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Sarrok Ashayekh
The Graveborn

Biographical Information

Birthplace Makhaab, Malakath Born Unknown Died Circa 40±5 years Age Unknown Status Undead House Religion Home Itinerant

Physical Description

Race Human (revenant) Ethnicity Makhaabite (extinct) Gender Male Height 6'6" (198.1 cm) Weight 195 lbs (88.5 kg) Build Weathered and corded Hair Color Bald Eye Color Lifeless blue Skin Color Pale livor

Social/Political Information

Nationality Makhaabite (historic) Affiliation Occupation Errant; guide; sellsword; former slave-knight Social Class Masters Apprentices Allies Enemies Aliases

Familial Information

Family Ash'ayekh Marital Status Widower Spouse(s) Aysja Sen'ziarhat Issue 1 (unborn) Father Rhaban Ashayekh Mother Forgotten

Out-of-Character Information

Writer Kyrusia First Appearance Created on January 11, 2024 Based on Avatar Bing/Midjourney [2]

Sarrok Ashayekh (pronounced [ˈsɛər.rɒk əˈʃaɪ.ɛk], SAIR-rok Uh-SHAI-eck; primum floruit unknown)... Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Phasellus nec dui felis. Mauris sit amet purus sed urna interdum vehicula. Cras rhoncus, nisl eleifend lacinia iaculis, neque libero consequat purus, rutrum dignissim nibh erat eu nibh. Proin congue est fermentum, luctus arcu eget, scelerisque erat. Nam facilisis enim at ligula luctus, non scelerisque nulla euismod.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Phasellus nec dui felis. Mauris sit amet purus sed urna interdum vehicula. Cras rhoncus, nisl eleifend lacinia iaculis, neque libero consequat purus, rutrum dignissim nibh erat eu nibh. Proin congue est fermentum, luctus arcu eget, scelerisque erat. Nam facilisis enim at ligula luctus, non scelerisque nulla euismod. Quisque lacinia tristique odio, vitae mollis metus molestie nec. Vivamus porta nulla sit amet fringilla efficitur. Quisque vel diam sit amet magna tempor aliquam. Ut egestas turpis consequat nibh blandit commodo. Vestibulum finibus fringilla sapien et fringilla. Sed tincidunt feugiat auctor. Donec viverra neque ut quam congue, nec mollis nunc ullamcorper.

Praesent fermentum, elit at vehicula varius, ligula massa blandit sapien, sed laoreet velit urna tincidunt tortor. Cras rhoncus finibus ligula in fringilla. Aenean a laoreet sapien, nec facilisis magna. Cras lacinia molestie pretium. Mauris vehicula iaculis libero, at viverra lacus cursus mattis. Praesent blandit augue ac vulputate rutrum. Mauris et molestie enim. Cras blandit mattis est, in sodales dui porttitor molestie. Mauris gravida sollicitudin ante, ac blandit erat tristique at. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Maecenas porta, arcu at rhoncus commodo, neque nulla lacinia odio, ac viverra massa tortor eget lorem. In pulvinar quam quis mauris tincidunt tristique. Morbi sit amet arcu malesuada, tempor elit ut, pulvinar neque. Duis bibendum fringilla pulvinar. Duis tempor neque eget consectetur hendrerit. Donec pretium et elit ut dictum.

Appearance

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Phasellus nec dui felis. Mauris sit amet purus sed urna interdum vehicula. Cras rhoncus, nisl eleifend lacinia iaculis, neque libero consequat purus, rutrum dignissim nibh erat eu nibh. Proin congue est fermentum, luctus arcu eget, scelerisque erat. Nam facilisis enim at ligula luctus, non scelerisque nulla euismod. Quisque lacinia tristique odio, vitae mollis metus molestie nec. Vivamus porta nulla sit amet fringilla efficitur. Quisque vel diam sit amet magna tempor aliquam. Ut egestas turpis consequat nibh blandit commodo. Vestibulum finibus fringilla sapien et fringilla. Sed tincidunt feugiat auctor. Donec viverra neque ut quam congue, nec mollis nunc ullamcorper.

Praesent fermentum, elit at vehicula varius, ligula massa blandit sapien, sed laoreet velit urna tincidunt tortor. Cras rhoncus finibus ligula in fringilla. Aenean a laoreet sapien, nec facilisis magna. Cras lacinia molestie pretium. Mauris vehicula iaculis libero, at viverra lacus cursus mattis. Praesent blandit augue ac vulputate rutrum. Mauris et molestie enim. Cras blandit mattis est, in sodales dui porttitor molestie. Mauris gravida sollicitudin ante, ac blandit erat tristique at. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Maecenas porta, arcu at rhoncus commodo, neque nulla lacinia odio, ac viverra massa tortor eget lorem. In pulvinar quam quis mauris tincidunt tristique. Morbi sit amet arcu malesuada, tempor elit ut, pulvinar neque. Duis bibendum fringilla pulvinar. Duis tempor neque eget consectetur hendrerit. Donec pretium et elit ut dictum.

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Personality

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Lore

Makhaab is purported to exist in the southern Malakathi Desert.

"Makhaab. Few verifiable attestations as to its existence have been discovered. Purportedly ruled by a ruthless caster noble class, itself reigned by an oligarchy of so-called "sorcerer-kings," Makhaab is said to have vanished beneath the earth in a time before even the erection of the portal stones. You can imagine this scholar's skepticism at such claims; even so, the continent of Malakath is still largely unknown to the College. It would betray my due diligence to dismiss such out-of-hand, despite my overwhelming chagrin at even entertaining the hypothetical. But, I digress.

Regardless, Makhaab is purported to have been at the heart of a confederation of city-states stretching over much of the southern Malakathi Desert, abutting the Dragontooth Divide. To date, while funding for expeditions to the southern desert has been scant, local tribespeople and wayward travelers often clamor over themselves to speak to so-called "outlanders" of "ancient ruins" and "lost temples" in the region. More often than not, such have proven as shallow ploys for coin at best, if not a means for ambush. Even so, there are more than a handful of trustworthy accounts of, in the least, ruins. Ruins of what, no one is as-of-yet certain, but buildings, structures of some sort all-the-while.

An expedition on the part of the College would not be untoward, but only if such is conducted as a part of a larger exploration of northwestern Malakath, or at least the Malakathi Desert itself. There are few enough claims of trustworthy provenance to dedicate much beyond such; to date, no ruins or collections of ruins significant enough to attest to the presence of a city fitting the description provided, much less a confederation of such, have been discovered. The world is filled with rumors of lost cities and civilizations; as-of-now, this is just yet another rumor of a whisper of a wish."

— Private Record; College of Elbion, Department of Archaeology; Safir 373

"My mother's face, her kindness, but not her name. My father: his house, his voice, but not his face. Childhood beneath the yoke, in trial, anguish - all for a chance at something better. There were others: a boy, a girl; perhaps we shared the waters of the womb. We were raised in a house of great wisdom and labor - of the lash, the quill, and the blade. It was not the home of my kin, but kin we were - kin we became. In time, when all the lessons our masters could impart were bore to our flesh, we fought side-by-side beneath the orders of nobles who conjured bewitching fire from the earth and poured waves from stone.

He became a scribe - one of the many - and rose to a great station beneath the patronage of our sorcerous kings. She delved into the wilds and brought word of our enemies and friends alike - whispered to confidantes of conjurers. I kept to the blade and commanded a cohort; against those within and without, I struck. One after another, I followed the words, the whispers, and their whims. It did not soil my heart, even as my brow was slaked. But beyond us, there was another: I remember.

Aysja. Hair like golden fire; eyes, rich and umber. She danced for me; she spun and the sun obeyed her will. For a lifetime with her, I'd fell a thousand men and more; the penance for any ill, any atrocity would be worth another night with her cheek upon my chest. I'd drive splintered onyx through the heart of a sorcerer-king to see her smile one last time. I remember the night we made vows beneath a waning crescent, and how the life yet then quickened in her belly. I remember when that belly opened, and their lives crept away on a tooth of silver.

Strife. A betrayal? I cannot recall. I remember faces, snarls lupine and hungry. Tearing, screams, the wails. I remember the pain, but not the names of the torturers. A nail, a tooth, how the fire burned my flesh black - charred and curled. I remember feeling the weight, the mass of those who could have been my kin; I remember the night sky - moonless and void. I remember, even as my eyes grew heavy, even as my breathing hastened in agony. The chirp of cicadas. Yes, I remember.

I remember when the void was ripped away, when the light was so blinding it was as the deepest night, dark before dawn - incomprehensible and scarce of texture, sense, or ken. I remember as north became south, as up became down, as sensation fled me and yet I became something thin, wide, pulled and torn. I remember a gaze of scarlet light - piercing and distant, judgmental; it peeked from the horizon, as if an early morning star, mischievous and fleeting - bloody. I remember the name it whispered to me, thrown like the wind across rock, howling.

Piled like wood atop me, my former countrymen, gone uncountable eons. The hinterlands of our grave, now made a vault-like tomb far beneath the earth. The roads and avenues, hence passages of rock and decrepit marble. There were few of us then, few of us to awaken, to realize, to discover. Some of us tried to flee our condition; the fortunate are still immured, sealed away somewhere lost to all but their own ken. While they do not breathe, nor even live, they may in peace stare at the stone, forever trapped. Others explored this new nature, found means and measures by which a greater knowing could be uncovered, of how to continue, how to persist.

In time, we found the secret openings - the passages sealed by eldritch invocations, long-ago destined for some other purpose, now acting as our escape from a city-made-necropolis. We saw the dawn again, felt the wind against our skin, felt the touch of dirt beneath our feet. Of those who did not succumb to the weight of ages, some stayed, some left, some return. All have their own purpose, their own wishes, desires, fears; what we all share is our condition, and the realization that in the time since our passings, the world and much of our ken of it, long ago left us."

— Private Journal of Sarrok Ash'ayekh; Undated

The cicadas are singing. They're always singing.

"We watch; they toil. We watch; they toil. We toil; they toil. Dig, dig, dig. Find more. Most rotten. Fly-meat. Dig, dig, dig. We hear the cicadas; we hear their song. Dig, dig, dig. Ever more digging. More, more digging. Once, they are found. They do not gasp; hollow, decayed lungs. No air, no breath of life. Nothing, nothing in them. Dust and sand and grit and ash. They scream. We watch; they toil.

Grave. Graves. Many graves. Mass graves. It's all a grave. Graves. Graves everywhere. Slumped mother over slumped child in arms of slumped father. Hollow eyes in hollow faces with agape, hollowed mouths. Dig, dig, dig. We hear the cicadas; there are no cicadas, but we hear them all the same. Dig, dig, dig. We watch; they toil. Bodies over bodies. Tomb after tomb. Cracked wall; arms flailing. Another one. More life from nothing living. Wrong, wrong; dig, dig.

Stones on rocks. Pile them high. The poison doesn't stop it; he promised it'd stop it. Cracked skull; cackling skull. Aching, but no reprieve. Nothing, nothing. Dig, dig, dig. We hear the cicadas; there are no cicadas, but they're screaming. Must find knife; must find knife; must find knife. Dig, dig, dig. We toil; they toil. Nails cracked on stone. No light, no light. Too deep. Dig, dig, dig.

Rocks on stones. Pile them high. Wall high. Make a wall. Bury, bury, bury. New tomb, fresh tomb. Still hearing; dig, dig, dig. Found knife. Used knife. Ash and dust and soot and grit. One hand, one knife. One hand, one knife. One hand, one knife, one neck. Cut, cut, cut. Dig, dig, dig. Always digging. Always cutting. Not enough. Not enough. Still hearing. We hear the cicadas; there are no cicadas. We're screaming. We watch; they toil."

— Unknown Ramblings; Unknown Author; Undated

Chronicles

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Sarrok Ashayekh

Sarrok Ashayekh
The Graveborn

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Sarrok Ashayekh

Sarrok Ashayekh The Graveborn

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Sarrok Ashayekh
The Graveborn