Githyanki Pirate Infernal Warlock.
It is a constant struggle, like a maddening addiction, to be drawn to blood lust. A singular, burning hatred to destroy. Such is the fate of my kind, the Githyanki. In this, I have not escaped the plight suffered by a millenia of my kindred. It is the Quickening, a vile, mental plague unleashed on us by the equally vile Illithid in a time long forgotten. But unlike most, I have learned to tender this rage toward endeavors of good purpose.
I do not pretend to be able to reject violence. In the depths of the Quickening, I cannot! So I must search for a deeper meaning in my deeds. Without it, without the hope that I am more than a single, loathsome curse, I would be lost. This is the fulcrum of my entire existence.
Before The Mazes
Like all my fellow Githyanki, from my earliest days of reckoning, I was reared by my cadre, my assigned military training group. The Gal’graz as my cadre called itself was the closest notion of family I have ever known. But this is not the sentimental concept some outsiders might presume. For us, our cadre is simply a paramilitary band of lethal allies. Ruthless. Terrible.
But this bleak fate has not been mine. Much I owe to Rr’ka for this, my mazak (mentor) in the cadre. He understood the fabric of my soul even before I and risked everything to help steer me down a different na (path). Even with his stern and shrewd ways, he is as much a father figure to me as any Githyanki dare admit.
It has been ages since I last saw Rr’ka. My duties on the astral skiff Nath Q’Aev (Night Sky Traveler) kept me far from my home, the great city of Tu’narath. For seven years, our captain Dak’kon gi’Rivek led us onward, deeper into the astral darkess than most Githyanki have ever ventured. Obsessed with locating Tar’dratith (the Living Gate), a portal of mythic ledgend that leads to the Far Realm, the origin of the Illithid diaspora and those responsible for the rending of the Gith.