The Fellowship of the Wagon
Samsaran Devine Arcanist
Six foot three inch bald Human weighing one hundred and fifty five pounds with blue skin, solid white eyes without pupils or iris and a black beard. Wearing dark purple pants, dark boots, at his right hip he keeps a wand while on the left rests a scroll case. The only jewelry he adorns are the finely crafted yet plain band on his right hand, an amulet that hangs from around his neck, and a holy symbol he has tied to a pair of one inch cloth straps that cross his chest. Duru tends to be hot natured and often leaves his chest and back exposed openly displaying his uniqueness.
Theodric is the adopted name bestrode on to me by my adopted parents. It is a strong Taldan name that my father, Taurnil Telperien, chose in an effort to award me some hope of acceptance. Though I cherish the sentiment I have cast the title aside, not out of hate or anger but from understanding and growth. As a child I knew I was different, not only was I possibly the only blue human in all of the inner sea but I would often experience unbelievably vivid visions.
At first my parents dismissed them as bad dreams but as the years slipped by they too began to question the force behind this phenomenon. In my youth my mother, Nessa, would pray to the goddess Desna for guidance and ask that she be granted the insight to cure me of the ‘curse’ that evil had bestowed upon me. My father’s take on my situation was a bit different for he believed that my bloodline was infused with that of a powerful Djinni. One thing they both agreed on was that I was not to speak of my visions to anyone for fear that I would be labeled a witch or demon spawn. Most of the visions depict me adult varying in appearance but ultimately similar to that of the present. Throughout my child the images that plagued me were primarily of an adult form being nailed to a tree, ripped apart by wild animals in a Coliseum, beheaded or killed amidst a the chaotic struggle of warring people. Over the years new visions came to me randomly as I sleep or brought on by a familiar place or smell. As I grew many of them depicted me reaching into the fabric of time and space to aid, inspire, and protect the unjustly oppressed. Such fantasy instilled a curiosity that got me into trouble with my adopted parents more often than not.
At a young age I had a tendency to toy with my father’s arcane devices and may have caused a bit of ruckus from time to time. It was perhaps the ‘minor’ explosion in his basement laboratory might have been the reason I was forced to undergo extensive military training at a young age. A time when I struggled through during the day while burning candles late into the night reading stories of the magi of old, tells of distant nations, histories of people, and just about anything I could get my hands on. Eventually, after failing miserably in grasping the concepts of blunt combat and being turned down for just about every apprenticeship within a day’s travel my adopted father decided to attempt to lean me in his craft. Provided I never go into his workshop without him present. Doing as asked the years slipped by and I began to show improvement in my ability to reach into the magical tapestry without too many mishaps. However he never forgot the small fire I had caused and the wands and other such magical devices were always kept behind lock and key.
About ten years ago my folks were murdered by rogues who attacked their convoy as they were returning from their biannual trip to Kyonin. No longer being able to get buy assisting my parents in the creation of trade goods I advertised my services as a scribe for hire in, Bridge End, the small hamlet where I was raised. Almost immediately I came into the service of Patronia’s father, the town’s prior Praetor. His death was almost as difficult as that of my own family for he was a very charismatic fellow that really knew how to get people to open up. To this day he was the only person outside of my adopted family that I felt comfortable with to share the secret of my mysterious visions and it was he who returned one day from a trip to the capital with a gift that I will never be able repay.
He had given me an old tome documenting an Azlanti’s saint’s fight against repressive regimes and her ascension to godhood. Wedged in the tomb was an envelope addressed to me in the Praetor’s hand. The sheet within was a badly worn parchment that spoke of a people observed in a distant land who kept to themselves and claimed to be reincarnated beings. The document named them as having skin the color of mine and provided me the name of my people. My first instinct was to spend a life time if necessary searching them out but when I looked back down at the old tome a phrase caught my eye. The same phrase that drifts in like a comforting breeze whispering to me while I sleep each night, “Fear not death for those who are strong of faith in her shall return again to continue the fight.”
So with this said my name is, has and forever will be Duru Dakash. I am of a rare breed known as Samsarans that stand apart from the mortal races of Golarion. Unlike most who die and stand judgment before their deity we start afresh experiencing the trials and tribulations of a new incarnation. How many times I’ve embark upon a new journey is unknown to me but I do have memories that grant me insight into the lives I have lead and prepare me for that which I must do. Every morning, for both encouragement and focus, I recite the phrase that has always remained clearest in my memories. I spend much of my time enjoying the peace and tranquility of life studying old tomes in search of anything that can reconnect me to my purpose and the lives I had once lived, yet ever ready to strike out like the spiritual arm of Milani against those who wish to enslave and exploit the goodly people of this realm.
Father Taurnil Telperien – Arcane Scholar
Mother Nessa Telperien – Alchemist Healer