Raf-Matab

Raf-Matab is a Nomad of the Dusk Hills that lie between the western coast of Peltas and the scorching Krokhan Desert. His people are unobtrusive and nonviolent compared to the Norr caravan raiders of the Deadlands and the Krokhan Nomads who, lacking pasture, subsist on plunder and rustling. They venerate both the Goddess Lumaya and a host of local spirits who embody the land, sea, sky, stone, grass, and hearth. The Dusk tribes tell of a faint pale blue spirit-glow that can sometimes be seen around certain rock formations, streams, trees, or even the whole landscape, a sure sign that the spirits have manifested. Raf-Matab was once a shepherd and had just come of age when one night a raiding party of Krokhan Nomads descended upon him and his flock. By the time Raf heard the frantic bleating of animals and the cries of the attackers, the raiders were already tearing open the flaps of his tent. They aimed to abduct and enslave Raf, and so at first tried not to injure him. But he resisted furiously and wounded one of the Krokhaners, provoking the wounded man to kick a brazier full of hot coals directly at his face. Matab was left scarred and blinded, and the raiders abandoned him, his value as a slave now ruined. They left Raf writhing in pain on the dirt floor of his yurt. The coals smoldered against the hide and wood of the tent until it ignited. As the raiders escaped, they saw a light rise from behind them, where they had left their victim — not the orange glow of the burning yurt, but a pale cerulean brighter than fire, brighter than the moon, as bright as a sun. They turned and saw the valley aglow with that strange shining color, and fear and awe shook them. They fled precipitously, some abandoning their stolen livestock, even as the glow slowly faded. After a day, Raf’s tribesmen came searching for him, and found the burned ruins of his tent and the ground trampled by the many boots of the raiders. But they did not find Raf, dead or alive. They did not see him for three months, and when he returned, he was changed. Raf strode forth from the scrubland adorned with a crown of bone and antler and pauldrons of furs, his eyes shrouded with cloth. Yet he moved confidently, as though still sighted. As his kinfolk gathered in amazement he stood by the communal bonfire to address them, and told them of the raid and his disfigurement at the raiders’ hands. He said that just when he felt the heat of the burning tent and resigned himself to death, he suddenly could see again, but not as others see. He saw the world as the spirits do, a world of flickering azure flame and glowing hearts. He was reborn, spirit-touched, and had spent the time since in communion with the powers of the land, training his new sight and strengthening his body. He had been blessed for a purpose, a dreamy yearning of the spirits that lingered in his thoughts: he had to obtain what he called the Elderspear and the Shield of the Clans. To do this, he would have to once again go on a voyage, but to where, he was not yet sure. The people’s joy at Raf-Matab’s return turning bittersweet, they agreed that he should heed the spirits’ call. And so he ventured away, deep into the Dusk Hills once again, for a year and a day. Following signs from his patrons only he could see, he delved into a cave deep beneath the earth. Therein lay the artifacts, protected by twisted Fae that had been touched by Darkness and insanity, who hoarded them in the depths. By his own humble hunting spear Raf-Matab slew the creatures as they swarmed him, and he claimed the relics that glowed like beacons before his spirit-sight. When he emerged, he bore an engraved shield of exquisite beauty and a cross-hilt spear of enchanted bronze, that both shone with the pale blue light of clan myth, visible to any and all. Raf-Matab told his people of his adventure, and they were shocked to learn that guardian Fae could be twisted into murderous lurking monsters. Raf, armed with his relics, proclaimed his new quest to be the pursuit of such Fae abominations that may exist elsewhere, and to purify the land where the spirit-glow emanates the foul taint of Darkness. He traveled north along the coast, stopping along the way to investigate local legends and rumors about mysterious child-snatchers and chittering night-horrors. Near the Valdemar Strait he rooted out and defeated the flesh-eating Hag of Blymmis, and the world at large began to take note of Raf-Matab the monster-slayer.