Post by gamedave on Jul 6, 2019 9:00:25 GMT -5
Sarnath the Doomsayer is a Fallen Aasimar, a mortal who carries the bloodline of a fallen celestial being. Aasimar traits often lie dormant in a mortal bloodline for many generations; such was the case with Sarnath's family, simple Mulhorandi peasant farmers. However, Sarnath was different from birth, with gray skin and blank white eyes.
Throughout his childhood, Sarnath felt a...calling. He did not hear voices, not exactly. He was aware of a...presence. Another intelligence, which impressed upon his own deep compulsions. And he saw visions. Visions of death, and of Doom. Every death in his small community, every crop failure, every blight, every stillbirth, every Doom he saw. And every Doom he told.
His own family grew frightened by the strange child. The other peasant villagers were too afraid of him to do him harm, but he saw. If he stayed, he would bring Doom upon his own family, who were being increasingly ostracized by the village. So he left, to wander the Realms.
Everywhere Sarnath went, he saw Doom. And he spoke Doom. But none ever listened. But, deep down, in his core, he knew. He knew some Dooms were inevitable. As hard and sharp as an adamantine blade. But some Dooms were...flexible. Some Dooms could be, if not averted, at least delayed, or softened, and redirected. If only those upon whom he spoke Doom would listen, they could at least prepare.
Finally, in his wanderings, he has come to Saltmarsh. And he has seen its Doom. Sarnath has had visions of a massive wave, carrying a swarm of toothy sharks, crashing over the land and tearing apart everything in its path. Sarnath will say the Doom That Comes to Saltmarsh. Maybe this time, someone will listen.
Throughout his childhood, Sarnath felt a...calling. He did not hear voices, not exactly. He was aware of a...presence. Another intelligence, which impressed upon his own deep compulsions. And he saw visions. Visions of death, and of Doom. Every death in his small community, every crop failure, every blight, every stillbirth, every Doom he saw. And every Doom he told.
His own family grew frightened by the strange child. The other peasant villagers were too afraid of him to do him harm, but he saw. If he stayed, he would bring Doom upon his own family, who were being increasingly ostracized by the village. So he left, to wander the Realms.
Everywhere Sarnath went, he saw Doom. And he spoke Doom. But none ever listened. But, deep down, in his core, he knew. He knew some Dooms were inevitable. As hard and sharp as an adamantine blade. But some Dooms were...flexible. Some Dooms could be, if not averted, at least delayed, or softened, and redirected. If only those upon whom he spoke Doom would listen, they could at least prepare.
Finally, in his wanderings, he has come to Saltmarsh. And he has seen its Doom. Sarnath has had visions of a massive wave, carrying a swarm of toothy sharks, crashing over the land and tearing apart everything in its path. Sarnath will say the Doom That Comes to Saltmarsh. Maybe this time, someone will listen.