Sadren

Sadren. He's a wiry man dressed in a priest's ashy robes and shawls. His hair is quite long, draped over his shoulders and bundled up in a ponytail, and also framing his fervid grin. His face is obscured by a broad, beak-like halfmask, resembling a vulture. He holds a creosote cane in the crook of his arm while gesturing emphatically.

I’m a poet. Nobody in particular.

Content Warnings: War, violence, addiction.

Sadren is a folk hero to high Asthaom, celebrated for his hand in authoring its river and preventing Motu’s war. Once a devoted Lexarc, he betrayed the cause to warn Scaiuq of Motu’s imminent campaign, and was made a martyr by the god for his sins. He is at present a prolific poet and songwriter, and a deeply respected figure throughout Asthaom and beyond the ocean black.

Background

According to wartime census, Sadren is dead. Excommunicated from the fanatical Lexarcs, he fled West and became a casualty of Asthaom’s only war. He would have you believe that he really died out there. In many ways, he did.

An addict turned poet-priest, Sadren came to the Lexarcs ? seeking penance and treatment. Few had faith in his turn of heart, but of all of them, Sadren took Lex’s teachings to heart the most faithfully. He chased a better life through rigorous study, zealous devotion, and good old-fashioned Temple Asceticism.

But the Lexarcs had long turned their eye from theology to more “practical” matters. They had every reason to. Agriculture sapped the fertile coasts of high Asthaom, and each day the gods bled themselves dry for a thirsty diaspora. With no water left in the desert to sustain its people, they would soon be forced to choose exile—or death.

Their fortunes changed when a humble priest recovered a body from the ocean black. By total fluke, Sadren had found Saint Lex in the flesh.

Her return turned high Asthaom on its head. It was no coincidence that she should appear during their darkest hour. The desert rioted in celebration, sweeping up them both.

But as he quickly discovered, this Saint Lex was not the same as the one from his stories. A strange woman inhabited the Saint’s body, and she was restless, deadpan, and deeply disturbed with the way of things—a far cry from Lex’s charisma and compassion. Sadren didn’t care. Everything about the woman challenged his beliefs, and he couldn’t help but adore her for it. In turn, she grew fond of Sadren, and the two became very close. Their unlikely friendship vaulted Sadren through the Lexarcs’ ranks, and he enjoyed a sense of purpose and belonging for the first time in many years.

It wouldn’t last.

A sickness haunts Sadren, as it does the rest of high Asthaom. One-by-one his Lexarc brethren are taken with delusions of mythical water and xenophobic dogma. Crying out for change, and emboldened by the return of Saint Lex, Motu’s Lexarcs march West to Scaiuq. What begins as an excursion into terra incognita quickly becomes a desperate war for water.

In this land where gods abandon men, Sadren is forced to confront the ugly truth of his order, and of himself. There comes a night when he and Roan can stand idle no more. They flee to Scaiuq, warning anyone who will listen of Motu’s plans. They become the first to dissent, to cry out from within Lexarc ranks… and the first to realize that Motu’s love is conditional.

Sadren is martyred by the god for his betrayal. His ‘death’ is so unspeakable that no deserters follow in his footsteps.

Excommunicated, exiled, and left for dead, Sadren is a broken husk of himself. He is so grief-stricken that he truly believes he should have died a martyr. Unfortunately for him, he lived—and although he can’t imagine a future for himself with or without the Lexarcs, there are still others who won’t give up on him so easily.

Relationships

Tab between characters below.

Notes

Gallery

Posts

  • 003 – Sadren and Beverages

    Anonymous wrote: To Sadren the Poet… do you enjoy a good beverage? What kind? Would you be open to grabbing one with a fan some time? (Return address is stated to be :just throw it bottled inta the ocean) My friend, What they don’t tell you about immortality is that your body forgets how to…

    Read more…

  • Sadren

    I’m a poet. Nobody in particular.

    Read more…