Preface:
In this newly started DnD 5e campaign I play the role of Ash'tar, a Shadar-kai elf monk that has the ability to meditate instead of sleeping, meaning he rarely closes his eyes.
This section is an inner monologue from Ash'tars' perspective in which he reflects on the past couple of days.
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Introspection
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As a young elf, I always slept at night. It felt natural to do so; nearly all my fellow clan members did, so why shouldn’t I? Truth be told, I almost never really slept. Much like Lorsan, a somewhat older guy whom most looked up to. He was also an elf, but his skin was much darker than mine. He was convinced we needed no sleep.
"All elves are born with the natural ability to ignore sleep, but we too need to rest," he said.
Unbeknownst to me, he was talking about meditation. Meditating, or the subtle art of looking inward with your eyes open, much like I’m doing at this very moment.
There is not just a desire to reflect, but also a need. The last two days have been the most bizarre of my life, which is saying quite a lot for someone who grew up the way I did. With a severe lack of schooling, food, care, attention, and proper etiquette, one tends to be completely forgotten.
I nearly died twice. Not like getting beat up, but more like sharp object through skin, bleeding all over the floor, fainting due to blood loss kind of dying. On both occasions, just as I was about to pass out, I heard this soothing voice and all was fine. I must have simultaneously angered and pleased some gods, potentially even at the same time.
Just three days ago I was with the clan. Stealing some food, messing about, mixing with the people, more stealing, preparing for a fight—the works. Life was predictable. Hard, but predictable.
When I made my narrow escape from the fighting pit and had nowhere to go, for the first time in my life I felt lonely. Knowing full well that some people gave their lives for my escape, I owe them big. I will repay them, though—with interest at that!
I managed to land myself a quick job (at least, so I thought) protecting a caravan on its way out of Neverwinter. The bustling city life, constant noise, and strong smells of market stalls—or more like sewage—were left behind and replaced by singing birds, fresh breezes, warm sunshine, and the scent of grass. It took no more than thirty minutes of riding by ox to forget about the city. Odd, but remarkably serene.
I didn’t get to protect this cart all by myself. Three others had volunteered, each with their own stories to tell. A fellow elf who is superb with a bow and knife. He too prefers tactical approaches over pure strength. I reminded myself not to mess with this guy.
Then there is a tiefling entertainer of sorts. He talks in weird sentences, and I swear I can sometimes hear him whispering whilst he’s at least ten feet away from me. He seems to inspire the others a great deal, though, which is probably more than can be said of me. He’s not a great warrior, and I haven’t seen him use weapons, but he does have some tricks up his sleeve. There is likely more to him than meets the eye.
Then there is this half-elf woman. She doesn’t talk very much, has some shiny armour that must have cost a small fortune, and keeps referring to her religion. She does things with prayers. Remarkably, she’s also a lifesaver. I understood from Roux that she healed my very body and soul with a single laying on of hands. I’ve never seen anything like it, and she quickly became my favorite team member.
Team member. Now that’s an odd description. I blindly trusted these people with my life, something I’ve only ever done once before, and that was more than twenty years ago. They also gave me a description. They called me a monk. I never did think of myself that way, but I guess it fits.
I see the others are starting to slowly wake up. It’s time for me to finish my reflection. I feel rejuvenated by this meditation. There is a strange source of energy that I can feel flowing through me.
It is time to redeem myself.
Survival is tough, but I’m slowly getting tougher.
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