Ajal Dawnbound

Ryden Dawnbound was a holy man. Head of the Dawnbound family, he headed the commoner's church in Glailden, a holy man among the people. A high elf, loved by the common folk for his frequest blessings of them and praised for his unwaivering devotion to the gods and the celestial realm. So mcuh was his faith that one of these celestials descended to the material plane, drawn in by his dedication, and offered him an heir. Born of holy blood and light energy, and raised as a bridge between the celestial and mortal worlds.

Ryden, of course, accepted the celestial's offer, and soon a child was born. But something was wrong. Where their celestial parent's wings were practically glowing with light, theirs were black and dull, an oily sheen to them. Even more concerning was the eyes- while the celestial's glowed with a golden light, the child's eyes were black, broken up solely by the bright purple pupil.

Ryden blessed his child. Of course he did- he blessed all children, and his own would be no exception. But even drawing on the holy magic he could wield, nothing changed in Ajal's appearance, and soon things got worse. A sickness was spreading across their skin, purple-black magic seeping out from them and thrashing about with a mind of its own. Where the infection started is unknown, but none who looked at Ajal knew what to make of it.

For their part, Ajal learned how to repress the feeling of rotting from the inside out. How to stifle the screams of agony that bubbled up from their chest whenever someone touched their rotting form. How to distract themselves from the constant agony they lived in, fleeing to books of magic and wonder, adventures they longed to join, but couldn't.

The illness progressed over the years, and while Ajal grew into a cheerful heir, they were often bedridden with pain, kept company by only their thoughts. It was a special kind of hell, one no one could fix, no matter how much their father prayed over them. They almost resented him for it, even if they knew the elf only wanted to help in the way he knew how. They just felt completely out of control in their own life, and lashing out took that control back.

The pain was too much to bear. Breathing was agony, a fight to remain alive. The spread of their infection covered all but their face, and even that was starting to change. Those days were a blur for them- wake up. Eat. Think. Sleep. Repeat.

The cycle was never-ending, until one fateful day. Everything was painful, until it suddenly wasn't.

Looking around, Ajal saw the world in shades of etherial purples, and a figrure stood at the food of their bed. Wings drooped from its back, rotted and skeletal, with flesh barely clinging to bone. A dark robe wrapped around it, swirling into mist at the bottom. And the face, as they looked closer, was skeletal too. But somehow, it was not unkind.

Surely it was death, here to take them at last. It was almost a relief, until the figure spoke. It introduced itself- Raziel, it called itself. A being between life and death. And it offered to help extend that life to Ajal.

Of course they were skeptical. What's the catch? But Raziel insisted there was none. It would help them fight off their infection, and in return, they would act in its stead in the material plane. Nothing against their will, of course, but they would be a messenger.

Ajal agreed. They were scared to die, to be honest, and the figure seemed genuine.

It nodded, smiled, and the world was back in color. The infection, once overtaking their form, now was pulled back into a scar across their left side. It still bubbled and thrashed, fighting at the god who dared interfere, but it wasn't painful to the touch. They could breathe.

From that day on, Ajal was a new person. They hated being cooped up, roaming the halls of their family home and interacting with the commonfolk their father had enlightened. A soft smile here, a wave there- it was exhilerating to interact with people! The rush was unlike anything else, and oh, how Ajal loved it!

They never told anyone of Raziel, of course. Their father would not support their belief in a 'false god', as he'd surely call it, and they couldn't sour their newfound relationship with the people of Glailden.

But at night, the half-dead god would talk to them. At first, Ajal was worried it was searching for information. But no- it seemed to genuinely want to get to know them better. Asking about mundane things. Favourite colors, what sort of plants they kept. It was the first tiem Ajal had ever really had a friend to call their own. So much of their childhood was spent sick, and Raziel's care for them was heartwarming.