Zidiri Khanala the Winged Savior of the Sober, Elder Prophet of Blurred Sight

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Role

Chapter 4

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"I feel old," Zidiri thought to himself. He shook his head and clacked
his beak - "What a silly thought!" He was at his prime enjoying the
wisdom and temperance that middle age brought. He looked around the
Inn's dusty halls. "Boo!" he yelled. No one answered, except for the
echo. Zidiri scratched his head - the halls of the Inn were surprisingly
empty. "This is not like the times of the past," he thought. "We must
fill the halls with laughter and merriment... these drinks at the Bar
have been collecting dust for far too long." "And what about all the
adventures - there are yet too many that lie ahead of us!"

"What if I became the High Herald? Would I be able to bring the new
patrons here?" "I was never the ambitious sort - far from it, but then I
never shyed away when others needed me." "I think I could be of use in
that role." "Oh! And I may just be able to sculpt Solraen's head to
place him back on the Throne - it's been a while since there was an
Emperor like him who truly appreciated the arts!"

Of course, this was for the Divine Travelers of the Inn to decide...

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Role

Chapter 3

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Zidiri looked in the mirror. He was not doing so out of Morian vanity.
No, far from it. It's just been a while since he reflected on himself.
The rainbow feathers now had the eighth color - gray. And there was one
patch on his wings where there were no feathers at all. Zidiri sighed.
Much time has passed. What has he accomplished?

First, he came to peace with his past and who he has become. It was not
easily accomplished given his cruel beginnings. Second, Zidiri found and
strengthened his faith in the Lucky Lord who allowed him to unlock the
healing power within. Third, he found a home and a place to belong among
the Heralds, serving drinks to those who needed to either forget or
remember or both. The last thought led him to remember all those he met
along his way. Zidiri sighed. Nostalgia brought the smell of Aiya's
dragon steaks and Ehlonyra's songs.

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Role

Chapter 2

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They say there is a blurred line between comedy and tragedy, hate and
love, hurting and healing. It was on his thirteenth birthday that
Zidiri found himself on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, his
throat closing up, his hands shaking. All his training as a gladiator
was forgotten! His muscles didn't respond, his arms did not flex, his
legs did not spring. Instead, his hands glowed white and his lips
hummed with prayer. What was this curse? This gift? And to whom was
he praying? Zidiri was simply in shock.

It did not take long for the overseer to see how useless his top
gladiator became. Killing Zidiri meant clean up, so he simply tossed
Zidiri out, with neither bread nor water, just a torn up rag over his
wings.

Confused and disoriented, Zidiri stumbled through Thera until he came
across the guild of healers in Galadon which offered Zidiri just
enough shelter to make it through one day at a time.

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Role

Chapter 1

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Khanala is not much of a family name. It's the name given to every
kid who's dumped on the steps of an orphanage. If it wasn't so bloody
common, it'd be almost degrading, a slur, really.

Now, in an ideal world, orphanages would provide a caring and
rehabilitating upbringing for these parentless children. But then
there would be a lot of orphanages and some massive expense accounts
attached. And who can afford that?

Instead, Zidiri's orphanage was run as a thriving trade in 'adoptions
via donation' where 'kind benefactors' would 'reimburse' the orphanage
for the 'heartbreak' of 'losing' one of their wards. It was a genius
way to sell children as slaves in all but name without people getting
too offended. And it meant the orphanage could have a high enough
turnover to keep places free for more orphans.

Long story short, Zidiri was quick as a child, faster than most of his
peers. So it was not long until he was 'adopted' to the gladiator
pits, placed into the 'caring oversight' of an overseer with an eye
for quality malice and a long-term view of creating a stables of
gladiators to rival the greatest trainers.

Hard training, hard life, hard taskmaster, and a huge chip on his
shoulder made Zidiri a hard-eyed teenager with a taste for the
violence.

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