Character History: When the Valterrian broke out and the heavens seemed to shatter, Naos escaped the fate of those that first fell to the newly shaped world. He was safe, he thought. Unfortunately, fate had other plans in store for the Chaktawan. Although he rode out the worst of the Valterrian, Naos eventually fell into Mizahar's roaring oceans in 507 AV. Cold and without a single soul in sight, the fallen celestial washed up on the western shores of the Suvan Sea. Heading towards the nearest settlement he could find, Naos ended up in the city of illusions, Alvadas.
Memories, like a distant fog, plagued Naos' mind for the first few years of his descent into the realm of mortality. Often he would wake up in the middle of the night in a fit of incoherent fear, shouting and crying at nothing in particular. What the Ethaefal felt most, though, was an overwhelming sense of abandonment. Abandonment by his goddess, by the mortals around him, and most of all by himself. Sadness began to wash over him like the waves he had fallen in, and the only cure seemed to be drink. As time went on, Naos looked for solutions more often in ale tankards than within himself. It didn't so much dull the pain as it did help him forget, but it soon became a poison. A lowly drunkard, Naos wandered the streets taking any charity a kind soul would toss his way, but it wasn't enough. Charity can only go so far, and less of it started coming as more people became fed up with feeding an invalid.
The alcohol he imbibed did little to fix his overall situation, and eventually even Naos hated himself for drinking, but he couldn't seem to stop. Countless nights spent sleeping in the streets, paired with the nightmares and the alcohol quickly brought the fallen soul to the brink of madness -- while his body limped on working to try and keep him alive. Cheap ale works wonders at destroying a healthy body, and the marks quickly began to show. Wrinkles appearing on a figure so young, sunken eyes brought up from a lack of rest, impaired mobility from the constant dampening of his nervous system, all signs of the burdens he bore just to try and erase his memories. It was worse when he didn't even try to sleep. Seeing himself as he was in his mortal life did more to damage him than all the ale and cheap sins Alvadas could provide, it ground away his resistance to even breath.
His breaking point came several winters later, when he had run out of good will to cash in on. Without the occasional warmth of a hearth or a hot drink, Naos was beginning to get sick from the cold of night. On the brink of death, laying down unable to move aside from the occasional grunt, an unexpected miracle happened. The pavement around him began to warm up, and Naos felt an incredible wave of warmth wash over his entire body. Suddenly he felt as if he could move, and he saw the sun shining much brighter than usual, as if it had suddenly focused on a tiny circle around him. Realizing what had just happened, he began to cry uncontrollably, finally understanding that Syna continued to watch over him, even though distance now separated them. Although his old life might have been stolen from him, wasting one life would not bring back another. Perhaps his falling might not have been planned, but fate had sent him to the realm of the mortals for a reason -- and Naos refuses to leave before fulfilling the role the universe has set him up to play.
Since then, life has smiled upon him. In Alvadas, he felt inspired by the nature around him and began spending more and more time in the Garden of No Return. Although many an afternoon was lost inside of its intricate beauty, Naos found a passion for the flora around him. Such an organism that could grow on just sunlight, some water, and air showed without a doubt the power of Syna and her followers. Even with a single touch of his hand plants rapidly grew and expanded. Without any extra money to spare on teachers, he had to resort to books to learn more about the science of herbalism. Currently, the young man is looking for any jobs that might get him more food and books.
Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo |