Valerian - Claw of the Undying Queen
Human Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk 4
AC: 17 | 
HP: 31/31 | 
PP: 15 | Ki: 4/4 | Initiative: +4 | Languages: Common, Draconic, Abyssal, Infernal
The Hooded Boy
Valerian's return to Greenrest with his new "allies" was surprisingly uneventful. It seemed in fact he did everything in his power to keep it that way. He walked with the hood of his cloak up, his head down. It was a well practiced demeanor, likely for good reason. He was a cultist after all, unrepentant and proud of it. It was unlikely that there was any place from the Sword Coast all the way to Thay that would accept his kind.
This truth did not change during the remainder of their time in Greenrest. Especially not on their last march out. He made special point to walk far behind the group as they showered in praise and love by those they had saved. It would have been a rather sad sight if anyone had noticed. The lone member of the victorious few who was given no love and seemed content with that. It was his victory as well? Was it not? Even if lesser so. He had claimed a part of the vengeance he so desperately sought. And yet it seemed he received nothing for it. No flowers, no cheers. And that was only outward. Inside...
Well, the work was not done yet and he hadn't even received the killing blow. There was little time no reason for him to bask in the afterglow of justice won. So he kept his eyes forward instead and dulled his hearing so as to miss the brunt of the incessant cheering from the people of Greenrest. His one eye stayed down to ground, content and unfeeling. But then something curious happened.
Valerian's hand shot out to the side, catching something that flew lightly through the air towards him. His eye immediately tried to trace the path back, but Valerian was distracted before he could finish the trail. Something pricked his finger. Curious, he looked down at his hand. Cupped inside of it was a small rose, one thorny protrusion tipped with red blood. A flower... for him. Too deliberate to say anything otherwise.
His eye remained on that flower for a long time. All through the remainder march outside of Greenrest, past the rolling hills, and well after the sun had set on their first day of travel. He was transfixed on it, eye trailing the pink hued bud, down to the green stem, and finally to the red covered thorn that had pricked him. What a curious sight indeed. A rose for a killer.
If he had been asked why his attention held on the flower for so long, he could give no answer. It was simply one of those small things that men occasionally stumble across. A detail that their mind would catch and simply could not be tugged from. The silly type of thing that they'd remember decades later and still be just as puzzled then as they once were.
Its hold on Valerian would end however. As the stars above began to shimmer and the all too familiar sound of quiet surrounded him, he let out a brief sigh and tore his eye away from the rose finally. "Foolishness." He said quietly to himself. Then he closed his palm around the stem, a small flame erupting and burning it away. That would have been the end of it completely, if the bud itself had not survived. Somehow, someway. Eventually, it would find itself pressed in-between the pages of his journal. Marking two particular sketches. One page consumed by two lines of people, cheering at procession walking between them. The other page, consumed by a simple rose.
"Foolishness indeed." Valerian whispered to himself as he closed the journal, then blew out the candle that sat next to his cot. After finally damning both the flower and the day to the oblivion of memory forever after, the cultist laid himself down to rest. Not true rest, however. There would be time for that after his vengeance.
Elturel Bound
Valerian was no trouble. That was likely the first and most surprising thing that stood out about him as the party made their journey to the Shining City. Despite his allegiances and his poisonous words, he remained true to his promise. No harm came to any of the group by his hand. More than that he seemed to be mostly out of the way for the trip. He always walked, never even taking a moment to rest on Wendy's freshly bought wagon. An act that seemed like it would be particularly painful, considering the cultist's lack of shoes.
Such a lack of basic amenities became apparent in the trip. He had no personal belongings beyond his clothes, bandage wraps he used for his feet, and the journal he occasionally produced. It was memorable sight. Likely to remind those more religiously inclined of a monk on pilgrimage, one who had taken a vow of poverty and abandoned all earthly possessions. Indeed, slotting him in such a role would not be entirely unfounded. If not for the newly found gold in his possession. Which he had only taken upon Daniella's insistence that he deserved a share of the gold they had taken from the hatchery.
An action he found most curious, especially would done in conjunction with her consistent mockery towards him. The latter act he seemed relatively used too. As a member of the Cult of the Dragon, insults were commonplace to him. From both enemy and ally alike. In fact if anything the constant mockery seemed to put him at ease. A noticeable tense in his shoulder soon lessened on the trip, his eye lost some of its sharpness and suspicion. At least when speaking to Daniella. Around others, specifically Rahnur and Wendy he seemed just as suspicious as their first meeting in the cave.
Aralim, or the Morningson as Valerian seemed insistent upon calling him, was an altogether different beast. If Daniella's mocking had the strange effect of making Valerian at ease, Aralim's attempts at helping the cultist seemed to push in the other direction entirely. The first morning when the priest had kindly put out a pair of sandals for Valerian, his reaction had been revulsion. He didn't exactly throw them in the face of the Morningson however, even Valerian wasn't that uncouth. Instead the pair of sandals were simply set afloat down the River Chionthar that night.
The next day when he had found his clothes cleaned, one could swear his one eye would pop out of its socket it bulged so much. That day Valerian went hunting. Bringing back a rabbit that he had only chased through the tall grass to find, his clothes freshly dirtied during the chase.
This was mostly a usual occurrence for Valerian however. He hunted and gathered for himself, not accepting any offered rations or such. This was a habit seemingly not born out of suspicion however, more duty. Occasionally he'd leave in the morning after his daily meditations, only to return with a half scorched rabbit, plover, or other such small game. If he did not return with anything, then he did not eat that night. As simple as that.
Other than those necessities, Valerian kept himself busy in other ways. He did not volunteer for any chores or such outside taking care of his own things. Though he take watch at night if allowed. It seemed protection was an important enough duty that he allowed himself to share in that, at least.
Finally however, when time slowed and Valerian found himself with no important tasks to keep his hands busy. He'd settle down and pull that little journal from his cloak. It became apparent rather quickly that it was a habit of his, or maybe a hobby. If Cultist's could even have hobbies. Every day he'd eventually find himself sitting in that cross-legged position, eye staring down at the pages of the journal and writing. Occasionally, his eye flicker away to something and then turn back to the journal. Movement indicating that he drew as well. What sort of mad ravings and drawings could reside in a Cultist's journal was anyone's guess, but by the frequency of it and the thick nature of his book, they were numerous indeed.
So in these ways, Valerian mostly kept to himself. Not bothering others with talk apart from Daniella, as she often bothered him insults anyhow. There was however, one incident when he spoke. Specifically when Aralim took Rahnur aside for a word and two conversed on whether the half-drow would remain with the group. Sitting just next to the fire, idly tending to it. Valerian spoke suddenly and uninvited.
"Leave if you have no business left here. I do not enjoy the idea of a half-hearted bowman behind my back." He said rather matter of factly. Eye still focused on the fire. Then it drifted, landing upon Rahnur. An air of seriousness in its gaze. "But especially if you have a family. It is your duty as the strong to protect them. And you have seen first hand that the weak will be in much need of protecting in the coming days."
Then Valerian's eye turned back to campfire as he grew silent once more. Those were his most notable words on the trip and likely only ones.
Otherwise it was the dullness of it all that made him most strange. At the end of the day, whatever assumptions were made originally because of his affiliation. Valerian walked, worked, and slept like any other man. This routine might have eventually become comfortable even. If not for its interruption with the groups arrival at Elturel.
Cities mean danger. Especially for him.
"I'd argue that all cities are pompous in their own ways, Daniella. Bastions of perceived law and order, while in truth merely being fortresses for rotting ideals and sundered ambition." Valerian scoffed as well, eye looking over the city as the arrived at Elturel's outskirts.
His hood went back up as they drew closer. His scars were in blessing in more than one way. When someone saw a hooded man they grew curious, always. When they saw a hint of the scars underneath however, usually their curiosity drained. Replaced by understanding, or embarrassment, or other such foolish emotions. Either way it worked well for him. Especially with the goblin nearby. Valerian grew appreciative of her presence now, if only because it drew attention away from him.
That was needed after all. In his past he tried to avoid cities as much as possible. But when the Cult gave a target, he answered no matter how difficult the task. That often meant bodies left in alleyways if he was quick and his face on a poster if not so quick and just a little bit careless. Luckily he could not remember any corpses he had left in Elturel in recent times, though there was always the chance of posters spreading.
Such a chance is what lead Valerian to walk at the back of the group once again. Though much closer this time. Best if he was lumped in with the whole rather than examined as the one. Even if that left a slight mark on his pride.
Valerian made no great attempts at subterfuge as the group moved through the lines of refugees trusting that the confusion more bodies brought would earn them an easy pass through. If not that he was sure the Morningson and Daniella would combine their greatest weapon, privilege, to get them a free pass through anyhow. It was only when the guard mentioned an inspection of goods that he did any slight action. Subtly putting himself slightly in beside the case that contained the dragon eggs, as the draw attention.
He had advocated against bringing the eggs. It was a foolish idea founded on faulty assumptions and shoddy ground. But when it came to dragons, he considered at least partially responsible. He was Tiamat's chosen after all. Her favorite champion on the mortal coil. If not his duty exactly, it was at least a concern of his faith if nothing else.