to overcome the temptations for such power.

It is in their last moments before I send them back to their respective
altars that I see humility. Be it the noble elves to the wicked duergar,
they all look the same in those last moments. And I enjoy every single
minute of it. Soon, they will learn to embrace it as well.

Role

Chapter 1

It was an unusally cold night. From my years in Thera as a seasoned
warrior, I now know why. A Maran Invoker, I suspect, had made the
environment cold for strategic purposes. Marist, my brother, paid
for the sin of the Scions they slaughtered that night. Fireworks,
it was like fireworks. The price of front-row seats for the epic
battle that night was not worth his life.

On his tenth anniversary, I turned to the bottle. The numbing of wits
was a relief I hadn't felt ever in my life. I suffered my first defeat
that night, but it was worth it. That was five years ago, I'm now 32,
on his fifteenth anniversary. What my brother represented to me for
so many years is diminishing. Writing that seems so...harsh. I went
to his unmarked grave, I payed my respects, but the feeling of despair
that I've felt for the last fourteen years was just...gone.

Each lesson I learn in life is met with resistance. History tells us
of the minotaur, and their "sacred" ritual that violates our very existence.
I hunt down and kill Malolauch, Mablug...then I meet Verzbit. I grew to
trust Verzbit with my life. Ramora Wavedancer taught me of men in general,
and I meet Ynthok...who commanded the shadows of Thera that any assault
upon me would be considered an assault upon him. To this day, I profit
from his edicts. Marist pays for the sins of Igbah, and I find his
deadliest assassin, Jil, my dearest ally.

I am Micrifa Marvela. I am one of a kind.

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