Thaen Nastarikha

Ṭhaėn hails from the west coast of Rīdhaūñaī, where he was born into and brought up as part of a traditional and conservative family. The upside of being raised in such an environment was that Ṭhaėn never had to feel unsure about his role in life, understanding as he did from a young age its parameters and strictures. For example, there never was any question that he would grow up to serve in the military. This awareness of the future set him on a course in life to become somebody proud and brave: of course he was to be proud and brave; as a future soldier he had to be. He may not have been a perfect child — on the odd occasion he could be found engaging in a scuffle with the local children or talking back to his tutors — but he wasn’t too far off. Even back then, he was gregarious and bright, devout and headstrong in a manner that befitted his future role. His upbringing seems to him, looking back, to have been kissed with a soft glow, that particular sense of happiness afforded to those lucky enough to be born and grow up good-looking and talented. Ṭhaėn also had the additional pleasure of benefiting from the patronage of a local nobleman, one Duke Rajha Sakaori. In fact, Ṭhaėn’s family had a longstanding tradition of fealty towards the Sakaori line, a relationship that through the years has created close and mutually beneficial ties for the families.

Though there are assuredly those who’d never trade the ability to chart the paths of their own lives for the clarity of an already shaped destiny, there’s no denying that there’s a certain amount of relief in never having to call into question the wisdom of your choices. Anyway, if Ṭhaėn had a problem with the way his world was staked out for him, he’d never tell you.

At roughly the age of two Tam'nýer-a'n Years, Ṭhaėn fulfilled the fate set out for him by enlisting in the army. There, his boyish zeal was sharpened and honed into something of a true force, and it is said that the methodological and hierarchical way of living that came with the military suited him very well. Of course, the induction didn’t come entirely without problems — the atmosphere was hard and unforgiving in many ways and if Ṭhaėn had been previously known to enjoy lazy days by the swelling waters of the bay, boy did he have another thing coming — but it didn’t take him too long to buckle down and adapt. Soon enough, he was recognized as a man worthy of respect and admiration.

A number of Years later, the soldier found himself with the opportunity to travel home to visit his family and gladly took it, missing (as well you might) his parents and younger sister. He took leave to visit with his family back home as frequently as he could, of course, but this time was different. During his stay, something happened that he could have never foreseen: he was given a task that jolted him entirely from his preset course through life.

Duke Rajha Sakaori, close friends with Ṭhaėn’s father and bound to him by the Naśtarikhas’ historical fealty, had always viewed Ṭhaėn as an upstanding and reliable fellow — and he had a special request to make of him. Under terms of great secrecy, Duke Rajha revealed that he had dispatched his middle child, Dhala, on a quest of espionage and infiltration. Concerned that the task might be beyond her means, he sought help from the family sworn to protect his. More specifically, he requested Ṭhaėn’s aid. Might he venture out and oversee matters? The Duke promised to make use of his influence to ensure that any detachment from the army would be viewed solely as an honorable and temporary arrangement; nothing that would make Ṭhaėn seem anything but the noble and upstanding man that he was.

With the blessing and encouragement of his elders, Ṭhaėn saw only one course to proceed: He agreed without hesitation. His destiny to serve the Ṅkhya'jran people was beckoning him beyond the sea.

The Naśtarikhas have a long-standing tradition of blood magic, a fact about the family kept somewhere in between the things you talk about and the things you pretend don’t exist. Perhaps not everybody in Rīdhaūñaī knows that the oldest Naśtarikha child, whether son or daughter, are tutored in the arts of commanding the whispers that crawl through veins, but it is hardly kept a secret, or, if originally secret, hardly very well kept.

Certainly the Sakaoris know. After all, they can benefit from it.

Ṭhaėn is not the type of man to expend energy on things he doesn’t personally consider useful, be that useful to himself, useful to his family, or useful in his line of work. Blood magic, as a discipline, somewhat straddles the line. Useful to himself: potentially; useful to his family: in a sense; useful in his line of work: in a manner of speaking...

Its utility had not been clear to him as a young man when customers came to Ṭhaėn and his tutor Nasá and paid them for a curse or, more rarely, a spell of protection. It had been Ṭhaėn’s job to handle the slippery chunks of flesh or try to corral a fistful of hair or squeeze a couple of drops of nearly-coagulated blood from a napkin, after which he’d call upon Nýer—a', pleading with his chosen God to help him complete his task. Sometimes the customer would come back and report a great success: their rival in love had been stymied, say, or the man stealing their crops had been bitten by a Khûypya'payy in a truly unfortunate spot. Nasá would grant him a smile if she felt he’d done a decent job and clap him upside the horns when she thought he’d done a bad job; with time and effort, the slaps grew fewer and farther between and the smiles grew wider and more frequent. Even now, Ṭhaėn isn’t entirely sure of the usefulness of blood magic — he doesn’t use it much for private gains except as part of a training regime to keep his skill up, but he figures that there might come a day when the art will come in handy to him. If nothing else, at least he’s maintaining a family tradition and making his old man happy; surely that’s a kind of utility in itself.