Ahjam Salmara
Race: Sphinx
Age: 273
Gender: Male
Height/Weight: 6'2" just under 200 lb
Class: Battlemage
Religion: Spiritism (Ancestor Worship), combined with lip service to what ever deity is convenient
Alignment: Himself first and foremost, and, until he has filled his coffers, the the highest bidder as well.
Personality: Self centered, Arrogant, and filled with delusions of grandeur that rival even the most righteous of his kind. He has had the misfortune of dwelling in poverty for the past half of a century, and it has embittered him to those who flaunt their wealth, particularly when it is undeserved. His long and varied past has left him with various emotional scars, but also with a sense that with effort he can not only shape his destiny, but the world. He sees hardships as obstacles to be overcome, and good fortune as further proof that he has a right to rule that cannot be contested.
When not pursuing his own personal crown, Ahjam enjoys many things. The more expansive and luxurious the better. And the more people to satisfy his social hunger and pet his ego, the happier he is. He comes by the luxuries through guile, charm, and if necessary force. He is quite skilled in the ways of the silver tongue, and can talk his way into and out of many situations.
As comfortable on the battle field as he is in a noble court, and as at home in a rowdy tavern as lord's harem, he enjoys a large and varied number of experiences, taking pleasure in the fact that with his long life he will never grow tired as long as he has lesser mortals to amuse him.
Either in spite of or because of his ideals of conquest Ahjam is possessed with a certain sense of honor. He is honest, even when he is not kind. He prefers not to strike down an unaware foe,and shows quarter to any who surrender before his blade. He keeps his promises, and expects others to do the same. However, betray his trust, or break a promise, and he will see you undone swiftly and without mercy.
He does aquire garments appropriate for the occasion, though he lacks a large collection of outfits as of yet.
Background/History:
The cat smiled, his blue eyes and dark fur both dancing in the light of the campfire. He took a cloth and cleaned the blood from his sword, his prized possession, the symbol of his future reign. The smell of cooking meat elicited a growl from his stomach. He refused to admit it, but it had been days since his last meal. "Shall I tell you a story?" he asked looking over his shoulder towards the thugs whose campsite he had taken over. Six men had set up the site, only 2 remained, the two that had surrendered after seeing their comrades torn apart by the very wind. Though neither moved or made a sound, as they were bound and gagged, Ahjam imagined that they were bursting with eager anticipation.
"I am still a kit in the eyes of my ancient and proud race. Each day I feel the eyes of my ancestors watching me, and their voices guiding me. I am descended from gods, and kings! One of our kind can live longer than a human empire, and yet you humans think yourself rulers and conquerors. Pah!" he laughed, holding his sword up to the light to admire it, before sheathing it and turning his attention to the venison roasting above the camp fire.
"My early years were spent enjoying the fruits of my forefather's labors. In the noble house of Salmara, where wine flowed like water, and there was no end to the pleasure my station could afford me." he purred, losing himself in the fond memories. "But it was not meant to last, as soon our lavish ways left us destitute. I was taken in by another house, a human house. I was an 'Exotic Treasure" to be trotted out before guests. I won't lie, the attention was enjoyable, the accommodations satisfying. But a Sphinx is not a pet. Nor a prize. I was meant to rule, not be ruled. I tolerated my condition for some time, until the nobles that took me in had died of old age and their holdings were divided among their squalling children. None of those brats were worthy of riches, glory, and ESPECIALLY not worthy to even pretend to own me, so I left. I set to feeding a sense of wanderlust that had been burning for some time. I studied magic, and sword play. I learned to wield a blade from a tribe of wild men who treated me like a god, their chief trusted me, and sought my wisdom. It was a shame that they were destroyed by a rival tribe, they would have made lovely subjects." he mused, poking at the meat that quickly approached a state of being ready for consumption.
"I was left homeless, destitute. Shameful, I know. But I persevered. I took to delving into temples and ruins and catacombs, in a vain attempt at uncovering some lost fortune. I was... less then successful. I had almost given up and resigned myself to having to resort to other methods of acquiring power... Until providence gifted me this blade. It's proper name is likely lost for eternity, though I call it the Wind of Fortune. It is the wind that will carry my name into legend. Of course, you've already tasted it's power, hm?" he purred, drawing the blade, and with a flick he whipped up a maelstrom that destroyed one of the tents that had been set up. His eyes lit up with glee, "I never grow tired of that."
Ahjam's past is long and varied, but his future is even greater. With the Wind of Fortune, his Drake Sword attuned to the air, he intends to raise an army, and then take by force a kingdom where all will bow to him and his power. For when you command the air, what mortal can hope to stand before you?
Winds of Fortune: Elemental Drake Sword of Air
This powerful relic is made using long forgotten magics. The scimitar like blade is as thin a wisp of smoke, pure white in color, yet as strong as a hurricane's gale. The curved edge of the blade slices through flesh as easily as air, and when swung the blade sings. The handle is wrapped in leather, and the weapon is as light as a summer's breeze. The weapon's power is simple, yet impressive. It offers it's wielder utter mastery of the air. From a simple gust to a terrifying hurricane, as long as the blade is in hand the wind obeys the commands of he who dares call himself the element's master. In addition to mastery of the air, the wielder is unscathed by it. One who holds this sword is safe from even hurricane strength winds. But there is a catch, the sword is sentient and it has a conscience. When the sword disagrees with the wielder it will fail them in battle. Thus the sword must be carefully looked after and treated with respect.
Other equipment:
A pair of swords
Several daggers
Leather armor
First Aid kit
Trail rations
Spell Components
A small collection of baubles and trinkets