Once upon a time, there was a little elven boy who could only remember life in a cage. When the slavers had stolen him from who knows knows where, he had been too young to keep the memories. All he knew was the rusting iron bars and rough straw bedding of his cage. He was small and very thin, but his unique features caught the attention of one of the Slaver's gang...
A mage runaway, named Brighton. Brighton had never seen an elf with such rich, chocolate colored skin, nor with such vibrant red hair. It almost looked like wet, fresh blood...
And his eyes; those gilt glittering orbs; Brighton was enchanted.
Brighton was barely beyond twenty years; a nervous runaway who slung fireballs for the Slavers in exchange for protection, and food. He had even began to earn a little coin for himself, though he didn't stand on equal ground with the other members of the gang.
No one paid Brighton much attention, so he began to sit by the little elf boy's cage when he would eat.
"What's your name?" he whispered, one night.
The elf boy didn't answer; it was the first time anyone had spoken to him like he was a living thing. But who could even be sure if the elfling could speak? Did he know common tongue? He'd been spirited away by the Slavers at the tender age of three years, and only three more had passed. Had anyone bothered to teach him? By some small mercy of the gods, no one had seen fit to purchase a strangely colored elf child with no training to speak of. Still, someone seemed convinced the elfling would earn him a pretty coin, so they took him in his cage along their various travels.
In the mean time, Brighton spent time next to his cage. He taught the little elf boy to speak; taught him of human gods and human religion. The mage even gave him a name.
"Aiden. Trust me, it's a good name. It's from a book I read as a child. Aiden was a ray of golden sunshine, who was beautiful and kind."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, you're Aiden. Go on, say it!"
"I... I'm Aiden."
It just felt right.
Aiden spent another two musty cramped years in that cage. All the while, Brighton was with him, sneaking him books, food, and carefully holding his fingers through the bars. By now, the mage had earned enough status that he was earning decent coin, and he promised Aiden that as soon as he saved enough, he would buy him, and free him.
Brighton even had it worked down to the last day.
But on the eve before the contract went through, the outlaw mage was outbid. Life was not as easy on the mage as it could have been, and it had taken him months and months to scrape together the funds. Brighton had gone hungry; he walked through the bottoms of his shoes.
He had no power to sway the pampered human woman that purchased his sunbeam. The mage could garnish barely any attention for his own safety; Brighton couldn't afford the fuss of causing a conflict about it. After all, Aiden was nothing but a slave, yes? Surely another skinny elf could do just as well...
So Aiden was sold and trucked off in secret to a small village at the foot of great snow-capped mountains; Gaint's Resting. Certainly slavery is illegal there, but not one soul beyond his mistress ever knew he was there.
Fiona seemed like the the kindly elderly lady that would do no harm; she owned a small shop where she would sell items she's baked, and toys she'd crafted for the village children. She was especially talented at making beautiful china dolls for little girls...
Which was the whole reason she decided to purchase Aiden. She thought his unique vibrant red hair would look lovely on her dolls, and so she simply tucked the elven child into a cage in her lower cellar, where he couldn't see the light of day. She fed him very little; only drinks she would mix for him. They made him feel tired and feverish, keeping his strength drained and his consciousness foggy. His hair would grow faster than seemed normal, and so incredibly silken-soft.
Fiona was quite gifted in her knowledge of herbal treatments and mixtures, which she often melded with her vast knowledge of Alchemy. Thus, she kept him drugged on her special mixed potions.
When Aiden was in a drugged stupor she would swoop in, cut off his hair, and soak it in a strange mixture of her own invention. The hair would never fade or break, remaining in strange silken suspension on the heads of her pretty little dolls.
Aiden had small moments of comfort, between fever-dream stupors. He made friends with the rats that came to the basement. When he would vomit from whatever liquid mixture he'd been fed, Fiona would provide him scraps of stale bread, which he shared with the rodents.
He found he could reach books that had been abandoned in dusty stacks in the dank air around him, and he would snatch them into his cage and read. When Fiona thought his spirit sufficiently broken (and who is to say it was not) she began to reduce the mind-altering effects of the drinks she gave him. She almost began to treat him like a slow-witted pet.
For a time, he didn't even fight it.
When Aiden turned 10, she fancied teaching him the lute, so he could play while she tended to his hair. At age 13, he had completely mastered it. They would sit for a time outside the cage, and Aiden could stretch his skinny, weak limbs. He would play the lute while she rubbed various oils into his hair, combed it, cut it, braided it; whatever she fancied. Once she handed him the scissors, so she could fetch a finer comb...
And Aiden was struck with a moment of violent clarity.
He ripped himself from her lap and in a few fast furious moments, cut off all of his hair.
"I'm useless to you now!" his voice was raw and raspy from lack of use. He wanted to run, but his limbs hurt so that he feared he would fall. So much of life so far had been in a cage... "Please, by the gods, just let me go!"
But Fiona did not let him go.
She almost killed him, with the ferocity of her beatings.
Then she threw him back into his cage and did not intend to unlock it again.
Another three years passed in a delirious drug induced blur.
Until one fated night, when a trio of brothers broke into the shop in search of simple coin.
Dry'din, My'rin, and Lee'rin Koatah were triplets. At one point, they had been members of a dragon-worshiping cult, who would drink the blood of the beasts to imbibe their awesome power, and become Reavers.
Dry'din, the eldest brother, led the other two through the shop and down into the basement. The whole time Aiden never truly expected to be discovered. But the youngest brother, Lee'rin, heard another set of lungs breathing and a moment later lit up a match...
And they saw him. No one seemed certain of what would come next.
Dry'din moved first. He approached the cage and tugged experimentally at the lock, which of course had no result. Then, he met Aiden's eyes. The warrior produced a small wicked looking blade, and yet the elven youth did not feel afraid.
A wet red breath of blood came up under the knife and sighed across Dry'din's cream colored skin. Watching him cut himself was like high art, like a painting or a poem in a book. His power sparked and crackled in the air, and when he next tugged the lock it crumpled like tin in his hand. The door came open. Powerful muscled arms swooped in.
And they took him away. Looking up fro Dry'din's arms, it was the first time Aiden had ever seen the sky... The stars were so beautiful that he almost wept.
This was a far greater task than freeing any random slave; the Koatah triplets had to teach Aiden to walk. His muscles were very weak and undeveloped, and it was My'rin's idea that they try to teach the cocoa skinned elf to fight, in order to speed up the development and healing of his body. Aiden took to the idea immediately, wanting to do anything in his power to accelerate his healing, and become less of a burden on his new family.
Somewhere amid the training, the sparring and grappling, Dry'din took Aiden into his bed. They became passionate lovers, and this only intensified Aiden's will; he trained harder, fought harder, learned to wield a blade. He seemed to be making up for lost time, living and loving (training, fighting, fucking) for all the years he had spent confined.
Eventually, his flowing crimson locks became a tad intrusive; they could be grabbed to easily, or snag on things. Dry'din merely suggested they trim it down... and did not expect the extremely frantic outburst that followed. Aiden became so instantly terrified that he was violent and mad, trembling and lashing out at something unseen.
Dry'din let him lash out, took all the clawing of his nails and wrapped him up inside his arms, just like the very first time. Eventually, Aiden became still and quiet. Without saying another word, Dry'din sat the elven youth in his lap, and began to braid his hair. He did the same for himself and his brothers; his own long raven braids to the mid of his back, My'rin's shorter and Lee'rin's shorter still. It took a great deal of time to tame the tendrils of hair like rivers of blood, but Dry'din was meticulous. He braided Aiden's hair and looped the braids in a tie at the back of his head.
By the time Evaris was almost twenty, he'd spent four years with the nomadic brothers. It was a strange relationship that at times had him shared among all three battle-born humans, but there was not one complaint among them. They were close in every way.
One night, Aiden found his dearest love drinking alone. He was struck by the amount of blood in the dirt, and alarmed to see his Reaver companion cutting himself over and over and over...
The sunshine-eyed elf stared too hard at the healing potion waiting anxiously on the side-table next to Dry'din's chair. But he didn't take it, only adding more wounds to layers of shredded flesh...
"Dry'din," when he spoke his voice trembled, "what are you doing?" when those ivy-green eyes slid to him, it was as if they saw right through him.
"Do you know where a Reaver's power comes from, Aiden? It comes from being close to death. The closer I am to dying, the stronger I become..."
"Surely you're strong enough--"
"No. No, my love... I'm not."
Feeling terribly frightened and confused, Aiden threw himself to the human's knees.
"What do you need strength enough for, then? You'll have mine, all my strength added to yours--"
"You don't understand," despairing, distant.
"Then make me understand," stubborn blind insistence. Dry'din looked at his halcyon eyes for an endless moment.
"Aiden, I'm not strong enough to carry this alone, this tainted blood inside of me..."
"But, My'rin and Lee'rin..."
"Can never know how much I fight to control my demons. I am their rock, their only means of feeling safe. I cannot let them know I revile the dragon's blood I bid them to take. Don't you see? I cannot share this burden with them--"
"Then share it with me."
A weighted silence stole the breathable air.
"... You don't even know what you're--"
"Dry'din, it's all right. I won't leave you to suffer alone. Make me like you, and we'll help each other survive it. Now please take the potion."
And so began the dragon hunt.
The Reaver brothers had been young when they preformed the ritual, but they all recalled one thing; the cult had slain a Grand Dragon for the necessary blood. Therefore, for Aiden to stand on equal ground, he would need the same. Thankfully, some mysterious force had brought dragons back to the world. Though they all killed many dragonlings in their search, they all agreed; Aiden would drink the blood of a worthy dragon.
And a worthy dragon they found.
Unknown to The Reavers and the elf, this beast was truly unique.
Thousands and thousands of years ago, the dragon was born a weak pathetic thing, barely able to breathe. Barely out of its shell it was already skirting death. Unique from his healthy siblings, this dragon was adorned with scales like rich dark emeralds; a lush, greedy green.
They caught the attention of a simple, wanton Greed demon. It watched as the little dragon curled up in the dirt, touching his glimmering scales with his long withered claws. Yes... he wanted this lovely thing. He wanted to wear it's emerald skin and learn the indulgences of flesh through the dragon's bones and skin. A dying body could be easily repaired with the will of a demon...
As the baby dragon's soul escaped, the demon entered. Their essences mixed like blood in water; contrasting swirls and then a murky blend. They became one indistinguishable awesome force.
They lived. They consumed each healthy sibling, ceaselessly and mercilessly hungry. The dragon's body grew as quickly as his appetites; sometimes too fast, splitting flesh in painful, grotesque mutations. Still, it lived. It grew. It consumed.
As the centuries passed like languid months, the emerald dragon learned to feed on the Greed of men; learned to twist the knife in lesser demons and force his will. He became a force to be reckoned with, but was often content for hundreds of years to lay inside his hollow mountain and sleep among the gold and treasures he had amassed.
He became the self-declared King of Greed.
But the emerald dragon was ultimately insatiable; eventually, inevitably, his hunger would stir. It drove him roaring from his secret mountain home and into the night, where three Reaver brothers and a certain sun-beam eyed elf waited.
The battle nearly killed every single one of them. In the last bloody crucial moment, it was Aiden who drove his sword up through the dragon's skull, from the vulnerable position of inside the cage of his fangs.
The dragon was dying, and thank the gods for healing potions.
"Here Aiden, drink the blood, as it's dying... before the heart stops beating," Dry'din slit the dragon's softer scales beneath his jaw, and the elf thought he must have cut open a vein... So much bright red on all that luscious green. "Go on," his lover urged, gently guiding the elf to his knees and urging him to lower his head. "Drink it, love... and we will truly be kindred spirits."
Aiden closed his eyes, braced himself, and pressed his open mouth to the dragon's gushing jugular.
'Do you wish to wield my power?' something seemed to ask from inside of his own thoughts.
'Yes,' he responded, and everything went black.
He awoke in darkness, covered in so much blood. More blood than would run from a full grown body if it was bled dry. All alone, in the field where the dragon corpse lay, consumed in its rapid rotting.
He had nothing, no one, and could barely think a straight line.
'What is my name...?
'It is Aiden.'
'It is Avarice, King of Greed.'
'No, that isn't right!'
'Aiden... Ai... Avar... ice... en...Ev...'
It was as though the tropic wind hit its brother from the tundra, and together they built a hurricane; a storm had been born inside him, fusing two souls into one.
I am... Evaris.
And Evaris had hungers to feed. The elf found his every appetite driven to unearthly levels. He needed gold, blood, violence and wealth, sex and power and coin; and it felt as though nothing would ever be enough. (And it never really was.)
Driven by greed more powerful than he'd ever learned, Evaris found himself to be a very resourceful individual indeed. He wanted to search for the Koatah triplets (for his lost lover) but he had no resources. He couldn't even feed himself, and there was no place for him to rest his head. But this barely fazed the once timid elf.
Evaris put his blood lust to work, taking bounties. He was as brutal as efficient, and his skills as a warrior had grown quite a bit with his new Reaver abilities. He lured men and woman of his desire into paying to bed him, feeding his hunger for wealth and flesh in the same greedy swallow. Gold became an utter obsession. He began to melt it and create piercings for himself. He'd pierce over and over with rings spikes and studs, adoring the feel of the gold against and through his flesh.
Steadily, he built wealth and half as much begrudging status. Humans would turn up their noses half the time, but there was plenty of business with elves and dwarfs and other non-humans to keep his pockets lined. He gambled. He went treasure hunting in ancient, trap-laden ruins. He stole for the thrill of it. A few years sneaked by.
With his own efforts at tracking down the Koatah brothers failing, Evaris decided it was best to pursue the help of someone better equip; he needed an information broker. Big cities seemed the best place to find a reputable one, and Wolfe Stone just happened to the the closest at hand, so he set off.
Evaris makes himself comfortable there for quite some time. Thanks to Someone (I like to include other characters in his story, so Someone may be another character in an RP. Just an NPC in the absence of that, though) he flushes out an assassin whom was hired to kill him-- the latest of many attempts on the elven Reaver's life. Little is learned at first.
Finally, a half burned message than an assassin failed to completely burn gave Evaris half a name, and half an address. This is another point in his story I like to include another person's character (fandom, OC, whatever) to acompany him, and help influence the situation. It can go a few different ways.
This is as far as the dragon's tale reaches, thus far...