Barzu Golddew

Barzu grew up as a servant on a farm, spending his days tending to chores and his nights lost in stories. He was fascinated by tales of magic, adventure, and trickery, drawn to the idea that the world was not as rigid as it seemed. He believed that reality could be shaped, that what people saw and felt mattered more than what truly was.   As a child, his only real companion was a small bat that roosted in the barn. He would whisper secrets to it at night, imagining it understood him. When it died, he refused to accept its loss. Instead, he convinced himself that it still lingered in the shadows, just beyond sight. If he believed hard enough, wasn’t that enough to make it true?   This idea only grew stronger when, years later, he bought a tattered spellbook from a traveling merchant. It was filled with strange symbols and riddles about perception and illusion. He studied in secret, and when he finally managed to summon a familiar, he shaped it into the image of his lost bat. The moment it appeared, flapping its spectral wings, his philosophy solidified—reality could be rewritten with the right magic.   As his skills improved, Barzu became known for his playful tricks. He found joy in making others see the world differently, whether through harmless illusions or small moments of wonder. But sometimes, his experiments went too far.   One day, his friend Berian was in a particularly low mood. Hoping to cheer him up, Barzu cast an illusion on a pile of horse dung, making it look and taste like a sweet pastry. His friend was delighted by the surprise and ate it without hesitation. To Barzu, this was a perfect demonstration of his belief—Berian experienced a pastry, felt real joy, and wasn't that all that mattered? The illusion had made reality better. Months later, when he revealed the truth, expecting laughter or admiration, he was met instead with horror.   Barzu was stunned. He hadn’t tricked Berian out of malice—he had given him happiness. But instead of gratitude, he saw betrayal in his friend’s eyes. For the first time, he questioned whether his view of the world was flawed. Had he simply rewritten reality, or had he manipulated someone who trusted him? The doubt unsettled him, but rather than abandon his beliefs, he resolved to refine them—to prove, once and for all, that perception could shape truth in a way that helped, rather than harmed.   Now, he travels, drawn to mysteries and places where the line between illusion and reality is thin. He wants to prove that the world is more flexible than most believe, to bring joy through his magic, and to challenge rigid thinking. But his detachment from reality and his occasional failure to see the consequences of his tricks sometimes lead to trouble. Though well-meaning, he still wrestles with the question—if reality is shaped by belief, then where does the illusion end and the truth begin?