Origin Story, First Draft (Sana, Warforged Hybrid Swordmage/Warlock)

I know the stars by their names,

Aldebaran, Altair,

And I know the path they take

Up heaven's broad blue stair.

I know the secrets of men

By the look of their eyes,

Their gray thoughts, their strange thoughts

Have made me sad and wise.

But your eyes are dark to me

Though they seem to call and call —

I cannot tell if you love me

Or do not love me at all.

I know many things,

But the years come and go,

I shall die not knowing

The thing I long to know.

(“I Know The Stars” -Sara Teasdale)

Cannith Creation Forge Three, City of Metrol (993YK)

Jacen d'Cannith frowned. Forge Three was slated to be taken off-line soon. One and Two had already seized up, the great machines unable to keep up with the increasing demand for Warforged soldiers. Main production had already switched to the other Forges, as Three would likely burn out soon.

If he was going to do this, now was the time. The Supervisor had long since left for home, leaving Jacen, who was only a Journeyman Artificer, in charge of the facility. Even the craftmages had gone home, leaving Jacen alone with a handful of Warforged guards.

He often wondered what they thought, watching others of their race being created day in and out. Did they see the Creation Forges as parents? Gods? What did they think of House Cannith?

They will no doubt come to see us as devils. He shook his head. Such thoughts were no doubt the reason he had not advanced further in the House, the reason his theories were never considered. The Warforged were machines. Intelligent machines, yes, but they had no souls. Philosophy was beyond their capabilities.

That was the official stance, at least, but more and more, Jacen was convinced his House was being more than willfully obtuse. He looked at the Dragonmark on the back of his hand. This close to the Forge, it glowed softly, reacting to the powerful magics.

I might as well do it. Who knows if we'll even survive this war? The forces arrayed against Cyre were growing by the day. For years, House Cannith had played all sides against each other, but it seemed they may soon pay for their mercenary ways.

Walking up to the Forge, Jacen removed the modified schema from his pouch of holding. New types of Warforged were being developed all the time, ones the House had held back from the other nations. Among them were new 'Forged, who could wield Arcane (and, if rumors could be believed, even Psionic!) forces. There were rumors of Divinely-powered Warforged as well, but House Cannith put no stock in them- how could a creature lacking a soul possibly develop faith?

Jacen carefully removed the master schema and replaced it with his own. It had taken him long hours to create the item, and, if it worked at all, it would probably only function once. A month ago, his uncle had sent him a package, which contained a most unusual item.

A Siberys Dragonshard, which emitted a pale blue light. He'd never even heard of anything like this! His uncle had expressed the hope that proper study of the item, and the strange power it radiated, would allow Jacen to finally gain the approval of the House.

Strange visions came to him in his dreams, along with ideas and concepts beyond his experience. And then, one night, he awoke, gasping for breath, a pattern burning in his mind that threatened to fade from his memory. Quickly, he copied it as best he could. Only later would he realize what his fevered mind had produced.

A schema for a new creation. If this worked. If this worked..! He could hear the praise now. Revolutionary. Inspired! Masterful.

With a mad grin, Jacen pulled the mighty lever, and the Creation Forge fired into life. Metal, stone, wood, and even crystal were combined to create the body. The sigils on the Forge began to glow, investing the creation with the semblance of life, imbuing it with both consciousness and knowledge.

The Warforged guards stirred, but they did not interfere. Finally, the process was complete, and a figure began to stir to life, standing for the first time. It was smaller and more slender than the standard soldier chassis. More suited to cerebral tasks than physical.

It looked around and then fixed it's gaze on Jacen, it's eyes glowing with dim blue light. “I..am.”

Daring to move closer to his creation, Jacen could see that the ghulra sigil on the construct's forehead had a sort of starburst pattern. “I am Jacen d'Cannith, Journey Artificer. Do you acknowedge me?”

The Warforged tilted it's head at an angle. There was something vaguely feminine about it's movements, which struck Jacen as odd- being constructs, Warforged had no gender, and no need for it. “You are..Master?”

Jacen nodded. “Yes, that's right, I…”

Suddenly, there was a loud noise, and looking up, Jacen could seen a crack had formed in the metal casing of the Creation Forge. So then. His creation would be the last. Forge Three was no more. He could hear shouts behind him. He turned to face the Warforged. “Well, I'm in for it now.”

“You are in…danger?”

“Trouble, yes. Of my own making, I'm afraid.”

The Supervisor ran up, his face red. “Jacen?! What have you done?”

Oddly, Jacen didn't feel any fear. He was kind of relieved, actually, as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. He felt a smile form on his face. “I'd say that's fairly obvious. I broke it.”

“You…you! And what is this?! You created a Warforged without supervision? Look at it, it's obviously defective! Guards! Destroy this abomination and take Jacen into custody!”

A Warforged guard moved up, gripping a large mace. “I obey.”

“You will not harm him.” All eyes turned to face the newly-born Warforged. “I will not allow it.”

The Supervisor laughed. “And what will you do, exactly?”

The eyes of the slender 'Forged seemed to burn brighter. It turned to face the soldier. “Your doom is written in the stars.” It held out it's hand, and a bolt of blue light lanced from it, striking the soldier and burning it's body.

With a grunt the bigger 'Forged paused.

“Attack it! I order you!” The Supervisor shrieked.

The soldier seemed to sigh and moved forward, only for it's body to burst into brilliant flames.

Jacen and all the assembled artificers and craftsmages turned to regard the slender Warforged.

“I think, Supervisor, that you'd best not make this one angry.” Jacen grinned.

The Fourth Battle of Eston, Three Months Later

I am a soldier and I have no name. That is not uncommon among my kind. They call us 'Warforged'. The title is apt, for we were made to do battle. At least, most of us were. I have no idea why I was made. Or why I was sent here, to the front lines of this war.

The war began before I was made, and it will no doubt rage long after I am no more. It all seems so pointless. I was made to serve, so I do what I am told. I'm different from the other Warforged. Where they are strong, I am not. I've come to believe I'm more intelligent than the others. How unfortunate.

If only my thoughts were simpler. If only I didn't feel the need to question everything around me. My existence. This world. This war. If only I could accept my fate. I'm going to die.

My doom is written in the stars, you see. Above our heads, in the night sky, the veil of Siberys, The Dragon Above hides the truth. Sometimes, however, the truth shines through. Celestial bodies make patterns in the dark, and they speak to me.

Tonight they speak to me loudly. I am doomed. What I am now, will cease to be. There's more, however. More words written, but I lack the ability to understand. More words spoken, but I cannot hear them.

Humans call these words 'prophecy'. Their rational minds dismiss it as superstitious nonsense, the notion that there are patterns and forces beyond them. Strange tides and currents that affect the fate of the world. And yet, in the quiet of the night, they believe.

I do not speak of such things. They already believe me to be…wrong somehow. If they believed me to be defective, my reason faulty, they would destroy me. I know this.

They want to destroy me anyways. That's why I am here.

I can hear the words of the sky, but that gives me little comfort. And no warning. The ambush is quick and there is little I can do. I fight as best as I can, but then I see the enemy wizard. I don't even have time to lay a curse upon her. The fire spell hits me, and I'm falling. Falling into…

I am aware. I cannot move. I cannot feel, and yet, I am aware. Is this death? My kind only rest, we do not dream. But I have heard of dreaming. I wonder if I am dreaming. If these are dreams, then they are cold. And lonely. I have always been alone, and it did not bother me.

I don't want to be alone anymore.

Something has changed. I am starting to feel, but I cannot see. I try to speak, but I do not understand my own words.

“Aha! You're awake! Lie easy, I've repaired most of the damage, but this will take awhile. I'm a friend, don't worry.”

A friend? Warforged do not have friends. It would be nice to have one. So I remain motionless, even as I begin to feel warm once more. Something inside me has changed. I am different.

It's a good change, even though I do not understand it. I do understand one thing now, however. When the stars speak of death, they speak not just of endings. But beginnings as well.

“Say, do you have a name?”

I try to speak once more, to tell my benefactor that I have no name.

“Sana, you say? Interesting. Pleased to meet you, Sana. My name is…”

It's just the initial draft, things may change based on what Tim wants to do.