Porter smith the tyranny of dragons obsidian portal

Perat’s early life was one of excess and leisure: if he wasn’t “worshipping” at the Temple of Sharess, he spent most of his days training with the best blademasters from all over the Realms: Armored knights from Faerûn, fierce Northmen from the Moonshaes; acrobatic bladedancers from Semphar, and even the Minotaur bodyguards of his brother, Fahd. When he wasn’t practicing his Forms and sparring, Perat was reading about the exploits of the great and famous warriors of the Realms, and he vowed to himself that his name would one day be also listed in one such book as one of the best swordsmen in the world.

On a trip to St Noradnar’s Hermitage to train with some of the Holy Warriors there, Perat’s small caravan was attacked by a beautiful Fire Genasi Sorceress and her band of warriors. Perat was grievously wounded in the exchange, bound and captured and thrown over the back of a camel and led into the desert with the bandits. Perat seemed to have been the focus of their attack and they were pleased to have captured him alive, but he had no idea why he had been taken or who his attackers were.

He managed to escape during a sudden sandstorm and he wandered aimlessly through the desert away from his captors. After hours of trudging through the hot, vast nothingness of the Calim desert, Perat saw an apparition floating gently above a sand dune ahead: a radiant raven-haired woman bedecked in a cloak comprised solely of midnight blue feathers hovered before him, perfectly silhouetted by the amber sun behind her. At her feet, exposed by the violet sandstorm, lay the mummified corpse of a knight in ancient armor, his perfectly preserved sword still clutched in his gnarled hand. “Sharess?” he inquired, through cracked, parched lips, assuming she was a manifestation of his chosen deity. The figure smiled bemusedly but simply gestured towards the blade at her feet. As he grabbed the hilt of the sword – a heavy, clunky longsword preferred by knights and Northmen, not a delicately balanced scimitar of the sort he was most familiar – an image flashed in his mind: Perat was standing in pitch blackness, a blade of pure light in one hand and one of pulsating shadows in the other, and five pairs of malevolent eyes peered at him through the dark void. No word was spoken between the mysterious woman and himself, but Perat knew in a moment what he must do…

When he arrived back home in Calimport, his Vision in the desert was chalked up to heat exhaustion or Sand Madness by the physicians. Perat had the blade tested by some of his father’s mages and they assured him it was an ordinary sword and not magical; it was only extraordinary given its apparent age and stellar condition, which they attributed to it being confined under the Calim Desert sands for so long. Perat began to doubt his Vision in time as well, but he could not fully get the image of the Raven-haired woman out of his mind. After weeks of sleepless nights, one morning he found himself on a ship headed for the great city of Waterdeep to follow his destiny.