đź”± Arya Kanakar

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Created
5 years, 1 month ago
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PrinceSawyer
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D&D Game NPC

3522800?1583027768
Name Arya Kanakar
Age In her 60's
Gender Female (transwoman)
Race Human
Role Blight's adoptive mother
Location Tiffana (town), Orrecia (continent)

Summary

Create ALL THE THINGS. She’s a professional painter, but she dabbles in nearly everything: weaving, embroidery, mosaic-laying, sculpting, showing kids how to make windchimes--there are SO MANY WINDCHIMES at her house--pottery, interior design, gardening, etc. If it involves physically making something, she’s probably tried it. And dragged Obyron and/or Blight along with her. Arya WILL teach Blight at least one type of artistry. She taught Obyron how to garden, cook like someone with actual taste buds, and mix paint for her. If Obyron would ever let her touch his lute, she’d probably be at least half as good as he is by now. But, y’know...boundaries. Never let her dress you, she will get completely carried away--especially if you wear feminine clothes. She LOVES dressing up little girls, herself, the old neighbor woman, and just about lost her mind when she found out Blight wanted to try a dress. She cannot stop making him things. Flower crowns, overdresses, full dresses, skirts, tunics, tights, trousers--she’s even worked with the local jeweler to make special horn jewelry for him, but he’s never worked up the nerve to wear them out. But that’s okay. Arya can wait.

Background

Arya was born into a well-off textile merchant family, originally given the name Bayard. She was their only son, but that never felt...right. She always admired the dresses her mother made for herself and Arya’s three older sisters, but her requests for even just one were brushed off as childish nonsense. They appeased her desires with training in artistry, namely painting--embroidery and weaving was for her sisters only. Painting was a slightly more manly pursuit.

When she got older, however, and didn’t change, the beatings started. She’d always been beaten for misbehaving, but these came whenever her parents caught her doing something...untoward. Trying on her sister’s dresses, testing just a tiny bit of mama’s lip color, gushing over another girl’s style of dress--it became more frequent. Too frequent. For the last few years at home, she hid it well, pretending she’d been “fixed.” In reality, she was stealing a few textiles every month to sell in less reputable parts of town. Not enough to raise suspicion, but at the end of those few years she had enough money to finally escape.

It wasn’t complicated, but it meant leaving with only the coin in her purse and the clothes on her back--couldn’t take a bag without people asking questions. She just walked out the door and took the next carriage to the coast.

Arya never saw her parents again, but she did reconnect with her sisters nearly 20 years after leaving home.

She’d heard of Varen and the university there, but knew that their services came at a high price. Even though she could pay her way to Varen, she knew she had to make her money last. Her art, though good, required supplies, ones she wasn’t able to bring with her. So instead of paying for a ride, Arya kept pretending to be a man and worked as a sailor, hopping from crew to crew until she made her way to the city.

Cost of living was high, unfortunately, so her money didn’t go as far as she’d expected it to. Trying to save up while keeping herself clothed, fed, and sheltered was proving difficult. In desperation, she turned to the gods for advice and frequently found herself visiting the city’s temples.

Poseidon seemed to answer her prayers, just...not in the way she expected. She met Obyron. He convinced his mentor to give Arya work painting murals in the temple. The extra income helped, but Obyron hanging around while she worked definitely motivated her to keep coming back. She didn’t tell him what exactly she wanted the money for, but he had a way of figuring things out. The day he confronted her about being a woman was the day she thought she’d lose him--but he didn’t leave. He didn’t yell or hit her or even frown. He was just as warm as he’d always been, but after that he pushed her to do her hair and surprised her with makeup and fine textiles to make dresses with. With Obyron’s encouragement--and love--she worked up the nerve to finally transition from Bayard to Arya.

It took years of pooling their money before they could afford the cost that the university charged to perform Arya’s adjustment. They managed to fit it in right before she agreed to follow him on his assignment in a small coastal town.

She helped design the small town’s temple, creating murals and mosaics for the walls. It’s not much, but Arya took a lot of pride in making it as attractive and cozy as she could with what resources the town could afford.

The next goal, after finishing the temple, getting married, and setting up their little home together, was children. But that didn’t seem to be in the cards. Arya didn’t have the right equipment to carry children and it just...kind of fell by the wayside.

Then Obyron brought Blight home. He was an underfed little tiefling and a nasty brat if you tried to touch him, but if Arya knew anything about kids, it was that all too familiar nervous energy of a child accustomed to being hit. He was equal parts touch-averse and touch-starved--both things Arya remembered well from her own childhood, but Blight’s mannerisms in regards to it were...off. Having his hair or ears stroked, rubbing his back, holding him, anything gentle and slow; they were almost like an off button. He settled so quickly, so easily, that it was almost creepy. It took a long time before Arya and her husband managed to piece together why. He’d been a pet. An abused pet, yes, but he’d learned to cling to those moments of kindness. Rather, he’d been trained to. It made Arya physically sick to think about some days. Especially the days when she woke to find Blight had climbed into their bed, snuggled up tightly between her and Obyron. He was so desperate for affection. And someone had done this to him. She drove herself mad sometimes, asking herself who could bring themselves to do this to a child? What kind of monster would brainwash a child like that? Destroy him, tell him to his face he wasn’t a real person, didn’t have a soul? And for what? Because he was cute?

She hid it from Blight, of course. He was an observant little shit and she knew he caught on most of the time, but she tried. She’d kiss him between his little antlers and hold him close when she woke up with him next to her, as if it didn’t remind her of what had been done to him. For all his cursing, biting, and stealing, he was so frail inside.

He also didn’t grow much, in spite of her and Obyron’s best efforts. That’s when Arya dipped into their savings and took Blight to the university. Besides, that money was originally set aside for when they got around to having kids. If not for the one Poseidon provided them, then who?

An adjustment at the university was expensive, but simple examinations were quite affordable. They were usually booked solid, but Arya, being one of their patients, got priority.

Someone--Arya could guess--had messed with his body chemistry. Years of exposure to hormone-blocking tonics, combined with malnutrition, trauma, and stress, meant he wasn’t going to hit puberty anywhere close to on time. The least damaging thing to do was to wait and let his body heal on its own. He’d hit puberty someday, but, without a full examination, which Blight refused, it was impossible to predict when.

It all hit a little close to home for Arya. She started sharing her own childhood stories with him, hoping it would make him feel less alone to hear her own struggles with the adults around her trying to control what her body should and should not be--and to share more of her experiences with abuse. He hadn’t realized, until those talks, that people could transition from one gender to another, much less that Arya had done it.

It’s one of the things that she bonded with him over. He started admitting things to her, namely that he wasn’t...technically a boy. Or a girl.

That was a new one for Arya. It wasn’t quite as new for the university, though they were excited to find out about it. Blight finally worked up the nerve to let them do a full examination, though it took more than a few tries. He ended up making a lot of trips there with Arya, sometimes for further examinations and other times to do research in the library about what he could expect as he got older.

And when he did get older...well, Arya got carried away. She never thought she’d have a daughter she’d have to teach about breast bands and corsets, but then Blight suddenly stopped going shirtless in the summer and she found herself being asked a lot of pointed questions. And, cautiously, he started asking about dresses. That set Arya right off. She wrote to her sisters, asking for refreshers on embroidery, if there were any new tips or trends. Blight said he was interested in dresses and learned that this was a very, very bad thing to say if he didn’t immediately want a full wardrobe of them.

But.

Blight let her dress him. He grumbled, but he did it with a smile. And he absolutely lit up when she showed him why so many girls loved to twirl.

He’s not quite the same as Arya, of course. Some days he plays at being a girl and other days he plays at being a boy, as he was raised. Transitioning to one or the other permanently like she did doesn’t seem to interest him. It’s...different...than Arya was expecting. Nothing she’d heard of or seen before. But the more he grew into himself, the more right it felt.

She’d once prayed for a son or a daughter. It seems to her that Poseidon delivered exactly that--a son or a daughter. It varies by day. And she’s positive the Lord of Sea and Storms is far too proud of himself for that one.

Aesthetic

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