Arka

Class Path:

Valkyrie

Ranger

Priest

Bard

Archon

Gender: Female

Race: Half-elf

Character History

Different. Always, so... different. Covert glances in the hallways, whispers that abruptly ceased when she drew near, mocking laughter in the eyes of all she spoke to--all of these were constant reminders of the fact, an incessant chant of 'Different, different different'. Perhaps it was just as well, really. The injustices her family perpetuated against virtually the whole known world repulsed her, just as it invigorated them; the mocking tones and callous whimsy which greeted guests to the castle only evoked deep feelings of sympathy in her heart; the constant, pointless bloodshe dof innocents and warrios alike that so delighted her countrymen only sought to drive her into an unending depression. None of this came without some anxiety, for, in all likelihood, she would soon be called upon to fight and, ultimately, to join the throng of corpses, her only reward being that familiar, mocking laughter.

She was born Arka Maldra, distant niece to the infamous lord, and she was not only unlike her family as a whole, but a mark of shame upon her more immediate family, even from the start. Her mother's infidelity was discovered at the moment of her birth--imagine the father's surprise when two full-blooded humans gave birth to a half-elven child! The revelation of the child's nature drove her legal father into a fit of rage, demanding his wife's exile from the keep. Arka's mother fled into the wilderness that very night, never to be heard from again, and Arka's legal father promptly turned her over to the rest of the family, stating--quite truthfully--that she wasn't his responsibility.

Arka was ostracized more than raised--no matter how she might try to fit in, the constant reminder of her mother's indiscretions, coupled with the generally cruel nature of her family, resulted only in nights alone in the corner of the bedroom. Days were harsh, with the nights even worse--the level of maintained carnage all around her left her feeling disgusted and filled with a hopeless wonder, asking again and again why any of this had happened. The only positive note in her life--no pun intended--was the arrival of a travelling elven bard, a man whose name she never managed to catch (though she often wished or suspected he was, in truth, her father). He would perform in the great hall, singing epics and melodies which, for the first time, suffused her soul with joy; songs of legendary heroes fighting for justice against tyranny, of truly compassionate acts, and, in general, songs made simply to uplift and bring cheer to any who heard them.

The young half-elf felt a passionate loathing for her family and what they both represented and did and began to rebel against them--first in her thoughts, and soon enough, subtly in her actions. At the same time, the only person she truly admired and sought to identify with was preaching little but virtue and high morals. However, whenever she attempted to bring her newborn sense of honor to the forefront of her thoughts and actions, the ridicule and scorn from her 'family' only intensified.

After a short time of this, midway through her teenaged years, Arka decided to leave the Keep. In the dead of night, she packed what few things she truly possessed and left, nimbly dodging through the melee inhabiting the castle, and managed to make her way outside. Following the road to Pirate's Keep, she smuggled herself aboard the cargo hold of the Merdraco. While waiting for the ship to reach the destination of the great Castle at Rune, her thoughts turned inward. 'Surely,' she reasoned, 'there must be other people who feel the same as I do, and maybe I can aid those who aren't quite happy where they are.' With this in mind, she set out, thoughts buouyed by hopes and asperations that, perhaps, she might not be quite so different, and that she might have done the right thing.

Perhaps she was too idealistic, perhaps she was too unexperienced and impulsive with public speaking, or perhaps the public simply didn't care; Arka's speaking was generally met with the same laughter and derision she could have expected to hear from her former family. In desperation, she traveled abroad with the same messages of hope and honor, but nothing changed. She spoke in New Rigel, in Xaventry, in Lowangen and Tellerium and Templeton, and her hopes and dreams fell upon the deaf, taunting ears of the masses. She spoke one last time in Sigil, and all she received were lewd catcalls from the ten or so men who had stayed to listen.

Desolate, the half-elven lass stumbled into an alley, tears welling from her eyes as her thoughts grew darker by each passing moment. Eventually, despair wrought into her almond eyes, she slowly drew her lone dagger, gently cradling it in the palms of her hands. Smiling bitterly to herself and idly tossing the knife back and forth, she began to wonder aloud, her eyes slowly slipping shut.

'Is all the world this way?
Is there any point to any of it?
Are there none who believe as I believe?'


'No. There are.'

Arka's eyes snapped open, widening in shock at the sound of a gruff, yet strangely caring voice, and cast her head about, trying to find the source. At first, she looked towards the heavens, eyes lingering briefly upon the various stars and constellations, and found nothing there--it was only when she cast her eyes downwards that her gaze fell upon a dwarf armored in silver, a kind smile stretching his face upwards. That dwarf told her many things--not to lose hope, that some do listen to her words, and not to lose sight of that which was important to her. He also mentioned that, at the very least, one group does whose members choose to follow their hearts and the stars, instead of resorting to the cruelty plaguing the world itself.

Several years have passed since that fateful night, and things have changed quite a bit. Arka has found acceptance, nigh-love, in her family, as well as a sense of truly being needed. She has grown to prominance among her fellows, growing and helping others to do the same, and is at last able to express her sense of honor and be respected, not hated, for doing so. Where once stood a frail girl, now stands a mighty warrior. Where once lived a reclusive, depressed waif now lives a respected leader, filled with joy at her fellows.

Where, once, she was outcast--now, she belongs.