Post by Zaspar on Jun 8, 2024 17:04:58 GMT
Tucked away in the Arthiar servant's quarters are a series of biographies and anecdotes about each family member, compiled by the Arthiar house scribe. Zaspar's file is particularly thick.
(c/o: picrew.me/en/image_maker/1855819 )
Zaspar, born Adagio Arthiar, is a 101-year-old high elf from the prestigious Arthiar family, known for their political influence and vast wealth. The Arthiars relocated to Kantas to expand their holdings. Zaspar's father, Cassius, is a shrewd and ambitious patriarch, while his mother, Celeste, a former court musician, inspired Zaspar's love for music. Trained in rapier fencing and bardic magic, Zaspar adopted the name "Zaspar the Holy Fist" upon reaching adulthood, though he retains a quiet preference for his childhood name, Adagio. Despite his noble upbringing, he dreams of carving out a unique legacy through his adventures, inspired by the tales of adventurers who wandered through his family estate in Faerun.
15 Years Old: Bearded Rage
The grand hall of the Arthiar estate was a testament to elven elegance, its high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and tapestries that spoke of the family's long and storied history.
One day, a tough dwarf with a beard braided into multiple sections visited the estate. His presence was a stark contrast to the refined elegance of the hall, yet he commanded respect with every step.
Young Adagio was transfixed by the sight of the dwarf. The braids in the dwarf's beard seemed to tell tales of their own, each one a story of valour and adventure. Adagio's eyes followed the dwarf's every move, his fascination growing with each passing moment.
Later, in the privacy of their quarters, the boy could barely contain his excitement as he turned to his mother, Celeste. "Mother, please, can I grow a beard like that dwarf?" he pleaded, his eyes wide with hope.
Celeste chuckled softly, her musical laugh filling the room. She gently cupped Adagio's face in her hands. "Adi, elves can't grow beards," she said, her voice tender but firm. Adagio's shoulders slumped in disappointment, the light in his eyes dimming.
Seeing her son's devastation, Celeste's mind raced for a solution. She smiled warmly, a spark of inspiration in her eyes. "But perhaps your sister's illusion tutor can help you project one?"
Over the next few weeks, the tutor dedicated himself to teaching Adagio a modified version of the disguise self spell, tailored specifically to project the appearance of a beard. Each lesson brought a mixture of frustration and exhilaration for him, as he struggled with the nuances of the spell but remained determined to succeed.
One morning, after countless attempts, he finally mastered the spell. His reflection in the mirror showed a proud, young elf with a beard that rivaled the dwarf's in complexity and style, even if only for ten minutes a day. Bursting with excitement, he ran to find his mother.
"Mother, look!" he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with joy. Celeste turned to see her son, now adorned with an illusory beard. Her heart swelled with pride, and she embraced him tightly. "Oh, Adi, you look wonderful," she whispered, her eyes shimmering with love.
However, not everyone shared in the joy of the moment. His father entered the room, his expression stern as he took in the scene. "Another of Adagio's futile pursuits, then," he sighed, his voice heavy with disapproval. Without another word, he turned and stormed off, leaving a palpable tension in his wake. Cassius' fury was swift and relentless whenever Adagio strayed from the path laid out for him. Fencing and the viol were the only acceptable pursuits in Cassius' eyes.
Adagio's smile faltered, the weight of his father's scorn pressing down on him. Embarrassed and disheartened, he quickly gave up on the beard trick.
99 Years Old: Naming Conventions
The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the Arthiar estate. In a quiet corner of the sprawling garden, Adagio and his younger sister sat on a stone bench, the cool night air filled with the scent of blooming jasmine. The two siblings often retreated here to share their thoughts, away from the formality and scrutiny of the household.
"Hey, Cy, I've finally decided," Adagio announced, a mix of excitement and determination in his voice.
His sister, ten months younger than him, smiled and turned to him. "What, Adi?"
Adagio took a deep breath, his green eyes gleaming with anticipation. "My name. My adult name. When I turn 100, I will be known as Zaspar the Holy Fist."
Cyrene raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. Despite being younger, she had already chosen and was being referred to by her adult name. Adagio's delay in choice was quite the topic of discussion among the household - and she wasn't sure that this choice would quiet the discussions any. “Zaspar the Holy Fist, huh? That's... quite the title."
He nodded enthusiastically. "It’s strong, right? Zaspar means 'Holy Fist' in an ancient Elvish language. I wanted something that would make people take notice, something with weight and significance."
Cyrene's smile softened, and she placed a hand on Adagio’s shoulder. “Y’know, Adagio is already such a cool name. It suits you.”
Adagio’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. "But Adagio is a child's name. I need a name that reflects who I want to become. Zaspar is that name."
Cyrene chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Adi, a name doesn't make you who you are. But are you planning to become some kind of religious fist fighter? You're not holy, and you’re terrible in a fistfight."
Adagio laughed, shaking his head. “No way, don’t worry - I’ll stick with my rapier. But Zaspar has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? People will listen when they hear the Holy Fist is in town.”
Cyrene sighed. "Alright, Zaspar. If anyone can make that a name worth remembering, it’s you."
Zaspar smiled, the conviction in his heart renewed by his sister's words. "I’ll make sure it’s a name that echoes through history."
101 Years Old: Departure
In the soft morning light filtering through the grand windows of his chamber, Zaspar sat in front of his ornate mirror. His reflection showed a young elf with tight curls tumbling softly atop his head. His mother stood behind him, gently brushing out his hair with tender, practiced strokes.
"Zaspar, darling, are you sure you wish to depart without your sister? She is more than happy to accompany you," his mother asked gently, voice filled with concern and love.
Zaspar felt a twinge of guilt as irritation bubbled up within him at the question. Ever since he had announced his decision to experience the world before assuming his role as the Arthiar heir, everyone had been urging him to take her along. But he needed to do this alone.
"Yes, mother. I'm heading out so I can experience the world the way the commonfolk who visit us do. I want to be able to tell stories as moving as theirs, write ballads as powerful. I can't do that in the estate, and I can't do it with Cyrene - she would make me seem so uncool that adventuring would be difficult,” Zaspar said, a mix of determination and gentle humour.
Celeste paused in her brushing, looking at her son with a mixture of pride and worry. "I understand, Adi. You’ve always had a heart that yearns for more. Just be careful.”
Zaspar turned to face his mother, his green eyes earnest, and he nodded. With a final embrace, Zaspar rose from his seat. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey ahead. The chamber was filled with the faint echoes of his siblings’ voices, their laughter and chants of “Adi! Adi! Adi!” from years past, mixed with his father’s stern reminders of duty.
He was ready to step into the world, not just as the heir of the Arthiar family, but as Zaspar the Holy Fist - a bard of legend.
(c/o: picrew.me/en/image_maker/1855819 )
Zaspar, born Adagio Arthiar, is a 101-year-old high elf from the prestigious Arthiar family, known for their political influence and vast wealth. The Arthiars relocated to Kantas to expand their holdings. Zaspar's father, Cassius, is a shrewd and ambitious patriarch, while his mother, Celeste, a former court musician, inspired Zaspar's love for music. Trained in rapier fencing and bardic magic, Zaspar adopted the name "Zaspar the Holy Fist" upon reaching adulthood, though he retains a quiet preference for his childhood name, Adagio. Despite his noble upbringing, he dreams of carving out a unique legacy through his adventures, inspired by the tales of adventurers who wandered through his family estate in Faerun.
15 Years Old: Bearded Rage
The grand hall of the Arthiar estate was a testament to elven elegance, its high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and tapestries that spoke of the family's long and storied history.
One day, a tough dwarf with a beard braided into multiple sections visited the estate. His presence was a stark contrast to the refined elegance of the hall, yet he commanded respect with every step.
Young Adagio was transfixed by the sight of the dwarf. The braids in the dwarf's beard seemed to tell tales of their own, each one a story of valour and adventure. Adagio's eyes followed the dwarf's every move, his fascination growing with each passing moment.
Later, in the privacy of their quarters, the boy could barely contain his excitement as he turned to his mother, Celeste. "Mother, please, can I grow a beard like that dwarf?" he pleaded, his eyes wide with hope.
Celeste chuckled softly, her musical laugh filling the room. She gently cupped Adagio's face in her hands. "Adi, elves can't grow beards," she said, her voice tender but firm. Adagio's shoulders slumped in disappointment, the light in his eyes dimming.
Seeing her son's devastation, Celeste's mind raced for a solution. She smiled warmly, a spark of inspiration in her eyes. "But perhaps your sister's illusion tutor can help you project one?"
Over the next few weeks, the tutor dedicated himself to teaching Adagio a modified version of the disguise self spell, tailored specifically to project the appearance of a beard. Each lesson brought a mixture of frustration and exhilaration for him, as he struggled with the nuances of the spell but remained determined to succeed.
One morning, after countless attempts, he finally mastered the spell. His reflection in the mirror showed a proud, young elf with a beard that rivaled the dwarf's in complexity and style, even if only for ten minutes a day. Bursting with excitement, he ran to find his mother.
"Mother, look!" he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with joy. Celeste turned to see her son, now adorned with an illusory beard. Her heart swelled with pride, and she embraced him tightly. "Oh, Adi, you look wonderful," she whispered, her eyes shimmering with love.
However, not everyone shared in the joy of the moment. His father entered the room, his expression stern as he took in the scene. "Another of Adagio's futile pursuits, then," he sighed, his voice heavy with disapproval. Without another word, he turned and stormed off, leaving a palpable tension in his wake. Cassius' fury was swift and relentless whenever Adagio strayed from the path laid out for him. Fencing and the viol were the only acceptable pursuits in Cassius' eyes.
Adagio's smile faltered, the weight of his father's scorn pressing down on him. Embarrassed and disheartened, he quickly gave up on the beard trick.
99 Years Old: Naming Conventions
The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the Arthiar estate. In a quiet corner of the sprawling garden, Adagio and his younger sister sat on a stone bench, the cool night air filled with the scent of blooming jasmine. The two siblings often retreated here to share their thoughts, away from the formality and scrutiny of the household.
"Hey, Cy, I've finally decided," Adagio announced, a mix of excitement and determination in his voice.
His sister, ten months younger than him, smiled and turned to him. "What, Adi?"
Adagio took a deep breath, his green eyes gleaming with anticipation. "My name. My adult name. When I turn 100, I will be known as Zaspar the Holy Fist."
Cyrene raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. Despite being younger, she had already chosen and was being referred to by her adult name. Adagio's delay in choice was quite the topic of discussion among the household - and she wasn't sure that this choice would quiet the discussions any. “Zaspar the Holy Fist, huh? That's... quite the title."
He nodded enthusiastically. "It’s strong, right? Zaspar means 'Holy Fist' in an ancient Elvish language. I wanted something that would make people take notice, something with weight and significance."
Cyrene's smile softened, and she placed a hand on Adagio’s shoulder. “Y’know, Adagio is already such a cool name. It suits you.”
Adagio’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. "But Adagio is a child's name. I need a name that reflects who I want to become. Zaspar is that name."
Cyrene chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Adi, a name doesn't make you who you are. But are you planning to become some kind of religious fist fighter? You're not holy, and you’re terrible in a fistfight."
Adagio laughed, shaking his head. “No way, don’t worry - I’ll stick with my rapier. But Zaspar has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? People will listen when they hear the Holy Fist is in town.”
Cyrene sighed. "Alright, Zaspar. If anyone can make that a name worth remembering, it’s you."
Zaspar smiled, the conviction in his heart renewed by his sister's words. "I’ll make sure it’s a name that echoes through history."
101 Years Old: Departure
In the soft morning light filtering through the grand windows of his chamber, Zaspar sat in front of his ornate mirror. His reflection showed a young elf with tight curls tumbling softly atop his head. His mother stood behind him, gently brushing out his hair with tender, practiced strokes.
"Zaspar, darling, are you sure you wish to depart without your sister? She is more than happy to accompany you," his mother asked gently, voice filled with concern and love.
Zaspar felt a twinge of guilt as irritation bubbled up within him at the question. Ever since he had announced his decision to experience the world before assuming his role as the Arthiar heir, everyone had been urging him to take her along. But he needed to do this alone.
"Yes, mother. I'm heading out so I can experience the world the way the commonfolk who visit us do. I want to be able to tell stories as moving as theirs, write ballads as powerful. I can't do that in the estate, and I can't do it with Cyrene - she would make me seem so uncool that adventuring would be difficult,” Zaspar said, a mix of determination and gentle humour.
Celeste paused in her brushing, looking at her son with a mixture of pride and worry. "I understand, Adi. You’ve always had a heart that yearns for more. Just be careful.”
Zaspar turned to face his mother, his green eyes earnest, and he nodded. With a final embrace, Zaspar rose from his seat. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey ahead. The chamber was filled with the faint echoes of his siblings’ voices, their laughter and chants of “Adi! Adi! Adi!” from years past, mixed with his father’s stern reminders of duty.
He was ready to step into the world, not just as the heir of the Arthiar family, but as Zaspar the Holy Fist - a bard of legend.
