Sharash, Red Upon Red

Written by Labyrinth on September 26, 2025.

Who You Were

You are Sharash, whose name means Red Upon Red. It is a sacred name, a name given in defiance by your father. Born into a nomadic tribe on the outskirts of the Dragon Empire, a tribe that had been harried by the Elves for apostacy for generations. Your tribe rejected you and your family. Your grandfather was a warrior, given a precious blade by the elder. He fell to the vicious arrows of your hunters. Your father, Kse-Sevar, taught you to fight, with bare hands. Weapons were too good for your line, said the others. Wasted on your line. Better held by better warriors. Your father taught you to fight. From the time you were little he’d show you how to hold your stance, how to throw your weight. You saw how other fathers treated their sons, played with them. You saw them savoring life’s color, unbruised, faded as the color was by your tribe’s continual hunting. Others laughing, others singing. Your father taught you to fight. There wasn’t a night you went to sleep without an ache, without scrapes and dents in your hide. When you were big enough, he taught you to spar. He wouldn’t hold his strikes. Your scales became a pale rainbow, bruises coalescing across your body.

Your father taught you to fight. It was all you had ever known. It was the only love you had ever known. You repaid it in full when you were fifteen. He came at you with everything the final time you sparred. A lucky strike, caught off-stance, knuckle to chin, sent him careening to the floor. It all came out at once. You followed him forward and crushed his leg underfoot. You broke the arms that so many times before now had broken you. Laughing, you kicked the miserable, sobbing face of your only family. When he was too broken to raise his arms to protect it. His ugly, miserable crying face, blood mixed with the river of tears flowing down his cheeks. Tears of joy.

“Sharash!” He said to you. “Sharash!” He cried. “You’ve done it!” He croaked, wind crushed from his chest. “You’ll never need a weapon to kill.” His body half-turned and curled, wheezing, gasping, gurgling.

You could have killed him, but you didn’t. “You’ll be safe now.” It was the last thing he said to you.

Who You Are

You are Sharash, whose name means Red Upon Red. You spent some years wandering. There was always more world to see, and never enough reason to stay in any one place. You eventually found your way into a group of fellower travelers: castoffs, vagabonds, exiles. You made your way into the Dragon Empire to seek your dragon. Find how your scales matched, red upon red. Having found one understanding of your skills and how you gained them, you bonded with Sha-Vaseskesalash, whose name means Red Sky Over Seas Of Red.

You saw yourself in his scales. Pushed to the edge of Empire, hunted by human and elf alike. A beast who needed no weapon to kill. A beast taught from his first moments. Here, you learnt the arts of bow and blade, to stand even with your skyborne foes, atop your skybound friend. You never prefered it, but it was the only way to fight.

A singing bolt of glimmering lightning severed you and your mount, miles above the ground that birthed you. You were captured out of the sky, and put in binds. The brand had one word, nestled in the coal, reaching a glowing heat. You writhed as they pressed it upon you, red upon red. “Dangerous.”

The elves had only seen a pale imitation of the danger you posed. They stripped you of your weapons and put you in shackles. You’d bide your time. You’d have your revenge, you only had to wait for it. What could a lizard like yourself do, with only his bare hands?

The Champion

You are a level 5 Lizardfolk (red) Monk, Sharash.

One Unique Thing

I bonded with a red dragon, becoming his rider. No man outside the Imperium has done so in the past several Ages.

Icon Relationships

Backgrounds

Talents

Powers