Post by Tllith on Sept 22, 2009 18:56:34 GMT -5
[glow=red,2,300]I took a break from my usual hobby of writing stories about getting dragons in various troubles to write Tllith's backstory. For your approval:[/color] [/glow]
Tllith has been a chore and a half for Conclave Fidelis. A welcome enough chore, to be sure: fostering and raising what will be, some decade, a powerful force of Good and ally of your religion is a worthwhile work to do. And Tllith isn't exactly a trouble, most of the time: she's a cheerful and good-spirited chaotic monster.
But she's definitely a chaotic monster, and that doesn't work brilliantly in a more orderly, civilized world.
Case in point: Everyone in Conclave Fidelis sings the praises of The Song quite a lot. Tllith, from a few days old, enjoyed singing, and, from a few weeks old, had quite a good voice and musical sense. She gleefully crept up into the Grand Conservatory and joined the Hymn of Plentiful Spiritual Gifts from behind a glass sculpture of an angel. And did a fine job at it Reverend Conductor Asphodet invited her to sing along with the monks in some of the more celebratory (and thus less ritually crucial) hymnodies. And that was fine until she learned how to sing harmonies a few months later. Some hymns allow for creativity and free-form singing; but in most every note has a particular spiritual purpose. Rev.Cdr. Asphodet corrected Tllith, which worked fine for the rest of the hymn... but Tllith, being chaotic at the core (and having no idea what the hymns really meant) often slipped back into singing harmonies when she got excited. Which was fairly often.
And how does a low-level musician explain to a dragon-child who could kill him three times over in a single round that she's not welcome to sing hymns in the Grand Conservatory anymore? It took quite a bit of debate -- and oh, but a brass dragon can debate! -- before it was resolved that she would mostly sing with the recreational and training groups, and only join the main choirs in works that encouraged harmonies, or where the whole community sang.
Sometimes she could be quite helpful. Once three rabid dogs were limping around the fields. The more canny and adventurery of the monks started drawing straws for who would deal with them, and making careful plans for archery and spellslinging at a distance, for the bite of a rabid dog can be quite troublesome to any mammal. Tllith (who hadn't learned to breath aggressively at that point) galumphed out and traded bites until all three dogs were dead. Rabies means nothing to a lizard, and dogbites don't mean very much to a dragon.
But she's rather a rube, especially when she's being helpful. Lania Dasbiritte was born at about the same time as Tllith, but growing at a human's speed. When they were both somewhat shy of one year old, Tllith toddled over to see Lania, and was rather alarmed to hear Lania crying. "Nothing is actually wrong, Tllith," said Lania's mother. "She's just tired, and having trouble getting to sleep." "Oh! I'll help her!", squeaked Tllith, and did just that, with a billowy cloud of sleep breath: Lania was out for a full turn. So were half a dozen other people. Fortunately the candle Lania's father was holding went out when he dropped it.
After that, the monks gave her a very extensive set of lectures and instructions about never, ever using sleep breath (or, gods help us, heat breath!) around the village. Never. It's too dangerous.
"Then you should teach me magic," said Tllith.
"That's ridiculous," said Dirquin, the aasimar wizard who was the chief adventurer in the monastery, and, having the most hit points and best saving throws, was de facto in charge of scolding the dragon. "You're quite dangerous enough without more powers."
"No, really! Without magic, I might get mixed up and breathe sleep or maybe even heat. With magic, I might get mixed up and cast a Sleep spell. That's a lot smaller than my breath weapons and not nearly as dangerous," said Tllith. "Or maybe I'd cast something really harmless, like Friends or Tenser's Floating Disk. Whatever's in my head, and it's got to be less trouble than my breath. You can decide what spells to give me -- you can give me nice safe spells."
It's always been hard to argue with Tllith {Debate proficiency and Charisma 18}, especially when her arguments make some sense.
"I suppose you might learn some discipline if I teach you," said Dirquin with a sigh, and made her his student. She has plenty of discipline if she actually wants to do something, and she'll even follow instructions if she likes the instructor and cares enough. Six months after that, she went over to Lania's house at evening time, and used Audible Glamer to sing her a lullaby. Lania didn't go to sleep from that, but it was properly harmless, at least.
But Tllith has still never managed to stay with the proper melodic line for long enough to sing with the main chorus.
Tllith has been a chore and a half for Conclave Fidelis. A welcome enough chore, to be sure: fostering and raising what will be, some decade, a powerful force of Good and ally of your religion is a worthwhile work to do. And Tllith isn't exactly a trouble, most of the time: she's a cheerful and good-spirited chaotic monster.
But she's definitely a chaotic monster, and that doesn't work brilliantly in a more orderly, civilized world.
Case in point: Everyone in Conclave Fidelis sings the praises of The Song quite a lot. Tllith, from a few days old, enjoyed singing, and, from a few weeks old, had quite a good voice and musical sense. She gleefully crept up into the Grand Conservatory and joined the Hymn of Plentiful Spiritual Gifts from behind a glass sculpture of an angel. And did a fine job at it Reverend Conductor Asphodet invited her to sing along with the monks in some of the more celebratory (and thus less ritually crucial) hymnodies. And that was fine until she learned how to sing harmonies a few months later. Some hymns allow for creativity and free-form singing; but in most every note has a particular spiritual purpose. Rev.Cdr. Asphodet corrected Tllith, which worked fine for the rest of the hymn... but Tllith, being chaotic at the core (and having no idea what the hymns really meant) often slipped back into singing harmonies when she got excited. Which was fairly often.
And how does a low-level musician explain to a dragon-child who could kill him three times over in a single round that she's not welcome to sing hymns in the Grand Conservatory anymore? It took quite a bit of debate -- and oh, but a brass dragon can debate! -- before it was resolved that she would mostly sing with the recreational and training groups, and only join the main choirs in works that encouraged harmonies, or where the whole community sang.
Sometimes she could be quite helpful. Once three rabid dogs were limping around the fields. The more canny and adventurery of the monks started drawing straws for who would deal with them, and making careful plans for archery and spellslinging at a distance, for the bite of a rabid dog can be quite troublesome to any mammal. Tllith (who hadn't learned to breath aggressively at that point) galumphed out and traded bites until all three dogs were dead. Rabies means nothing to a lizard, and dogbites don't mean very much to a dragon.
But she's rather a rube, especially when she's being helpful. Lania Dasbiritte was born at about the same time as Tllith, but growing at a human's speed. When they were both somewhat shy of one year old, Tllith toddled over to see Lania, and was rather alarmed to hear Lania crying. "Nothing is actually wrong, Tllith," said Lania's mother. "She's just tired, and having trouble getting to sleep." "Oh! I'll help her!", squeaked Tllith, and did just that, with a billowy cloud of sleep breath: Lania was out for a full turn. So were half a dozen other people. Fortunately the candle Lania's father was holding went out when he dropped it.
After that, the monks gave her a very extensive set of lectures and instructions about never, ever using sleep breath (or, gods help us, heat breath!) around the village. Never. It's too dangerous.
"Then you should teach me magic," said Tllith.
"That's ridiculous," said Dirquin, the aasimar wizard who was the chief adventurer in the monastery, and, having the most hit points and best saving throws, was de facto in charge of scolding the dragon. "You're quite dangerous enough without more powers."
"No, really! Without magic, I might get mixed up and breathe sleep or maybe even heat. With magic, I might get mixed up and cast a Sleep spell. That's a lot smaller than my breath weapons and not nearly as dangerous," said Tllith. "Or maybe I'd cast something really harmless, like Friends or Tenser's Floating Disk. Whatever's in my head, and it's got to be less trouble than my breath. You can decide what spells to give me -- you can give me nice safe spells."
It's always been hard to argue with Tllith {Debate proficiency and Charisma 18}, especially when her arguments make some sense.
"I suppose you might learn some discipline if I teach you," said Dirquin with a sigh, and made her his student. She has plenty of discipline if she actually wants to do something, and she'll even follow instructions if she likes the instructor and cares enough. Six months after that, she went over to Lania's house at evening time, and used Audible Glamer to sing her a lullaby. Lania didn't go to sleep from that, but it was properly harmless, at least.
But Tllith has still never managed to stay with the proper melodic line for long enough to sing with the main chorus.