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48,902 | 1,319 | 15 | 2,587 | 440 | Rakta
City of Thorne - Chocobo Stables
In an area just shy of the tournament grounds and the Grand Market, was a large structure for stabling mounts. Many variety of creatures were held in pins, leads, or simply, from what Rakta could tell, deactivated and left in the care of the stable hands. When they had first come upon the stable, Kajad had made an exclamation of glee, then drove the large chocobo they rode forward-- Rakta had to sprint to keep up. Upon reaching the outer gate of the stable, Kajad dismounted, then began waving for the attention of the stable hand. While Rakta didn't hear the conversation herself, part of her began wondering what had been said. It had been nearly ten minutes since that conversation and Rakta found herself bored enough to care about smalltalk-- that wasn't a good sign. From what she could tell however, she wasn't the only one growing bored.
Ser Ellismore had began pacing back and fourth, while her chocobo had sat down for a rest. A soft sigh escaped her helmet every now and then and Rakta almost felt sorry for her... almost. Humes seemed to be impatient as a whole, from what Rakta could tell, so that really drained the little sympathy Rakta had for Ser Ellismore. It would do her well to learn how to wait, right? Kajad was likely going to greet and hand feed a variety of small treats to each and every beast stabled, without a single care for how long it would take. This was a traditional practice-- a Phamet greeting to the working beasts for whatever village they happened to be in-- and it ensured a blessing would be placed upon each beast in turn. Next would come the working warriors-- mercenaries, thieves, assassins, the like-- for they needed blessings sorely. Afterward and most importantly the doctors would be visited-- those who used bandages, potions, and stitches, while being unrelenting upon magic for cures.
This process would likely last until the sun burned evening and Rakta felt no need to rush anymore. Sure, at first she wanted to hurry, but what was because of the fact this process would take hours. They were going to miss a great many activities in the meantime, unfortunately. Rakta simply sat on the ground then, crossed her legs, and prepared herself for a lengthy wait outside the stables. It was at that moment that Ser Ellismore walked up to her and asked, "How much longer do you think this will take?"
"As long as the Phamet must," Rakta answered without missing a beat.
"But there are ceremonies--"
"Is this not ceremony itself?"
Ser Ellismore paused, looked from Rakta to the stable and back again, then asked, "What do you mean?"
"We have time," Rakta replied lowly, then gestured to the side, indicating that Ser Ellismore should sit. "Ease yourself-- I will give you knowledge of our practices, if you wish to listen," Rakta concluded. A heavy sigh escaped Ser Ellismore but she nodded then sat down next to Rakta anyway. "It'll help pass the time," Rakta told her reassuringly, "Now, where should I begin..." | Name: Rakta Ganti-Sih
Title: N/A
Race: Bangaa
Job: Berserker
Age: 36
Gender: Female
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Rakta stands at an average height for a Bangaa, around 6ft 5in, with the musculature of a seasoned combatant, and she carries herself with a prideful posture. Her scales are a dusky blue that gradients to light grey and she features orange tattoos, covering nearly half of her body, deeply inset into her scales-- they all look to be words in the language of her people. Those bright orange eyes of hers often have a weary look to them, except for when she's berserking, at which point they are quite alert and lethally analytical. Several scars mar her body, evidence of a life spent fighting, and the tip of her tail is missing. Piercings along her muzzle and ears gives hint to a subtle vanity, despite her otherwise brutish looks.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Rakta is either seen lightly armored or armed to the teeth.
Light plate armor, most notably protecting her face, forearms, stomach, and knees is worn with a set of baggy pants of varying shades. This outfit is considered her "relaxing" clothes when she has to dress as such.
Rakta's usual battle armor consists of several pelts, reinforced with mail, decorated by horns, claws, and fangs of felled beasts. Most impressively about her armor is her hood, which features a mane made of authentic Behemoth hair. The pelts serve as both a trophy collection and "loose" armor, the purpose of which is to obscure her silhouette and increase the chances for glancing blows. When in "full armor" she wears a two-piece cheek and chin guard with a horned muzzle protector, and has been known to full on gore people with said horn when up-close.
No matter how much armor she is wearing, Rakta's clawed gauntlets are never left behind. The clawed fingertips serve as an extension of her own claws and the heavy gauntlets are fully padded inside, making punches and claw attacks easy on her underlying anatomy.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Shy | Rebellious | Stubborn | Nurturing | Aggressive
Good luck getting her to change her mind about anything. Ever.
Likes:
Music | Epic Tales | Spiritualism
Dislikes:
Cold Weather | Summoners | Pessimists
Personal History
Hometown:
Takhtajan
Current Residence:
Takhtajan
Occupation:
Bodyguard
Backstory:
The Ganti-Sih clan roams the deserts of Takhatjan, lead by a spiritual leader called the "Am-Ra". Like all Ganti-Sih children, Rakta grew up on the move and raised by the clan itself-- not solely by her birth parents. When it was discovered that Rakta had been "born with the spirit of a beast" within her, she was assigned a "Pahmet"-- a child chosen to become a carrier of the Am-Ra's knowledge-- and sent on a "Star Speak". The Star Speak consists of a journey through the desert with a Pahmet and, while the Pahmet may have food or water, the beast-child may not, in order to maintain their purification. After being purified by the clan Pahmets, Rakta was sent into the desert sands and, remarkably, went six days before passing into the Star Speak dream. Within the Star Speak, Rakta saw her destiny, met with the spirit of the beast which ignited her blood, spoke to the "Many Faced God", then returned with understanding that she was destined for something which would determine the fate of the world itself.
Years of training and fighting followed. Her Pahmet lead her through ever increasing danger, in order to strengthen the beast spirit, and increase her endurance for the Berserker state. Wars with other nomadic clans, skirmishes with intruders, and plenty of honor duels hardened Rakta's resolve and spirit. Despite the hardship, Rakta learned to care for the clan children with kindness and wisdom-- an odd trait for any berserker. The Ganti-Sih came to rely upon her for both protection and battle prowess, until the day came that her Pahmet spoke of a journey to another isle. Though many were displeased at the development, none questioned the wisdom of the Many Faced God, and reluctantly said their goodbyes to Rakta and her Pahmet.
Other:
- Rakta is a great seamstress-- those pelts didn't sew themselves!
- Wither or not Rakta is truly inhabited by the spirit of a "beast" is a subject of theological debate.
- The Many Faced God's existence is also a subject of theological debate however-- there are very convincing signs of their material existence in the form of clockwork Obelisks on Takhatjan.
- Apparently no one knows where Rakta got the Behemeoth fur from-- she insists it came from her Star Speak journey. |
48,903 | 1,319 | 16 | 2,620 | 2,549 | ( hope you don't mind me joining the party)
Amadeus Galantia Moggo IV
City of Thorne - Grand Market | Airship Docks
"I see military life is treating you well, Kupo. You know Kupo, its never too late to come home." remarked an aging moogle, his bushy white eyebrows hiding his eyes almost comically, with a long white beard that covered the lower half of his face. The aging moogle, despite his drooping wings and pom denoting his age, still stood straight with broad (relatively) shoulders and a barrel of kupo nuts on his back. Walking alongside him was another moogle, slightly taller, and clad from head to toe in leather and steel- helmet in the crook of his arm.
"I'll be fine Kupo." Moggo replied lightheartedly as he marched beside his father. The one thing he enjoyed about Thorne City's annual tourneys was that his family came to visit- and sell their goods- during this time of the year. His family had been doing well in the past few years. Kupo Nuts served to be popular amongst more than just Moogles- often being extracted and refined for use in energy potions and strength supplements- and the family business had become profitable enough to the point that Moggo's family could hire additional help to help out on the farms. Though Moggo had no intention of returning home.
Moggo was an interesting sight for most newcomers to the city. Though many of the city's guards and paladins knew of the moogle that had joined their ranks a few years back, Moggo nevertheless got stares from travelers and visitors: a small moogle clad in heavy armor with the sigil of the Crystal and a longsword that dwarfed him in size- easily longer than the moogle was tall. On the back of this armored moogle was a second barrel- laden with kupo nuts. The two moogles eventually made their way to a stall in the center of the Grand Market, populated entirely by moogles. Dropping the barrel in front of the stall, Moggo, stretched and rolled his shoulders, taking in the atmosphere of the market.
It was a busy and lively place, in no small part due to the bustle of the tournament, which had brought the already busy market to nearly twice the amount of hustle and bustle that it usually had. All around him people of different races and ethnicity harked their wares, storekeepers offering travelers trinkets and necessities for their travels, and faraway merchants harking exotic wares to the city's denizens.
"Well, my thanks for taking your time out of your schedule to help your old kupo," his father said warmly as the older moogle embraced his son.
"No trouble at all Kupo, its all on the way anyway." Moggo replied as he bid his father farewell. He said his hellos and goodbyes to the rest of his family that was in the marketplace as well, trading the barrel for a large pouch of kupo nuts which he now kept at his side. The marketplace was a short walk to the airship docks, where Moggo was sent to find some Kimuran Noble on behalf of the Crystal Paladins.
Reaching the Airship Docks, it wasn't difficult for Moggo to spot the Kimuran party. The large airship was easily recognized amongst all the other traders and military craft- adorned with the crest of a royal Kimuran family, and decorated in a fitting manner. Recognizing the crest as that of the Yasuharu family the little moogle marched his way over to the ship, where a smaller cohort of individuals were disembarking. He waited for the party at the end of the dock, where the wood turned into stonework, and the road to the city laid behind him. He waved to the Kimurans with one arm as they approached, the other arm still clutching his helmet.
"Greetings Kupo!" Moggo greeted the Kimuran party with a short dip of his head before straining his neck to look up at the tall humes. Welcome to The City of Thorne. My name is Amadeus Galantia Moggo the Fourth, though most people just call me Moggo."
"I've been sent on behalf of the crown to be your guide and liaison while you are here in our city with us, Kupo!" | Name: Amadeus Galantia Moggo the Fourth. 'Moggo' for short.
Title: "Squire Moggo IV of Mog Town, Guardian of the Crystal Palace, Squire to the Steward of the Grand Crystal"
Race: Moogle
Job: Warrior
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Tall for a moogle, Moggo stands over his kin at an impressive 3 '4" in height (thats 3'10" feet with his ears!), with quaint cream colored fur. His body is narrow and sinewy, and his wings are a leathery black while his pom is a light green. His eyes are soft and brown in color, and have a sense of perceptiveness to them. Most notably, his ears are dark brown in color, instead of the cream white of the rest of his fur. While his body is relatively devoid scars, and are generally hidden by his fur, though the most notable one is a short, pink slash across his left cheek.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Like most moogles, Moggo's everyday attire consists of a large, one piece type of baggy attire in white and green that goes down to past his knees, with a pair of breeches tucked into a pair of sturdy leather boots. The sleeves are tucked leather vambraces over the his hands as to not get in his way. Overtop of this, he wears a tough, sturdy leather apron that isn't uncommon on squires. A leather cap tops his head, with holes for his ears and pom.
In battle, Moggo joins the ranks of his other fellow warriors. Clad in steel plates on his arms and legs, plated boots and gloves, with a chainmail shirt underneath a tough leather brigandine, Moggo is surprisingly mobile for such an ungainly looking appearance. His head is protected by a visored sallet, with holes in the top for his pom and ears to poke through. His ears has soft leather strapped to its back for added protection. Additionally, the right pauldron of Moggo's armor has a worn pad of thick leather on top of it, which he uses to rest his sword on when unsheathed.
Like many would-be knights, Moggo is trained in a variety of martial weapons, though there are a few that he favors. Typically, he wields his favored greatsword- The Lohengrin, a massive blade of fine castleforged craftsmanship. A noble sword, its hilt is accented by blazing crimson vines that manifest in a fiery red rose in the center of the crossguard. This greatsword, by hume standards is no longer than a typical bastard sword- a three foot blade with an extra foot long hilt- but is comparatively massive when regarded with Moggo's diminutive stature. Despite his sword's bulk, Moggo still manages to swing it around with surprising ableness. Moggo's most prized possession, a gift from his commanding Paladin, this blade almost never leaves Moggo's side- or back, where it is typically sheathed in a fine cherry wood scabbard etched with similar vine designs around its mouth.
However, it is not unknown for Moggo to wield a shortspear or shortsword (in place of a typical polearm or single handedsword) in conjunction with a buckler (in place of a kiteshield), when his Lohengrin is impractical, and he is capable of riding Chocobo into battle when called upon.
Moggo's Chocobo is a mild mannered male named Kokobocho. Its a dark yellow chocobo with the tips of its wing and tailfeathers growing dark. Kokobocho is most notable by the sigil imprinted on the front of its beak, representing the Crystal Palace. As a mount, Kokobocho is fairly lightly armored, and is meant to be used as a mobile scout cavalry as opposed to a heavily armored charging destrier, and only features a breastplate, shinbraces, and a headguard. Due to Moggo's small size and weight, the saddle has plenty of space to fit sizable travel bags behind it, and Moggo will typically store items to unwieldy for him to carry on his chocobo.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Loyal | Earnest | Selfless | Short-Sighted | Simple-Minded
Likes:
Getting scratched behind the ear | Acts of Valor | Kupo Nuts
Dislikes:
Having his Pom/Wings pulled | Acts of Cowardice | Jokes about height
Personal History
Hometown:
Mog Town | Thorne
Current Residence:
Thorne City | Thorne
Occupation:
A Squire in the service of the Holy Paladin Order
Backstory:
The third son and fifth child of eight, Moggo was born to a humble farming family in the outfields of Thorne, in a small village populated primarily by moogles- Mog Town. Amadeus Galantia Moggo the Fourth was never destined for greatness, said his family, he and the rest of his siblings were expected to help his parents run their farm. As a child, Moggo helped out his family on the Moggo farm, either cultivating Kupo Nuts or tending to the chocobos, though he often dreamed of doing more with his life- doing good in a way that was more than just helping around the farm or tending to birds.
Still, ever the good son, Moggo spent most of his childhood and adolescent years helping his family on their farm, and between schooling and farmwork was kept quite busy. Keeping him busy was his parents way of trying to discourage him from growing too ambitious or curious of the world beyond the farm, believing that he would strike off on his won to act on some foolhardy sense of justice, but they were not blind to his desires. As he grew older, his parents relented a bit, and allowed him to travel to Thorne City with his father when they went to sell their goods in the market.
One day in town, a group of Paladins in the marketplace noticed the small moogle family, and one commented on Moggo's impressive strength- being able to easily carry a heavy barrel of kupo nuts that a fully grown hume would be hard pressed to carry without aid- and said that Moggo would make a decent Knight with his strength. Though the compliment was merely a comment in passing, perhaps even a joke, Moggo took the words to heart and decided that he had found his true calling.
Much to the dismay of his father, Moggo immediately set off to find the Crystal Palace where he animatedly requested to join the service of its Knight Paladins. The Paladins found themselves bewildered with the appearance of the little moogle requesting to join their ranks, and equally bewildered by the adamancy in which he refused to be refused. Eventually, a kindly lower-ranked knight decided to take Moggo on as a squire, willing to humor the little moogle for a little while before the little thing would surely tire of his ideals and realize that military service was not for him.
Unfortunately for Sir Eran Quaid, the lowly knight that took Moggo under his wing, Moggo did not tire of his aspirations to join the Holy Paladin Order. In fact, Moggo possessed an amount of determination and energy uncommon to even the most dedicated of squires. With the work ethic and dedication of a full-time farmer, the little moogle surprised many with his determination and surprising amount of strength.
Now a squire for the past three years, Amadeus Galantia Moggo IV serves and accompanies Sir Eran Quaid as he quests in the service of the Holy Paladin Order. From delivering messages and letters, to caring and maintaining armor and weapons, and even fighting alongside Sir Eran against monsters, Moggo eagerly serves the Order with aspirations of joining its ranks as a full fledged Paladin himself. Currently, the pair are back in Thorne City, as Sir Eran participates in tourneys and Amadeus enjoys the week long festival.
Other:
Needless to say, Sir Eran will likely perish with the attack, leaving Moggo free to join the rest of the party on whatever it is they decide to do.
Moggo is abnormally strong. Attributed to years of working on a farm, Moggo posses an amount of strength that is bewildering comparative to his size. |
48,904 | 1,319 | 17 | 775 | 1,183 | Vincent Letendre
Thorne City- Near the arena, close to the slums.
Vincent smiled as he looked as he looked at the kids as Arte arrived. He then told him that it seemed that Vincent was generous and his last invention sold well.
”Ya Kupo, that small medica…” he was able to say, before suddenly being lifted up and hugged by blue mage, as she was singing about how cute he was. The only thing he was able to say before being lifted up was one large surprised KUPO…
As she danced with Vincent in her arms… Vincent just calmed down, but then had the face that would be saying: Why… He sighed as she stops dancing, looking up, seeing the kids had left now. To say the least… that was NOT what he expected to happen. He just wanted to show some generosity… and this happen. To tell the truth… this was not the first time someone does that, although last time that person accidentally pushed trigger of his gun… thank god it was aimed away from anyone. Since that little incident he had added a safety to his weapon. And for a good reason also, considering that he found himself grabbed like that again about a month later. He looked at the woman and sighed.
”Could you please let me down Kupo…” he said, trying to stay polite and calm here. He wasn’t mad at her, but he wasn’t that happy about being hold like a teddy bear right now. Sure, his cute charm did help a lot in some situations… but it was also a curse, considering moments like these. He didn't mind being hold for a bit just to make someone happy, but when it comes that he didn't get the chance to move on his own, that was what annoyed him a bit. He hoped she would just let him go, or else he might need to use a device to get down. He did not want to have to do that, but last time someone did this and didn't let him down, it was a bit... shocking. | Name: Vincent Letendre
Title: Prodigy The prodige
Race: Moogle
Job: Mechanist
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Physical Features:
Vincent is a rather short, being about 3'1" feet high. He is not that strong, with his pom pom being blue, with soft white fur around his body and slightly golden eyes. He has a bit of blond hair on the top of his head with large moogle ears.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Vincent wears usually a white and blue tunic with leather armor under it. He also has red boots for travelling. He has a large rifle that he made that is able to split into 2 pistols for rapid fire when it is needed.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Quick thinking | Friendly | Creative | Fiery | Impulsive
Vincent is one to think quickly when things happen, attempting to help as best as he can when needed, though this also makes it that he is too impulsive sometimes. He also has issues with his temper when someone gets him mad, telling those people his thoughts pretty vocally… even if he is laughed at because ofhis small size… which usually end with the guy having a large gun pointed at him, and Vincent threatening the guy to leave him alone.
Likes:
Machines | Mystery | Friends
Dislikes:
Big Spiders | Fish | Backstabbers
Personal History
Hometown:
Eraclia, near Calestani
Current Residence:
Thorne, Thorne City
Occupation:
Traveling alchemist
Backstory:
Vincent was born in a small town of Eraclia, which is near is near Calestani. This small town was known for its large farming lands that it used to export food back to Calestani to keep its people fed. Vincent’s mother was an alchemist, using the grown herbs to make potions for travellers. His father was a farmer who used to be a white mage until he saw so many deaths that he could not save that it effected him too deeply.
Vincent's life was rather simple at the beginning, learning from his mother about alchemy and working to help his father, as well as exploring around town. He wished to explore outside the town, but his parents was too worried about it, so he stayed in town.
One day a hume mechanist walked into town, his large gun in hand, with bruises all over his body, as if he had been attacked by a large beast. He went to Vincent’s mother, going to buy some supplies to her, but he was low on money. Vincent saw the man, and saw the equipment, seeing also a small helicopter bot flying around a bit near the mechanist. This amazed Vincent as he saw the thing. The man looked at his mother, looking down.
“So much work for nothing… so many monsters around these parts…” the man said, before seeing Vincent’s eyes when he was looking at the bot with amazement. He smiled a bit.
“The little guy seems amazed by my bot I see… maybe I could sell him a copy I made for him?” he then said. Vincent’s mother looked skeptical, before Vincent begged for this. She finally gave in and let the guy pay for his potion for a copy of the bot.
Vincent was very happy about this, actually studying the machine, trying to figure out how it worked. It also made him wonder more about machines. His parents, seeing this, decided to buy him some books for how machine worked, as well as some tools that Vincent still has to this day.
After a month, his parents had a big surprised. During some work on the farm to water the plants, Vincent came out with a large water tank with 2 hoses on each arm, using pressure to expel the water out and water the plants. It was then that his parents knew he was rather gifted.
After a couple of months, his parents knew that Vincent needed to go and learn more, and considering the money they made with everything, they moved to Calestani, where Vincent learned more about machines and the mysteries of the world, as well as being a blacksmiths apprentice for money and making friends. It was then also that he made his gun… which he had to use not long afterwards unfortunately.
The nation was soon attacked by dragons, but this time it was very close to Vincent’s home. When the beast attacked, he took out his gun, and shot a thunder elemental shot to the beast, with the guards trying to help also to take it down… They eventually succeeded… but not before Vincent’s home was destroyed in the process. His parents were safe at least, but with something like this happen, it was clear to them that they could not stay here. They wanted to end up somewhere safer, like Dahlgen. Vincent though didn’t really feel like going to Dahlgen, so it was then that he parted away with them, wanting to explore the mysteries of the world.
To make his money, Vincent used the knowledge he learned from his mother, selling healing potions around the world, and also some helpful tools that he made when he had some time.
After some travelling Vincent got to Thorne, where he decided to stay for a bit, exploring the town. He met with another mechanist by the name of Professor Firaga. His knowledge of machines and inventions were very interesting for Vincent, who decided to stay in town because of this, even if the professor was a bit… well… insane with some inventions? Vincent had to stop the professor a couple of times because of his… most dangerous inventions. Let us keep it at that. It was also there that he met Arte, a black mage Nu Mou who Vincent got to know well and befriend, actually working together to make sure Firaga would not end up blowing the town by accident or something.. or telling him major flaws in his inventions.. And this is where his story continues
Other:
Nothing at all that I can think about adding |
48,905 | 1,319 | 18 | 2,091 | 3,322 | Blaike Fremont
City of Thorne - Tournament Grounds
The end of spring; a transition into the hot summer days, filled with dew buds of sweat climbing down the faces of aristocrats and pedestrians alike...
... bleeeeeh, this was gonna straight up be horrible! He already had to deal with a Bomb a few days ago and he would rather have the heat comin' straight from that!
... actually, scratch that, no heat, period.
A young man draped in red was hanging around within the tournament grounds where he observed the two combatants in one of the few well-adorned arena's. The magi took a few steps forward, narrowly avoiding tripping over three children as he stood on one foot as if some sorta ninja. Once the trio of kids sprinted out of his way, he forced a smile as he uttered a "'scuse me," to one of the spectators as he leaned in to get a better view of the fight.
Leaning on the post, he watched as the two armored people came clashing in as he smirked, pausing to watch over how they flailed and launched themselves onto each other. He studied the duo as they continuously positioned themselves in different way, no different than of pieces on a strategy board. While the one wielding the spear had the vantage point in weapons, the young man noticed the skill in how he utilized the blade, constantly being the one to put pressure and close the distance... heh.
It didn't matter, as there was one thing separating em' from yours truly.
They are knights, he is a hero.
"Heh, nothin' but amateurs, the lot of em'. Easy pickin's for a Warrior of Light!" Heh, yeah, no matter who won this duel, there was no way they were gonna bust past this guy! After all, heroes always win, especially heroes who are the chosen heroes of the crystal of course!
The young magi closed his eyes as he played with his imagination, with some difficulty isolating himself through the talk of the commoners and festival-goers alike... but eventually, he did make it! After all, nothing was impossible, especially if it was performed by yours truly.
As if by magic, the whole world faded away around him, his signature sword drawn, pointed directly at the nondescript opponent before him. With that said, he revolved his head to a lovely maiden who looked suspiciously similar to the Princess of Thorne. The man gave her a wink and then suddenly she started...
... graugh, blast this heat for taking away his realistic daydream! His eyes instantly fluttered open in tandem with the sound of clanging metal. The red mage groaned as a few sweat droplets formed around his temples. Man, he would kill to either drive this humid weather away or cast Aero right now!
Brushing the liquid away with one fell swoop of his gloved hand, wiping the side of his pants as he went back to observing the fight, watching the spear-users weapon get kicked away as the man with the sword rushed him down...
After this battle... well, there was no time like the present and honestly speaking, he wasn't sure how long this fight would last. Uttering an excuse me or pardon me every few seconds, Blaike decided the best course of action was to head to the area where contenders were set to enter the arena... of course, that means there would be a large tent filled with injured fighters... and possibly some hot white magi in there... possibly an amazonian hottie as well, eheh...
Going against the tides of people that were constantly ebbing and flowing, he finally found much calmer shores upon identifying some guards stationed near a familiar tent. Of course, being the hero and the crystal's chosen, they were certain to recognize hi-
"Stop right thar, participants and white magi are only to be permitted beyond thees point; state yoor business."
Wha-, but, how could they not know that such a magnificent man such as himself was participating in this tournament (which he would obviously win in the end)? Well, guess it was up to him to inform the ignorant! Shooting his arm out, the hero immediately brought it straight back onto his chest, palm laying flat across the red garment. The younger of the two seemed to jump a little bit while the other, well... just didn't do anything except stare.
"My business? A magnificent specimen such as I is participating in this clash of power and grace, one who will rise to the top against the untempered competition, a-"
"I realleh wish y'all wouldn't wander 'round, makes it difficult to keep track'a who and what... name?"
Why, what a rude piece of work! Interrupting him mid-sentence, pah! How uncouth! Once the guard finished, he turned his head just a little to the right, lips curling downwards as he puffed up his chest, remarking with a slight hmph. "I am known far and wide, from the rolling foothills of Thorne to the moist forests of Dahlgren; grandson to a former hero of light, charmer across these two kingdoms," his other arm extended outwards at an angle as if plucking an apple from a lowly branch.
"I am the newest chosen by the crystal, Blaike Fremont," he boomed, rolling his protruded arms wrist in a circular fashion before snapping. The gruffer of the two was surprisingly unimpressed, scratching his behind as he let out a grunt. The much smaller one seemed to be eyeing the magi whilst gripping his blade.
My my, was he that imposing to this smaller folk? Probably it had to do with his affluent and yet so powerful aura! Returning to a much more comfy position, Blaike lowered both of his arms, pressing one against his hip as he tilted his head a little to the side.
"Oy, Seif', as' tha scribe t'see if he's on th' list of combatants," the gruffer one spoke up in his baritone voice, alerting his partner. While the young man was preparing to say something, his lip trembled as he looked between both men before shrugging and letting his hand off the blade.
"... awright sir, b'safe, I'll return in a jiffy!" With that said, the budding knight ran off, leaving the armored knight and flamboyant magi alone...
Well, guess he wanted to be the only one to bask in the light of the crystals chosen! Ha, he could understand the older mans plight and why he sent the youngling away! Trying to keep this moment all to himself... guess he was more refined than he s-
"So, yoor tha' one who is claimin' t'be one of the current warrior's 'f light."
... and more aware too. Mayhaps he had judged the knight too soon! "Of course my good man! It is more or less been a part of my blood for quite some time, though I will say the life of a hero is a difficult one," he nodded his head, letting out a sigh as he placed a hand onto his chest.
"Safeguarding the lives of others is a perilous task, as is monster hunting to ensure the roads remain safe for travelers and merchants alike, and the constant wave of false bearers dismissing my truthful discoveries, pah." Blaike spat the last portion out in disgust. The gruff guard just rolled his eyes, turning around briefly before returning his glazed gaze.
"Definitely coul'nt 'magine a laif like that..." The guard spoke in a lackadaisical manner, stifling a yawn as he continued interacting with the red draped guy. "So, w'th bein' a hero, guess ya got those fancy names, like lord or lady, I would say?"
"Aha, you mean accolades and titles my good man," his tone emanating a jovial nature as he raised a finger, smiling brightly at the plated guardian. Twirling his index around, he stared up into the clouds, appearing to be lost in thought.
"I've acquired a couple over the years... The Descendant of Light, The Wandering Magi-"
"The Delusional Red Farce."
Blaike heard what he murmured under his breath, pretending not to hear that. Inside, he was a mix of annoyance and disappointment after this whole conversation they had... eh, a miss this time...
"Yes, uhm, whatever you just said..."
In the next few moments, the other guard walked hurriedly towards his companion, returning to his post but not before addressing Blaike.
"You're on th' list Mr. Fremont, head into the tent. Some white mage's will call ya out where yer ready t'fight... so, uhm, g'luck."
A pleasant and expected result; of course someone as amazing as him was on the list of fighters, why wouldn't he be? Grasping the edge of his hat, he gave both fellows a light tip. "I 'ppreciate the thought, buuut I would say my opponent needs it more," he smirked, letting out a cocky smile as he gave thanks to the other for the small talk.
One step at a time, Blaike made his way past the guards, giving them little thought as he glanced at the tent, taking a swift right and brushed away the coverings and entered inside.
All that was left to do now was wait until they called him out. Of course, while the skirmished hadn't transpired, there was no way he was going to lose...
Heroes are the ones who always win after all. | Name: Blaike Fremont
Title: "Descendant of Light", The Delusional Red Farce, The Wandering Magi
Race: Hume
Job: Red Mage
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Of course.
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Blaike is rather tall for a Hume, standing at exactly six-foot-one, save for if he's wearing his hat. He carries himself with an air of confidence, sporting an athletic build underneath all that fluff and gloss. Blaike is a little tan to the say the least, though that comes around his hands and face. His usual coloration is of a fair pigmentation underneath it all, and it's difficult to discern that he even has a tan in the first place, unless looking closely at his neck or wrist. His light, almond tinted eyes are nearly similar to his unkempt short hair... if it was auburn in any way, shape or form; he does try his best to tame the beast from time to time, but it's usually a fools folly.
Other than a hardened chin, arms, and torso, his features are rather smooth to the touch, save for a beauty mark on his right cheek near his eye and one on his back near the mid-line of his spine. Has a few small cuts on his hand and his left seems to be healing from a small burn wound that covers mainly his thumb.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
His usual flair in his armor starkly contrasts his usual, everyday basic clothing. Blaike's clothing isn't as much stuffy, but his shirts color is a drab and pale, it's coloration being distinctly tan. While the shirt is airy, the pants he dons are somewhat tighter, but not by a whole lot; they are generally either olive or maroon in color, nothing too striking. Aside from that, he always has a knife on his body, usually stationed by his left hip.
Moving on to his main attire, the first things that usually catch the eye are the vivid shades of red cast around his body. One of the most prominent features of his outfit is the red hat sitting atop his head. With a belt attached onto the hat, Blaike has adorned it with two distinguishable and colorful feathers of an unknown origin. Moving on to the main dish, his main suit is dished up with black buttons and golden lines, held in place with a buckle. Underneath the style and elegance hides a thin layer of chain-mail. To top it off, he has white gloves and a singular pauldron resting on his left shoulder. Other things included are his blue trousers lined with gold, some nondescript brown boots, and a stylish purple cape with white fluff. Before he usually starts a battle, however, he tears the cape off and throws it to the wind.
As for weaponry, he's got four things to his name - a sword, a dagger, his magic, and some wits about him. His blade's hilt is shown to be meticulously crafted with elegance and the edge with some practicality for its design. Beautiful white contrasts with the darkened hilt with gold lacing drawn upon it. Claims to have received this weapon after assisting a blacksmith in gathering materials. It can uniquely do elemental damage if it absorbs one of Blaike's spells, but only for a little while. Blaike's dagger is nevertheless like any other dagger you would procure from a blacksmith, save that it is rather clean and taken care of.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Arrogant | Fearless | Flirtatious | Relaxed | Stuborn
Likes:
Chocobo's | Stargazing | Tea
Dislikes:
Hot Weather | Snakes | Tofu
Personal History
Hometown:
Dahlgren City | Dahlgren
Current Residence:
Thorne City | Thorne
Occupation:
Other than functioning as a wandering mercenary after his, erm, "discovery," Blaike is also a scribe. He also dabbles a little in alchemy.
Backstory:
Fifty years ago, one of the great Warrior's of Light, a magi, fought along the other heroes as he drove back the Mage-King's army. Records outside of these heroic deeds displayed that, despite all his good deeds, that he was a notorious playboy who often would get on his wife's nerves due to his debauchery and, erm, "hanging around" with other women, married or not. Eventually that life came to an end during his work upon retreating and assisting in the creation of the nation that would come to be known as Dahlgren. Over the course of fifty years, his true name was lost due to the fact that the scribes misplaced some documentation of his existence somewhere in his archives. Regardless, they all could agree he settled down in Dahlgren as he faded away into legend.
So what does this exactly have to do with Blaike? Well...
Blaike believes he is the true descendant of the hero, the grandchild... not the son of the offshoots when he was fornicating with other mistresses. Y'see, the thing about this one is that there have been multiple people who have claimed this and yet no one can verify whether or not this is true. Anyways, lets go one step back, all the wa-a-a-ay to the beginning of his life.
Blaike's lineage can only be traced back to his mothers side with his fathers being nearly a complete blank when it came to it all. Taking on the Fremont name, his mother was a prominent Black Mage among the one-hundred other council members, being one of the more universally recognized members while the former was a rather powerful white mage. While he wasn't chosen to serve in the council, he did take on the job of a white magic instructor at the academy. There was also the facet that he was rather popular with female students, but that's something else that can be brushed off for a time.
To both of them, their first son Blaike (there were other children, but they aren't important), was to live a regular life, to live and die as either an instructor at the academy or earn his place to become a council member. The only thing they struggled with deciding was his school of magic. They were both well versed in their trades and neither would back down at their decision... so to compromise, they both decided it was for the best that he would learn both tools of the trade.
Blaike honestly didn't have too much of a problem with that, as he was already content with his life. Being a prodigy at a young age and earning the ire of some of his peers, heh, check. Having two pretty darn good mages for parents? Double check. Living a lascivious life of study and constant breakthroughs? Triple those checks. It was a good life for the most part... though there was something that cut into his studies as he rose up through the ranks at his school.
More often or not, Blaike was a curious child who would often have a book in his right hand and a light in his other as he explored different parts of this city, coming into contact with various interesting individuals. He ended up running into an unusual place that was very much out of place in this setting - a center for martial training. Curious, he wandered in to find a lesson being undertook and watched. Neither the master nor horned apprentice took note of the younger Blaike until after they finished their lesson. They did have a chat afterwords before the child left, with the apprentice escorting the kid home.
Over time, in conjunction with his magical studies, he would always come back to watch them clash, blade to blade and over time, before eventually he voiced his own opinions - he wished to become involved in these lessons. While this did earn a chuckle from the teacher at first, Blaike continued to display the same fierce determination each time and eventually after the teacher spoke with the apprentice one day, he finally caved in once Blaike reached the age of thirteen.
The teacher decided to see his form and how he handled the blade... before easily handing the young boys ass to him on a silver platter. Blaike was told so many things were horrendously wrong with what he just did when attempting to display his knowledge on the blade. He cried, but he didn't give up, which was a little surprising. Blaike got back up, ready to try again. He failed. And failed. And failed. While it was blatantly obvious the man was trying to dissuade him completely, Blaike kept standing up. In the end, Blaike lost all the battles and yet he won the war.
The young magi-in-training was told it would take a while for him to reach his potential, but he would train the boy along-side his wife. He was ecstatic and thanked the man, eagerly asking him when they would start. He was told to get some rest.
From here on out, blade and magic became intertwined with his studies. This new task made it increasingly difficult to balance these two tasks out. While it did take a minor toll on his magic, it just caused his skills to grow at a somewhat slower rate. It surprised his parents, even more so when they learned what he was doing, but dismissed it as nothing but a phase.
They ended up being much more incorrect when he reached the humble age of nineteen, where his ego took off faster than the Nautilus. It probably had to do with him being one of the few top students and the great feeling he got when fighting blade for blade with his master. Blaike took up the role as an apprentice scribe, adding even more loads of events to his plate. While recording and searching for documents, he discovered something rather quintessential and astonishing.
While digging through some old archives to update, he stumbled upon a few documents that recorded his grandparents. What was even more amazing is when the listed mage on there was a representative of the light - a Warrior of Light to be exact. With that, his own career took a complete 180 as he displayed the information to other scribes who were taken aback by this lost info. This set of information ended up being discussed between whether it was real or falsified, but what was for certain was that he was going to be boastful of his own lineage, now re-imagined and rediscovered.
This was still taking years to figure out as they called in multiple people to discuss if this was a fake, even trying to find the original person who chronicled it. And at the age of twenty-one he quit his job as a scribe, spoke to his master about expanding his own skills on his own journey to live up to his ancestor. While his master was wary about this, he attempted to talk a much older Blaike down... but like last time, he failed once again and decided to see the Red Mage off with a simple blade of his own.
And after that, he vanished himself. The only thing that was left behind was a letter to his family and master. Blaike honestly thought his parents would be ok with this... and now, he would never know.
Over the next three years, he fought monsters, other bandits wandering the wilderness, took up the trade of a mercenary who would either slay or gather. He spread word about over how he was the son of a former Warrior of Light, trying to use this "legacy" to his advantage. Most people thought him to be a mere lunatic or minstrel trying to earn a bit of coin... heck, he even believed himself to be an actual Warrior of Light.
Pfft, right, like that'll ever happen.
Even so, he continued to function as a scribe as well, assisting in some documentation, as well as picking up the trade of being an amateur alchemist as a hobby. Whatever is certain now, he now lives in the City of Thorne, taking up jobs mainly as a mercenary or scribe, sometimes going outside to gather some plants.
And as of now, with the celebration of the Mage-King underway, Blaike looks to participate in the festivities and possibly tournament... unaware of the tragedy that is about to befall the capital and possibly the rest of the floating continent.
Other:
Blaike is ambidextrous
Finds gambling to be somewhat enjoyable
Prone to spouting out cheesy lines |
48,906 | 1,319 | 19 | 2,782 | 1,198 | Wen Taihou
Thorne, airship docks
"Ohohoho, practice is a road to mastery, yes, but improper practice is an excellent way to ruin development", Wen Sifu countered as he walked along, adjusting his glasses. The young kimuran noble was a nice kid, Taihou had expected his services as an instructor or bodyguard to be demanded outright, truth be told. It was, after all, the unspoken but very obvious primary reason the prince's family had allowed him into the ship at all. "My first lesson, then, would be to focus on building a strong foundation of your own. If you develop your own sword stroke so that you only need to use it once, is that not the same skill?".
Wen spoke to the youngster in earnest but at the same time he looked around and about, taking in the details. First time in Thorne, after all. He was an instructor and examiner for the Institute, technically a government official of sorts in Nanchuu, but he wasn't really important enough to be sent to the capital of the world. That honor was typically reserved for masters of a higher station. And speaking of his position, it wasn't the first time he was questioned about it and it wouldn't be the last. He had to admit to himself, however briefly and subconsciously, that he had let himself go of late. Not that it affected his skills any.
Smiling, he stroked his moustache and turned to the taller guard. Questioning what this pudgy, bespectacled man could know of the martial arts seemed like an entirely reasonable thought process. "Yes indeed. I am Sifu Wen Taihou, certified instructor and examiner of the Nanchuu Kingdom's Institute for Martial Studies. I represent the Monkey Fist of Three Peaks Valley", he saluted formally, right fist on left palm, at both Solt and Moggo. The Three Peaks area and its fighting skills were not well known even in the martial arts world, and Monkey Fist evoked images of acrobatic, energetic tomfoolery hardly suited for a man of Wen's girth.
The combination of a dubious origin and an ill-fitting school would likely ring plenty of alarm bells, even in spite of his verified position, but Wen Taihou's brutally conditioned hands lended some credence to his claims that there was more to him than a first glance would show. | Name: Wen Taihou
Title: Wen Sifu (master/teacher, term of respect akin to sensei), The Drunken Dervish (in his youth)
Race: Hume
Job: Martial artist
Age: 38
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Though he stands at a fairly respectable 6 feet tall, one could be forgiven for underestimating Wen Taihou given his rather portly appearance. His body wrapped in traditional Taisong clothes, he just undeniably looks rather fat, no two ways about it. If not for that, then his amicable, relaxed posture and expression combined with his glasses and funny moustache make for more of a friendly uncle type rather than an intimidating or dangerous man on a first glance. And Wen Sifu admits he has let himself go a little bit of late, having come to weigh more than 250 pounds, but there’s definitely more to him than meets the eye.
Simply a naturally rounded man, Wen possesses a powerful core of highly trained and developed muscle underneath a layer of fat that actually serves a purpose as natural padding against blows. Taihou sports the telltale signs of a dedicated fighter, as well. One may find a myriad of scars on him from head to toe and his skin is rough and leathery from conditioning and battle, much of his arms and legs are actually calloused into rock hard striking surfaces. His hands in particular sport bulging knuckles that look as though someone inserted pebbles into them and his fingers are as thick but dextrous talons.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
After a lifetime of training and fighting without them, Wen Taihou has no need for weapons or armor. His body has been developed for the right mixture of strength, speed, toughness, stamina and flexibility needed to best perform in combat, traits he has managed to retain even as he ages and gains in weight, and his martial arts expertise makes excellent use of his physical attributes. Clothing-wise he dresses in simple Taisong fashion, wearing a grey jacket that he typically carries open exposing a white undershirt, along with undecorated black pants and simple black cloth slip-on shoes. His glasses are nearly everpresent although of course he tends to take them off for a fight.
Wen Sifu practices his own version of the famed Monkey Fist. Originally educated in the simplistic but effective martial arts from the Three Peaks Valley where he was born, Taihou eschews much of the actual “monkey business” of the style and its acrobatics. Instead he employs flowing, stable footwork punctuated by bursts of explosive movement and favors hand and arm techniques, often focused on power generation at short ranges, mixed with primarily low kicks. With quite the eye for occupying the center line of attack and deflecting incoming offense, much of his monkey mannerisms center around wrestling and grappling with opponents to control them as well as delivering unexpected blows such as body checks, headbutts and even a few spinning or jumping strikes.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Honest to a fault | Seemingly always in good spirits | Loyal | Unyielding | Confident to the point of arrogance | Sarcastic sense of humor | Can be quite lazy | Adventurous | Surprisingly cold-blooded at times | Self-reliant | Nurturing, often in a tough love kind of way | Meritocratic | Critical | Polite |
Likes:
Combat | Strength | Excitement | Competence | Luxuries | Growth
Dislikes:
Cowardice | Weakness | Boredom | Magic | Overblown spiritualism | Stagnation
Personal History
Hometown:
Nanchuu Islands (also referred to as the Nanchuu Kingdom), Kimura. A chain of islands to the southwest of the Kimuran mainland, they were once an important trade hub between Kimura and the now sunken nation of Taisong, a vast and storied culture that had made the islands into a tributary state in ages past. Kimuran lords, however, understood Nanchuu’s importance and conquered the land a few generations before the great flood. It did not come easy. The Kingdom possessed a particularly hard-nosed population with a strong martial culture, born from having to fend off pirates and all manner of undesirables for ages, and fought bitterly until a near stalemate was declared and they were guaranteed a high degree of independence.
Seeking to weaken the Kingdom in hopes of eventually bringing it to heel, the mainland laid down a restrictive decree as part of the peace negotiations: Nanchuu was not allowed to stockpile arms or armor. While the idea was to curtail rebellion and make the islands’ authorities reliant on forces from the mainland, the prohibition did not stop the development of combat skills in Nanchuu. Rather, it only managed to incense the warriors of the land and many travelled to Taisong to train and pioneered new schools of combat upon their return, often under the backing of the court. A number of methods based around the use of improvised weapons, chief among them staves, and a strong focus on body strengthening became the norm.
Nowadays the Kingdom remains ostensibly a vassal state of the mainland, but it is entirely a matter of status quo and their degree of independence makes them effectively a nation of their own. After the great disaster the islands took in a massive amount of Taisong survivors, making them the last bastion of a civilization that once rivaled that of Kimura itself, along with a variety of smaller diasporas from lands further east that could not be saved. The islands' culture is a strange mix, with Kimuran orthodoxy replaced in many areas by now firmly established enclaves and much intermixing between them all, and the state is now a parliamentary monarchy with representatives from all major groups within the Kingdom. Relationships with Kimura are cordial and mutually beneficial if somewhat tense.
While the old decree was abolished, Nanchuu now possesses its own standing army, its influence cannot be understated. Many a scholar believes that many a monastic combat tradition in Kimura actually come from Taisong by way of Nanchuu, while many other curious practices were developed within the islands themselves. The Kingdom is a hotbed for martial pursuits to this day, which has led to the creation of a most peculiar organization: The Institute for Martial Studies. An academy dedicated to the spread and preservation of martial arts, backed by a cadet branch of the Kingdom’s royal family, it is also concerned with keeping the rough and tumble the fighting culture of the land under control on some level.
Current Residence:
Nanchuu Islands, often struck by wanderlust.
Occupation:
Martial arts instructor, examiner for the Institute of Martial Studies, vagabond, sometimes masseuse and bonesetter to make money on the road. Not a real doctor, but he can relieve muscular or skeletal pains and similar ailments through massage and manipulation of joints and is also capable of restoring fractured or dislocated bones to their correct alignment.
Backstory:
Though he was born into a simple family of farmers from Taisong in Nanchuu, Wen Taihou had one distinct advantage when it came to rising out of his humble station. The Three Peaks Valley where he lived had a thriving, if generally ignored by outsiders, martial culture. The local fighting skills were simple and straightforward but quite practical, meant for self defense and tested in local grudge matches and against bandits and their ilk. It made for an excellent base for a young Taihou, who took to studying the arts like a fish to water. Even without a formal master, simply lessons passed down from family to family and little scuffles with others in the area, he became a noteworthy fighter.
Of course, a man of his gifts in an environment with little in the way of limitations is bound to stray from a righteous path. Wen Taihou, though still relatively good-hearted, soon earned a reputation for being a ruffian, a violent man who used his strength to bend others to his will and indulge himself in ill-gotten gains. Though it should at least be acknowledged that he never faltered in his martial studies and continued to train with great devotion, the damage his drunken brawls often caused soon earned him the nickname of the Drunken Dervish. Soon, however, his misdeeds caught up to him and he became a wanted man by none other than the Institute of Martial Studies.
What could've been the end of Wen's martial path, however, became a golden opportunity. The master who arrived at Three Peaks was Lau Sifu, a wanderer prone to working outside of the Institute's strict regulations. He was also an expert in several less than common fighting styles, and he was quite impressed with the young brawler even after besting him convincingly in their fight. Feeling at home in the valley, he decided against arresting or crippling Taihou and instead made him his apprentice. With his fighting urges under control, Wen began a process of growth and reform that both improved him as a person and greatly advanced his martial arts skills.
Feeling that the portly man could use a less predictable, brutally straightforward style, Lau educated him in the basics of the playful Monkey Fist. Rather than try and mold Taihou to the style, however, Lau instead encouraged his student to integrate and adapt its concepts to what he already knew. Together they developed a school all of their own, a distinct Monkey shaped by the Three Peaks, a mixture of strong foundations with unorthodox skills. Eventually, however, Taihou wished to leave his home, enamored with the dream of studying the arts of the many masters at the Institute surrounded by peers of many different schools. Lau Sifu wished to stay in the peaceful valley, but as a final gesture he granted his student a certificate marking him as an expert trained by his own hand and sent him on his way.
Wen’s dream, however, soon turned to disappointment. He was accepted in the Institute, yes, but his teacher was not particularly appreciated. Both Lau and now Taihou were seen as country bumpkins in a courtly environment, their schools ridiculed for lacking glorious lineage stories or flowery techniques meant to impress in exhibitions. He advanced in his martial studies and was eventually given a position as an examiner, tasked with testing the mettle of those who seek to enter the organization and those who call themselves masters, but found he received little in the way of recognition and no one was willing to train exclusively under him. He felt stuck.
With advancement within the Institute hierarchy seemingly well out of his reach, in time Wen Taihou grew bored and disillusioned with his situation in Nanchuu. Fortunately for him, his abilities grew in turn, and one day his rebellious spirit of old flared up once more. He would put his skills to good use, he swore to himself, and took to travelling the world on any possible occasion. He is determined to test himself and prove to everyone the validity of his martial arts. And what better occasion than the big festivities in Thorne?
Other:
Despite his skills, he is not some kind of invincible perfect athlete. He won’t beat a minotaur or similar creatures in pure weightlifting or sheer strength competitions, he won’t outrun athletes of similar caliber who train specifically to sprint or be more flexible than a cat burglar or gymnast. His body is built specifically for the purpose of fighting and that’s what he excels at, though he does have the cardio to engage in marathon-like pursuits. |
48,907 | 1,319 | 20 | 2,044 | 422 | Ryteb
Thorne City - In Serah's Boudoir
"You know, most girls have a mirror or a makeup table. Don't get me wrong, the rack really ties the room together... though isn't it a bit on the nose?" What Ryteb was inspecting with a degree of sarcastic interest, was a weapon rack filled up completely with shurikens. Touching one, he recoiled in pain. "Ouch... you seriously keep all of these razor sharp? Nevermind, I'm gonna magic my pants so look away. The last lady who saw my gorgeous thighs turned into a sex-crazed demon. Good times."
As he said this, he pulled his pants off, and shook them in the air. With a shower of sparks, the damage and blood vanished. After re-pantsing himself, he pulled out a metal hemisphere. Channelling mana into it, the orb revealed a shaky holographic map.
"This is half of the Keystone to Solomon's Tomb, as well as a map to the place. The good news is I know where the other half is... The bad news is that it's part of a statue in the Temple of Light. Ever broken into a temple before?" | Name: Ryteb
Title: Dragonheart
Race: Human
Job: Red Mage
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
About 5'11 in height, with a relatively scrawny build. Though there is some muscle there, when compared to knights it is miniscule. Ryteb has naturally orange hair, which comes down to his shoulders, and a pair of blazing red eyes. His face could be considered quite handsome, in a mischievous way, with a rather dashing scar on his left cheek whose origins are a mystery. Apart from that, his body is almost unmarked, and he seems to lack the ability to grow facial hair.
On his back is a tattoo of a oriental dragon clutching a golden chalice, which he apparently recurved after a drunken wager that nobody involved can quite remember due to excessive drink.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Ryteb’s first choice in apparel is a bespoke black suit, with a green waistcoat and white shirt, though he doesn’t wear a tie. Too close to a noose for him. His boots are made of a sturdy leather, and seem more practical that the rest of his In a battle, he swaps out the jacket of the suit for a cloak made from scales of bronze. As a weapon, he uses an oak cane, though the inside is filled with steel to strengthen it. The end has a sharpened bronze cap such that it can act like a rapier.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Cocky | Brave | Obsessed With Treasure | Has a skewed view of ownership | Loyal to his friends
Likes:
Treasure | Adventure | Good Food
Dislikes:
People Who Claim They Own His Treasure | Confinement | Being Called a Thief | Lobsters
Personal History
Hometown:
Takhtajan
Current Residence:
Takhtajan
Occupation:
Treasure Hunter
Backstory:
Officially the greediest b*****d under the sun, and proud of it, Ryteb is the best damn treasure hunter in all of Takhtajan, if only because he’s one of the few who have survived more than one adventure into the desert. People call him Dragonheart, as his lust for treasure is so massive he doesn’t accept anyone else as the rightful owner of an object.
His origins are a mystery, perpetrated by the conflicting rumours Ryteb himself has spread. Regardless of his murky past, people agree that he’s a stand-up guy... unless treasure is involved.
Other:
Nothing comes to mind... |
48,908 | 1,319 | 21 | 2,048 | 1,547 | Amelia, Sayuri, and Clementine
A collab between me, Ogo, Demo, and Odds
Amelia had no more than taken a single swig of the slimy, wet slop that passed as alcohol before she was approached. She noticed the lad as soon as he entered: how could she not? His dark armor wasn't exactly the most subtle what with horns sticking off in every which way. He would be a Dark Knight of Cronquist...the Giantslayer, then? She had been told that he was being sent to bolster their guard, though she couldn't imagine why. A show of strength, perhaps? To introduce the people to their little living legend? Huh. She had to admit though, he wasn't exactly what she had been imagining: short, petite, and shy, rather than tall, broad, and confident. If anything, wouldn't meeting him hurt the grand image they had been painting?
Still, it wouldn't be easy to get one's hands on THAT armor without being one of the Order, and his paperwork had checked out. So...go figure. Ser Timid began to ask her something regarding his orders, but promptly stumbled over his words. The idea that this lad who had allegedly slain a Behemoth on one of his first outings could be so easily flustered just by being in the company of someone like Amelia...it seemed preposterous. But then again, would she be much better if their positions had been reversed? If she had been the foreigner sent off to a distant land to impress people of a culture she had never seen before? Probably not.
As he recovered and requested clarification on his orders, a young Eldian approached the two of them as well. Amelia didn't recognize the woman, so she offered a polite nod whilst she considered her response to the Little Giantslayer. She pondered a moment, then offered a friendly smile.
"Now that you ask, there is something I need of you, Ser." she begun as she waved towards one of the bar wenches. "I need you to sit down, order a drink, and relax." To emphasize this, she took another swig of the...liquid? in her mug. Her face twisted up after swallowing. It wasn't good liquid. It never was. That wasn't the point. Once she was sure she wasn't going to die, she continued. "And after you've had your fill of..." Amelia grunted something unintelligible, "then I'll need you to just enjoy the festival. Go walk around. Be seen. Talk to the people. If a fight or something should break out, then by all means step in, but otherwise just have a good time. It'll put the people at ease to see their guardsmen enjoying themselves."
Clementine's brow furrowed. That was a reasonable order. Perfectly smart. The logic behind it was currently wrestling furiously with his immediate internal resistance to spending his first day on duty as festival-goer. On the Knight-Commander's I need you to sit down he had instinctively taken a seat at her table, but, lacking a drink, and not especially keen to try one based on the Commander's reaction, settled for clasping his hands in polite silence.
She paused and considered her drink. Dare she gamble another swig? "If you're absolutely lost, I could use another body or two at the tournament grounds..." Amelia trailed off. She had almost blurted out that one of her men had gone missing, but she caught herself. It wouldn't do her any favors to reveal to a foreign knight that she couldn't even keep her own men in line. And...she turned her gaze to the other who had taken a seat at the table. There was her. Amelia silently cursed herself for being sloppy. Before she could form a question though, the woman had said her name.
Amelia gazed at the Eldian woman for a moment, first in confusion, then in slow realization.
"...Sayuri? Is that really you?" she asked in a hushed, disbelieving voice.
Sayuri smiles at her, "In the flesh and definitely not a figment of your imagination," she takes a sip from the drink she'd order and her face instantly soured and she set the drink to the side, "Definitely need to get used this kind of stuff again. Been drinking the expensive stuff too long. So... We have a lot to talk catch up with each other on," she pauses and sighs, "And probably a whole ton of questions you want to ask. Is there any particular place you want to start?"
Ah. They're about to start talking. I'm interrupting something aren't I? Clementine wondered vaguely if he would be dismissed—maybe if he got a drink, like the Commander had ordered. He excused himself very quietly, went to the bar, ordered a distinctly nonalcoholic beverage while hoping for the best, and, returning, largely expected the others to have left already. To his slight discomfort, they had not, and, when neither woman told him to shove off, and seeing no comfortable alternative, took his seat again in what he hoped was a polite and unassuming silence.
She gave Amelia a long look over while talking the smile never leaving her face. It was really good to see her again after all these years, surprisingly so. She'd grown up quite well looking much like the warrior princess she was. It reminded her of when they were trainees just hoping for the best possible future and joking about how ridiculous a lot of things seemed to be to them. With that though came the bad especially what happened when she left and more recent events also surfaced. Forcing the thoughts out of her head she turned to look at the kid examining him as well by which time she was done talking. To be honest she was completely unimpressed. He looked way too young and inexperienced to be wearing the armor he was in. She knew better than to judge based on appearances. She'd faced numerous opponents and had worked with several people who seemed completely useless but in actuality were some of the strongest on the battlefield, 'IKinda really wanna fight this kid at some point. See if he really is worthy of the armor he's wearing or he's just a Dark Knight in name. It'd be fun either way especially to see his reaction to my abilities.,' She turns back, 'I'd wanna fight Amelia too... See how she's grown...'
She turns back to look at Amelia waiting patiently for her response.
Amelia was so stricken with awe that she had barely registered the lad having left and returned. She had heard Sayuri speak and was looking directly at her but...she still felt like a ghost. A memory, even. It was one thing when she was just toying with idea of her friend returning...but now? A flood of emotions struck the princess, relief and joy for seeing her old friend well again, bitter resentment for her having left with little-to-no explanation. Still, the young paladin stiffened her lip and bit back the rush of accusations that wanted to pour out. What do you say to someone who just up and vanished for eight years? Who never visited or wrote during that time. Had she any questions? Certainly. Like, why did she simply LEAVE. How could she violate the Code so brazenly?
Why didn't she at least say goodbye?
Amelia clasped her hands together and sat them on the table. She tried to look at Sayuri, but every time she did, she could feel her cheeks growing warmer and her mind getting hazy, so she averted her eyes. At one point towards the door, possibly considering just leaving. Another time directly into her mug, simultaneously dreading yet craving another swig. In the end, anger, fueled by hurt, had won out, and it was all the princess knight could do to contain herself. When she finally did speak, she was quiet, choosing each word oh so carefully.
"Was it worth it?" she asked, the contempt in her voice only vaguely veiled.
Sayuri sighed. She could see the emotions behind Amelia's eyes and saw each one as it passed. She was expecting the anger to be the final one. While she hadn't expected for them to become friends again instantly, this was actually better than expected. She was expecting straight up open hostility. She took a couple minutes to gather her thoughts before responding. When she finally spoke it had a very tired undertone behind it, "Was it worth it? Really you had to ask one of the hardest questions to answer in general..." she sighs again before looking out at the bar eyes unfocused, "It really means in what ways your talking about... Am I happy? For the most part. Proud of what I've done? Poor question to ask a sellsword. Have my skills improved... Yes. But overall... I'd say I'm about even. Some of it was worth all the pain I caused. Other times it wasn't... I'm not sure where I sit right now..." she unconsciously reaches up and runs a finger across the ribbon tying her hair then turns and looks Amelia in the eyes, "Only time can tell I guess... Now for why I'm here: I'm sorry I didn't write... or say goodbye... in any way... I should have, at the very least, tried. The Paladins that threw me out, just barely exaggerating, made it clear to stay clear of the place... I didn't want to cause trouble by staying so I left... Doesn't excuse it just why I did it..."
She sighs and leans back in her chair done for now. She turns her gaze back on the kid, "Oh by the way kid. What was said here stays here... If Amelia's okay with you being here so am I. Just don't talk about it or we'll have problems, kay?
"Oh," Clementine said, a little put-off at suddenly being addressed. "Um. No, don't worry. This drink, you see—well, look at all that foam. It's been very distracting, I don't think I've heard a single thing you two have said." At this point, Clementine had decided acting like a piece of furniture was the appropriate policy. At least, until someone decided to give him a proper order. Which he supposed, technically, drinking this beverage counted as. Privately, however, Clementine was following the conversation as close as skin on muscle. And he thought he was uncomfortable—the knight couldn't help feel a squirm of sympathy for the two. Stumbling their way through old history, the kind that comes to you in jumbled pieces, with no instruction manual on how to assemble the awful thing and with only the faintest knowledge that this ugly puzzle somehow connects the distant past to the awkwardness of the present. Clementine snuck a careful look at the Knight-Commander. Friends weren't exactly his forte. He couldn't imagine what she must be thinking right now.
Everything was still sinking in for Amelia. She looked at Sayuri with a look of confusion and, more so, almost a sort of sadness. She looked away again, feeling the warmth well up in her cheeks again. She looked down at her drink, swirled it around in the tankard a bit, then dared to take another small swig. She turned back to the black knight that sat between them. So many things were going through her head, she wasnt exactly sure what to do. "Arent you going to drink, boy?" she chuckled nervously, turning back to her own drink again. "So... Sayuri... What made you come back?" She asked the question with more contempt than the last, yet again under a thin veil.
"I'm... Not entirely sure..." she sighs yet again, "At first all I knew is that I had to leave where I was. Then I remembered the festival was coming up and I haven't even stepped foot into the city in eight years. Seeing my parents again was my main motivation... but I still need to make amends to some of the people here. So I guess you could say this is the reason I came back... And to get away from something else."
Amelia decided to leave the sadness, confusion, anger, and all the other feelings in the past. She got up, walked over to the bar, ordered 3 fresh beers, one for each of them. She returned with them in hand and put one before each of the other two. She sat and raised hers in the air, "Whelp, anyhow, cheers to your return and to 50 years of my grandfather's rule!" After she finished her toast, there was a rumble from outside.
Meanwhile...
Roderick continued his bland court meeting. He was beginning to tire of the monotony of them. Every time he'd just be continuing the same treaty or promising this, protecting that, trading these, etc. Nothing too important was happening this time either. He sighed, Dalia patted his shoulder. He turned to her and smiled again, then turned back to his court meeting.
The black mage slinked through the castle halls, slicing his way through the defenses with ease. Nothing could stop him, his mission was just, his targets within reach. His dagger slit the throat of another paladin, blood spattering his already blood-caked face. He had hoped that there would be more of a resistance. They WERE protecting their king, after all. Beyond his task, the mage also longed to see his old friend one last time. He was getting close now, he could feel it. He glanced out a window at the "Crystal of Light" with a look of disgust before dashing over to the next guard, assassinating him with ease. I'll destroy you yet, he thought, progressing on.
Outside, portals were opening in the sky above the city, Void Beasts began to pour through. All different shapes and sizes, but mostly imps, evil eyes, and other weak sorts in massive numbers. They began rampaging through the streets, attacking innocents and pillaging shops. | Name:
Seruh (Like Sarah) Vora
Title:
The Shadow
Race:
Miqo'te
Job:
Ninja
Age:
21
Gender:
Female
Warrior of Light:
Yaes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Seruh stands at 5’2” and weighs 118 lbs. SHe has brown hair and fur, with white tufts in her ears. She tends to walk rather pompously while in town and not under cover of shadow, with her chin up, and her face angled slightly upward. She has a slight hourglass form, fair, smooth skin, mostly unmarred save a few scars from the occasional combat injury, one located on her ankle, another on her shoulder, and the last located on the back of her thigh.
Her hair is usually down, sometimes in a ponytail or bun while she is in combat; while down, it reaches to just below her shoulders. Her tail is brown with grayish-white spots on it.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
During the day, Seruh wears a Brown coat-like top embellished with studs of gemstones and gold buttons, with a tiny bit of her black, skin tight battlegear showing. She also dons a pair of tight, black pants that reach about an inch and a half below her knees. Around her neck is a pendant that belonged to her Grandmother, the shape of it appears to mimic the Great Crystal. When she goes outside during the day, she also puts on a hooded blue cape to help keep her fair skin looking as light as possible and protect her eyes, trained to do better in darker places, from being damaged from the harsh light.
When prowling the shadows at night or anytime she expects combat, Seruh wears a set of black, skin-tight battlegear designed for agility and silent movement. The “armor” is lined with black steel studs at regular intervals to help protect her from sustaining injuries. In addition to the battlegear she wears under her normal attire, she also wears a mask over her head that covers all of it but her eyes, with a hole in the back for her ponytail/bun.
As for Seruh’s weapons, she carries a holster with 40 shuriken in it, a small blade at her waist, meant only for dire situations, and 4 smoke balls for an emergency escape method.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Untrustworthy | Self-Centered | Outgoing | Patient | Calm
Likes:
Mid-day Naps | Gil | Being treated like she’s special | The Moon/Stars | Cold Beer
Dislikes:
The Sun | Other stuck-up people | Losing
Personal History
Hometown:
Thorne City|Thorne
Current Residence:
Kimura City|Kimura
Occupation:
Bartender at “The Mythril Chalice Inn” and Ninja in a local Ninja Clan.
Backstory:
Seruh grew up on the streets of Thorne City with her father. They lived in a small broken down, abandoned house in the slums. She always made do with the little they had, and thought nothing of the hardships they went through. Her mother had died months after giving birth to her, by means of disease. When she was small, her father would tell her stories of the heroes who drove away the Mage-King and how the Mage-King flooded the land, creating the world they lived in now.
When she got a bit older she would daydream about one day being a hero, somebody who protects others. She dreamed not only of heroism, but of greatness. Later in life it would be that same hunger for greatness the would lead her to leave Thorne to make a better life for herself.
When she was about 14, her father told her he needed to leave the city for a while, that he’d be back as soon as it was safe. Her father had never been known as the most honest person in Thorne City, and probably was in trouble for some sort of crime, whether or not he was guilty of it. Seruh, seeking adventure, decided she too would leave town, and so, at the young age of 14, Seruh Vora left Thorne on the first airship, eastbound to Kimura.
Upon arrival in Kimura, Seruh found that the nation was steeped in a type of civil war, where Samurai and Ninjas fought each other for control of the nation. Seeing an opportunity to aquire the greatness she had desired as a young girl, she entered training with a ninja clan based directly in Kimura city, out of a secret passage in an inn known as “The Mythril Chalice”. They set her up with a job bartending during the day while at night she trained.
Fast-forward several years, Seruh has become one of the top ranking Ninja in her clan, and she has become affluent enough to own a home on the edge of the aristocratic end of town, decently close to the Mythril Chalice. At this point, her success has gotten to her head, she completely lost sight of her goal to become a hero. Instead, she has become a tool of war.
Present day, she was sent to Thorne during the festival to visit a sister clan located in Thorne city, using the festival as an excuse to leave so suddenly.
Other:
Has a strange liking for chocolate
Loves liquor, but can’t hold it well. |
48,909 | 1,319 | 22 | 1,716 | 219 | Clementine Haschwalden
Thorne City
Did you hear something? Clementine had wanted to ask, when he first heard that strange, faint rumbling. But, once again, the awkward pressure of social interaction and the battlefield of conversation these two woman had created pressed against Clementine's thoughts, and so he stayed quiet, hoping he might cleanly and elegantly escape sometime soon. Then came the scream and shouts—that was when Clementine stumbled to his feet.
He went for the window, then whirled on his feet and shouted to Amelia, "Commander! Attackers!"
Outside, monsters with horns and teeth and eyes in all the wrong numbers and colors were pouring from the sky, some of the especially eager ones already down on the streets, ripping through buildings and civilians with careless strength.
This, at least, was a battlefield Clementine was familiar with.
With a small amount of fumbling, he plopped his black helmet onto his head and drew his sword—not the most elegant of maneuvers, not the most knightly of movements, but his sword was there in his hand, and he was ready, finally, to do his job. Coils of darkness were already leaking from his blade.
As the tavern was coming to life with agitation and questions, Clementine was already hurrying for the exit. With a burst of splinters, however, several brawny imps came crashing into the tavern, through the windows, the ceiling, and the now-ruined door. Clementine flicked his sword, and a pinch of coal-black darkness cleaved the imp's head from its torso like a giant had slammed a great, invisible door on its neck. But the creature had barely fallen when another monster took its place. Another small flick of the sword, and this one went down too, and was replaced, yet again, by another imp.
Give him a single big monster to deal with—a big, bad, beefy brute—Clementine could do that, yes. But an army of relentless ants promised a much different story, as Clementine's fingernails began to bruise already beneath his gloves. The darkness was setting in. Though it wasn't his style, Clementine forced the darkness to an absolute minimum, as he readied his sword and launched himself singlemindedly into the fray. | Name: Clementine Haschwalden
Title: The Giantslayer
Race: Hume
Job: Dark Knight
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
When you look at him, at his young jaw and his soft skin, you might think that Clementine Haschwalden is just a boy playing knight, that’s he’s too small and too quiet and too much like a dandelion about to be blown away in the wind. Or maybe you look at him and think to yourself, that young, soft look to his face is a red herring, because looks deceive, and the dangerous ones are the ones who don’t look dangerous at all, and he must have earned that sharp and shadowy armor for a reason, right? But Clementine isn’t really any of the things he looks like. He’s not much of a dandelion, and he’s not much of a knight.
Clementine Haschwalden has snowy white hair cut short and boyish, large round eyes that might be black, or muddy blue, and he stands at an unimpressive 5’3”, maybe 5’3-and-a-half”. His legs are long, and his shoulders are round and hard, and he might appear a bit like a gymnast, or a long-distance runner. A distracted look tends to meander around his face, like a part of him got lost in thought one day and never came back home.
His eyes are always so serious, and if they’re not serious then they’re worried.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Clementine wears the highly recognizable armor of a Dark Knight, with horned shoulder-plates and a huge, angry-looking helmet that might’ve fallen off a chess board. A lacey white cape flies over his shoulders, and his lower arms are covered up by thick white opera gloves, with black hands. The tight and form-fitting armor of a Dark Knight is, as is traditional, very dark, and makes little noise when it moves.
At Clementine’s hip is Arondight, a witch-sword aligned with the Darkness element. It is simple, long, and unadorned, made of solid black metal, and its cut can inflict Slow on its targets.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Shy | Self-Doubting | Thoughtful | Fussy | Self-Destructive | Awkward
If you are injured, Clementine will fuss and fret and treat you to the best of his abilities. If you are noticeably upset, he will ask if there’s anything he can do. If you are about to march out into danger, some place where he can’t follow, he will go with you all the way to the door and watch you vanish over some distant hilltop. But he is not the kind of person who would extend that courtesy to himself.
Clementine works best and most confidently when following another person’s orders, and he works best as a tool, not a person. He has a bad habit of undervaluing or ignoring his own happiness or value, and if required to make decisions for himself, Clementine will um and uh and crumple with hesitation.
Clementine is somewhat starved for affection, and will brighten up noticeably at very simple acts of kindness.
Likes:
Flowers | Cronquist | White Magic | Home-Cooked Meals
Dislikes:
Attention | Arrogance | Pranks | Spoiled Rich Kids
Personal History
Hometown:
Cronquist
Current Residence:
Thorne City
Occupation:
Monster Hunter
Backstory:
Tol Mannagan, the Dark Capital, central city of Cronquist, hung over Clementine’s childhood like cloudcover. The long black towers that peeked over the horizon, just out of reach, spoke of safety and knights and mages and untold possibilities, and when he was young, Clementine would sit on the hill in the center of town and watch the city’s silhouette, and he would think about all these things and more. Clementine and his family lived in one of the townships just beyond Tol Mannagan’s walls, and though it was safer there than in the provinces, safe, in this case, was a very relative word. By the time he was eleven, Clementine knew what it was like to have another child not show up to class one day, and never appear again.
Clementine was not a wanted son. That isn’t to say he was treated badly, or that his parents were unkind, but maybe they kept him at arm’s length more than most parents would, and maybe they looked at him with a kind of wariness that left long, thin wounds on the preteen Clementine. Sometimes he heard them talking in low and serious voices over the kitchen table late at night, when they thought he was asleep.
Cronquist, Clementine’s home for nearly twenty years, was a country at war. Unkindness was expected, and kindness was measured almost exclusively in lives saved, and, if not that, then days survived. The best and the brightest were warriors, or doctors, and the Dark Knight and the White Mage were symbols of escape and prestige for every child in the country. Clementine, never a violent boy but urged on by the shadow of Tol Mannagan, decided at a young age that he would be a White Mage, he would, he really would, and when he turned fifteen, he left town for the first time in his life, and made the long and troubling journey to Tol Mannagan.
Clementine managed two straight years of study at the Academy of Mercy before dropping out. Despite his best efforts and his countless hours of work, nothing could make up for his complete lack of magical talent. Unwilling to go home, Clementine sought employ as a nurse in one of the Dark Order’s reserve battalions, and served under one of the few Dark Knights who, instead of going out alone, held a small military attack force under her command.
During the next few months of service, Clementine showed a certain affinity for Darkness that his Knight-Commander noticed, and she eventually recommended he enter Dark Knight training. This time, Clementine managed the full three years. Because, although Clementine was only ever an average Knight, only ever an average swordsman, only ever an average fighter, he could plunge himself into Darkness like no other student. He soon accepted his slow progress as a swordsman and athlete, and ultimately chose to focus on mastering Darkness itself. Soon, though others could dance circles around him, or duel him into submission, Clementine could fell giants in a single, Darkness-powered hit.
Upon graduation, Clementine set out alone, as most Dark Knights were known to do, and served quite admirably as a defender of the people, far too self-destructive to demonstrate the usual corruption and extortion even the best Knights would occasionally engage in. Though no more effective than many other strong and popular members of the Order, Clementine Haschwalden was thrust violently and wildly into the limelight one day on his first real test as a Knight—a behemoth in the Hud Province. Two others had been assigned to join him and, as the rookie, Clementine was expected to organize the civilians’ escape while the others fought. The behemoth was too much, however, and soon the beast had killed Clementine’s companions, torn through the township, and rained tooth and nail down on the villagers. Clementine, however, was there, Darkness ready, and with just three strikes the behemoth was cut down.
It took nearly a week to regain consciousness after the massive injuries his Darkness inflicted. When he woke up, to his blank and utter bemusement, ‘Clementine Haschwalden’ was suddenly a household name. He was the Giantslayer now, the Dark Knight who felled a behemoth in just three hits and saved hundreds of innocent lives. In reality, of course, the behemoth was worn from a battle with two other, more experienced Knights—but of course, that’s not what the people saw.
When he was fully recovered, Clementine was immediately sold out to the nation of Thorne by his government, who saw him as a useful political tool; the Giantslayer would go out into the world beyond, and he would demonstrate the might (and price tag) of Cronquist’s Dark Order, and cast the trade deals Cronquist relies on for food and supplies in a much more attractive light to outside nations. Unhappy as a soldier of the Thorne government, however, Clementine soon struck a deal with his superiors, and arranged to take on more down-to-earth monster hunting as his main source of income and publicity. He didn’t want to be cooped up in the palace like a luxury item, dispatched only when the monster was dangerous enough to warrant his price tag. He wanted to there, here, now, out and about, seeing people and doing things and filling his hands with something real and concrete.
Clementine spent the better part of a year and a half wandering Thorne in a kind of publicity tour. Though he would always love his home in Cronquist, the rolling brown hills and soft yellow grass, the scrubby white wildflowers and the gray-white twilight, Clementine grew a soft spot for the more hospitable country of Thorne, and soon came to enjoy the time he spent as the dark and mysterious Giantslayer. Never one for socializing, he made few friends, though his efforts were, distrust-aside, largely appreciated. His wandering lifestyle was recently put on hold, however, after receiving orders to return to the Palace as additional security for the coming festival.
Other:
Left over from his training as a White Mage, Clementine has an unusual amount of endurance and stamina, and knows the rudimentary basics of weak Cures and Esunas. |
48,910 | 1,319 | 23 | 1,448 | 3,924 | Arte Firaga
Somewhere between the arena, the slums, and the grand market
,
Arte was about to comment on something, but, monsters decided to show up, instead. They were everywhere, too, and a few of them were right in front of the group. He didn't want to speak, right now, and he thought for a moment... if he tried to spread his spell's effects, he might hurt innocents, and, as many enemies as he'd kill that way, he didn't want to harm any of the town's citizens with his magic right now. Dang... if this battle took place anywhere but a city, I'd be more than happy to just show off, and attack everyone... but, no, I can't risk it. Arte thought as he cast a thundaga spell at whatever enemy was closest to his two allies and his friend. The blue mage, despite the monsters showing up, was still holding onto Vincent, and Vincent didn't like that one bit. "Um... ma'am? Would you please set my friend down? We kind of need him to be able to move his hands, and shoot at things, alright?" Arte asked the lady, as calmly as he could. Just as well, while the first monster was defeated by Arte's spell, another, identical monster took its place in battle, and taking a look around, that seemed to be a theme... if only the civilians could fight, then we might have a slight chance.
"There's so many of them..." Arte thought out loud as he looked over what was once a perfectly peaceful town, and his own hometown. Arte would have tried to cast Firaga, again, but this situation called for no risks... and so far, every time he's tried to cast that spell, it's exploded in his face, most of the time, literally. Arte thought for a moment, and tried to focus his magic to a straight line, and when he was trying to decide where... something told him to head to the Crystal palace, so, instead of trying to exit the city with this, he tried to make some sort of path to the crystal... I wonder if Vincent heard that same voice... maybe I'm just going insane like grandpa... ugh, I hoped that day would come MUCH later... Arte thought as he saw the lightning from his spell spark and throw itself at whatever enemies were in its path, hopefully keeping normal people safe, and hopefully only going across a line like Arte needed it to. | Name: Arte Firaga
Title: Walking Explosion
Race: Nu Mou
Job: Black Mage
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Warrior of Light: Yes
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
He stands at 4'3", rather short for his species, he is, however, of an average build for his kind, his skin color is a sort of brownish grey, almost annoyingly matching his fur color, at least, when said fur isn't covered in soot, He has blue eyes, and completely lacks facial hair. He doesn't have any ACTUAL scars, but there are plenty of burn marks on him that won't go away. He is often covered in soot and ash from failed attempts at casting fire magic... yes, he's aware of the irony, given his last name.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Arte wears a rather simple set of blue robes (which cannot be caught on fire, but are not particularly RESISTANT to it.), as well as some usually hidden pants, and even a shirt underneath, he also wields a basic wooden staff... even if it looks special, since, like most of him, it's covered in soot. As he's a mage, he's not one for armor, so, thus, he wears his usual clothing into battle.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Calm | Cheerful | Usually tries everything at least once | Can be known to hold a grudge for a LONG time | Occasionally unaware of just how dangerous the enemy is
As he takes after his mad scientist of a father, he's obviously rather curious, prone to try any food, or thing once, if he thinks he can either get a laugh out of it, or actually like it. Arte is also normally calm, and slow to anger... but, if you DO anger him, expect him to hold a grudge against you for quite some time to come. He also has a nasty habit of underestimating his opponents... which might have him use his weaker (and less controlled) fire magic, as opposed to his lightning magic.
Likes:
Sweet and or Spicy food | Chocobos | Lightning magic
He absolutely LOVES the taste of anything sweet and or spicy, which makes one wonder why he isn't fat... in fact, he usually carries around a bag of candy, which he claims to be 'components for lightning spells'... despite the fact that he doesn't NEED components for lightning spells anymore. Like most people, he adores the piles of feathers known as chocobos, even if he cannot ride them... and he likes all forms of lightning, be it a storm, or just magic from someone (even himself), and when asked why, he shrugs, and says 'It looks nice'.
Dislikes:
He hates the taste of fish | He can't stand being cold | Bomb-type enemies | He also hates betrayal
If there's one kind of food he can't stand, it's fish. He tried it once, a while ago, and, thus far, it's been the only kind of food to actually make him puke... whether this was because it was poorly prepared, or not, he holds that against all fishy foods, and can't even stand smelling the stuff, anymore. He also despises the feeling of being cold, though, this might just be due to him being used to the heat from all of his failed fire spells... speaking of, he doesn't like bombs, either, due to the fact that he can't kill them in time, and they usually explode on him, and only HE can explode on him, dang it! Arte can't STAND it when someone pretends to be friendly towards him, and then either attacks him, or steals from him... the few who've successfully done it will most likely warn others to just LEAVE HIM BE, instead.
Personal History
Hometown: Dahlgren
Current Residence: Thorne
Occupation: Student. He also takes care of his elderly, 350 year old grandfather (we'll call him just a 'grandfather' for the sake of brevity), and makes sure that neither he, nor the city, blows up due to his grandpa's insane inventions.
Backstory:
Arte Firaga was fairly ordinary as a child, as he didn't do much outside of his own 'comfort zone', and thus, didn't try his hand at fire magic, or talk to his 'grandpa', yet, however, he also didn't have many, if any friends, and when he was really young, he used to always carry around a small plush chocobo... which got him regularly picked on by other children. A couple months after he turned ten, he met an odd man by the name of Cid, who drove a strange-looking, probably custom-made airship, and, much like the other kids at the time, once Cid landed, he asked him how he built that, and specifically, how he knew he was good at doing that. Cid just shrugged and said something along the lines of 'I didn't. I just tried to make an airship one day, and it worked' after that, Arte made the potentially fatal mistake of trying his hand at fire magic. He was JUST as good at not making it blow up back then, as he is to this very day, so, obviously, he's made a LOT of progress, right?
When Arte reached the age of eighteen, is 'grandfather's' caregiver gave up on the old coot, and they had to find a new caretaker... unfortunately, everyone else was already aware of exactly what this 'job' entailed, poor Arte was more or less forced into it, and forced to move to Thorne, where his grandfather's lab was. It took about two weeks before Arte figured out that he was supposed to STOP his grandfather from inventing things, and it took another couple of months before he came up with some guidelines for his grandfather, who he learned was a former warrior of light, himself, to follow, after which, he didn't have to stop EVERY invention from happening. Among said new inventions were the 'mechanical chocobo'... which doesn't move, has no seat other than the wrong side of a gear, but strangely enough made a good juicer, and the 'macro scope' which was supposed to allow you to see things much larger than yourself, which people can already do by using their eyes... oddly enough, the macro scope made for a decent enough mace.
Oddly enough, Arte met one of his first friends, a moogle by the name of Vincent, at around the time his grandfather invented the macro scope, and the two have worked to help 'Professor' Firaga ever since, with Arte trying to keep the two from making anything explosive, and Vincent actually helping the self-proclaimed professor make actually useful things... though, the two haven't made a single device together, as of yet.
Other:
From his near-constant failures, Arte has become quite resistant to spells hostile or otherwise, and his fire spells have a decent chance at failing, and literally blowing up in his face... however, he's actually extremely good at using lightning magic. |
48,911 | 1,319 | 24 | 2,587 | 440 | Rakta
City of Thorne - ??? --> Slums
"No I must disagree--" shouted Kajad over roar of monsters and terrified screams "--this city is very interesting!" With swiftness, Kajad ducked the large swinging blade of a very large void beast, lobbed an orb of light, then disappeared in a bright flash, causing the monster to grunt in agony. Several imps began dashing after Kajad and it took Rakta charging bodily into them to catch their attention. As she swung her arms, one of the imps went flying, another was tread underfoot, but several more continued their advance toward her. "You're only saying that--" Rakta shouted as she bashed the heads of two imps together "--because we have yet to be in real dange--"
"--watch out!"
The sharp sound of magical bolts clinging against metal filled Rakta's ears. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to know that Ser Ellismore had likely saved her from a pretty nasty injury. "Where are they all coming from? This is impossible-- we need to seek a place to barricade the Phamet," Ser Ellismore managed between heavy panting breaths, fending off several approaching imps in the process. "Once more, as you were not listening, Ser Ellismore," Kajad spoke up. Light had gathered between Kajad's palms and when Rakta looked at them, a slight smirk came to her face-- "Promptly, would you!" Rakta shouted.
"We Phamet do not hide behind walls while others die," Kajad repeated for what was likely the thrid time since the city suddenly went crazy. When Kajad held their hands into the air, the beams of light burst from their palms, breaking apart, then scattering, before coming screaming back toward the ground as if they were comets. Explosions of light-- holy infused magic-- rocked the ground around Rakta, Kajad, and Ser Ellismore, in a proficiently casted display of magical prowess. Though every chance to hit an ally could have been possible, what with the nature of the spell, not a single one touched a creature not considered an enemy. The voice beasts screeched and roared, with several dissipating into shadowy puffs of mist but, though it all, Rakta could fully see that the spell, despite how powerful it was, would only buy them time from the inevitable.
Rakta turned to Kajad as the last of the beasts fell, unable to fight, thankful for the bit of rest, but she shook her head. "Phamet, it is wise to retreat," Rakta shouted, "We cannot kill them all. We will grow weary, our feet heavy, and they will pull us under." The sound of steel scraping against stone caught Rakta's attention-- she saw Kajad point to something behind her-- a woosh called out--
Rakta turned, threw her hands up to guard herself, as the Iron Giant swiped it's sword in a sweeping arc. Heavily, the blow landed on Rakta's side and she felt hers side flex and twist oddly, her feet lift from the ground, then the ground smacked her on the side of the head-- she felt quite offended. Dazed, Rakta rolled over, again, feeling her body moving strangely, and witnessed the color draining from the world.
Oh no.
Shaking her head, Rakta tried her best to fend off the beast taking over, but the sight of the Iron Giant, armor full of holes from where Kajad's magic had pierced through, frustrated her to no end. The numbness from pain quickly settling in fueled that anger-- how could she have been so foolish. That was how people died-- letting their guard down in the middle of a battle-- look, now the others were in danger-- Rakta scolded herself over and over again, spiraling downward into a pit of fury until...
Silence swept over the city-- Rakta's city-- and the beasts moved at nearly half their speed. First was the Giant, blade between her hands, then it shattered into bright silvery stars. The giant flew. Next were Imps, void-drakes, monsters, enemies, attackers, bodies, bodies, bodies... Buildings stood out sharply in her vision-- angles and points-- all else was wrong and soft-- monsters all of them-- this is a cage--
Rakta, though she did not know it, was cleaving a path through the market, to the slums, chopping down beasts and fiends as they stood before her, focused solely on this furious rampage. Behind her Kajad and Ser Ellismore trailed, trying desperately to keep up-- a flash of lightning drew the attention of all three. Nearby a mage was casting spells and in a brief moment of clarity, Rakta directed her charge toward them, figuring that perhaps they needed help.
Crossing paths with -- | Name: Rakta Ganti-Sih
Title: N/A
Race: Bangaa
Job: Berserker
Age: 36
Gender: Female
Warrior of Light: No
Appearance Information
Physical Features:
Rakta stands at an average height for a Bangaa, around 6ft 5in, with the musculature of a seasoned combatant, and she carries herself with a prideful posture. Her scales are a dusky blue that gradients to light grey and she features orange tattoos, covering nearly half of her body, deeply inset into her scales-- they all look to be words in the language of her people. Those bright orange eyes of hers often have a weary look to them, except for when she's berserking, at which point they are quite alert and lethally analytical. Several scars mar her body, evidence of a life spent fighting, and the tip of her tail is missing. Piercings along her muzzle and ears gives hint to a subtle vanity, despite her otherwise brutish looks.
Clothing/Armor/Weapons:
Rakta is either seen lightly armored or armed to the teeth.
Light plate armor, most notably protecting her face, forearms, stomach, and knees is worn with a set of baggy pants of varying shades. This outfit is considered her "relaxing" clothes when she has to dress as such.
Rakta's usual battle armor consists of several pelts, reinforced with mail, decorated by horns, claws, and fangs of felled beasts. Most impressively about her armor is her hood, which features a mane made of authentic Behemoth hair. The pelts serve as both a trophy collection and "loose" armor, the purpose of which is to obscure her silhouette and increase the chances for glancing blows. When in "full armor" she wears a two-piece cheek and chin guard with a horned muzzle protector, and has been known to full on gore people with said horn when up-close.
No matter how much armor she is wearing, Rakta's clawed gauntlets are never left behind. The clawed fingertips serve as an extension of her own claws and the heavy gauntlets are fully padded inside, making punches and claw attacks easy on her underlying anatomy.
Psychological Information
Personality Traits:
Shy | Rebellious | Stubborn | Nurturing | Aggressive
Good luck getting her to change her mind about anything. Ever.
Likes:
Music | Epic Tales | Spiritualism
Dislikes:
Cold Weather | Summoners | Pessimists
Personal History
Hometown:
Takhtajan
Current Residence:
Takhtajan
Occupation:
Bodyguard
Backstory:
The Ganti-Sih clan roams the deserts of Takhatjan, lead by a spiritual leader called the "Am-Ra". Like all Ganti-Sih children, Rakta grew up on the move and raised by the clan itself-- not solely by her birth parents. When it was discovered that Rakta had been "born with the spirit of a beast" within her, she was assigned a "Pahmet"-- a child chosen to become a carrier of the Am-Ra's knowledge-- and sent on a "Star Speak". The Star Speak consists of a journey through the desert with a Pahmet and, while the Pahmet may have food or water, the beast-child may not, in order to maintain their purification. After being purified by the clan Pahmets, Rakta was sent into the desert sands and, remarkably, went six days before passing into the Star Speak dream. Within the Star Speak, Rakta saw her destiny, met with the spirit of the beast which ignited her blood, spoke to the "Many Faced God", then returned with understanding that she was destined for something which would determine the fate of the world itself.
Years of training and fighting followed. Her Pahmet lead her through ever increasing danger, in order to strengthen the beast spirit, and increase her endurance for the Berserker state. Wars with other nomadic clans, skirmishes with intruders, and plenty of honor duels hardened Rakta's resolve and spirit. Despite the hardship, Rakta learned to care for the clan children with kindness and wisdom-- an odd trait for any berserker. The Ganti-Sih came to rely upon her for both protection and battle prowess, until the day came that her Pahmet spoke of a journey to another isle. Though many were displeased at the development, none questioned the wisdom of the Many Faced God, and reluctantly said their goodbyes to Rakta and her Pahmet.
Other:
- Rakta is a great seamstress-- those pelts didn't sew themselves!
- Wither or not Rakta is truly inhabited by the spirit of a "beast" is a subject of theological debate.
- The Many Faced God's existence is also a subject of theological debate however-- there are very convincing signs of their material existence in the form of clockwork Obelisks on Takhatjan.
- Apparently no one knows where Rakta got the Behemeoth fur from-- she insists it came from her Star Speak journey. |
48,912 | 1,320 | 0 | 1,363 | 2,440 | It all seemed to rise up in a single moment, given the little amount of time for everything to plummet. Lands, waters and communities became fuelled with a distinctive lust for bloodshed against an opposition far closer than before. No longer did the Aldmeri Dominion engage a seemingly unmatched war against the Empire, oh no...This time, it was far closer than anyone had imagined. Tamriel's Province of Skyrim had succumb to a new age of disaster. The soil of its surface would be stained in the Bloods of families, cities and entire organisations. The Nords were finally taking what they wanted back, Skyrim. They denied the ways of Imperial life, disgusted and the denial of belief towards Talos. Soon enough, friends turned on friends, race on race, comrade on comrade. Citizens and Soldiers would take arms on their side, having little choice on whether they were involved or not. But it wasn't just an increase of those who'd begin fighting on the many fronts of Skyrim, it was also taking its toll to those not siding with their beliefs. Many who refused to follow what others did began to feel oppression, and great deals of tension between individuals on who rightfully owns Skyrim became increasingly stressed. These were dark times, even those choosing to stay clear of these actions were suffering at the hands of Oppression. These were the most sorrowful times of Skyrim, as of now...For the Generation to currently inhabit the Province were to be used in the Clutches of the Civil War.
Settled down in the Southern Areas of Skyrim, Falkreath stood. It had been relatively quiet here, and recently an increase of travellers had emerged due to its known distance from the Conflict at hand. Many considered it a Safe-Haven from everything, only having to deal with small-time criminals and Bandits that lurked in the shadows. At least, that's how it was. As predicted, the war had found a way to keep Falkreath a priority, sending an Imperial Garrison under the Command of Legate Skulnar to act as an Occupation force. With Skyrim split into two, a disturbance between the Hold's Nords and the New-Found Imperial Settlers made it tense. Very few positive icons were brought with the Empire's arrival here, not counting the extension of Defences and Wall-Buildling. And now, that they had settled for at least two weeks, everything seemed to be at its most Tense. Falkreath was now only a Hold behind the Frontlines, only two Forts and three camps being the only thing left to stand between the Stormcloaks and the Imperials stationed here. It brought great trouble among everyone, and some had even fled the Hold, few the Province, in search of a better life. And among those who chose to stay, was Arnkel Aridmetis. The Redguard Trader wasn't one of those comfortable with the new-life that he had been forced into. Falkreath had been his home-away-from-home for years now, taking itself to be a part of his life. Suddenly, the community seemed less friendly upon the Arrival of the Imperials, who hadn't made it easy for him either. Now, he stood at his stall at the Peak of the Sun's travels, arms folded and laid back. The Stall he was used to gather information, jobs, roles and items from. He sighed deeply, dressed in his usual trading gear. This was not a good day. This was not a good Era. | Characters
Arnkel Aridmetis
"If it's a debate you want, I hope you brought your verbal shield."
Pronounced - Arn-Kel Arid-Met-Eez
Disclaimer - This image is not mine, at all. If you happen to own this image, or someone who does, please inform me so I can credit the artist if they wish.
Age
27
Gender
Male
Race
Redguard
Appearance
Standing at a height of 6' 2", which is indeed rather tall for his Blood-Relatives and Race, Arnkel is one of the more finer individuals. Finer, being the one's who look untouched and barely hardened, yet with the slight twist that almost every Redguard likes to include. His body structure isn't amazing, let's just say, though it isn't scrawny. He possesses an average build, having some degree of muscle and strength that can be seen physically. He's not the kind of individual you'd look at if you wanted the Ultimate War-Veteran...Though he's not the worst choice in terms of looks. One thing that's agreeable to most is his overall looks. He's not exactly your typical, bearded warrior that looks as dried out as a Draugr in a Desert. His complexion isn't completely smooth, of course, having the thin stubble that stretches across the bottom-half of his head. His hair is moderately long, having the infamous Jet-Black shading that most Redguards proudly own. It blends in well with his Darker Skin, much darker than the paler Nords and Imperials. As for Clothing, the usual traveller's uniform would be worn, with some of the Obtained gems dotted on certain parts of the Overlayers. It isn't flamboyant, nor does it hint towards any signs of major wealth, but it is mainly there to add a little colour to the Dullest shades. However, for when it comes to the Other-Side of him, the Mixture of Leather and Small Iron Patches helps create a more shifty look, especially when accompanied by the famous Redguard Curved Blade.
Occupation
| Trader | Small-Time Blade for Hire |
Personality
Arnkel may have charisma in his appearance, but he isn't the type of person who'd boast about it, and to some surprise he's unlikely going to use it to his advantage unless instructed to do so. He's a pleasant soul, if you are on his side of the blade. Among Falkreath, he's been known for his way of words, having a great ability to persuade himself out of trouble, or even just to barter up some more deals for more interest. Some describe him as having that Business-Personality, meaning his ways of narrowing down someone's desire, or expanding it for his own benefit, are at an impressive rating. Arnkel is one of those people who isn't the most optimistic souls around, though that doesn't stop him from being positive when he can.
Though, what happens to him when things go downhill can be a rather different tale. Arnkel can sometimes find himself becoming very attached to certain individuals, so much that he will put a great deal of trust in, only if he hasn't scouted out the plots of treachery that might occur. This level of trust can make him very downtrodden if something serious were to find itself harming the individual, be it emotional, physical or mental pain. The biggest change in personality is the distance between Tradesman Arnkel, and Armed Arnkel. He isn't too shy of a fight, if he hadn't found a way to talk himself out of it, and can become deadly focused on certain tasks. The Jokes usually wear off, only returning when he's finished up with whatever someone paid him to do. This is sometimes referred to by those close to him as the Two-Faces of Arnk'...
Background
Arnkel is one of those people, those Redguards. Obviously, orphanage usually has a bad turn on a child, yet Arnkel seems to not mind that he also holds this title. He believed, and still is unsure, that he was born in the Lands of Skyrim, more specifically Whiterun, before being given away by his unknown parents to a Trading Caravan group. The Redguard child was taken in, at a very young age, by a Hardened individual of the same blood-origins, named Jou' Lukan. Jou' was an excellent edition to Arnkel's life, being there to guide him through the lands of Skyrim as they'd travel around from Hold to Hold. Having the experience of Travelling and Selling his entire life began to develop those key traits that were going to make him the man he currently is. From here, he learnt the basic skills required to thrive on Skyrim's soil, being vocals and combat. Talking was a priority in this Caravan Trading Group's culture, and the combating methods were to come second. Arnkel deeply looked up to Jou' with great faith in him as a Adoption Father, and even had claimed that he was glad he'd succumbed the Orphan title so he could've met the Elder Redguard.
As time drew on, Arnkel reached the age of 17. The Group had him qualified as a Fully-usable tradesman, giving him his own gear, Pack-Cow and Elven Bodyguard, the standard assortment of Travelling gear that each Tradesman/woman in the Group were presented with. At this point in time, the group was expanding at a rapid rate. Previously only bringing in Younger individuals who were brought into the world by one of their own members, or hiring the odd bodyguard to help with a specific route, yet now was a time with the mass welcoming of new Races from outside origins. This is where Arnkel began to learn about other Blooded-Individuals, their pasts and cultures in life and furthermore respect who they were as individuals. He was specifically told by Jou' that "One shouldn't hate another for the soul they were born as, but only for the soul they had developed into."
More and more began to pour in, and they became much more than the original four Pack-Cows and several individuals. They had become a convoy, a highly recommended service for large-scale transports and message bringing if someone was willing to pay the High-Coin. Yet, this began to be seen as a danger to the group, in the eyes of Jou', and he warned his adopted kin to be wary of the hostility that will come in good time. And as predicted, two months before Arnkel would turn 18, the Group began to travel near Falkreath only to see a horrifying outcome. Falkreath were very dependent on the supplies this Group had brought in, especially now that they brought so much. A New threat had emerged on the pathway, however, with a new Organisation known simply as the Lower-Blade, ambushed them not far from Falkreath's Hold. It wasn't a massacre, as such, because many of those involved from both sides put up an equal fight. The Lower-Blade had trained themselves from Hunters and Mercenaries, which gave them the slight upper-hand against the Natural Combatants. Both groups sustained heavy losses, and Arnkel and Jou' were among the Six survivors of the Caravan's side. This was known as the Great Deconstruction, going down quite infamously throughout Skyrim due to one of the most successful groups being completely disbanded in a single hour.
From there, Arnkel was taken by Jou' to Falkreath's Hold, where the two began to invest their total earnings from their lifetime on refurbishing a Moderately Small-House. They managed to secure themselves a spot, and slowly began to find themselves fitting into their society. They were welcomed by most, for their tragic incident. They began to make coin from making small-time trade, sometimes having to scavenge around the Forests for materials and items to sell, as well as Arnkel using a small talent to emphasise the way of speaking his tales. He successfully had two businesses made, with Jou' at his side, as both a Tradesman once again and a small-time Bard. When certain individuals staying in Inn's learnt of their backgrounds through songs of tale, they began to find out of their Combat effectiveness. And so, a third way of making small-coin was made as the two became local Blades for Hire. They were mainly used by the Local Guards to take care of small Bandit issues, as well as join those of exploring nearby caves and hideouts. They didn't make much, but at least they had something to enjoy. A Year before the Civil War broke out, Jou' was brought a letter from Hammerfell, the homeland to the Redguards. It was from a deep family issue that had occurred, and one that proved to be extremely personal. After a day's worth of arguing, Arnkel came to understand that he should let his Adoption Father leave for his journey alone, allowing him to deal with his life issues whilst Arnkel would stay where it was most safe, Skyrim. It's been a Year since he left, and now the War had broken out. That safety is now miles from where Arnkel could've imagined. And now, the Imperials have moved in to secure Falkreath, which has made business for Arnkel rather difficult.
Positive Traits
Primary - Arnkel shines most when it comes to speech. He's persuasive, decisive, masterful and one that can dive deep into someone's ideas of mischief. Being a Trader, he's seen the majority of Personalities that are out there in the world, finding ways to introduce new meanings of lying, and scouting out if someone had been. It isn't always accurate when it comes to talking normally, but his speeches are known to be quite inspiring, as the Jarl had once used his Bard-ship and ways of words to inspire a Group of Guards before they were sent out to hunt down a Bandit Leader. This also comes into use when it means finding ways to make acquaintances and allies, as well as allowing someone to get them to know him.
Secondary - Arnkel has experience, and was a part of what were described as Natural Fighters, the Traders. His early teachings of self-defence, offence and trickery had given him the extra needed skills to thrive in the world. Now a Professional with a Curved Sword, and other one-handed Blades, as well as not being too useless with Archery, he's not someone you are likely to decimate on the field of combat.
Tertiary - Arnkel is particularly happy with his voice. It can be soothing, yet low-key and gruff in most occasions. It brings a new style of Barding, allowing him to give vocalised effects and atmospheres when singing the songs of his adventures, and requests others happen to make along the way. It can also be used for slight inspiration, mixing with his quick thinking lyrics and improvised tunes to go on the way.
Negative Traits
Primary - Arnkel isn't the strongest man in the world, nor is he the strongest in Falkreath. He may have some decent arm and leg strength, mixing with an overall body build, he hasn't been seen as one of the more impressive looking structures. This sometimes makes it more difficult with the much larger weapons many mercenaries like to boast with. Two-Handed Weapons can be quite a problem with this issue.
Secondary - As mentioned before, he can get quite interested into other's lives and personalities. He's can sometimes save a soft-spot for any individual who has returned the acts of companionship and comrade-traits. This may seem like quite the advantage, but it isn't. It can lead to horrifying effects when one is knocked out of their life completely. Killing someone close to him can cause much silence, making him suddenly draw extremely distant from others within his group or part of his friendship list.
Tertiary - Loathing an individual can take time, and it can take a lot to make him Loath an individual. Where some people rightfully find a reason and place to damn another to death, Arnkel can take some time to fully want someone dead. This can lead to sinister figures escaping his arrest, or even being spared for unjustifiable reasons. However, As Arnkel may seem like a completely good soul, that's far from the question.
Affiliates
Jou' Lukan - Adopted Father/Elder/Carer
Mohstae Bu'Turank - Lower-Blade Officer
General Tullius - Past-Trades Partner
Rolart Lamberta - Nordic Falkreath Guard
Character Theme
Arnkel's Life-Story |
48,913 | 1,320 | 1 | 365 | 1,200 | Things are not going well. The bandits continue to grow in strength, Stormcloak activity remains unchecked west of Helgen, and some of these fool townspeople can't see that the Legion is all that is keeping them from the creatures of Skyrim and that madman Ulfric. I pray to Talos that- Denric shook his head in frustration. "I pray to Talos Akatosh that the tides of this war turn in our favor, and not Ulfric's. For Skyrim. For the Empire." Denric placed the journal back into the drawer he drew it from, and rose to his feet. He had to make his rounds now. To ensure that the people remained placated, and in the event they weren't, that the Hold's guards were doing their jobs properly. The Tribune strapped his steel greatsword to his back, and stepped out of the confines of his quarters. | Full Name
Tribune Denric Felonia
Age
25
Gender
Male
Race
Imperial
---
Appearance
Denric is quite handsome by Imperial standards, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. This however is offset by the permanent scowl his face seems to be set in. This man smiles about as often as Ulfric Stormcloak willingly hands Skyrim over to it’s rightful owners. He is well muscled and stands above most of his Imperial compatriots in stature.
Occupation
Denric is currently serving in the Imperial garrison stationed at Falkreath.
---
Personality
Denric is an incredibly serious man driven by his singular goal in life to destroy the Stormcloaks and restore order to Skyrim. Quite religious as well, he can often be seen muttering silent prayers to the Gods before a battle and during times of great stress. Denric is very outspoken when it comes to condemning the Stormcloaks that he hates with a burning passion.
Background
Denric grew up to a wealthy family situated in a manor just south of Bruma. It was here that he was trained and conditioned since the tender age of three to join the Imperial Legion. He was guided by his father’s wisdom and stern judgement, and carried by the love he had been fed by his mother and younger sister. Denric grew up on tales of Ulfric Stormcloak and his heroic service to the Empire, blissfully unaware that this man would eventually become his most hated adversary.
Denric enlisted into the Legion as soon as he was eligible. He was given recognition on several occasions when bravely defending the nation and it’s people from the ever growing numbers of goblins and bandits looking to exploit society for their own gains. However, Denric’s undying dedication to the Legion came at a cost. He was not present to save his family from the very creatures he’d been fighting against elsewhere in the province. Living outside the city walls is dangerous, and few things can come between a hungry frost troll and it’s potential meal.
With the growing tensions in Skyrim beginning to reach a peak, Tribune Felonia was reassigned to Falkreath under the command of Legate Skulnar. There he remains, keeping the peace and defending the hold.
Positive Traits
Primary- Thanks to his extensive training as a young boy up until this point, Denric is powerful, using his strength and skill with a claymore to end conflicts quickly and decisively. You’d have to be a fool or a God to be brave enough to challenge Denric to a one on one duel with hope of a clean victory.
Secondary- Growing up to wealthy aristocrats has given Denric the capabilities of a natural leader. He regularly uses his imposing presence and commanding voice to rally his allies to victory in the face of disaster. This talent has been invaluable in past battles for snatching success from the jaws of failure.
Tertiary- Denric’s impressive physique means that he can move impressively quickly while in heavy armor with relative ease. Similarly, he does not easily tire when doing other strenuous physical activities.
Negative Traits
Primary- Denric isn’t good at making friends and he doesn’t want to make friends, seeing them as a liability. He can give and receive orders but any feeling of fellowship with his peers is difficult to achieve with him nearing on impossible. He’s slow to trust others and even slower to like them.
Secondary- Denric’s hate for Stormcloaks and their supporters is godly. He’d sooner piss on the grave of a child that admired the Stormcloaks then save that same child from danger before it was too late. He is brutal and merciless in combat, refusing to show quarter to his opponents no matter the circumstance.
Tertiary- Denric scarcely possesses magical talent of any kind. Lightning bolts and frenzy spells are so far out of the question it’s unreal. Hell, he can barely even muster a basic healing spell to save his own skin.
---
Affiliates
Denric has no surviving family. He has met General Tullius on a few occasions and serves directly under Legate Skulnar, the current Legate stationed in Falkreath. He despises Ulfric and his blatant racism, disgusted by the man’s foolishness and malice.
Character Theme |
48,914 | 1,320 | 2 | 1,319 | 1,809 | ~Alysse~
Falkreath was a dark place, the grey skies that threatened rain and the looming tombs of the fallen that the hold and capital was named for. It was a dreary place, and Alysse Lathronein adored it. As she leaned upon the counter of Grave Concoctions waiting for customers and watching the owner, Zaria, mix up a batch of healing potion. It was always a quick seller and they never seemed to have enough. Especially with the war, but the Imperials and their taxes were taking the coin as fast as the war brought it in. A curse and a blessing. But then again, Alysse mussed, war was a blessing to her second trade.
In the sense of challenge and danger. A slight smirk graced her lips as she gave a light chuckle. Zaria knew her well enough not to ask. She'd only get a shake of a ravened head and a smile. Her fingers flickered tapping on the counter, before scooping up a basket. "I'm heading to the stalls, Zaria. You'll keep a eye on the shop?" The Redguard laughed with a retort about her having run the shop well enough before the Nord had joined as her help. Slipping on a cloak over her robes she pulled the hood over the raven bun she had pinned her hair up in.
Stalking through the streets with a joyous sway to her step. The markets loomed ahead and her amber-brown eyes gleamed with glee. She was here to shop, true. But her first love hid in the many secret pockets of the robes, and her quick fingers. As a townsman walked by, struggling under a large load of lumber, she passed closed by, her hand darting into the shadows. As the man walked away, Alysse's purse was heavier with a small brass key. She was a thief, and she enjoyed it. Perhaps she enjoyed it a bit too much. | Full Name
Alysse Lathronien
Age
24
Gender
Female
Race
Nord
---
Appearance
Of average height with pale skin from Skyrim's snowy atmosphere. With amber-brown eyes, she has a arrow straight nose that she is wickedly proud of. A dainty mouth and chin speaking of aristocracy. With hair that matches a raven wing, she generally wears a hood and robes when not on duty, and armor of light leather when on. Though the style and type depend upon what she wishes for that particular day. She also wears a amulet matching her house.
Occupation
Upfront Mage, Undercover Theif
---
Personality
Sly, cunning, and very bored. Alysse enjoys excitement and adventure, something she's worked into her life. She will often give charity to the homeless beggars and orphans. Often buying drinks, while picking the pockets of the drunk patrons behind their backs. Alysse never does something for one reason, unless there is a good reason for it. She has little trust towards Imperials and Altmer, and not due to the war but rather taxes. For all her giving nature, she's a skint flint.
Background
Born to a pair of traveling traders, Alysse's parents were very successful often moving in the high circles of nobility with their wares. However, Alysse was not content with a life of travel and routine dances with each trade. After begging her mother after her father was killed in a bandit raid, Alysse was allowed to study mage craft. Already a adept thief from time spent bored, she kept up her practice on the mages while she studied. After several years she left and fled moved to Skyrim and Falkreath. Now she spends her time running a small apothecary with the local herbalist, and working her magic for the local populace. At night she runs about the town causing a bit of mischief and taking a trinket or two for her own amusement.
Positive Traits
One:
She is very good at Sneaking. Being able to slip through the shadows of forest or a busy street unnoticed. It comes from slipping away from her mother and Mage teachers.
Two:
She's also very good at Conjuring to call up bow, sword or daggers. Never trusting a weapon to be in easy reach since her father's death. She was the top Apprentice in it.
Three:
The last skill she enjoys is lock picking. It's a art she enjoys and perfected. Often sneaking a extra coin from her mother's lock box to get a sweet roll.
Negative Traits
One:
Alysse has a habit of having to steal the extremely rare and valuable. Anything she wants, she'll go after it till she has it.
Two:
She is terrified of chaurus. To the point she freezes up, her magic failing her.
Three:
She also has a weakness for books. Enjoying collecting them to read and stash away for later.
---
Affiliates
Her mother Kethryveris Lathronein lives, running caravans across Tamriel. She dislikes her daughter's choice of work and would rather have her studying or with the caravan. For all her happy-go-lucky attitude, she has few friends outside of the Thieve's Guild, and most there are nothing but acquaintances.
Character Theme
Philosophy by Mercedes Lackey |
48,915 | 1,320 | 3 | 1,184 | 61 | Audani sat on the edge of her bed, impatiently pulling her guarded boot onto her foot with an overly aggressive tug. Her fiery hair fell around her shoulders as she muttered to herself, "So many rebels, so much action to be had, and here I lay in my quarters like useless skeever..." She secured her remaining boot around her knee and stood up, briefly shooting a glance to her side table. A sad sight to behold with only a few coins and an empty mug. Swiping them from it's rough surface, she pockets the gold and strides to the door, her foul mood radiating from every gesture. She pushes the door open with a low creak, peeking into the corridor with hopes that something exciting or at least different will grace it's stillness. Even without an event to rouse her restless mind, there should be a pint to be had somewhere. | Full Name
Praefect Audani Esdrec
Age
23
Gender
Female
Race
Imperial
---
Appearance
Your first glance would reveal that Audani is imposing. While she's of average height for her race, and not terribly broad in frame, she is muscular with strong features. She has long red hair, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes, while her pale skin sports many scars from battle. Her normal clothing consists of a grey tunic and brown chaps, with laced knee-high leather boots.
Occupation
Audani serves as a Praefect under Tribune Denric at the Imperial Garrison in Falkreath.
---
Personality
Passionate for battle, with a temper as fiery as her hair, Audani loves a good fight. Her rash decisions and odd demeanor have earned her both respect and fear, though she only holds grudges for the Stormcloaks or any others who would go against the Empire. She is loyal to a fault, determined to serve faithfully to the Imperial Legion despite descrepancies. She has a wicked sense of humor, but contains her enthusiasm to a snicker at most.
Background
She hails from the city of Anvil, her father being a high ranking member of the Fighter's Guild wanting to be near to his devotion. Though her mother encouraged her studies for academy, her father's absence inspired her to emulate his strength and valor. Juggling between her scholarly endeavors and her late evening sparring matches with fighers in the Guard, Audani became a sharp minded young woman with an even sharper sword.
The Captain of the guard took notice of her skill and determination, and encouraged her to join the Imperial Legion. She joined immediately, and would have moved higher through the ranks, if not for her reckless and impulsive decisions during battle.
Positive Traits
Primary Trait - Once she sets her mind to something, Audani is intransigent. Her focus and determination to achieve what needs to be done is by far a great strength that works toward her advantage and the advantage of her allies.
Secondary Trait - Born with an inherently sturdy figure, she is athletic and hardy, able to use large weapons and carry great weight for long amounts of time. She can wear heavy armors that aren't naturally suited for females, and she packs one hell of a punch.
Tertiary Trait - Her enriched upbringing has endowed her with expertise on various subjects, many of them centered around culture and scholarly knowledge. She's fairly intelligent and logical.
Negative Traits
Primary Trait - Her greatest downfall lies in her impulsivity. She makes rash and immediate decisions, often electing to charge into fights without thinking about the consequences.
Secondary Trait - Her aristocratic life embedded a few nasty habits into her mind, regarding other races. She tries to be tolerant and considerate of most other people and their nature, as being close to the Fighter's Guild had exposed her to all walks of life, but she struggles with the occasional derogatory slip.
Tertiary Trait - A particularly rough sparring match with a childhood friend caused her to lose partial sight in her left eye. While all of the sight itself is not gone, she does have color blindness and blurriness, but still sees movement. She's naturally apprehensive of those approaching to her left, especially on the battlefield.
---
Affiliates
When Audani's mother passed, her father further immersed himself into his work, effectively withdrawing from her life. Though he still floats around Anvil and surrounding areas for his duties, he actively avoids visiting or talking to her. Her only allies remain in the Falkreath garrison with her. |
48,916 | 1,320 | 4 | 1,737 | 380 | The Great Wizard, Wynnter
Another average day in Falkreath. The weather was dark and dreary with rain looking to be very likely from the grey clouds which mottled the horizon. Wynnter hummed to herself as she went about her day, Lod - the local blacksmith - had badly burned himself and needed healing as quickly as possible. He was probably her best customer come to think of it, one of the precious few people in town who's work meant he couldn't wait for a healing potion to run it's course. It hadn't taken long to fix him up, so Wynnter was on her way to the market, her coin purse just a slight bit heavier.
As she browsed the stalls, Wynnter pulled her hair down, picking up the odd bit of produce and giving whoever ran the stall some Septims. Freshly baked loaves, some newly killed meet and the latest crops filled her basket. Yes, another average day in Falkreath. | Full Name
Wynnter Arwyn
Age
27
Gender
Female
Race
Altmer
---
Appearance
Wynnter stands just below the average height of your everyday Altmer and has a thin build which is mostly lacking in muscle just like almost every other mage in the province. Her hair is as white as the snow itself, and falls a good way below her shoulders. Wynnter wears her hair tied up when she's working on one of her projects, but otherwise she allows it to flow loose even though it's almost always unkempt. Her eyes are a soft green and her ears end in a sharp point, a product of her Altmer heritage.
Occupation
Town Healer
---
Personality
Wynnter, being a mage who specialises in the restoration school of magic is a compassionate woman, trying her best to make the severely injured remain not-dead. She also has a certain factor of over-confidence in her own abilities, which is almost certainly why she adopted the title of "Grand Wizard" despite being in no way being in even close to a master in any of the magical schools. This means she can appear to be cocky, or perhaps egotistical to those who do not know her very well.
Background
In Tamriel, every child is born with a certain proficiency, something that they're great at compared to the majority of the population. Something in which they can shine. Yes, every child in Tamriel, is born with what can be called gift, be it in speechcraft, smithing, weaponry - light or heavy, or a school of magic, or, perhaps, something more unsavoury - pickpocketing or slipping into the shadows, unnoticed. One day, a small child was born named Wynnter Arwyn. Wynnter, like every other child she was born with one of these gifts and in her case it was in the school of restoration.
She would grow up playing with this gift of magic, just as her parents had, and for that matter just as almost every Altmer had. Only while some played with flames or ice, Wynnter played with with forces of life, with wards and healing ailments. As she grew up this childish curiosity evolved into a genuine interest, with Wynnter studying for some years in at the college of Winterhold, making her way up to the level of Apprentice by the time she left, and learning a trick or two from some other schools of magic. But, like all good things it came to an end, as Wynnter decided to travel south to where warmer weathers lie in a province filled with biting cold.
Falkreath then. Was where Wynnter decided to settle, to study magics affect on the realm and hoping to uncover some of the mysteries that Aetherius hid. But of course no one can simply sit in their studies, she helped people around the town by healing them, and when the war started, she healed soldiers on both sides. A healer wouldn't take sides and neither would she, although she didn't technically go by the title of healer or priest. Instead Wynnter picked out something a little more grandiose, "The Grand Wizard Wynnter" had a nice ring to it after all.
Positive Traits
Restoration
The most noble of the schools of magic, healing cuts, setting bones and removing poisons and curses from mortal souls. Wynnter is a very accomplished user of Restoration, almost certainly of the Apprentice level. She uses these gifts to fix up those who need fixing, be they imperial or stormcloak.
Enchanting
Ripping magic from objects and embedding it within something else and powering the whole process through the use of souls - either white, or black. Wynnter is proficient in tempering weapons with these souls, entwining the steel of anyone who needs it with magical effects.
Conjuration
Ripping holes through planes to summon creatures, ripping flesh asunder to recall lost spirits to serve you, or perhaps summoning spectral weaponry to lighten your load. Conjuration is one of the darker schools of magic however if used correctly it can be a powerful, and just tool which is the way Wynnter considers herself to use it.
Negative Traits
Weak Sword Arm
'And then there came clashing and slashing of steel!' is a line from the common bard song 'Ragnar The Red' and, the line highlights Wynnter's biggest flaw. She isn't too experienced with a blade, instead preferring to use her magic which has left a lasting inefficiency when bladed combat turns up.
Haemophobia
Perhaps a healer shouldn't fear the blood that they treat, and to a degree, Wynnter doesn't - after all she's making the blood go away. However if put into a combat situation where she watches someone get stabbed and the blood squirts out - then she gets nauseous, light headed and she finds herself unable to walk correctly. Perhaps, a fear of blood isn't one hundred percent accurate, but a fear of the blood being drawn.
Overly Compassionate
They say that no man gets left behind, but of course one of the greatest traits that someone can have is being able to call when someone has no hope left and, it's finally time to leave them to their fate. Wynnter doesn't have this ability, in fact it's a trait she lacks all together. If someone's injured you can bet Wynnter will be the last one to leave their side, and the first to open the ale if they pull through.
---
Affiliates
The Imperials and Stormcloaks - The Imperials and Stormcloaks aren't discriminated against when it comes to Wynnters healing, they may not like it but if they want her help they damn well learnt to accept it.
The People of Falkreath - Wynnter is known amongst the people of Falkreath as one of the best healers around, the service may be more expensive than a potion from the local alchemist but it works far faster.
Mr and Mrs Arwyn - Wynnters parents are alive and well up in Solitude, Wynnter doesn't really keep in touch although she writes a letter every so often.
Character Theme
Rise of the Fallen - Brunuhville |
48,917 | 1,320 | 5 | 1,363 | 2,440 | Arnkel
He was awoken from his previous mind-set by a calling. A customer, at the trading stand he owned. It was Du'almak, of course. A darker-toned Imperial, not fighting alongside his Race's cause. He made his way closer, resting one arm against the counter-top. Making his way out of the leaning posture, he nodded. There was a small history between the two. They'd been moderate friends since Arnkel's arrival. Du'almak was responsible for the homesteading of his business, and would be there to use Arnkel as a recommendation. Without him at the start, it'd be a grim future for the Bard, tradesman and blade. There's a lot the two would trust each other with, having worked together on many Espionage Contracts for the town regarding the perculiar increase of Bandit Clans surrounding the Hold.
"So, what word on the street have you got me, this time? Anything I should pass down to other customers?" He smirked lightly to his acquaintance. That's the way it usually was. Arnkel as usually prepared to take the blame for leaking information, covering for his friend.
"If you consider a surprise visit important, then of course. With the Imperial Garrison here, according to what the Guard's say late at night, the Recruiting Officers are going to be here in about 5 minutes. We both know that there are strong Stormcloak supporters here, but that's only the start. Expecting some sort of ramble between the two sides as they try to recruit the entire town. If I were you, Arnkel, I'd make sure you have a good reason for keeping out."
"Huh...Well isn't that something. Cheers, today's going to be a little more interesting than the last, I presume? Well, I'll be sure to pick my side wisely. If we get the Stormcloak's to keep quiet, maybe no one will die, this time. Now, off you go...I've got customers to inform...NEXT!" | Characters
Arnkel Aridmetis
"If it's a debate you want, I hope you brought your verbal shield."
Pronounced - Arn-Kel Arid-Met-Eez
Disclaimer - This image is not mine, at all. If you happen to own this image, or someone who does, please inform me so I can credit the artist if they wish.
Age
27
Gender
Male
Race
Redguard
Appearance
Standing at a height of 6' 2", which is indeed rather tall for his Blood-Relatives and Race, Arnkel is one of the more finer individuals. Finer, being the one's who look untouched and barely hardened, yet with the slight twist that almost every Redguard likes to include. His body structure isn't amazing, let's just say, though it isn't scrawny. He possesses an average build, having some degree of muscle and strength that can be seen physically. He's not the kind of individual you'd look at if you wanted the Ultimate War-Veteran...Though he's not the worst choice in terms of looks. One thing that's agreeable to most is his overall looks. He's not exactly your typical, bearded warrior that looks as dried out as a Draugr in a Desert. His complexion isn't completely smooth, of course, having the thin stubble that stretches across the bottom-half of his head. His hair is moderately long, having the infamous Jet-Black shading that most Redguards proudly own. It blends in well with his Darker Skin, much darker than the paler Nords and Imperials. As for Clothing, the usual traveller's uniform would be worn, with some of the Obtained gems dotted on certain parts of the Overlayers. It isn't flamboyant, nor does it hint towards any signs of major wealth, but it is mainly there to add a little colour to the Dullest shades. However, for when it comes to the Other-Side of him, the Mixture of Leather and Small Iron Patches helps create a more shifty look, especially when accompanied by the famous Redguard Curved Blade.
Occupation
| Trader | Small-Time Blade for Hire |
Personality
Arnkel may have charisma in his appearance, but he isn't the type of person who'd boast about it, and to some surprise he's unlikely going to use it to his advantage unless instructed to do so. He's a pleasant soul, if you are on his side of the blade. Among Falkreath, he's been known for his way of words, having a great ability to persuade himself out of trouble, or even just to barter up some more deals for more interest. Some describe him as having that Business-Personality, meaning his ways of narrowing down someone's desire, or expanding it for his own benefit, are at an impressive rating. Arnkel is one of those people who isn't the most optimistic souls around, though that doesn't stop him from being positive when he can.
Though, what happens to him when things go downhill can be a rather different tale. Arnkel can sometimes find himself becoming very attached to certain individuals, so much that he will put a great deal of trust in, only if he hasn't scouted out the plots of treachery that might occur. This level of trust can make him very downtrodden if something serious were to find itself harming the individual, be it emotional, physical or mental pain. The biggest change in personality is the distance between Tradesman Arnkel, and Armed Arnkel. He isn't too shy of a fight, if he hadn't found a way to talk himself out of it, and can become deadly focused on certain tasks. The Jokes usually wear off, only returning when he's finished up with whatever someone paid him to do. This is sometimes referred to by those close to him as the Two-Faces of Arnk'...
Background
Arnkel is one of those people, those Redguards. Obviously, orphanage usually has a bad turn on a child, yet Arnkel seems to not mind that he also holds this title. He believed, and still is unsure, that he was born in the Lands of Skyrim, more specifically Whiterun, before being given away by his unknown parents to a Trading Caravan group. The Redguard child was taken in, at a very young age, by a Hardened individual of the same blood-origins, named Jou' Lukan. Jou' was an excellent edition to Arnkel's life, being there to guide him through the lands of Skyrim as they'd travel around from Hold to Hold. Having the experience of Travelling and Selling his entire life began to develop those key traits that were going to make him the man he currently is. From here, he learnt the basic skills required to thrive on Skyrim's soil, being vocals and combat. Talking was a priority in this Caravan Trading Group's culture, and the combating methods were to come second. Arnkel deeply looked up to Jou' with great faith in him as a Adoption Father, and even had claimed that he was glad he'd succumbed the Orphan title so he could've met the Elder Redguard.
As time drew on, Arnkel reached the age of 17. The Group had him qualified as a Fully-usable tradesman, giving him his own gear, Pack-Cow and Elven Bodyguard, the standard assortment of Travelling gear that each Tradesman/woman in the Group were presented with. At this point in time, the group was expanding at a rapid rate. Previously only bringing in Younger individuals who were brought into the world by one of their own members, or hiring the odd bodyguard to help with a specific route, yet now was a time with the mass welcoming of new Races from outside origins. This is where Arnkel began to learn about other Blooded-Individuals, their pasts and cultures in life and furthermore respect who they were as individuals. He was specifically told by Jou' that "One shouldn't hate another for the soul they were born as, but only for the soul they had developed into."
More and more began to pour in, and they became much more than the original four Pack-Cows and several individuals. They had become a convoy, a highly recommended service for large-scale transports and message bringing if someone was willing to pay the High-Coin. Yet, this began to be seen as a danger to the group, in the eyes of Jou', and he warned his adopted kin to be wary of the hostility that will come in good time. And as predicted, two months before Arnkel would turn 18, the Group began to travel near Falkreath only to see a horrifying outcome. Falkreath were very dependent on the supplies this Group had brought in, especially now that they brought so much. A New threat had emerged on the pathway, however, with a new Organisation known simply as the Lower-Blade, ambushed them not far from Falkreath's Hold. It wasn't a massacre, as such, because many of those involved from both sides put up an equal fight. The Lower-Blade had trained themselves from Hunters and Mercenaries, which gave them the slight upper-hand against the Natural Combatants. Both groups sustained heavy losses, and Arnkel and Jou' were among the Six survivors of the Caravan's side. This was known as the Great Deconstruction, going down quite infamously throughout Skyrim due to one of the most successful groups being completely disbanded in a single hour.
From there, Arnkel was taken by Jou' to Falkreath's Hold, where the two began to invest their total earnings from their lifetime on refurbishing a Moderately Small-House. They managed to secure themselves a spot, and slowly began to find themselves fitting into their society. They were welcomed by most, for their tragic incident. They began to make coin from making small-time trade, sometimes having to scavenge around the Forests for materials and items to sell, as well as Arnkel using a small talent to emphasise the way of speaking his tales. He successfully had two businesses made, with Jou' at his side, as both a Tradesman once again and a small-time Bard. When certain individuals staying in Inn's learnt of their backgrounds through songs of tale, they began to find out of their Combat effectiveness. And so, a third way of making small-coin was made as the two became local Blades for Hire. They were mainly used by the Local Guards to take care of small Bandit issues, as well as join those of exploring nearby caves and hideouts. They didn't make much, but at least they had something to enjoy. A Year before the Civil War broke out, Jou' was brought a letter from Hammerfell, the homeland to the Redguards. It was from a deep family issue that had occurred, and one that proved to be extremely personal. After a day's worth of arguing, Arnkel came to understand that he should let his Adoption Father leave for his journey alone, allowing him to deal with his life issues whilst Arnkel would stay where it was most safe, Skyrim. It's been a Year since he left, and now the War had broken out. That safety is now miles from where Arnkel could've imagined. And now, the Imperials have moved in to secure Falkreath, which has made business for Arnkel rather difficult.
Positive Traits
Primary - Arnkel shines most when it comes to speech. He's persuasive, decisive, masterful and one that can dive deep into someone's ideas of mischief. Being a Trader, he's seen the majority of Personalities that are out there in the world, finding ways to introduce new meanings of lying, and scouting out if someone had been. It isn't always accurate when it comes to talking normally, but his speeches are known to be quite inspiring, as the Jarl had once used his Bard-ship and ways of words to inspire a Group of Guards before they were sent out to hunt down a Bandit Leader. This also comes into use when it means finding ways to make acquaintances and allies, as well as allowing someone to get them to know him.
Secondary - Arnkel has experience, and was a part of what were described as Natural Fighters, the Traders. His early teachings of self-defence, offence and trickery had given him the extra needed skills to thrive in the world. Now a Professional with a Curved Sword, and other one-handed Blades, as well as not being too useless with Archery, he's not someone you are likely to decimate on the field of combat.
Tertiary - Arnkel is particularly happy with his voice. It can be soothing, yet low-key and gruff in most occasions. It brings a new style of Barding, allowing him to give vocalised effects and atmospheres when singing the songs of his adventures, and requests others happen to make along the way. It can also be used for slight inspiration, mixing with his quick thinking lyrics and improvised tunes to go on the way.
Negative Traits
Primary - Arnkel isn't the strongest man in the world, nor is he the strongest in Falkreath. He may have some decent arm and leg strength, mixing with an overall body build, he hasn't been seen as one of the more impressive looking structures. This sometimes makes it more difficult with the much larger weapons many mercenaries like to boast with. Two-Handed Weapons can be quite a problem with this issue.
Secondary - As mentioned before, he can get quite interested into other's lives and personalities. He's can sometimes save a soft-spot for any individual who has returned the acts of companionship and comrade-traits. This may seem like quite the advantage, but it isn't. It can lead to horrifying effects when one is knocked out of their life completely. Killing someone close to him can cause much silence, making him suddenly draw extremely distant from others within his group or part of his friendship list.
Tertiary - Loathing an individual can take time, and it can take a lot to make him Loath an individual. Where some people rightfully find a reason and place to damn another to death, Arnkel can take some time to fully want someone dead. This can lead to sinister figures escaping his arrest, or even being spared for unjustifiable reasons. However, As Arnkel may seem like a completely good soul, that's far from the question.
Affiliates
Jou' Lukan - Adopted Father/Elder/Carer
Mohstae Bu'Turank - Lower-Blade Officer
General Tullius - Past-Trades Partner
Rolart Lamberta - Nordic Falkreath Guard
Character Theme
Arnkel's Life-Story |
48,918 | 1,320 | 6 | 1,319 | 1,809 | ~Alysse~
The many stalls of the market were boasting some interesting wares. Alysse just smiled gently and nodded to those she recognized as fingers twitched with a itch known to a certain group in Riften. She reached the stall her heard about, her amber-brown eyes glancing over his wares as she stood politely off to the side. Indicating interest if not buying something immediately. Her basket balanced with ease on her hip. Out of the way, and close enough to ward off the pick pockets, well other than herself. She had already decided this one was far too risk to snatch from, and she was too familiar a face. Standing well over her own height had some hand in the matter. The keen shopkeeper would take care of the rest. "Happen to have any books, merchant? Or perhaps you might recommend something?" She smiled with a slightly apologetic smirk. "Hard to find something you've never seen nor heard tell of." With a light laugh she continued to view his wares. "Though, might you know how the rest of the world fares? I've lost touch in my old age and potion fumes." | Full Name
Alysse Lathronien
Age
24
Gender
Female
Race
Nord
---
Appearance
Of average height with pale skin from Skyrim's snowy atmosphere. With amber-brown eyes, she has a arrow straight nose that she is wickedly proud of. A dainty mouth and chin speaking of aristocracy. With hair that matches a raven wing, she generally wears a hood and robes when not on duty, and armor of light leather when on. Though the style and type depend upon what she wishes for that particular day. She also wears a amulet matching her house.
Occupation
Upfront Mage, Undercover Theif
---
Personality
Sly, cunning, and very bored. Alysse enjoys excitement and adventure, something she's worked into her life. She will often give charity to the homeless beggars and orphans. Often buying drinks, while picking the pockets of the drunk patrons behind their backs. Alysse never does something for one reason, unless there is a good reason for it. She has little trust towards Imperials and Altmer, and not due to the war but rather taxes. For all her giving nature, she's a skint flint.
Background
Born to a pair of traveling traders, Alysse's parents were very successful often moving in the high circles of nobility with their wares. However, Alysse was not content with a life of travel and routine dances with each trade. After begging her mother after her father was killed in a bandit raid, Alysse was allowed to study mage craft. Already a adept thief from time spent bored, she kept up her practice on the mages while she studied. After several years she left and fled moved to Skyrim and Falkreath. Now she spends her time running a small apothecary with the local herbalist, and working her magic for the local populace. At night she runs about the town causing a bit of mischief and taking a trinket or two for her own amusement.
Positive Traits
One:
She is very good at Sneaking. Being able to slip through the shadows of forest or a busy street unnoticed. It comes from slipping away from her mother and Mage teachers.
Two:
She's also very good at Conjuring to call up bow, sword or daggers. Never trusting a weapon to be in easy reach since her father's death. She was the top Apprentice in it.
Three:
The last skill she enjoys is lock picking. It's a art she enjoys and perfected. Often sneaking a extra coin from her mother's lock box to get a sweet roll.
Negative Traits
One:
Alysse has a habit of having to steal the extremely rare and valuable. Anything she wants, she'll go after it till she has it.
Two:
She is terrified of chaurus. To the point she freezes up, her magic failing her.
Three:
She also has a weakness for books. Enjoying collecting them to read and stash away for later.
---
Affiliates
Her mother Kethryveris Lathronein lives, running caravans across Tamriel. She dislikes her daughter's choice of work and would rather have her studying or with the caravan. For all her happy-go-lucky attitude, she has few friends outside of the Thieve's Guild, and most there are nothing but acquaintances.
Character Theme
Philosophy by Mercedes Lackey |
48,919 | 1,320 | 7 | 1,363 | 2,440 | Arnkel
Not long after his beckoning of new customers, Arnkel was faved with a vastly, if exaggerated, smaller individual. The person seemed very enthusiastic about her shopping list, which seemed more than out of the ordinary. People like these usually behind some plot to disrupt small-time businesses in hopes to benefit themselves. It's what he had learnt from his trading stops in Riften and Windhelm those years ago. Yet, it wasn't his privacy to snoop around, whether it was truthful or not, especially when small coin was on the line. He looked upon what she was ordering, listening carefully. Taking notes of stockage and customer exchanges were crucial to the trading industry, especially when so keen to catch the odd Purse-Snatcher.
"Happen to have any books, Merchant? Or perhaps you might recommend something? Hard to find something you've never seen nor heard told of. Though, might you know how the rest of the world fares? I've lost touch in my old age and potion fumes." She seemed legitmate, seemed. But it wasn't his place to judge customers with simple requests. Books and World, most likely local, news. It was plausible, and respectful. He responded in the cheerful bartering voice the community knew him by, not by the serious, focused tone.
"Ahh, a reader, resorting to the old techniques of entertainment, I see?" He let out a low chuckle his hands moving to shuffle throughout a resource crate. As they rummaged through, he'd hum the tune of the introductory verse to The Dragonborn Comes. "Aha, you're in luck. I've got five left...this actually could be my reminder for new stocks...Anyway, we've got a few titles here: The Great War, Tales of Nordic Misfortune, which I must say is a good classic of mine, Zu'Laru's Treasure, Oslo's Fortune, a direct sequel, and for some reason a Whiterun 'Home Decorating Guide' for a homestead called...Eh, text's a bit smudged? Unless you're from there, I'd expect it isn't much of a good-seller...As for a recommendation, try finding a copy of Arnkel's Traveling Shop, real good one." He gave yet another cheeky grin at the, to him, comical response. "Right, the news...Well, there was a bandit assault in Whiterun. Real dirty work, probably seven guards and two citizens killed from it. Haven't got names, but it's worth looking into it. Anyway, The Jarl there retaliated and sent the Guards to finally deal with the group. I think they were called the Lower-Blade or something...Problem is, they were successful. The problem with that is they've been driven back quite far, Oroa from our Guard's Barracks said he sighted some near...mus t've chosen Falkreath as a new settling ground. More locally, if you wait a few minutes, the Imperial Recruitment detachment will arrive..I'm sure that'll stir up way more trouble than we are all hoping for." Actually, the truth was, he wasn't expecting peace. It there was a small ruckus, then it'd be more than exciting for the Redguard, Arnkel. | Characters
Arnkel Aridmetis
"If it's a debate you want, I hope you brought your verbal shield."
Pronounced - Arn-Kel Arid-Met-Eez
Disclaimer - This image is not mine, at all. If you happen to own this image, or someone who does, please inform me so I can credit the artist if they wish.
Age
27
Gender
Male
Race
Redguard
Appearance
Standing at a height of 6' 2", which is indeed rather tall for his Blood-Relatives and Race, Arnkel is one of the more finer individuals. Finer, being the one's who look untouched and barely hardened, yet with the slight twist that almost every Redguard likes to include. His body structure isn't amazing, let's just say, though it isn't scrawny. He possesses an average build, having some degree of muscle and strength that can be seen physically. He's not the kind of individual you'd look at if you wanted the Ultimate War-Veteran...Though he's not the worst choice in terms of looks. One thing that's agreeable to most is his overall looks. He's not exactly your typical, bearded warrior that looks as dried out as a Draugr in a Desert. His complexion isn't completely smooth, of course, having the thin stubble that stretches across the bottom-half of his head. His hair is moderately long, having the infamous Jet-Black shading that most Redguards proudly own. It blends in well with his Darker Skin, much darker than the paler Nords and Imperials. As for Clothing, the usual traveller's uniform would be worn, with some of the Obtained gems dotted on certain parts of the Overlayers. It isn't flamboyant, nor does it hint towards any signs of major wealth, but it is mainly there to add a little colour to the Dullest shades. However, for when it comes to the Other-Side of him, the Mixture of Leather and Small Iron Patches helps create a more shifty look, especially when accompanied by the famous Redguard Curved Blade.
Occupation
| Trader | Small-Time Blade for Hire |
Personality
Arnkel may have charisma in his appearance, but he isn't the type of person who'd boast about it, and to some surprise he's unlikely going to use it to his advantage unless instructed to do so. He's a pleasant soul, if you are on his side of the blade. Among Falkreath, he's been known for his way of words, having a great ability to persuade himself out of trouble, or even just to barter up some more deals for more interest. Some describe him as having that Business-Personality, meaning his ways of narrowing down someone's desire, or expanding it for his own benefit, are at an impressive rating. Arnkel is one of those people who isn't the most optimistic souls around, though that doesn't stop him from being positive when he can.
Though, what happens to him when things go downhill can be a rather different tale. Arnkel can sometimes find himself becoming very attached to certain individuals, so much that he will put a great deal of trust in, only if he hasn't scouted out the plots of treachery that might occur. This level of trust can make him very downtrodden if something serious were to find itself harming the individual, be it emotional, physical or mental pain. The biggest change in personality is the distance between Tradesman Arnkel, and Armed Arnkel. He isn't too shy of a fight, if he hadn't found a way to talk himself out of it, and can become deadly focused on certain tasks. The Jokes usually wear off, only returning when he's finished up with whatever someone paid him to do. This is sometimes referred to by those close to him as the Two-Faces of Arnk'...
Background
Arnkel is one of those people, those Redguards. Obviously, orphanage usually has a bad turn on a child, yet Arnkel seems to not mind that he also holds this title. He believed, and still is unsure, that he was born in the Lands of Skyrim, more specifically Whiterun, before being given away by his unknown parents to a Trading Caravan group. The Redguard child was taken in, at a very young age, by a Hardened individual of the same blood-origins, named Jou' Lukan. Jou' was an excellent edition to Arnkel's life, being there to guide him through the lands of Skyrim as they'd travel around from Hold to Hold. Having the experience of Travelling and Selling his entire life began to develop those key traits that were going to make him the man he currently is. From here, he learnt the basic skills required to thrive on Skyrim's soil, being vocals and combat. Talking was a priority in this Caravan Trading Group's culture, and the combating methods were to come second. Arnkel deeply looked up to Jou' with great faith in him as a Adoption Father, and even had claimed that he was glad he'd succumbed the Orphan title so he could've met the Elder Redguard.
As time drew on, Arnkel reached the age of 17. The Group had him qualified as a Fully-usable tradesman, giving him his own gear, Pack-Cow and Elven Bodyguard, the standard assortment of Travelling gear that each Tradesman/woman in the Group were presented with. At this point in time, the group was expanding at a rapid rate. Previously only bringing in Younger individuals who were brought into the world by one of their own members, or hiring the odd bodyguard to help with a specific route, yet now was a time with the mass welcoming of new Races from outside origins. This is where Arnkel began to learn about other Blooded-Individuals, their pasts and cultures in life and furthermore respect who they were as individuals. He was specifically told by Jou' that "One shouldn't hate another for the soul they were born as, but only for the soul they had developed into."
More and more began to pour in, and they became much more than the original four Pack-Cows and several individuals. They had become a convoy, a highly recommended service for large-scale transports and message bringing if someone was willing to pay the High-Coin. Yet, this began to be seen as a danger to the group, in the eyes of Jou', and he warned his adopted kin to be wary of the hostility that will come in good time. And as predicted, two months before Arnkel would turn 18, the Group began to travel near Falkreath only to see a horrifying outcome. Falkreath were very dependent on the supplies this Group had brought in, especially now that they brought so much. A New threat had emerged on the pathway, however, with a new Organisation known simply as the Lower-Blade, ambushed them not far from Falkreath's Hold. It wasn't a massacre, as such, because many of those involved from both sides put up an equal fight. The Lower-Blade had trained themselves from Hunters and Mercenaries, which gave them the slight upper-hand against the Natural Combatants. Both groups sustained heavy losses, and Arnkel and Jou' were among the Six survivors of the Caravan's side. This was known as the Great Deconstruction, going down quite infamously throughout Skyrim due to one of the most successful groups being completely disbanded in a single hour.
From there, Arnkel was taken by Jou' to Falkreath's Hold, where the two began to invest their total earnings from their lifetime on refurbishing a Moderately Small-House. They managed to secure themselves a spot, and slowly began to find themselves fitting into their society. They were welcomed by most, for their tragic incident. They began to make coin from making small-time trade, sometimes having to scavenge around the Forests for materials and items to sell, as well as Arnkel using a small talent to emphasise the way of speaking his tales. He successfully had two businesses made, with Jou' at his side, as both a Tradesman once again and a small-time Bard. When certain individuals staying in Inn's learnt of their backgrounds through songs of tale, they began to find out of their Combat effectiveness. And so, a third way of making small-coin was made as the two became local Blades for Hire. They were mainly used by the Local Guards to take care of small Bandit issues, as well as join those of exploring nearby caves and hideouts. They didn't make much, but at least they had something to enjoy. A Year before the Civil War broke out, Jou' was brought a letter from Hammerfell, the homeland to the Redguards. It was from a deep family issue that had occurred, and one that proved to be extremely personal. After a day's worth of arguing, Arnkel came to understand that he should let his Adoption Father leave for his journey alone, allowing him to deal with his life issues whilst Arnkel would stay where it was most safe, Skyrim. It's been a Year since he left, and now the War had broken out. That safety is now miles from where Arnkel could've imagined. And now, the Imperials have moved in to secure Falkreath, which has made business for Arnkel rather difficult.
Positive Traits
Primary - Arnkel shines most when it comes to speech. He's persuasive, decisive, masterful and one that can dive deep into someone's ideas of mischief. Being a Trader, he's seen the majority of Personalities that are out there in the world, finding ways to introduce new meanings of lying, and scouting out if someone had been. It isn't always accurate when it comes to talking normally, but his speeches are known to be quite inspiring, as the Jarl had once used his Bard-ship and ways of words to inspire a Group of Guards before they were sent out to hunt down a Bandit Leader. This also comes into use when it means finding ways to make acquaintances and allies, as well as allowing someone to get them to know him.
Secondary - Arnkel has experience, and was a part of what were described as Natural Fighters, the Traders. His early teachings of self-defence, offence and trickery had given him the extra needed skills to thrive in the world. Now a Professional with a Curved Sword, and other one-handed Blades, as well as not being too useless with Archery, he's not someone you are likely to decimate on the field of combat.
Tertiary - Arnkel is particularly happy with his voice. It can be soothing, yet low-key and gruff in most occasions. It brings a new style of Barding, allowing him to give vocalised effects and atmospheres when singing the songs of his adventures, and requests others happen to make along the way. It can also be used for slight inspiration, mixing with his quick thinking lyrics and improvised tunes to go on the way.
Negative Traits
Primary - Arnkel isn't the strongest man in the world, nor is he the strongest in Falkreath. He may have some decent arm and leg strength, mixing with an overall body build, he hasn't been seen as one of the more impressive looking structures. This sometimes makes it more difficult with the much larger weapons many mercenaries like to boast with. Two-Handed Weapons can be quite a problem with this issue.
Secondary - As mentioned before, he can get quite interested into other's lives and personalities. He's can sometimes save a soft-spot for any individual who has returned the acts of companionship and comrade-traits. This may seem like quite the advantage, but it isn't. It can lead to horrifying effects when one is knocked out of their life completely. Killing someone close to him can cause much silence, making him suddenly draw extremely distant from others within his group or part of his friendship list.
Tertiary - Loathing an individual can take time, and it can take a lot to make him Loath an individual. Where some people rightfully find a reason and place to damn another to death, Arnkel can take some time to fully want someone dead. This can lead to sinister figures escaping his arrest, or even being spared for unjustifiable reasons. However, As Arnkel may seem like a completely good soul, that's far from the question.
Affiliates
Jou' Lukan - Adopted Father/Elder/Carer
Mohstae Bu'Turank - Lower-Blade Officer
General Tullius - Past-Trades Partner
Rolart Lamberta - Nordic Falkreath Guard
Character Theme
Arnkel's Life-Story |
48,920 | 1,321 | 0 | 943 | 214 | ‘’Time, but a passageway, a passageway... I am perpetual. The beginning of the end, and an end that never is.’’
‘’I don’t understand.’’
‘’…Perpetual.’’
‘’Is that your name?’’
No response.
DUSK
‘’My friends, I do not know much more than you do. But it appears that all over the world, there is one unknown word entering the minds of certain selected flock. ‘Elvarren.’ A word with a strange and hypnotic effect, a word that speaks to our instincts to search for it. And that is only the beginning, because the voice conveying to us about Elvarren gets only stronger and all the more impatient. It is my belief we are not suffering from schizophrenia… these voices aren’t delusions. They are sentient and external intelligence seeking to set us on a new path.
You have already heard them, haven’t you?
Their urgency is not unfounded either. There are men in grey suits after you. You might’ve already seen them. They started showing up across the continents about the same time people like us began to turn up with these abilities. There is something much greater at hand -- something happening to our world, but it is not yet ready to reveal itself… And the voice of Elvarren isn’t helping either. Nor do we know yet what Elvarren even is. But whatever it is; it is the key to everything. Yes. Everything. I believe this to be the truth. And so we cannot give up.’’
Dusk speaks to the people currently assembled. Ishalan, Mirage, Puppeteer, Kaesar, Quiet and Horus. Those are their new names, and let none think otherwise! They reside in an old and decaying cabin. Why has Dusk led these people to this place specifically? Mostly because there is a stove. Pretty outdated, looks to be made last century. But when you’re this far north, even during springtime, in this vast forested terrain… you will learn to appreciate such a thing.
The place is not very large. Upon entering you come into a living room; a couch hugging the right wall besides it, and an archaic refrigerator and kitchen sink in the corner. The head of a stag is mounted above the front door. At the back of the room are three doors. Two leading to separate bedrooms, and the middle door leading to a very small bathroom, with one toilet and an oldschool bathtub. No shower. And there is no running water either – it has to be fetched from the nearby river.
The right bedroom hosted only a single bed, with the unconscious Jay lying in it. The other bedroom was completely empty. Dusk only prepared three sleeping bags there. With one sleeping bag remaining for the right bedroom due to lack of space.
‘’All in all, we have one bed, four sleeping bags and a couch for one of us to sleep on in the living room.. That’s enough for six people. I’m sorry I could not prepare any more. I did not think I would actually be able to find this many of you. Please make due with what we have.’’
Dusk pauses for a bit.
‘’…I guess we will have to switch turns sleeping, eh? It’s up to you. I suppose since I’m the one responsible for you being here, I’ll be sleeping on the floor.
It is a time of great urgency for us. You need to keep low at all costs. I do not know if ‘they’ have followed us. But it seems they are capable of discovering people with our abilities even in the most unlikely of places. How? By what otherworldly means? I have no idea. Either way, I ask you all to please not leave this cottage, or at least as little as possible...
And if you do leave, inform me or Aries. I won’t ask more than to please be lenient with one another.
See this as an opportunity to really get to know eachother and maybe experiment with your talents… communicate with the voices in your head. For the coming days I need to leave you all. The Perpetual tells me more people have come to this continent. I need to find them and bring them here; before the Greymen do.
I like to think we are all part of the same brotherhood now. So while I am away; could you all prepare sleeping bags and rations to last us at least a few weeks? And be sure to listen to Aries… Just please don’t do anything rash or dangerous. Or something that makes too much noise or otherwise draw attention.
It is Monday. I will try to be back before Thursday evening.
Take care, everyone.’’
With those words; Dusk departs from the cabin once more. They had only been here for a day. Who is that guy, anyway? Dusk has an unexplainable calming effect on others. It makes you want to trust him. It might be his calm and friendly demeanor, or is it perhaps the mind-altering effect of his power..? | I am perpetual.What are you?
''Carl or Karel Pääsuke''
Is that your name? To stay out of harms way you will thenceforth go by a new one. What will it be?
''Dusk''
For how long have you so far lived?
''Nineteen years, a bit more.''
I cannot yet perceive your world. Describe to me your own manifestation.
''I have skin and eyes and teeth and ears and a nose. For some reason I like to point this out specifically -- a voice like you, but tied to a body. My eyes are hazel, my hair oaken brown. I'm lean and about average height, maybe an inch or so taller, not by much. I have a scar across my lip, at the right. (don't ask.) I have a thin jawline with what one would probably refer to as 'softer' features, which may seem contradictory if you've ever seen me get... passionate over something.
I generally dress in, well, whatever I can find. I'm rather fond of tie-dye and converse shoes. I like bright colours, though admittedly, they do draw people's attention to me, which I don't need. Still, I can't help myself. Often my shoes don't match as I am on the run and have little time to care about how I look. And in these colder climates, I make certain to use many layers of clothing. You really have to just learn to wear what you find. I also tend to have writing all over my arms. When I need to remember something, I don't bother with notepads. You can lose a notepad easily, but you can't lose an arm... Well, at least you can't lose it easily.''
You sensed the power awakening. What is it?
''I am a telepath and a mindwalker. I can go into people's minds when they get to a close enough range and see their thoughts, memories, even manipulate them. This all depends on the person's will and if they know what I'm doing. I can read minds, though, but I try to control that. I get bits and pieces sometimes, but I can supress it, choose not to hear. I try to do this as much as possible, but it gets hard to control sometimes. And occasionally, I'll slip into someone else's dream unintentionally. It can get difficult to sort out reality from dreaming sometimes.
Another problem I have is sometimes... I just hear things. I don't mean to. When I was younger, I remember I heard thoughts all the time and I couldn't control it. Just a flood of minds, of useless information. It got to the point where I thought about ending it just to stop it all. But I did eventually learn to control it. Open minds no longer plague me, I can close them off. But closed minds... those are the mysteries, the ones I actually have difficulty reaching. I can't help from trying sometimes. Sue me, I get curious.
My manipulation may be a bit unnerving to some, as if I caught you off guard and my energy was high, I might be able to force you to kill yourself. I never would, though. Never. This is a hard thing to force someone to do, though. Unless they want to die.
Dreams sometimes change at my will, but only other people's. And I can't always help it. It's not like I mean to go messing about in people's heads, it just happens sometimes. Especially if I'm asleep, when my guard is down. That's why I try to stay out of range of people at night. You never know.''
What do you think I am?
''I don’t know. But you are certainly as inquisitive about me as I am about you. I suppose we have that much in common. I tried pressing you for answers, but you won’t give away much. Stubborn, huh?''
Where upon this world did you initially dwell?
''Does it matter?''
Not anymore.
Why did you go out and seek this lost tribe at the word of a perpetual entity as myself?
''You told me to, and I knew someone had to do it. I believe I have this ability for a reason… To draw out people like me. To protect them. Unknown powers are at work.''
Would there be something you wish me to hear; speak it now.
''Forgive Aries, for he knows not what he says.''
That is all.
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
‘’Whatever you say, chap.’’
What is your real name?
‘’Yoan Ognyanov. Can you pronounce that?’’
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
‘’I was thinking Rex… No.. Caesar! Yes, call me Caesar. ‘C’ pronounced like a K. like Kaiser. So.. You know what; just write it like ‘Kaeser’ yes? Saves everyone the confusion.’’
How old are you, anyway?
‘’Twenty-two.’’
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
‘’A bit moderately built. Pretty athletic, I like sports. I remember being tanned but since I don’t see much sun anymore – am getting pretty pale. Darkbrown hair, pronounced cheekbones in my face, also stubbles because I often forget to shave. I keep my hair short, but you won’t see it I reckon, ‘cuz I mostly wear a beanie.
Clothes I wear are sturdy, dark leather boots and trousers with a bomber jacket. Also got gloves to beat someone’s head in, just in case. Also, because of my ability I need to wear sunglasses pretty much all the time. No, it's not to look cool and hardcore, nor is it a fashion statement. Trust me.’’
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
‘’It’s weird but it seems I can hypnotize people or something? Not sure if that’s how you call it, but it seems I can rouse up a group of people into lynching someone if I really wanted to. Granted; this probably won’t work on people that also have these… voices in their heads, or whatever. I seem to have a pretty good grasp on other people.
Being cool and stoic is always just a façade by people that think they’re coldblooded badasses. I can break the façade and put those faggots in their place if I wanted to. Not just people but even animals can sense my anger and be affected by it.
But that is just how I can affect people that are within a certain radius around me. I also have a stronger form of this power. The power to almost brainwash someone when that person looks me in the eyes. I do not have full power over what happens to the person, but they are often paralyzed when I do this. Just look me in the eyes and know fear! Fucking delicious. I wish people did it more often. And then I will be able to use my killer line:
‘’What, your mom never taught you not to make eye contact with FERAL BEASTS?’’
Har har har! Badass.
Anyway. To avoid this happening to allies I need to wear sunglasses, ye?’’
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
‘’He’s a cunt.
Well; he/it seems to look out for me. Calls me ‘Offspring of tyrants’, whatever that means. Feeds my ego occasionally, tells me to assert my dominance and carve out my own territory. Probably doesn’t understand we’re living in the 21th century. At best maybe if I travel to Canada I can come across some Indians and convince them to worship me as some shamanic messenger of god. I think I got that idea from some movie though. Is that what the Voice wants? Sounds cool enough.
I call him ‘Am’, because he never finished his line.’’
‘’I am.’’
‘’Am what?’’
‘’Am.’’
‘’Okay.’’
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
‘’Originally from Bulgaria. Moved to the US when I was very young. As for ‘looking’? You know, I’ve always had the feeling I had to find something, but I never knew what that was. Maybe it was Elvarren? I kept hearing that word, no idea where I heard it from originally. Seems painfully familiar though..’’
How did you end up here?
‘’I’m following you, Dusk. You fished me out of the crowd, remember? First time seeing someone with the same powers. There are probably some things you can teach me. Also, I have some unfinished business with that girl traveling with you.’’
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
‘’You better tell me everything that you know. I only agreed to follow you because I came looking for answers.’’
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
‘’Hrm. I was fine on my own…’’ |
48,921 | 1,321 | 1 | 2,678 | 905 | What was the point of all this? Gathering them in one place would make the whole group an easier target if "The Men in Grey" as he called it showed up. How would he know if this wasn't a trap? Luring us all in one place all the easier to get picked. There were so many questions that he had but something felt right in all this. Not talking about how calming Dusk's aura was, it just felt like he was finally on the right road, the road to Elvarren. He would go with his instinct for now. If they made it through this night, there was little to no chance that the Grey Men were a part of this "act".
"Instinct? When has that ever helped anyone? Listen to me, when night comes, pack your things, steal some other things and leave. You can go wherever you want. And if by chance they get you, you know the cottage, rat them out. Free Pass!"
"What about Elvarren? This could be the only chance I ever get to find it."
"Forget the place, make your own "Elvarren" on some exotic beach. You know there is an easy way to make money with your powers, you HAVE thought of it. And before you cry to me about the Grey Men, well ask yourself this, have you ever seen them again after you left your home town? NO. Because I taught you how to handle things, leave no traces. You could have a good life."
"...Ha.hahahaha, you seem extremely rational this conversation. Usually you would whisper and scream nonsense in an attempt to push me over the edge, to do what you wanted. This time thought you are using logic. Is something wrong? You don't want me to be here? THE MORE reason I have to actually stay then."
After that silence. It was the first time in ages that the voice had gone quiet. Was he right on his assumption? Was this a way for the voice to admit defeat? Wait, since the first time he heard the voice, he thought it was the same as the other one, urging him to search Elvarren. But they both voice different things. If they are truly the same, maybe this was a sort of test? A test if he was worthy to find Elvarren? Grrrhhh!
He clenched his fist very tight, almost drawing blood. Again, AGAIN the voice had put the boy in an internal conflict, in doubt. The more he thought about it the angrier he got. Trying to deny the voice any more achievements, he quickly put the conversation on the back of his head and addressed the others.
"Calling dibs on the bed."- were his first audible words, seeing as no one else was taking the initiative. | Aries
What is my real name?
Tobias Wever. But you wouldn’t know that. To you, I’m Aries.
Age?
I’m 26 years old.
What would you see looking at me?
Well… Pretty generic looks. Slightly feminine features. Quite tall, but don’t ask me to be specific, me and Dusk have been away from any tape measures for quite some time now. Taller than most men I encounter anyway. Not that there are many….
I have brown eyes and dark auburn hair that is usually messy. I don’t care much about mirrors, with my abilities what I end up seeing there isn’t always pleasant anyway. Cuts, bruises and a ghastly pale skin… No, thank you. I’m not fond of my looks and that’s why I don’t care about clothes either. A t-shirt and a jacket or shirt is my usual attire (shirts are good for covering scars and for stopping any bleeding. Win-win.)
What is my ability?
I can heal people. Simple as that.
Well… almost. The wounds get transferred to me. I can then heal myself, given that I have enough energy. I’m used to doing it by now and I have a pretty high pain threshold as I have the compulsion to help (I blame Dusk). But needless to say it’s not entirely pleasant. Also, the bigger the wound, the more energy I need so it can be troublesome.
The Voice?
Yeah, of course I have it, we all do. But I’d rather not talk about it.
Where did I come from, and how long have I been looking for Elvarren?
Netherlands. Too long.
How did I end up here?
Very good question. One more thing I can blame Dusk for. Well, I would like to anyway. Though things would have probably ended up the same anyway, even if his abilities hadn’t awoken before mine. But that’s beside the point. The point is that we went to school together, and we were in the same class. Not exactly “friends” until he started losing his grasp on reality. And I’ve been following him since. I’d trust him with my life… even if I don’t always trust him to take care of his own.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
Dusk is a dumbass.
….
Thank you, that felt good.
Jay
Theme
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
….Okay. That’s a good start…
What is your real name?
Catherine St.Clair.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Haha, don’t worry, it wasn’t my real name anyway.
Alias, huh? Hmm… Well, I like trinkets and I’m very pretty and colourful. How about Jay?
How old are you, anyway?
Let’s say… 20?
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I was born with good looks – something I’m still conflicted how I feel about. That’s why I dye my hair green – it seems most guys don’t have the balls to approach someone with green hair, and whoever does is usually nerdy enough and easy to get rid of. …or very bored and up for a challenge.
Yet, I can’t help myself and strive to look good. I can’t wear baggy or ripped or stained things. Well, unless that’s the point of them. See, clothes set the mood so you have to wear what’s appropriate for the occasion. I mostly manage. Though not so much this time.
When I put this dress on, the intention was to go to the club and have some fun. Originally it wasn’t so ripped and stained and stinky either, believe me. But I didn’t expect to end up in the fucking city dump… Man, I bet I look like a joke right now. This is embarrassing. Can I borrow some clothes?
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
My power… I don’t usually discuss that with strangers but given how you quite literally saved my life…
I never really bothered thinking up a name for it… “Transfer”? “Fake”? “Appropriate”? In any case, it’s quite straight-forward – I can temporarily “steal” the quality a certain item or material possesses. Say a feather can drift in the wind currents and so can I. A fish can breathe under water and so can I. I can make my skin tough as a tree bark and my nails sharp as talons… If I’m lucky enough to have a cat around, I could steal its reflexes… it only works with solid things, though. I can’t turn my body to liquid or anything near as powerful as becoming transparent. I can only gain the properties for a short while – up to a few minutes and it can be quite dangerous… what do I do after I take off the ground and am already too high to just drop? I try not to think about that.
When it comes to people, unfortunately I can’t steal other people’s and power users’ abilities, though I’m working on achieving that. Occasionally it works in my dreams, when I use it on those creatures, but I still find it hard to be able to touch those creatures and not get hurt myself…
Yeah, that is the catch. I need to touch the things I want to copy from. That’s why so far it only works with items. I’ve tried using my ability on humans. Unfortunately, they have passed out before I could acquire any of their qualities… But once I got to touch a power user… and nothing happened! I didn’t steal their power, but I felt it… unfortunately I had to back off before anything bad happened – I wouldn’t like to risk my life just for an experiment. Though I’m quite eager to try that again…
But otherwise it’s useful. I can also assign the property to another item – make water colder than it was and even make a rock as light as a leaf. But… that comes at a big cost. I can use my ability on myself easily, but when I try to transfer a quality to something else it makes me very tired… and hungry. I try to generally avoid doing that but there’s been more than one case when it’s come extremely useful.
Did I mention I’m a pretty decent fighter? I’m not a shoalin or anything that spectacular but so far I’ve managed to survive. I can take on men and even soldiers on the odd occasion. Of course, it might have to do with the fact that I play dirty. Quite dirty...
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
I don’t know much about it actually. He/she isn’t very talkative. I get a sense that she knows more than she’s telling me and I can’t tell if she is incapable or reluctant to tell me. Either way, she’s not much help with anything. Very occasionally she’ll warn me about something but it’s so quiet that I can’t tell whether it’s real or I’ve imagined it. Given how you yourself have that voice in your head, it’s probably real.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
L.A. Well, that’s where I grew up. Since I turned 13 I’ve been on the road though, so I couldn’t really call any place home. I started looking for Elvarren when I was 16.
How did you end up here?
Well… you know, right?
How did you find me anyway? After a week on that dump I thought I would die there. You and Aries turning up was like a small miracle. Well, not a small one. I am really indebted to you guys. I hope I can repay you. Thank you for taking care of my injuries too. That gang… they really meant business, didn’t they?
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I can’t think of anything right now. Thank you for asking.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Good to meet you too. Really good. |
48,922 | 1,321 | 2 | 2,722 | 72 | It was a foggy morning in the deep forests surrounding the Jackman Flats cabin. Within the misty trees was a human figure treading his way carefully around exposed roots and loose rocks. Clutched within his left hand were several hares all hanging limply by their legs. Each one sporting the same wound. A bloody eye and a pin-sized hole in the back of their skulls as if something very small shot through their eye and escaped out the back. This was Luci and he was currently making his way back to the cabin with food in hand for Dusk, Aries, the infirm girl who was found shortly after he arrived, and the rest of group of misfits that Dusk had collected.
Hmm I wonder if Dusk ever came back from wherever it is he disappears to. He thought to himself as the cabin came into view.
As he neared the cabin a strange feeling washed over him and he looked at the building in surprise. He could sense several new people moving about in the building. Specifically he could sense whatever metal trinkets they had kept on their persons. For him metal isn't just something he can control. It's something he co-exists with. It's a part of him albeit not physically. Almost as if they all had individual souls that call out to him. No information was passed instead he was able to sense and feel the metal around him. It was through this sense that he's able to reach out to the 'souls' of metal and control it.
"Time to go meet the newbies." He said to himself in a playful tone as he scampered off to the cabin quickly arriving at the front door in minutes. As he neared the door the handle seemed to twist on its own and the door swung noiselessly on its hinges. A cabin like this would normally squeak in every place imaginable but after the few days he has been here, and through great effort, he managed to pull out all the old hinges and made new ones with the scrap metal he kept on hand. No rust afflicted metal would grate his ears ever again if he could help it. Walking through the main living room he scanned the various faces scattered throughout the room picking out the new ones from the old. From the old faces he noticed one, Dusk, was missing. This was understandable as he almost never stuck around for long. Out of the group of faces six were new.
Speaking of old faces it looks like the infirm has finally woken up. He noticed that in the room with the only bed the unconsious girl that had been brought back by Aries and Dusk. When she had arrived she was a complete mess to put it lightly. Luci had been told she was found in the dump, and her body proved it. The cabin reeked of unimaginable, unholy smells and it wasn't long before a few of the females in the group banded together to wash up the infirm. With dead hares in hand he swiftly crossed the gap between him and the side room, ignoring any odd looks along the way, and entered the side room.
"Looks like the infirm finally woke up. Smells a whole less worse, too. River's to the south west. If you need any assistance finding it I'd be of great help." He said with a warm smile, "I myself arrived here about three days ago and have spent most that time outside as it's quite cramped. Plus while everyone else is adjusting I decided it would be a good idea to find food. Can't have everyone starving to death, you know!"
His body language was open and friendly as if he wanted nothing more than to be friends with the person in front of him yet that warmth didn't quite reach his eyes. Instead he looked down at this woman with a neutral gaze almost as if it didn't matter if she were to cuss him out or thank him. He'd just continue on with his life and go back to whatever task was at hand. | Real Name?
The name's Lui Cullins though not like any of you would know that.
Alias Then?
You can call me Luci. Yes, Luci.
How Old Are You?
Twenty-four!
Describe Yourself. What Do You Look Like?
You're looking at me ain't ya? It's fairly plain to see. I'm 'bout five seven or five eight in height. That's feet and inches of course. My hair is raven colored not black. It looks black but that's because you're clearly blind. Could use a nice, hot shower probably. It's pretty grimy. I'm pretty tan, too, check it out. I'd blend in pretty well in a crowd if I cleaned up if it weren't for one detail that sticks out like a sore thumb. My eyes are a brilliant blue color. They're practically like crystals embedded in my skull. Ain't that neat? Got it from my mother's side, ya'know. Genes really helped me out there. Didn't end up like all my siblings with their muddy, dirty brown eyes. My fashion sense is a little bland I guess. T-shirts, black jeans, and zip-up hoodies. Ooh exciting!
I Hear You Have An Ability.
You bet your sweet ass I do! Think Magneto from the comics except instead of being able to control all forms of magnetism I just straight up control the metal itself. No lame magnetism needed. How would I know the difference? Easy, of course. I don't just control Iron, Cobalt, and Nickle which are all naturally magnetic. I can mess with precious metals like silver and gold as well. Just imagine the applications! I can take a piece of metal and do all sorts of things to it. Move it around? Child work. Change its shape? Of course! Vaporize it into a mist and watch your enemies inhale it so that you can ravage their internals out of sight? Yeah! Well, not really. Changing the physical properties is pretty taxing mentally for now, but I'm getting better at it!
How About The Voice. What's It Like?
Oh she's the best! Well maybe it's a he. I don't really know, actually. They sometimes sound male, sometimes female, and it never really stays constant either. It calls itself the Perpetual, but I just like to call it Petal. Why would I want to imagine a dude's voice in my head anyways. Anyways this voice is actually pretty interesting when it actually decides to speak. Mostly it asks questions, and is pretty curious too. Sometimes it'll get pretty bossy and tell me what to do. I know it's for the best because without these orders I never would have been able to get this far. Petal has taught me the importance of feeding and even warned me about these weird men in grey suits I've often seen in places I've been to.
Where're You From? How Long Have You Been Searching For Elvarren?
Well I was born in Arkansas. What are you surprised? Yeah I know I've got no accent, but that ain't what we're talking about. Big ol' family there. Mom, Dad, and several siblings of various age groups. I was the fourth of six kids. Six kids! With so many siblings my folks never really did keep a close eye on me so I explored outside the house quite often. I practically grew up outside of my home. Especially once I applied my abilities to aiding my exploration skills. Once I figured out how to drive a car I never had a reason to go back home. After doing some cleaning up I left home and traveled the States looking for the elusive Elvarren, but never did find it.
How Did You End Up Here?
That is a good question! I'd like to think of it as a predator's intuition. Oh, but don't get the wrong idea! It's not like I'm hunting you guys or anything. I meant Elvarren! Yeah, I'm hunting Elvarren. So as I traveled around from place to place with each stop more unlikely to hold the secrets to Elvarren than the last I found myself on the Canadian border. As I looked past the security check into the country beyond I had a gut feeling. An instinctual feeling that I'd find what I was looking for outside of American soil. Plus, Petal agreed with me. She said it was a good idea, too.
Got Anything Else You'd Like To Say?
I'm sure you and I are going to get along quite well. |
48,923 | 1,321 | 3 | 2,068 | 714 | Kasey sat and listened intently as the situation was explained. Despite the apparent seriousness of the situation, he couldn’t help but feel a little relived. The idea of using fake names didn’t quite sit right, but it felt good to not be worried about the people around him. Since he had started his trip, the voice had done nothing but warn Kasey about strangers. It seemed to approve of the current situation though; it hadn’t said a word since he got to the cabin. Maybe it understood the situation, or maybe it was just sleeping or something. Kasey really wasn’t too sure how they worked, but he liked to be optimistic.
“Have a safe trip” Kasey said with a smile as Dusk made his way out of the cabin. Something about him seemed to make Kasey lower his guard a little more than usual. There was a moment of silence in the cabin, it seemed as though no one knew what to say, until someone finally spoke up and claimed the bed. He smiled a little as he could feel the tension in the room weaken a little, before a man made his way through the room holding several dead hares. Kasey didn’t much care for hunting himself, but he couldn’t help feeling a little relived. He was a little worried about food since his own supplies were starting to run out, so it was good to hear that someone had the group’s best interests in mind. But since the tension had been broken for now, Kasey thought it was probably a good enough time to speak up.
“Um, I wouldn’t mind taking the first shift. Of not sleeping that is. I don’t mind, I used to pull a lot of all nighters. Oh, and my name is K- Uh, I mean, Quiet. Not quite used to this whole fake name thing yet” He said with a bit of a nervous smile. The whole idea of using a fake name seemed a little excessive to him, but if it was the way things were done then he would be happy to take part. It almost felt a little like being in a club or something like that, but with a little more danger. Kasey left all his friends behind when he left, so he wanted to make as good an impression as he could right out of the gate.
“It seems like we might be here for a bit, so why don’t we make the best of it and get to know each other a little more.” He said with another quick glance around the room. He saw that a few people around the room seemed a little tense, so he thought it might be a good idea to try and get everyone talking. | What is your real name?
Well people say you shouldn’t give your real name out to strangers… But you seem pretty nice, I guess… Its Kacey. Kasey Stone.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Uh, I don’t think so… What about Quiet? Well my brother used to make fun of me since I have a habit of talking a lot but, it was light-hearted and I always kinda liked- Oh, sorry I’m doing it again…
How old are you, anyway?
I’m… How old am I? Well if I was born… and then I was two years younger than James… So I’m 18! Well almost 19, but you know, still 18 for the moment.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
Huh? Oh, well pretty normal I guess? I’m shorter than a lot of guys my age, a fair bit thinner too. I have sort of blondish, brownish hair. I like to wear more baggy clothes, usually a hoodie and some jeans but I don’t care too much about fashion. As long as I am warm and comfy, I don’t really care what I look like. My face is pretty normal too, and I have hazel eyes. My brother always used to say they were just green, but I know they are hazel! He was just jealous since his eyes were brown like Dad’s.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
Oh… Well apart from the… you know… touching thing… I can also do something else. It’s kinda hard to explain, and it took me a long time figure out what it did. But, I can hear rhythm. I can hear the rhythm of someone’s breathing, I can sense the rhythm in their footsteps. And if I match the rhythm, like if I tap with my finger or something, I can make the sound a lot quieter. I used to make my footsteps quiet so I could sneak up on my brother. I have tried making sounds louder, but that’s a lot harder to do. And I can only do it on one thing at a time, if I try to do more than one I end up just getting confused. Plus, It requires a lot of concentration. But it was really useful for sneaking around at night.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
Oh, the voice! Well she doesn’t talk a lot but whenever she does, it always makes me feel a little better. She is nice, and helps me out sometimes! Sometimes she says some pretty creepy stuff, but she just wants what is best for me. She helped me find my way here, so she can’t be all bad. But she tells me to touch people… And I don’t want to do that anymore. But she says I need to feed, so sometimes I will find a mouse or like a cat or something… I always feel bad after that…
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
Well I was born and raised in Toronto. I lived with my Dad and my brother James. My mum died giving birth to me, so I never got to know her. Oh, but I was really happy with James and Dad. We didn’t have a lot of money since Dad took care of both of us, but we had a roof over our head and food on the table. It was a lot of fun… But I… Well one day I had to go. And that’s when I started looking for Elvarren.
How did you end up here?
A few months ago something happened and I decided I had to leave. I would rather not talk about it… But that’s when the voice started giving me directions, and I started following and eventually I made my way here. I walked most of the way, occasionally hitchhiked. The voice told me it was a bad idea, but I didn’t see an issue with it. I met some really nice people, like one guy who was driving a truck through town gave me a lift, and we listened to old songs on his radio. He was kinda - Oh, sorry, I’m rambling again…
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
Well… Do you know if someone can get... Actually never mind, it’s not too important…
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Thanks, it's good to meet you too! |
48,924 | 1,321 | 4 | 2,549 | 441 | Mirage stood among the others, Traveling there had taken a solid two months of travel to get from his home in the Bahamas to the wilderness of Canada, Only to find that where he was lead to by the 'Siren' was some old ass Cabin. While Dusk spoke to them, he looked around, Getting a feel for the place that for the moment was going to be his current residence for the foreseeable future.
He turned his head back to Dusk as he got done explaining somethings before claiming he was heading out for some reason that, if Dusk has explained Mirage hadn't caught it. Watching their host leave just like that, Mirage slid a hand through his hair, just as someone called Dibs on the bed, And another walked through carrying some caught meat. "I'm good with whatever" Mirage said out loud. "I'm Mirage by the way" grabbing his travel worn pack and opening the top he pulled out some bottled waters "Catch" the only warning any of them got, before he tossed a bottle to everyone "i don't have much, but since we are going to be living together, might as well share right?" it wasn't much but it was better then nothing.
Once done and he'd cracked open his bottle and drained half of it before sliding the bottle into his pocket he grabbed out a pair of thick, Leather gloves, Slipping them onto his hands. He'd learned about the draining thing the hard way, the reason he had the long white scar going down the left side of his face, And why he promised himself he'd never be ignorant again of what he was capable of. "Right, so what now?" he asked everyone, Seemed like a simple enough question, But for everyone in that cabin, in the middle of a forest it was possibly a question that had no 'true' answer. | What is your real name?
Gideon Lotts
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Mirage seems fitting
How old are you, anyway?
Twenty Seven..no, Twenty Eight
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
Standing at 6'2, built and muscular. I'll wear whatever is available, makes no difference to me, they are just clothes. I've got tattoos on both arms, moving from the shoulders and down the arms to the wrist. My hair is black with a bit of white running through in to give it a grey look, and i usually wear it long, my most distinguishing feature is the scar that runs down the left side of my face, from forehead to chin.. Very nearly lost my eye.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
to Create Illusions, but so much more. They can be simple shadows at the edge of your vision to fully realized creations that reach so deep into the minds of those that see them, they are as real as anything else.. at least that is what i get they can be.. not quite there yet.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
The voice. *sighs* a Siren calling from the darkness. Its voice like a whisper in the ear, tempting me, guiding me, but never revealing anything more then a sliver of information.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
Was born in the Bahamas. Sun, Sand, and Women! come on what more could you ask for right? as for looking for Elvarren well for as long as the darkness and weakness began, but that one bit of hope remained, that one word.
How did you end up here?
Walking, Hitchhiking, ore Walking, and Boats.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
Don't eat Yellow Snow!! |
48,925 | 1,321 | 5 | 2,587 | 440 | Collab With:
Fuchsia slammed her back into the inside of the empty train car. Heavy breaths came to her, filling her lungs with the frigid night air, as her knees began to tremble. Did they hear her? Did they see her? No no, this wasn't right-- she was trapped now-- The scrape of stone against stone, gravel being disturbed, caused her anxious thoughts to halt. What made Fuchsia the most fearful about her pursuers, those strange men in Grey, was the fact that they just kept finding her. No matter how far she went, how many times she lost them, they would be there, at a distance or in a corner, walking steadily toward her. Taking a deep breath, Fuchsia held it, so that she could concentrate on listening.
Softly was the sound of drizzling rain, collecting in puddles and trickling down the side of the rusty train car. Bugs chorused in the night, accenting the quiet, almost lulling Fuchsia into a sense of safety. Were it not for the steady crunch of gravel beneath foot, she would have found the night peaceful relax. But there it was, steady, though it was getting softer, it seemed. As her legs shook she inwardly screamed for them to stop-- she needed to be steady, quick, and silent if she were to escape this train car and get into the thick treeline. Gently she placed one soaked foot before the other, clinging to the inside of the rail car, for surely her life depended on it, as she moved closer toward the open door.
"If you can see them," Fuchsia warned herself internally, "They can see you."
What was she now? A spy or something? Look-- she made no claim to knowledge of subterfuge or stealth, not even knowledge of how the world itself worked but, this had proven to be something of an indisputable fact so far, and one that didn't seem to matter much half the time either. Anxiety clawed at her insides, clenching them into a tight ball, as she slowly leaned toward the rail car opening for a glimpse of the night outside. Bright lights, probably having been white in the distant past, illuminated the rail yard with a wet orange glow-- it made Fuchsia feel as if she were in a giant tub of orange juice, even if that thought was weird. More importantly, she didn't see anyone or anything moving outside at the moment, but the weight of their nefarious intentions against her pressed heavily upon her mind.
Slowly and with powerful weight to the words, a voice not her own, commanded from within her mind, "Make them answer for their crimes." Fuchsia answered it internally, "No... I gotta leave. I don't have the time." He didn't have to say it but Fuchsia knew the voice was displeased with her. As usual.
Without another delay, Fuchsia lowered herself from the train car, slowly, using her arms to lower the rest of her body as close to the ground as she could, before setting foot on it. As she stared to the side, the wide framed Grey Man's silhouette broke up the light of the night. Around his body, there blazed a yellow field, radiating caution and energy, slowly shifting color as other feelings interrupted its purity-- it made Fuchsia strangely thirsty to look at. Swallowing hard, she began to creep away from the rail car, across a set of crisscrossing railroad tracks, and further into the maze of sleeping trains.
Feet became yards as soon, Fuchsia found her evasion far more successful than she expected it to be. Had her distraction really been so effective? While Fuchsia didn't exactly count on it to be so easy to do, she wasn't going to count the flare laying on the railroad tracks to be anything less than exactly what she needed when she needed it, and exactly what the Grays were apparently distracted by. Once she made her way to the treeline, Fuchsia abandoned all forms of subtlety or sneakiness and broke out into a full sprint. Thank goodness for all that track and field she'd had in school years ago. She knew that it was the sole reason why she hadn't been captured already. As she leapt over bushes, tore over downed trees, and zigzagged wildly through the woods-- that's what you were supposed to do right?-- a strange feeling caught her attention.
She was being watched.
Fuchsia’s steps came to a halt and she panted heavily. Confused, she looked up then saw him. On a hill above her, there stood a man. “You seem like you need help-- there's no time. Beyond this hill they won't find you,” said the man confidently. For a moment, Fuchsia was a bit taken aback at his sudden appearance. Who was this? Why did he want to help her? Then again, when Fuchsia took a look over her shoulder, she knew there wasn’t much time to ask such questions. Without another moment’s hesitation, Fuchsia began taking large strides up the hill. As she neared him, Fuchsia tried her best to get a look at his face. A brief glimpse was all she could catch when she neared him. He looked young, innocent even, and a scar stood out oddly over his lip, giving him a bit of distinction. "Call me Dusk,” he told her reassuringly, “I'm like you. And I'm here to bring folks such as us together before those People do. Come North." Dusk then murmured quietly, “I hope you're dressed for this weather.”
“I uh...” Fuchsia abandoned the statement before it took hold. If he were like her well, eventually he’d understand why she didn’t need to “dress for the weather” but, this explanation wasn’t as important as running, at the moment. Dusk had told her what to do.
North, right? | What is your real name?
Amon....Amon Deus
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
You don't have to tell me that. Horus, like the God of sky and light.
How old are you, anyway?
21 this year.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
Average height, standing at about 181 cm and weighing at approx 70 kg. My hair is jet black with hints of gray hair, "raven black" as my mum would call it since there were a lot of ravens hanging out at the tree in front of the house. I keep it short. My eyes are sharp and the color of gold with eye circles beneath. Too many restless nights as of late. Other from these, my face is clean shaven and with no other noticeable features. As for what I wear, anything normal to blend in, though I never change my black hoodie, no symbols on it, just simple black. Right now I'm wearing dark gray hunting boots with baggy military camouflage dark grey jeans. Another thing that I always carry is a silver necklace, memento of the past.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
As I've experimented a lot with my ability, I have gotten an overall grasp of its current limitations and effects. In few words I can control light...in a way. I can gather it somewhere making a sort of highly illuminated object or even creating a sphere. Or I can make something absorb the photons giving it the true color black, no color at all since light doesn't escape from it. Basically I can trap light. Another thing I've been experimenting on is to bend the waves of light in order to render an object invisible. The most I can manage at the moment is my hand or objects of that size.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
Th..the voice? Which one? I mean..yes I will find Elvarren...
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
I come from..not there..not from there also..That's not even the right continent!..hhh I come from the far North of here.
How did you end up here?
Tchk, if I went by your decision I would've been dead by now, you don't know ANYTHING more than I do so shut..- Yeah, right, so I've been traveling a lot lately, mostly by foot by I hitchhiked whenever I could.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I have been..the people that took me along on their ride..well I made sure no one who met me could tell..anyway who are YOU to judge ME!?
WHAT ARE YOU ANYWAY!?
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being… |
48,926 | 1,321 | 6 | 943 | 214 | (in unchronological order from the above post.)
KAESAR
‘’Dusk! Hold up! You can’t just leave me here!’’
Kaesar gives chase out of the cabin to grab Dusk by the shoulder. And Dusk turns to him.
‘’Kaesar… Listen, I know you have much to ask, but it will have to wait. I can orientate much better towards the Perpetuals of other people not yet in our group, if I am decently removed from people like yourself. People likewise with Perpetuals in their minds. I hope you understand.’’
Dusk sighs.
‘’When I return, I will tell you everything that I presently know. But don’t raise your expectations up too high, for I do not know much more than you do yourself.
I’ll see you Thursday.’’
Kaesar curses inwardly. ‘’Damn him. How dares he bring me all the way out here in this shithole, and then not have the decency to take me along. I don’t like him with that smug façade of innocence. It’s obviously an act. He’s not really this nice. Cunt.’’
MAKE ALLIES.
A voice as a sudden and intense needle, piercing Kaesar's cognition from out of the great emptiness.
‘’Hrmm? You sayin’ something, Am?’’
THE WAR WILL SOON BEGIN. PREPARE.
‘’Soon? How soon are we speaking? …I guess I should get to know the other people in the cabin. Some of them looked pretty tough. Best is to figure out what their powers are.’’
As Kaesar beheld Dusk fade into the distance, he slowly returned to the cabin. He saw Luci walk in before him. Kaesar did not know much of him. They had both been here for the past 2 or so days, but never really talked. Why? ‘’Because he’s a creep. The way how he toys with metal is downright freaky.’’ Kaesar knows, in any case, that he is not the sort of guy he is looking for.
Walking inside, he suddenly got a bottle thrown at him. It was Mirage -- just the guy he was looking for! Kaesar only barely managed to catch the bottle – the games of basketball he once played now seem to pay off. Instantly annoyed, Kaesar hisses at him. ‘’Careful there.’’
Then, looking up at the rather imposing stature of Mirage, he proceeds to force a smile to form upon his lip. For surely it’s best to stay on his good side.
‘’…Thanks mate.’’ He opens the bottle and takes a gulp of the refreshing contents therein. Gotta make a good first impression. He then casts a polite smile to Kasey, and attempts to do the same with Horus, except that he seems a little… unapproachable. And generally creepy and extremely nervous. Ergo; no true warrior.
"Right, so what now?" Mirage speaks.
Ah. The only guy that seems competent.
Kaesar replies. ‘’I’m curious to learn what all your powers are. But I won’t ask for demonstrations… yet. Could have unpredictable consequences, I do believe. So I’ll go first.
My ability? I can shoot lazers from my eyes. No joke. It’s why I need to wear sunglasses. It’s a serious problem. Already killed a few people by accident.’’
Kaesar blurts these words with the widest grin while tapping the dark glasses perched unto his nose. He lies – this is not his true power. He does not trust these people into knowing his actual ability. Who can say whether any of these will turn out to be his enemy one day?
Kaesar proceeds to look around the group. ‘’How about y’all?’’
...A few hours later; assuming Pup has not set the cabin on fire....
Night is falling – and with it an omen of darkness. The more observant & cautious among us might be able to make out faint noises coming from beyond the immediate bushes… | I am perpetual.What are you?
''Carl or Karel Pääsuke''
Is that your name? To stay out of harms way you will thenceforth go by a new one. What will it be?
''Dusk''
For how long have you so far lived?
''Nineteen years, a bit more.''
I cannot yet perceive your world. Describe to me your own manifestation.
''I have skin and eyes and teeth and ears and a nose. For some reason I like to point this out specifically -- a voice like you, but tied to a body. My eyes are hazel, my hair oaken brown. I'm lean and about average height, maybe an inch or so taller, not by much. I have a scar across my lip, at the right. (don't ask.) I have a thin jawline with what one would probably refer to as 'softer' features, which may seem contradictory if you've ever seen me get... passionate over something.
I generally dress in, well, whatever I can find. I'm rather fond of tie-dye and converse shoes. I like bright colours, though admittedly, they do draw people's attention to me, which I don't need. Still, I can't help myself. Often my shoes don't match as I am on the run and have little time to care about how I look. And in these colder climates, I make certain to use many layers of clothing. You really have to just learn to wear what you find. I also tend to have writing all over my arms. When I need to remember something, I don't bother with notepads. You can lose a notepad easily, but you can't lose an arm... Well, at least you can't lose it easily.''
You sensed the power awakening. What is it?
''I am a telepath and a mindwalker. I can go into people's minds when they get to a close enough range and see their thoughts, memories, even manipulate them. This all depends on the person's will and if they know what I'm doing. I can read minds, though, but I try to control that. I get bits and pieces sometimes, but I can supress it, choose not to hear. I try to do this as much as possible, but it gets hard to control sometimes. And occasionally, I'll slip into someone else's dream unintentionally. It can get difficult to sort out reality from dreaming sometimes.
Another problem I have is sometimes... I just hear things. I don't mean to. When I was younger, I remember I heard thoughts all the time and I couldn't control it. Just a flood of minds, of useless information. It got to the point where I thought about ending it just to stop it all. But I did eventually learn to control it. Open minds no longer plague me, I can close them off. But closed minds... those are the mysteries, the ones I actually have difficulty reaching. I can't help from trying sometimes. Sue me, I get curious.
My manipulation may be a bit unnerving to some, as if I caught you off guard and my energy was high, I might be able to force you to kill yourself. I never would, though. Never. This is a hard thing to force someone to do, though. Unless they want to die.
Dreams sometimes change at my will, but only other people's. And I can't always help it. It's not like I mean to go messing about in people's heads, it just happens sometimes. Especially if I'm asleep, when my guard is down. That's why I try to stay out of range of people at night. You never know.''
What do you think I am?
''I don’t know. But you are certainly as inquisitive about me as I am about you. I suppose we have that much in common. I tried pressing you for answers, but you won’t give away much. Stubborn, huh?''
Where upon this world did you initially dwell?
''Does it matter?''
Not anymore.
Why did you go out and seek this lost tribe at the word of a perpetual entity as myself?
''You told me to, and I knew someone had to do it. I believe I have this ability for a reason… To draw out people like me. To protect them. Unknown powers are at work.''
Would there be something you wish me to hear; speak it now.
''Forgive Aries, for he knows not what he says.''
That is all.
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
‘’Whatever you say, chap.’’
What is your real name?
‘’Yoan Ognyanov. Can you pronounce that?’’
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
‘’I was thinking Rex… No.. Caesar! Yes, call me Caesar. ‘C’ pronounced like a K. like Kaiser. So.. You know what; just write it like ‘Kaeser’ yes? Saves everyone the confusion.’’
How old are you, anyway?
‘’Twenty-two.’’
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
‘’A bit moderately built. Pretty athletic, I like sports. I remember being tanned but since I don’t see much sun anymore – am getting pretty pale. Darkbrown hair, pronounced cheekbones in my face, also stubbles because I often forget to shave. I keep my hair short, but you won’t see it I reckon, ‘cuz I mostly wear a beanie.
Clothes I wear are sturdy, dark leather boots and trousers with a bomber jacket. Also got gloves to beat someone’s head in, just in case. Also, because of my ability I need to wear sunglasses pretty much all the time. No, it's not to look cool and hardcore, nor is it a fashion statement. Trust me.’’
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
‘’It’s weird but it seems I can hypnotize people or something? Not sure if that’s how you call it, but it seems I can rouse up a group of people into lynching someone if I really wanted to. Granted; this probably won’t work on people that also have these… voices in their heads, or whatever. I seem to have a pretty good grasp on other people.
Being cool and stoic is always just a façade by people that think they’re coldblooded badasses. I can break the façade and put those faggots in their place if I wanted to. Not just people but even animals can sense my anger and be affected by it.
But that is just how I can affect people that are within a certain radius around me. I also have a stronger form of this power. The power to almost brainwash someone when that person looks me in the eyes. I do not have full power over what happens to the person, but they are often paralyzed when I do this. Just look me in the eyes and know fear! Fucking delicious. I wish people did it more often. And then I will be able to use my killer line:
‘’What, your mom never taught you not to make eye contact with FERAL BEASTS?’’
Har har har! Badass.
Anyway. To avoid this happening to allies I need to wear sunglasses, ye?’’
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
‘’He’s a cunt.
Well; he/it seems to look out for me. Calls me ‘Offspring of tyrants’, whatever that means. Feeds my ego occasionally, tells me to assert my dominance and carve out my own territory. Probably doesn’t understand we’re living in the 21th century. At best maybe if I travel to Canada I can come across some Indians and convince them to worship me as some shamanic messenger of god. I think I got that idea from some movie though. Is that what the Voice wants? Sounds cool enough.
I call him ‘Am’, because he never finished his line.’’
‘’I am.’’
‘’Am what?’’
‘’Am.’’
‘’Okay.’’
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
‘’Originally from Bulgaria. Moved to the US when I was very young. As for ‘looking’? You know, I’ve always had the feeling I had to find something, but I never knew what that was. Maybe it was Elvarren? I kept hearing that word, no idea where I heard it from originally. Seems painfully familiar though..’’
How did you end up here?
‘’I’m following you, Dusk. You fished me out of the crowd, remember? First time seeing someone with the same powers. There are probably some things you can teach me. Also, I have some unfinished business with that girl traveling with you.’’
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
‘’You better tell me everything that you know. I only agreed to follow you because I came looking for answers.’’
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
‘’Hrm. I was fine on my own…’’ |
48,927 | 1,321 | 7 | 2,025 | 3,674 | Pup
She sighed, running a hand through her hair, idly scratching Fafnir as he perched on her shoulder, as the only person who seemed to have a grasp on what was going on just walked out the door. Presumably to find more of them. He was quickly followed by the annoying arrogant one, Kaesar. Hopefully he'd bring back a group that was more stable than the one she currently found herself with, and leave Kaesar far behind. She trusted most of them only slightly more than she trusted the Greys, and that was only because they hadn't actively tried to kill her. Not to say that isn't a decided possibility. She noted, watching as the man who had declared himself 'Horus' seemed to struggle with sudden rage, before declaring dibs on the bed. She dubiously slid her eyes over to where the unconscious woman was laying on said bed, raising an eyebrow in question. As if on cue, the woman awoke.
As Aries explained the situation to her, Luci waltzed in with the evening's dinner. She didn't trust him either. He was friendly, but it never seemed to reach his eyes. Still, he was handy to have around the cabin. He had already replaced the rusty hinges on the doors in half the time it would have taken her, and his metal manipulation would be a great benefit if she ever needed more nails. Pup smiled reassuringly at Quiet. She trusted him slightly more, if only for the fact that his insanity wasn't as apparent as the rest of them. You're one to talk. Pup ground her teeth as P's voice entered her head once more. It never seemed to stay silent for more than one blissful hour a day. Obsessing over creating and fixing the cabin, like you're some handywoman. You're The Creator! Destined for mo- Shut. Up. I have no idea what's going on, no control over what's going on, and no idea if I'm going to have to run from bullets again anytime soon. Fixing things is the one thing I know and control, so please, stop talking. P fell sullenly silent, much to her relief.
Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't see the water bottle flying towards her. Fafnir's trilled warning in her ear alerted her at the last second, and her gloved hand shot up and caught the bottle just in time. "Thank you." She turned her attention to the woman, Jay, as she asked where the river was. "Luci is right. He or I or even Aries over there can take you. Though I imagine you'd like some soap, shampoo, and a towel. I did the best I could, but I doubt I did as good a job as you'd like. Fafnir, be a dear and get the shampoo and soap." Her dragon trilled again, flying over to where her backpack was laying against the wall and diving into it.
Pup herself walked to the fireplace and grabbed her towel from where she had lain it to dry out last night. Smiling, she moved over and handed it to Jay as Fafnir flew back, a small shampoo bottle in his front claws and a bar of soap in his back. "Be forewarned, it's going to be cold and miserable. The towel will help, but not by much." She glanced over as Kaesar initiated discussions about their powers. Both her eyebrows rose in minor disbelief, as he claimed to have the powers of Cyclops, before she threw in her two cents. "My name is Puppeteer. Pup for short. I'm really good at making and fixing things." That settled, she turned her attention to Quiet. If you're up for first watch, Quiet, I'd be grateful. Fafnir," she nodded her head towards her dragon, flying in lazy circles around her. "doesn't need sleep. So you won't be alone." | Character sheet
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
Can't really call you crazy when my voice has questions too.
What is your real name?
Freya Mathews. My parents had a fondness for norse mythology.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Puppeteer. Pup if you prefer. She glances away, talking to someone else. I'm not going to tell them tha-no, it's stupid, ugh, fine. She returns her attention. The voice, P, wishes to inform you of it's nickname for me. 'The Creator.'
How old are you, anyway?
25.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I'm terrible at this. I'm about five foot seven inches with a little longer than shoulder lenght brown hair that has a streak of white in the front. Natural, I promise. I have murky green eyes and I typically dress in clothing that is half formal half work. Brown, thigh high, lace up boots with dark blue jeans. A green long sleeve button up shirt, a brown leather vest over that, and brown leather gloves. Here's a picture for a better idea.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
I'm good at making and fixing things. Really good. If I have the proper tools I can create or fix basically anything I need or want to with a speed that would boggle the minds of most people. I don't even need to be taught how to use a tool, or what a machine is. I just grab them or lay a hand on them and know how to use tools and how machines work and how to fix them. Depending on how much I go 'in the zone' I could make something that should take years in a day. Though god am I tired after that. Sometimes I don't even need the tools, just the materials. Though that left me in a coma for a week, so I try to take it slow.
I can exert my will over machines and tools. Make pieces of a car engine stop working, draw a hammer to my hand, jam a gun, mostly little stuff like that. Though I have to be under two feet away or touching them for it to work.
I can also kinda, uh, give life to things. I'm not sure how far it goes, P assures me that it's only permanent things I've created myself, but that's how this little guy got here. She whistles, and a bronze mechanical dragon flies to her shoulder I call him Fafnir. Yes I can understand him. He's about as big as I can go for permanent, at least so far, life. Made me pass out and wake up in a hospital bed three days later.
Which, now that I think of it, was the beginning of the end. On the temporary side of things I can have a hammer or another tool do something by itself for a couple minutes, or have a bunch of tiny things like chess pieces move of their own volition for a game. It seems that their 'purpose' is whatever I deem it to be upon the 'blessing of life that I bestow'. P is very dramatic.
Fire and heat don't bother me. At all. I could stick my hand in a fire and be totally fine. I think I can't even get burned. I actually really enjoy blisteringly hot days of 100 degrees without breaking a sweat. It's why I hate this place, it's so cold. I think I can manipulate it too. Fire, that is. Like that guy from the Xmen movies you know, the one with the lighters. For example, fire reacts to my emotions some times. Flaring when I'm angry, dying out when I'm sad. From what I've gleaned from P, eventually I'll be able manipulate open flames to grow larger, burn hotter, or simply be snuffed out. It assures me that I can't actually create flames. Just manipulate them. So if you douse a flame, I can't make it spring back to life. Like I said, very similar to the guy from the X-men films. I think the whole affinity for fire thing has to do with the fact that my 'powers' are older than P likes to admit. From a time when all creating was done with fire, iron, and the strength of arm.
She hesitates
There's one more thing. Whenever I'm making things I get these...feelings I guess. They're like sensations of elements, or other supernatural traits like invincibility, breathing underwater, or never going dull, on the edge of consciousness. I think I could grab them and put them into whatever I'm making. Whenever I tried though, I passed out (I do that a lot when messing around with my powers don't I?) for a few hours and woke up with a killer headache. P insists that as long as I grow in power I could eventually do it.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
P? Its current choice of voice is that of a woman right now. I think it just likes that sound for itself, since it tried male and small child of both genders in an attempt to cajole me. P rarely makes me do things, since I mostly prefer to stand frozen in place, locked in an internal struggle, rather than listen to what it tells me to do. It generally approves when I'm making things though.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
Rural Missouri. There were always things that needed to be made or fixed, so I was a blessing around the household. My parents told me to take it easy on hot summer days after I went into a coma for a week. The doctors and nurses, all looking noticeably more exhausted after I woke up, had said that was the problem. P convinced me that it was better to go along than it was too try to convince them that I had powers and a voice.
I left after P made me drain my mother dry.
Wandered around for a few years, eventually setting up in an autoshop. We became quite popular for fast, really good, service. I had taken to my current style of clothing, trying to keep as little skin to skin contact with people as possible. I only fed off of wildlife or idiots in clubs, gently drifting by until they were tired and had to leave. It was around that time that I made Fafnir. My coworkers found me and took me to the hospital. I woke up a few minutes before the Greys showed up. P screamed at me to run, and for the first time in a long, long time I complied immediately.
Raced back home, got dressed, grabbed everything I thought I'd need (yes, that includes this toolbelt) and I've been running ever since.
How did you end up here?
P said head north. North ended up here.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I'll get this ran down piece of crap liveable, ideally before the Greys show up. I hate half-finished products. Also, don't touch the toolbelt without asking.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Chuckles. Someone likes being ominous.
Misc. Details
Contents of Pup's Backpack:
-25 Weather proof matches, with a water-proof container
-A dozen small shampoos stolen from hotels
-A hatchet
-A 27x52in towel
-A sewing kit
-A dozen bars of soap
-Hydration pack and hose
-A sleeping bag
-Spare clothing (two extra button up shirts, one made of thick wool, one made of flannel. An extra pair of pants. Two pairs of thick wool socks. An extra pair of brown leather work gloves. A scarf.)
-First aid kit
-A 14x16 foot tarp
On Pup's person and in her Toolbelt:
-Claw Hammer (toolbelt)
-Multitool (toolbelt)
-Two dozen nails (toolbelt)
-Swiss Army knife (person)
-Knife (tucked into boot)
-Compass (person)
-Lighter (person) |
48,928 | 1,321 | 8 | 1,037 | 368 | Eliza felt stupid.
Really stupid. Like, ‘just made the biggest mistake of your life’ stupid, because that’s what she’d done, wasn’t it? She’d told Kyle she was going on a business trip, she’d told work she had pneumonia, and where the hell was she? Canada! Alberta bloody Canada! Staring at herself in the mirror, she splashed a bit of water on her face to help cool her down. It was much more important than the integrity of what little make-up she wore, just then, or it would have been if a pair of shoes hadn’t clicked their way into the restroom.
Men’s shoes, dark and brightly shined, and followed by another pair of them. Two men stepped into the bathroom, one of them turning and gently sliding the floor and ceiling locks of the door into place. The other stepped forward and flicked the cuffs of his grey suit, his face smiling in a way that he wasn’t.
That he can’t, sweetling. Skin with holes for eyes and teeth does not a face make.
“Hello.” The man said, his voice dull against the tiled bathroom, almost lost in the flushing from a stall down the way. He stepped towards Eliza easily while the other man--also in grey, the exact same color, the exact same dark shoes--stepped past them to make his way towards the flushing from the stall.
“This is the ladies’ room, you can’t be in here.” She finally managed, her throat dry and her face hot as it had been before the water. Her heart was in her throat, so she swallowed it back down. The whispers of the little voice were more insistent, now, louder than they’d ever been.
Don’t let him touch you, sweetling, don’t let him take you. There is no Elvarren with the not-men, and they will take you where I cannot follow. Please, sweetling, don’t let them--
The voice was interrupted by the grasp of a hand on her wrist, strong but gentle, and the not-face alarmingly close to hers.
“Hello.” It said again, and it showed its teeth. Like a smile, but not quite.
“Get off me.” When she jerked her hand away it came easily and she backpedalled on the ground. She seemed as surprised as the man had been--he kept looking between her and his hand, flexing the fingers awkwardly as if they hadn’t done what they were supposed to. He looked more confused, and a little disappointed, than angry, which made one of them. Eliza was angry now, more than a little fed up with this rubbish, and she marched for the door outside past the man with an insistent step and a squaring of her slim shoulders. “I’m leaving now, and you’d better--”
“Hello.” The man said again, this time with a frown, but when he reached for her shoulder this time Eliza turned and pushed him in the chest. She was going to say something, tell him to back off, but she didn’t have time. As soon as her fingers hit his chest there was a sharp and distinct cracking sound, a bending of the meat in the shape of the body, and the man in grey flew back like he’d been shot with a cannon. He broke through the porcelain sink he’d been standing in front of, shattered the mirror on the wall and split the tile down the drywall and stayed there, hanging in the small crater of his impact. He wasn’t moving.
“Oh...my…” And neither was Eliza. The only thing that was happened to be the man’s partner, who was looking between the two of them with narrowed eyes from the stall he’d just gone to investigate. What happened to the person who’d been finishing up was anyone’s guess. He started towards her with the same frown as his partner, as if he’d flicked a light switch and the lights hadn’t come on.
“Hello.” He added, for good measure, and quickened his step as Eliza shrank back from him. There was water pooling across the floor, now--the fixture had broken, it seeped out from behind the first grey man like blood--and his partner’s shoes splashed in it as he cut through the distance between them. The grey man extended a hand for her, reaching this time for her bicep--
“Get away from me!”
She hadn’t meant to scream, but it came out as a shriek when she did the only thing she could think of. Balling her hand, she brought it down on the creature’s chest in the time-honored but useless defense of the meek against the mighty. Ordinarily, beating on someone’s chest once they’ve grabbed you is little more than a moral protest. It isn’t going to stop anyone from doing anything, or at least it wouldn’t if it hadn’t been Eliza doing it. Instead, the grey man crumpled to the floor with the kind of ‘crack’ that said unpleasant things about what had happened to the bones in his chest.
He might as well have been hit with a sledge hammer.
When she left, he was still wheezing from the floor, trying to understand what exactly had broken to puncture a lung. To her credit, Eliza St. John was not running. She was walking, very quickly and very forcefully, towards the rental lot. And, if you must know, she was crying.
Terror can do that to a woman.
By the time Eliza hit the gas station most of the panic had run out of her like blood from an emotional gunshot. There was only just so long the human body could withstand that kind of emotion, and in her regular life--she still thought of it as her ‘real’ life, like this was all some little dream--about the most alarming thing that happened to her on a regular basis was realizing that she’d double-booked dinner. This was…she’d just…
Well.
If she’d managed to calm down to something resembling a normal state of mind, it didn’t mean that her hand wasn’t shaking. She felt tired, the bags beneath her eyes hot and heavy. Her sweater had been warm enough in the shiny little rental car but it wasn’t quite enough for the stiff breeze outside of it, and with her slim fingers tucked under her arms she bristled and rolled her shoulders together for warmth. How much longer could filling up the tank take? It was only a 10 gallon, for Christ’s sake…
She was antsy. She could feel them getting closer, which was ridiculous because she didn’t ‘feel’ things. Still, they had to be coming for her, right? Whatever agency they were a part of, (No agency of men, sweetling... that little part of her whispered) they weren’t about to let something like that stand, right? And this time they wouldn’t be as stupid, get as close. Standing out by the car, she resisted the urge to light a cigarette and waited until the meter clicked to a stop before buttoning the car up and getting in. There were already too many people, too many cars, and she was certain that some of them would be driven by more of those...things. Her heart jumped at a flash of grey, at a long and thin tie, but they were just normal people after all. As she slid back behind the seat wheel of her car, she had the awful impulse to cry again.
‘’Hey. You there! Lady!’’
A young adult with a boyish face and a scar across his lip in a thick winter coat, but there’s something weird about him. She knew that he wasn’t like everyone else--in the same way that she wasn’t like anyone else--in the same way she was starting to know that he was on her side and not theirs. But what the hell did that mean, even?! What were the bloody sides?! Before she could talk, he was weaving between the cars and settling himself into her passenger’s seat. She stared at him, the steering wheel deforming beneath her fingertips with the anxious whine she would have liked to let out herself.
‘’Call me Dusk. I’ve come to help you find Elvarren.’’
‘Elvarren’. That’s the word he used. Already that soft voice in the back of her mind was whispering, trying to get her to move. Elvarren. It didn’t sound like it had when the Grey Men had said it out of his mouth, somehow. It made her want to go.
“We need move, fast! We’ll use your car. But if the Greymen have seen it; I advise you ditch it somewhere in the forest and come with me on foot. We’ll use the train stop a few miles to the east to carry us further. I know you are well in the right not to trust me, but i’ve got experience with these people.’’
“Who the Hell are you people? Us people?” Eliza managed in a strangled whisper, blinking her eyes sharply before coughing past the lump in her throat and starting up. If her world was getting thrown out the window, she was going to have to start playing by new rules somewhere along the way. It would have been easier if he wasn’t quite so young.
Eliza pulled out of the gas station and headed North. She was...and she couldn’t believe she was even thinking this...going to ditch her rental in the woods.
At least she’d bought the extra insurance.
Collaboration with . | What is your real name?
...Elizabeth St. John.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Alias. I suppose I need one, now, don't I... Pity. I liked being Eliza.
...but call me Stheno.
How old are you, anyway?
Old enough to know better. Pre-thirty, and thanks so much for that little rose, Kyle...
...but I'm twenty nine.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I hate talking about myself. You know those people who hate talking about themselves? I'm one of them. I'm pretty, and slim, and I dye my hair more than I'd like but less than you think. I'm not tall. I've grey eyes, bleached white hair and...well, no figure...
...but if you must know, I like my collar bones.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
'Ability', it says. What, you mean this little talent of mine? The one that means I shouldn't see my son again? Or husband? Or feel normal? This isn't a bloody comic book, you know, this is my life and it's ending in what might as well be bloody Siberia for God's sake. So yes, I suppose, I can take people's essence. Or life, or energy, or...whatever. Whatever it is, I take something from them, and if they're very lucky it comes back. Sometimes it doesn't. Is that what you want me to say?
No. No, of course it's not, because that's not enough, is it. There has to be more, there's always more. Trouble comes in threes, they say, so if you must know I'm... I suppose you could say 'strong', but let me stop you there. When I say that, you're thinking bodybuilders, weights at the gym, Arnold Schwarzenegger, but that's not on. Not quite, at least. I'm... more than that.
Swing-a-telephone-pole-like-a-baseball-bat more than that.
Toss-your-car-over-my-shoulder more than that.
And, while we're at it, my skin is strong too, and my bones. They must be, because that's the only bloody explanation I can think of as to why they don't rip or break or cut like normal. I mean sometimes, sure, but not like they ought to. I've put my hand through a car door without a bloody scratch, I mean, can you believe it? I don't know. I just don't know, sometimes.
...but they told me I was strong, and tough, so there you are then.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
Oh yes, and thanks so much for that little chestnut. Going on about Elvarren, as if that isn't some made up word. I'd say I've gone mad, but apparently I'm not the only one. Mass hysteria is real, you know, I've read about it on the telly, and maybe that's what this is...
...but it's kind, kinder than I'd like. It tells me it's not my fault.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
Gloucester. I say 'England' and you all think London, like there isn't a whole rest of the country out there.
...but yes, I'm from Gloucester. I miss it. It was warmer there, though I'll give you not by much.
How did you end up here?
Well I flew, didn't I? I certainly didn't swim! London to Montreal to Saskatchewan to a rental car that I never took back...it ran out of petrol a ways back, and I suppose I...well, walked from there. At least I brought flats.
...but yes, I flew. What would you have done?
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I miss them. God, I miss them so much. Kyle and...and Charlie. I'm so sorry, Charlie, honey, mommy's so sorry...
...but I had to go, didn't I.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Oh yes, I'm sure. Of course I will.
...but will you? |
48,929 | 1,321 | 9 | 2,678 | 905 | Catch- someone said behind him as a bottle of water flew towards Horus. The faint shadow of the bottle flying threw the air could be seen in front of him. Without a thought he instinctively caught the bottle with his right hand behind his head, not even looking at it. "Thanks for the water"-Turning and flipping it a couple of times in hand he decided to place it in his travelling bag. During his travels he had learned to never take food and water for granted and collect the most of it while the chance was present. Things you learn to know when you travel through deserted roads and sleep in old abandoned shacks, if he was lucky enough to find one. He only hitchhiked when the road was long enough without any intersections for miles on end. Just the thought of disposing everyone who gave him a ride made him throw up but it was the only way, or at least that's what the voice told him. He hates to admit it but his fear of being caught by the Grey Man surpasses his moral code, his human decency and respect towards another human, towards taking their life.
Still no sign of the other voice.
Then, a conversation about their powers began. He would be a fool to believe what anyone said, they were all liars. You had to be one to have gotten this far without getting caught. Laser eyes, someone said. He wasn't even trying to pretend on being serious. Killed a few people? Who says that with a grin? Only a murderous psychopath or a terrible liar. He was probably a virgin on the killing game. Most of what he could've done was drain someone unconscious.
Horus started narrating :"And God said, Let there be light."- as he said so he pointed his right hand at the ground and a beam of light emerged. Then he started doing clicking noises with his tongue while turning the light power on and off, effectively imitating a flash light. "But wait there's more"- he added as he took his left hand next to his right one and started pantomiming like he was rotating a small volume slider next to his "flashlight". As he did so the light dimmed and became stronger in perfect sync with the movements of his left hand. Turning it up all the way, it suddenly became very bright although it was aimed at the floor, the light started flickering and then it turned off. "Well, looks like my battery is out, gonna have to recharge it. And with that I bid you all goodnight."- and as he said so he made to leave. Turning to Quiet one last time he added with a smirk:"Barely waiting to see your powers first hand. Definitely more interesting than mine."- and with that said he picked up his bag and went to the 3 doors. Does he wear glasses to constrain his power? Comics much?
He called the bed first anyways so he doubted anyone would complain. 3 doors in front of him, he decided on a whim to open the right one and there it was, the room with the bed. He always had a knack for first tries.
Just as he was about to turn the handle the door opened itself. Well not actually itself but rather a girl from the other side. She had an elegant frame with a pretty face. All natural, no make up on it but her features were still pleasing to the eye. Not most girls look good without it. Her hair were dyed green...unless it was her power which changed her hair. Though he thought he made the color of dark brown at the roots.
"Hi there, is this your roo.."- without even turning to him she passed him by. Completely ignored..thought he didn't care much. He was transformed from the boy he once was, for the things he had done he probably didn't deserve a second thought let alone a look. Well if she had a problem with him entering the room, she should say so. And with that he entered inside. A voice started whispering to him.
"Find Elvarren, Find Elvarren, Find Elvarren, Find Elvarren, Find Elvarren.."- the voice started with a low whisper.
"Yes I will, that's why I'm here isn't it?"
"Find the girl, Find the girl, Find the girl, Find the girl, Find the girl.."- the voice then changed the chanting.
"Girl? What girl?"- it was the first time it had said a thing like that. Something was off, it didn't resonate the feeling of the other voice, could it be...
"Find a mate, Find a mate, Find a mate, Find a mate, Find a mate...leave Elvarren, go to a beach somewhere and enjoy life!"- the voice changed from a chanted whisper to a cheerful tone.
"Wait what? IT'S YOU!"
"You want a cookie for that?"
"I was actually starting to worry that I wouldn't hear you again. After how you disappeared when I beat you at your own mind game, I was fearing for the worst."
"... ha.. ahahahahahaha, the humor is strong with this one. I was tired, I had to rest for a time. Being in your head filled with depression gets tiring as hell."
"WELL I WOULDN'T BE DEPRESSED IF YOU DIDN'T MAKE ME KILL ALL THOSE PEOPLE!"- and saying that he slammed the door behind him. To the others who had witnessed the interaction between him and the green haired girl, it would seem like an angry reaction to being rejected.
Sliding down the door he held his face in his hands. He hadn't been getting any sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw their faces, their smiles as they offered him help. And how did he repay them? By killing them in cold blood, all because the voic..
"I didn't tell you to do jack shit. I offered my advice and told you of the risk for not taking it. You made your choice and here we are. No need to give credit where it isn't deserved."
This damn voice. A sudden burst of rage took over him, partially because it was maybe true. He started pacing through the room as his thoughts flooded one after the other. Maybe he did this of his own volition, maybe HE killed those people. Up until now he had been able to preserve his sanity by telling himself that the voice didn't give him any choice. That twig that he was holding tight onto was starting to break. In an effort to take his mind off, he looked at the bed. Filthy.
Taking the dirty cover he pulled it roughly, ripping it in some places and through it at the corner. He took the mattress and flipped it over. Now all he needed were some new covers. Opening the closet he quickly scanned it for something to cover the bed, finding a large piece of white cloth he pulled it quickly while dropping some other clothes on the ground. With that, fell a picture. Finally starting to slow down, he picked up the picture and gave it a quick look. A family of 3, a young boy in the middle, his mother and father standing beside him on his right and left respectively. As he studied it closer he found the boy's face familiar. Where had he seen him before. Of course! It was Dusk. As he was analyzing the photo he had taken a sit on the edge of the bed, covers on one hand and the picture on his left, now calm, already forgotten about his episode not 10 seconds ago. Turning it back he saw a name, "Karel" and a sentence below it. He didn't know the language but it made his thoughts start flowing again, but this time they were flowing for his family, his home. What were they doing at this time. Were they thinking of him? ... Who was he kidding, they were probably dead. Captured, interrogated and killed in the end. Although a little part of him hoped they were alive and well in their house, it made him feel better believing that they were dead. It made him feel like there was no turning back, only going forward, towards Elvarren. And besides that, he would rather see them dead than see the look on their face knowing what their son had become.
Taking one last look at the picture he wondered, did the boy's parent's know about him? What would they think of the boy if they learned he had killed people. Would they still love him?
And with these last thoughts, his right hand over his eyes, covers on the ground, his left hand dangling on the side of the bed, sleep started to engulf him. As the last spark of consciousness left him, he let go of the picture... | Aries
What is my real name?
Tobias Wever. But you wouldn’t know that. To you, I’m Aries.
Age?
I’m 26 years old.
What would you see looking at me?
Well… Pretty generic looks. Slightly feminine features. Quite tall, but don’t ask me to be specific, me and Dusk have been away from any tape measures for quite some time now. Taller than most men I encounter anyway. Not that there are many….
I have brown eyes and dark auburn hair that is usually messy. I don’t care much about mirrors, with my abilities what I end up seeing there isn’t always pleasant anyway. Cuts, bruises and a ghastly pale skin… No, thank you. I’m not fond of my looks and that’s why I don’t care about clothes either. A t-shirt and a jacket or shirt is my usual attire (shirts are good for covering scars and for stopping any bleeding. Win-win.)
What is my ability?
I can heal people. Simple as that.
Well… almost. The wounds get transferred to me. I can then heal myself, given that I have enough energy. I’m used to doing it by now and I have a pretty high pain threshold as I have the compulsion to help (I blame Dusk). But needless to say it’s not entirely pleasant. Also, the bigger the wound, the more energy I need so it can be troublesome.
The Voice?
Yeah, of course I have it, we all do. But I’d rather not talk about it.
Where did I come from, and how long have I been looking for Elvarren?
Netherlands. Too long.
How did I end up here?
Very good question. One more thing I can blame Dusk for. Well, I would like to anyway. Though things would have probably ended up the same anyway, even if his abilities hadn’t awoken before mine. But that’s beside the point. The point is that we went to school together, and we were in the same class. Not exactly “friends” until he started losing his grasp on reality. And I’ve been following him since. I’d trust him with my life… even if I don’t always trust him to take care of his own.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
Dusk is a dumbass.
….
Thank you, that felt good.
Jay
Theme
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
….Okay. That’s a good start…
What is your real name?
Catherine St.Clair.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Haha, don’t worry, it wasn’t my real name anyway.
Alias, huh? Hmm… Well, I like trinkets and I’m very pretty and colourful. How about Jay?
How old are you, anyway?
Let’s say… 20?
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I was born with good looks – something I’m still conflicted how I feel about. That’s why I dye my hair green – it seems most guys don’t have the balls to approach someone with green hair, and whoever does is usually nerdy enough and easy to get rid of. …or very bored and up for a challenge.
Yet, I can’t help myself and strive to look good. I can’t wear baggy or ripped or stained things. Well, unless that’s the point of them. See, clothes set the mood so you have to wear what’s appropriate for the occasion. I mostly manage. Though not so much this time.
When I put this dress on, the intention was to go to the club and have some fun. Originally it wasn’t so ripped and stained and stinky either, believe me. But I didn’t expect to end up in the fucking city dump… Man, I bet I look like a joke right now. This is embarrassing. Can I borrow some clothes?
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
My power… I don’t usually discuss that with strangers but given how you quite literally saved my life…
I never really bothered thinking up a name for it… “Transfer”? “Fake”? “Appropriate”? In any case, it’s quite straight-forward – I can temporarily “steal” the quality a certain item or material possesses. Say a feather can drift in the wind currents and so can I. A fish can breathe under water and so can I. I can make my skin tough as a tree bark and my nails sharp as talons… If I’m lucky enough to have a cat around, I could steal its reflexes… it only works with solid things, though. I can’t turn my body to liquid or anything near as powerful as becoming transparent. I can only gain the properties for a short while – up to a few minutes and it can be quite dangerous… what do I do after I take off the ground and am already too high to just drop? I try not to think about that.
When it comes to people, unfortunately I can’t steal other people’s and power users’ abilities, though I’m working on achieving that. Occasionally it works in my dreams, when I use it on those creatures, but I still find it hard to be able to touch those creatures and not get hurt myself…
Yeah, that is the catch. I need to touch the things I want to copy from. That’s why so far it only works with items. I’ve tried using my ability on humans. Unfortunately, they have passed out before I could acquire any of their qualities… But once I got to touch a power user… and nothing happened! I didn’t steal their power, but I felt it… unfortunately I had to back off before anything bad happened – I wouldn’t like to risk my life just for an experiment. Though I’m quite eager to try that again…
But otherwise it’s useful. I can also assign the property to another item – make water colder than it was and even make a rock as light as a leaf. But… that comes at a big cost. I can use my ability on myself easily, but when I try to transfer a quality to something else it makes me very tired… and hungry. I try to generally avoid doing that but there’s been more than one case when it’s come extremely useful.
Did I mention I’m a pretty decent fighter? I’m not a shoalin or anything that spectacular but so far I’ve managed to survive. I can take on men and even soldiers on the odd occasion. Of course, it might have to do with the fact that I play dirty. Quite dirty...
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
I don’t know much about it actually. He/she isn’t very talkative. I get a sense that she knows more than she’s telling me and I can’t tell if she is incapable or reluctant to tell me. Either way, she’s not much help with anything. Very occasionally she’ll warn me about something but it’s so quiet that I can’t tell whether it’s real or I’ve imagined it. Given how you yourself have that voice in your head, it’s probably real.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
L.A. Well, that’s where I grew up. Since I turned 13 I’ve been on the road though, so I couldn’t really call any place home. I started looking for Elvarren when I was 16.
How did you end up here?
Well… you know, right?
How did you find me anyway? After a week on that dump I thought I would die there. You and Aries turning up was like a small miracle. Well, not a small one. I am really indebted to you guys. I hope I can repay you. Thank you for taking care of my injuries too. That gang… they really meant business, didn’t they?
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I can’t think of anything right now. Thank you for asking.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Good to meet you too. Really good. |
48,930 | 1,321 | 10 | 2,722 | 72 | As he awaited his answer from Jay another member of the group, the one with the metallic dragon that always amazed him, had called across the living area to answer Jay's pleas for a place to wash herself. Luci nodded as he agreed with what she had to say and was about to turn to add his own comment when his brain told him something unknown was getting very close very fast. His eyes flashed with deadly intent as he responded instantly to the unknown threat. Luci turned and metallic blurs flashed from his jacket pockets as three two-inch long needles shot towards the object being tossed at him and punctured several holes in it before returning to his pockets. He stood there for a moment looking down on the ground for some time before his brain realized there was no threat at all.
"Oh, erm, I'm terribly sorry." He said while facing the group in the living area with a bashful smile. "I've gone and wasted a perfectly good plastic bottle. I apologize if I startled any of you."
He quickly unzipped his jacket placing it and the hares to the side as he pulled off his plain grey t-shirt. Crouching low he used his t-shirt as a make-shift rag to soak up all the water spilt by the now empty water bottle. Once all the water was mopped up Luci hung the wet shirt around his neck as he pulled his jacket back on and zipped it up. Picking up the hares he stood up and looked around. He planned on wringing out his shirt once he was outside and letting it air-dry while he gutted the hares later. He turned back to Jay and Aries just in time to see their expressions and hear their responses. One simply frowned at him like he had done something wrong while the other had the proper elated expression that comes from being given exactly what you were looking for.
"Yes, Aries, I think I will. I've been here slightly longer than these new ones so a proper guide would be helpful. Of course it's not appropriate for a man to watch a woman bathe so having Pup come along to keep watch for Jay will be essential. To answer your question, "He said as he looked at Aries, "Yes I do know how to clean a hare. If you do not I would be more than willing to show you at a future date. In the meantime I'll be waiting outside for whenever you and Pup decide to leave."
With that he turned his back on the group inside the bedroom and walked out into the living area where one of the members of the group was currently putting on a sort of light show. Ignoring the antics Luci turned his attention to the kitchen sink in the corner of the room. In it was a knife which suddenly lifted up into the air and shot across the room through the empty space between the crowd and directly into his free hand. Glancing down at the blade in his hands Luci grumbled as he ran his thumb across it.
"Not even sharp enough to cut butter." He muttered as he walked away deep in his thoughts. The door to the cabin had swung open on its own and the edge of the knife flashed once with a razor sharp gleam just as the door shut behind him leaving the others inside in silence. | Real Name?
The name's Lui Cullins though not like any of you would know that.
Alias Then?
You can call me Luci. Yes, Luci.
How Old Are You?
Twenty-four!
Describe Yourself. What Do You Look Like?
You're looking at me ain't ya? It's fairly plain to see. I'm 'bout five seven or five eight in height. That's feet and inches of course. My hair is raven colored not black. It looks black but that's because you're clearly blind. Could use a nice, hot shower probably. It's pretty grimy. I'm pretty tan, too, check it out. I'd blend in pretty well in a crowd if I cleaned up if it weren't for one detail that sticks out like a sore thumb. My eyes are a brilliant blue color. They're practically like crystals embedded in my skull. Ain't that neat? Got it from my mother's side, ya'know. Genes really helped me out there. Didn't end up like all my siblings with their muddy, dirty brown eyes. My fashion sense is a little bland I guess. T-shirts, black jeans, and zip-up hoodies. Ooh exciting!
I Hear You Have An Ability.
You bet your sweet ass I do! Think Magneto from the comics except instead of being able to control all forms of magnetism I just straight up control the metal itself. No lame magnetism needed. How would I know the difference? Easy, of course. I don't just control Iron, Cobalt, and Nickle which are all naturally magnetic. I can mess with precious metals like silver and gold as well. Just imagine the applications! I can take a piece of metal and do all sorts of things to it. Move it around? Child work. Change its shape? Of course! Vaporize it into a mist and watch your enemies inhale it so that you can ravage their internals out of sight? Yeah! Well, not really. Changing the physical properties is pretty taxing mentally for now, but I'm getting better at it!
How About The Voice. What's It Like?
Oh she's the best! Well maybe it's a he. I don't really know, actually. They sometimes sound male, sometimes female, and it never really stays constant either. It calls itself the Perpetual, but I just like to call it Petal. Why would I want to imagine a dude's voice in my head anyways. Anyways this voice is actually pretty interesting when it actually decides to speak. Mostly it asks questions, and is pretty curious too. Sometimes it'll get pretty bossy and tell me what to do. I know it's for the best because without these orders I never would have been able to get this far. Petal has taught me the importance of feeding and even warned me about these weird men in grey suits I've often seen in places I've been to.
Where're You From? How Long Have You Been Searching For Elvarren?
Well I was born in Arkansas. What are you surprised? Yeah I know I've got no accent, but that ain't what we're talking about. Big ol' family there. Mom, Dad, and several siblings of various age groups. I was the fourth of six kids. Six kids! With so many siblings my folks never really did keep a close eye on me so I explored outside the house quite often. I practically grew up outside of my home. Especially once I applied my abilities to aiding my exploration skills. Once I figured out how to drive a car I never had a reason to go back home. After doing some cleaning up I left home and traveled the States looking for the elusive Elvarren, but never did find it.
How Did You End Up Here?
That is a good question! I'd like to think of it as a predator's intuition. Oh, but don't get the wrong idea! It's not like I'm hunting you guys or anything. I meant Elvarren! Yeah, I'm hunting Elvarren. So as I traveled around from place to place with each stop more unlikely to hold the secrets to Elvarren than the last I found myself on the Canadian border. As I looked past the security check into the country beyond I had a gut feeling. An instinctual feeling that I'd find what I was looking for outside of American soil. Plus, Petal agreed with me. She said it was a good idea, too.
Got Anything Else You'd Like To Say?
I'm sure you and I are going to get along quite well. |
48,931 | 1,321 | 11 | 2,549 | 441 | Standing there, Mirage watched the people around him, and the first thought through his head was it was a good thing he was use to crazy, cause this cabin was filled to the Max with it, not that was an instant bad thing. As he watched everyone interact with one or another, a soft whisper slid from the furthest reaches of his mind "oh great" he muttered to himself, just as the soft, Siren like voice spoke "sweetie, eyes open, always be vigilant" the words came like they always did, slow and seductive, but all they made Mirage do was roll his eyes and speak back mentally "great words of wisdom, really, anything else you want to share? like ohhh i don't know, how to control this power?" he asked, but of course the reply came as the voice retreated to wherever it resided when it wasn't being annoying "not really"
If he wasn't sure that hitting himself in the head wouldn't effect the Siren at all, he'd have done it, but as it was he let it go for now. Nodding toward Kaesar as he thanked him for the water, catching another pierce the water bottle, spilling it and ruining the plastic. "well now, interesting" Mirage said, shrugging. "no worries here, once it left my hand, its no longer mine" and then Kaesar claimed he could shoot lasers from his eyes, which would be cool if it was true, then Pup said what she could do, seeing the 'Dragon' flying around, which just made him shake his head and chuckle a bit. "cant shoot lasers or make a mechanical Dragon that defies the laws of Physics, but" he rolled his neck and uncrossed his arms, letting them drop to his side as he did his thing.
A Dark shadow appeared in the middle of the floor, coming from nowhere, just appearing as it then began to grow and expand. for Pup, if she could connect and see through her Dragon's eyes, she'd see that it wasn't real, but to everyone living that was currently in the same room as Mirage it was real as anything else. The blackness began pulling off the floor, moving and rippling as if something was wanting to free itself and then it did, as a hand ripped through the blackness and shot out of it. The hand was black, scorched looking with a skeletal look and long, impossibly long fingers, to long to be human. And then as quick as it appeared, it vanished.
"Illusions" Mirage said. "i can make you see, feel, believe anything i want, but they are not real, no substance.. yet" leaving it open that there was a possibility he could create true illusions that could actual effect the world around it | What is your real name?
Gideon Lotts
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Mirage seems fitting
How old are you, anyway?
Twenty Seven..no, Twenty Eight
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
Standing at 6'2, built and muscular. I'll wear whatever is available, makes no difference to me, they are just clothes. I've got tattoos on both arms, moving from the shoulders and down the arms to the wrist. My hair is black with a bit of white running through in to give it a grey look, and i usually wear it long, my most distinguishing feature is the scar that runs down the left side of my face, from forehead to chin.. Very nearly lost my eye.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
to Create Illusions, but so much more. They can be simple shadows at the edge of your vision to fully realized creations that reach so deep into the minds of those that see them, they are as real as anything else.. at least that is what i get they can be.. not quite there yet.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
The voice. *sighs* a Siren calling from the darkness. Its voice like a whisper in the ear, tempting me, guiding me, but never revealing anything more then a sliver of information.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
Was born in the Bahamas. Sun, Sand, and Women! come on what more could you ask for right? as for looking for Elvarren well for as long as the darkness and weakness began, but that one bit of hope remained, that one word.
How did you end up here?
Walking, Hitchhiking, ore Walking, and Boats.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
Don't eat Yellow Snow!! |
48,932 | 1,321 | 12 | 2,068 | 714 | Kasey fumbled a little as he went to catch the water bottle, but after a moment he had a firm grasp on it. He unscrewed the top and took a big swig, he had been pretty thirsty ever since he ran out of water yesterday.
“Thanks” Kasey said with a smile as he glanced over to the big guy who had thrown the bottle. Mirage? Well his name was way cooler than Kasey’s. He couldn’t help but wonder for a little about why he might have picked the name, but he found his interest shifting to one of the other guys in the room. At first he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, this guy could shoot lasers from his eyes! How cool was that!! Well he said he killed people, so that wasn’t cool, but it was still pretty cool. Compared to his power at least. But he heard someone use his ‘name’ so he turned to face them. He was met by one of the girls, accompanied by a small metallic… bird? No that was a…
“Woaah! Is that… He’s a tiny little dragon…” Kasey couldn’t help but be a little excited. This must have had something to do with her power, either that or she was crazy smart. “Thanks a lot… Pup was it? I’d love to have the little guy as company” He smiled and watched the little thing flap lazily around the woman. But he turned back in as another man started addressing the group. He addressed a few tasks that would be worth taking care of soon. Kasey decided that once they had finished their little power showcase he would make his way outside and collect some firewood. He wasn’t great at foraging, but wood couldn’t be too hard to find in a forest. He was a little startled as a bottle was seemingly shot from the air. The man with the hares apologised and stared cleaning up the mess. Maybe that’s how he caught the hares…
But soon something began moving on the floor. He wasn’t sure what it was, but blackness began pooling and a long skeletal hand shot out of it, before disappearing. Mirage spoke afterwards, explaining that it was an illusion. It took Kasey a few moments to recover though, something like that could have been very useful, if a little terrifying. He loved horror movies, but living them was not something he wanted to experience any time soon. Well at least he knew where he got the name now.
“Well since we are showing off powers, I might as well show off mine. But it’s a little hard to show off, but just bear with me” He started tapping his foot, and closed his eyes to focus. At first it seemed like nothing was happening, but after a moment, the sound faded away. He was still tapping his foot, but the noise couldn’t be heard. Pretty soon the sound began to fade from the world around them, the wind through the trees and the sound of the house creaking and even the sound of the dragon’s small metallic wings faded away into silence. For a moment he let it linger, let people soak in the silence, then he stopped and the subtle sounds of the world returned.
“Sorry for the weird demonstration, but I couldn’t think of another way. I can make sounds quiet. That’s where I got my name if you didn’t already guess. He said with a smile. It’s not as flashy as making light or illusions or dragons and lasers and stuff. But it makes sneaking around pretty easy. It’s funny, I used to use it to sneak up on my brother all the time at home, you should have seen his face when I would just pop up out of nowhere. He used to get so mad. Oh, but I won’t use it around here too much, everyone seems a little jumpy so it would be a bad idea to sneak up on people.” He thought back to the water bottle and the hares for a moment. It would be a good idea to make sure he never took that guy by surprise. | What is your real name?
Well people say you shouldn’t give your real name out to strangers… But you seem pretty nice, I guess… Its Kacey. Kasey Stone.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Uh, I don’t think so… What about Quiet? Well my brother used to make fun of me since I have a habit of talking a lot but, it was light-hearted and I always kinda liked- Oh, sorry I’m doing it again…
How old are you, anyway?
I’m… How old am I? Well if I was born… and then I was two years younger than James… So I’m 18! Well almost 19, but you know, still 18 for the moment.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
Huh? Oh, well pretty normal I guess? I’m shorter than a lot of guys my age, a fair bit thinner too. I have sort of blondish, brownish hair. I like to wear more baggy clothes, usually a hoodie and some jeans but I don’t care too much about fashion. As long as I am warm and comfy, I don’t really care what I look like. My face is pretty normal too, and I have hazel eyes. My brother always used to say they were just green, but I know they are hazel! He was just jealous since his eyes were brown like Dad’s.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
Oh… Well apart from the… you know… touching thing… I can also do something else. It’s kinda hard to explain, and it took me a long time figure out what it did. But, I can hear rhythm. I can hear the rhythm of someone’s breathing, I can sense the rhythm in their footsteps. And if I match the rhythm, like if I tap with my finger or something, I can make the sound a lot quieter. I used to make my footsteps quiet so I could sneak up on my brother. I have tried making sounds louder, but that’s a lot harder to do. And I can only do it on one thing at a time, if I try to do more than one I end up just getting confused. Plus, It requires a lot of concentration. But it was really useful for sneaking around at night.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
Oh, the voice! Well she doesn’t talk a lot but whenever she does, it always makes me feel a little better. She is nice, and helps me out sometimes! Sometimes she says some pretty creepy stuff, but she just wants what is best for me. She helped me find my way here, so she can’t be all bad. But she tells me to touch people… And I don’t want to do that anymore. But she says I need to feed, so sometimes I will find a mouse or like a cat or something… I always feel bad after that…
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
Well I was born and raised in Toronto. I lived with my Dad and my brother James. My mum died giving birth to me, so I never got to know her. Oh, but I was really happy with James and Dad. We didn’t have a lot of money since Dad took care of both of us, but we had a roof over our head and food on the table. It was a lot of fun… But I… Well one day I had to go. And that’s when I started looking for Elvarren.
How did you end up here?
A few months ago something happened and I decided I had to leave. I would rather not talk about it… But that’s when the voice started giving me directions, and I started following and eventually I made my way here. I walked most of the way, occasionally hitchhiked. The voice told me it was a bad idea, but I didn’t see an issue with it. I met some really nice people, like one guy who was driving a truck through town gave me a lift, and we listened to old songs on his radio. He was kinda - Oh, sorry, I’m rambling again…
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
Well… Do you know if someone can get... Actually never mind, it’s not too important…
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Thanks, it's good to meet you too! |
48,933 | 1,321 | 13 | 2,587 | 440 | As she stood in the forest, Fuchsia stared off toward a very specific direction. Nearly fifteen minutes ago, Dusk had dashed off into the foliage, after giving her a few hasty instructions. While she was sure that jacking up some as simple as going straight ahead would be quite impossible for her, Fuchsia still stood there questioning herself. Being alone in the forest immediately caused Fuchsia's anxiety to rise. If she were so worried, she'd just continue on toward the cabin as quickly as she could, right? That would be the most logical course, after all, but here she stood. Her fists clenched and unclenched several times and a clammy layer of sweat had settled onto them. Within her mind, Fuchsia could feel the presence urging her forward without speaking. How could it not sense what was wrong in this forest by now?
Or perhaps it did.
Truth was, the sound of Dusk's steps through the forest, the cracking of twig beneath his feet, the muffled noise of the forest floor beneath his feet, had been far too loud. This was the loudness of a gunshot in the night comparatively, in that when he moved branches or snapped twigs, that was all Fuchsia could hear.
Again: That was all Fuchsia could hear.
While she had not spent much time in a forest and she admitted she didn't know much about wildlife or anything, she definitely knew that there should have been other sounds-- birds, wind, the scrape of tiny squirrel feet against bark-- anything other than Dusk's steps. All this combined with well, everything else Fuchsia had been through recently and the decompensation from an adrenaline high, left her feeling deeply disturbed, anxious, and just a little bit horrified.
Her legs began to shake. Why did he have to leave? She wanted someone near-- not specifically him-- just anyone else to be nearby, to keep her company, because she felt incapable of... name something. Anything. Right now she couldn't even breathe properly-- Fuchsia's head swam and black dots danced before her vision. She inhaled deeply then kneeled down. From within, the voice finally spoke, "Seek not the dependence upon others-- you are meant to operate alone."
While she took more breaths to steady herself, Fuchsia shook away the fogginess in her head, then stumbled to her feet. Forward she half-stumbled sort of walked, looking like a drunken fool as she started to move. Now was not the time to stand around and, though the phrasing needed work, Fuchsia knew the voice had some sort of alright intention. Encouragement could almost describe the statement but she wasn't sure what to call it. Soon though, she found herself walking in a representable manner at a respectable pace. The only time the pace halted was when she came upon the body.
Or do you call it a carcass?
What's the difference-- A bear.
There was a dead bear laying in front of Fuchsia quite some distance from where she nearly passed out. Fact. She was only sure it was dead because she couldn't see an aura around it-- the bear had no feelings of life that she could sense either. What was most puzzling about the bear was how warm it still was yet, there was no sign of struggle or wound, it was simply laying on it's side as if it had taken a nap. A sudden feeling of urgency hit her like an icy bucketful of water and the voice within spoke once the word, "Run."
Weariness took a back burner as Fuchsia broke into a sudden sprint. Why? Why did she suddenly feel watched-- as if there were-- no... there weren't anymore of those strange men pursuing her, were there? "Run," spoke the voice within her mind once more. As much as she wanted to shout that she was going as fast as she could, a sudden flood of whispers distracted her-- whispers? Fuchsia found herself forced to jog, as the ground picked up a steep incline, but still she ran. The whispers grew louder yet, they weren't for her, she could feel-- but what the hell did that mean?
A shoddy rooftop peeked up from above the top of the hill and as she neared it, soon the cabin came into full sight. She tore past tree branches and carved through bushes, doing nothing to conceal her approach, or stifle her noise. Knowing fully just how loud she was, part of her expected to be mistaken for a bear-- oh that's not good. Fuchsia's mad dashing pace slowed, her muscles burning, chest heaving, and rain mixed sweat causing her thin summer shirt and shorts to cling closely to her back and legs. Halting nearly twenty paces from the cabin, Fuchsia stood just before the end of the treeline, then stared at the cabin, desperately trying to catch her breath.
Fog still hung lowly during the early morning hours-- the sun had just began to peek through the clouds.
"I'm here," she mumbled lowly, between heavy breaths, the words directed at the voice, "Now what?"
Sweet Meta-Info provided by | What is your real name?
Amon....Amon Deus
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
You don't have to tell me that. Horus, like the God of sky and light.
How old are you, anyway?
21 this year.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
Average height, standing at about 181 cm and weighing at approx 70 kg. My hair is jet black with hints of gray hair, "raven black" as my mum would call it since there were a lot of ravens hanging out at the tree in front of the house. I keep it short. My eyes are sharp and the color of gold with eye circles beneath. Too many restless nights as of late. Other from these, my face is clean shaven and with no other noticeable features. As for what I wear, anything normal to blend in, though I never change my black hoodie, no symbols on it, just simple black. Right now I'm wearing dark gray hunting boots with baggy military camouflage dark grey jeans. Another thing that I always carry is a silver necklace, memento of the past.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
As I've experimented a lot with my ability, I have gotten an overall grasp of its current limitations and effects. In few words I can control light...in a way. I can gather it somewhere making a sort of highly illuminated object or even creating a sphere. Or I can make something absorb the photons giving it the true color black, no color at all since light doesn't escape from it. Basically I can trap light. Another thing I've been experimenting on is to bend the waves of light in order to render an object invisible. The most I can manage at the moment is my hand or objects of that size.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
Th..the voice? Which one? I mean..yes I will find Elvarren...
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
I come from..not there..not from there also..That's not even the right continent!..hhh I come from the far North of here.
How did you end up here?
Tchk, if I went by your decision I would've been dead by now, you don't know ANYTHING more than I do so shut..- Yeah, right, so I've been traveling a lot lately, mostly by foot by I hitchhiked whenever I could.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I have been..the people that took me along on their ride..well I made sure no one who met me could tell..anyway who are YOU to judge ME!?
WHAT ARE YOU ANYWAY!?
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being… |
48,934 | 1,321 | 14 | 1,969 | 278 | The morning air was crisp as the mist drifted effortlessly through the trees, moisture clinging onto pine nettles which slowly fell in drops to the forest floor. This moisture in turn made the earth wet beneath Bear's feet, he could feel it tugging at the warmth from his oiled seal skin mukluks. A sound of a large raven flying by made him look up to the trees, the smile on his face was enough of a greeting for the young raven he called Huginn.
He had befriended the raven a winter earlier when he saved it from an old snare. The two shard a special relationship, the bird would stay near and alert Bear to danger with a loud squawk, yet make simpler more cooing noises when prey was near or everything was clear and in return was fed with whatever meat was left over. Again the large man checked his small lean to shelter for anything he might need, the cabin he had found yesterday was over the next ridge and Steve was rather excited to be so near always repeating something about 'others'.
After securing the campsite Bear decided to be careful, the sun was still behind the horizon and it was getting brighter. Quickly the man destroyed the shelter, picked up his spear, and moved on, no fire last night to risky he wanted no, needed to keep stealth on his side. Something about this place made his instincts flare, run, hide, fight, all of these at once is strange. Bear took his time yesterday getting a feel for the area mostly so he would know how to escape or find the quickest way to whatever resource he would need while in the area. This took time enough that he was using energy to stay concentrated.
One unknown benefit to taking the essence of other living things for him was a bug spray of sorts. Anytime he was outside in the open he was constantly taking the essence of one of the most pesky insects, the dreaded mosquito. Every time one would even slightly touch him they were drained and fell to the ground. Now, one would think that one mosquito doesn't give all that much energy and they would be correct. However, when you count the hundreds of thousands that seek to prey on you in one day that tiny bit of energy they give pays off in a big way. Unless Bear is using his ability actively, this consumption is enough to stifle the hunger on a day to day basis.
“OI!” the sudden voice made Bear sink low where he stood expecting someone nearby to have said it, “We need to move and get with the others to survive” with a sigh the large man stood more relaxed. “Oh hey Steve, where have you been these last few days?” He spoke aloud but still quietly, “I have been watching you carefully walk around the place you are supposed to be at... and stop calling me STEVE!” Bear turned his head slightly to the right as if flinching from the voice. He smiled and started walking, “your funny Steve, I hope there are more Steves like you where we are going” the only reply he got was a distant sigh as the cold fluid presence in his mind dissipated.
The walk through the mist was slow, walking a few yards before stopping, looking around, and listening. Picking every foot step to be as quiet as possible, Being as mindful as he could to avoid the dryer twigs and sticks that would snap under his weight. This part of the forest was also ripe with several varieties of berry that he was familiar with, as well as some edible plants. This took even more time because Bear will always stop for food, who could say when he might find it again? He soon noticed that he could spend hours here just picking berries and collecting leaves but he knew not to be too greedy and opted to take just a little more than he would need.
As he picked, he could feel the cold pressure in the back of his mind reminding him that Steve was not happy with this detour. Yet he knew these berries from what his life givers taught him, Blueberries, Raspberries, Cloudberries that Look kind of like a golden raspberry with a tart taste to them, and these small and red berries called Lingonberries that also taste a bit tart. He could also tell from the trails running in and out of these bushes and shrubs that animals frequented this hill side. Just one more thing to note for resources, from what he could tell already there was little in the way of human activity. Aside from the cabin and the unkempt trail leading towards it, forgotten maybe or perhaps hidden.
As the man neared the cabin he began to crouch walk, the thick brown fur coat that covered him blended in quite well with the surroundings. Before long, he found himself slowly crawling on all fours, moving slow as to make as little noise as possible and stop the brush from moving too much around him. Then as he neared the last defilade between him and the cabin he began his slow belly crawl up to where he had clear line of sight. Being as still as he could he looked through the bush that was dominated by thin firm branches and large green broad leafs.
He thought it was a moose at first by how loud it was through the forest, that was until he heard the breathing. Labored not wounded, more exhausted mixed with a bit of panic maybe. He could recognize this from hunting and chasing prey, but this girl did not look like prey. Short with a dark skin tone like that of some villagers yet she wore thin clothes that hardly covered her. How strange for someone to be wearing such strange clothing all the way out here. He would have rather waited in his bush to see how things would play out yet Steve had a different idea. “You are meant to be the leader of the pack, not a coward in a bush!” the voice screamed in his head, “Reveal yourself boy! Or so help me I will make you regret it” Bear knew the voice was serious. The first time he heard Steve and ignored him he was sent to the floor with a migraine from hell.
After a few breaths, he slowly stood being sure not to make any noise. She spoke “I'm here” then a short pause, “Now what?” did she see him, no she was too busy running from... what was she running from? He was maybe 20 feet from her and she didn't even notice him, “how? She wasn't blind... maybe deaf?” he thought well lets check. “Now how to introduce myself?” again he thought for only a moment before talking, “Hi!” he paused awkwardly for a moment as if remembering what he looked like. Long black tangled hair, a beard that he's kept short with a stone knife. He's holding a spear with a metal tip, his clothes are a combination of what one would call leather armor and various furs, the biggest being the bear fur that covers up his chest, arms, and the cape he is wearing not to mention the stone knife and hand ax on his belt, “Do you know where I can find Elvarren? I'm quite confused about who or what it is and Steve is being very quiet about it” again an awkward pause. | The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
Why are these questions important?
-Silence-
What is your real name?
Never mind, arguing with you is pointless. If I can remember I think it was Troy S... something, Smith maybe.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
What is an alias? You mean nick name? Uhh I think I have over heard some villagers call me... Bear yes that sounds right. Bear.
How old are you, anyway?
Old? Oh right, I have survived 26 winters.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I still do not understand why this is important. I would say I'm as tall as a three winters old spruce tree (6' feet) and as heavy as an adult reindeer (264 lbs.). My hair is as black as night and rests on my shoulders, my beard is as neat as I can get it... it can get in the way. I do wear wool clothes that are plain and tan, but mostly what I wear is my furs and I really like the brown grizzly bear fur. Other than that I have an old canvas backpack.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
Strange questions get stranger answers. I suppose you’re talking about what I can do that others can’t, the thing that quite possibly got my life givers killed? Hmm taking the souls of the animals and people I touch would be well enough on its own yet the great mother decided I needed something more. She gifted me with the ability to control her children, to dominate wildlife, to be an alpha. It does not seem to matter if they are tame or wild. When it comes to how difficult it is one animal is well enough on its own when it’s calm but put multiple animals in or angry animals that’s when it gets to the point where I tend to pass out or get weaker.
Yet when I do these things I can feel something, something more than what I am now. I feel like I can be stronger, that I can be faster, that my senses and reflexes can be keener. That in the end I can be one with these animals and nature.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
The voice what voice… oh you mean Steve? Steve is ok but gets upset when I call him that. He tells me or gives me a feeling of what to do or where to go. Like a compass, he’s not always around but lately he has been telling me to find “the time before sunset” and “others” with the random “feed” or “survive” thrown in. then he also whispers a word or maybe a name, I do not understand it. All he says is Elvarren.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
My Life givers lived in a small cabin deep within the Alaskan wilderness, what I have heard some call a home stead. I have been without them for 16 winters, they were good teachers, taught me how to talk, how to count, and how to survive. It has been 8 winters since the voice really started talking to me and when the hunger grew, 8 winters since I boarded up that cabin and set out to the east following Steve’s subtle directions, it doesn’t help that neither of us are good at talking.
How did you end up here?
Hiking through the mountains with vague directions is difficult, especially when one must worry about supplies, animals, and those weird people that try to follow you. Steve says they are dangerous so I avoid them and hide. I'm good at hiding and avoiding them, they don’t seem to have as much fun as I do in the forest though.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
The first animal I befriended was a mama bear, I brought her home but she didn’t like my life givers and killed them then left with some berry jam. That was a weird day, oh I almost forgot they never taught me how to read or write, I’ve learned enough to get by by myself but not much.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
No place is safe forever. |
48,935 | 1,321 | 15 | 943 | 214 | Location Unknown
Time Unknown
‘’We have uncovered the Lost Tribe of Privas in an isolated shelter of the Boreal Subcontinent located in America.
Based on the intel obtained from the earlier captured specimen -- they can sense hardly more than 10 of the Descendants left in this section of the Earth.’’
‘’Opportune. And what has stopped you from going in to seize them?’’
‘’Unfortunately, the generalissimo has lost contact with our hidden operative. And even if they hadn’t... Some of our foremen have returned, reporting dire complications.’’
‘’Yes? And what of it.’’
''...Our old enemy is at large.’’
KAESAR
Sounds come from outside beyond the cabin door. Disrupting the slumber of this shady vigilante, causing him to arise from the dark, his mind doubtlessly adrift in acts most profane and sacrilegious. He slept on the floor of the living room, in a sleeping bag. It is morning at last.
Kaesar groans in pain due to many stiff muscles and uncomfortable positions he had to sleep in. Then he scarcely more than mutters inwardly. ‘’I’d have preferred the bed but that CUNT, that mouth breathing loser named HORUS, snatched it away.’’
But so it comes to pass that Kaesar stands up, peering at the front door. Is he going to take a shower or make any attempt at washing himself? Nah. There are enemies in his vicinity. He can sense it. He can hear the faint murmuring of evil whispers. Kaesar can only guess their nature, before Am speaks up.
GO OUT AND MEET THEM. THERE ARE THREE OF THEM OUTSIDE.
Meet them? Who? Are there new people? Is it the Greymen? This soon? No, wait.. they do not have their particular vibe to them. These are all unfamiliar Perpetuals.
Conveniently, Kaesar was already fully clothed as he went to sleep, doubtlessly reeking of sweat. He approaches the frontdoor and opens it, spotting the two new guests. A man with a beard, and a young girl of dark complexion, more so than himself.
‘’You guys have a lighter? I need to have a smoke really bad... I’m Yoa—, Kaesar, by the way.’’ He speaks, as he non-challantly approaches the two of them.
‘’I’m just as oblivious to the situation as you two are, don’t worry.’’ Kaesar speaks calmly, with a smile. He is perhaps being a little too pushy and shameless.
‘’Tell me; where have you left your friend? Am told me that I would find three new people here.
Am is the name of my ‘Voice’.
You’ll find the people hiding in the cabin are a decent lot. Mostly. ‘’
He looks around to confirm no one is eavesdropping on them. Spotting no one, Kaesar continues, lowering his voice. ‘’My advice is to be wary of Horus and Luci. Dangerous and shady types of people. If you'll take my word for it, anyway.’’
TYRANT, YOU DELUDE YOURSELF. THERE IS AN ADDITIONAL ENEMY HERE STILL.
And it is true. Faint cries echo through the distant pines, its rather ominous origin obscured by vegetation and thick fog.
‘’Let’s get inside ASAP, yes? We can expect Dusk to return any moment now. Am is telling me it’s not safe here. Best to heed his advice.
Don’t worry about Dusk. I’ve known him for a while – he’s got experience with this.
By the way; we don’t have a Wi-Fi connection.’’
And the Tyrant led the two of the flock into sanctuary. | I am perpetual.What are you?
''Carl or Karel Pääsuke''
Is that your name? To stay out of harms way you will thenceforth go by a new one. What will it be?
''Dusk''
For how long have you so far lived?
''Nineteen years, a bit more.''
I cannot yet perceive your world. Describe to me your own manifestation.
''I have skin and eyes and teeth and ears and a nose. For some reason I like to point this out specifically -- a voice like you, but tied to a body. My eyes are hazel, my hair oaken brown. I'm lean and about average height, maybe an inch or so taller, not by much. I have a scar across my lip, at the right. (don't ask.) I have a thin jawline with what one would probably refer to as 'softer' features, which may seem contradictory if you've ever seen me get... passionate over something.
I generally dress in, well, whatever I can find. I'm rather fond of tie-dye and converse shoes. I like bright colours, though admittedly, they do draw people's attention to me, which I don't need. Still, I can't help myself. Often my shoes don't match as I am on the run and have little time to care about how I look. And in these colder climates, I make certain to use many layers of clothing. You really have to just learn to wear what you find. I also tend to have writing all over my arms. When I need to remember something, I don't bother with notepads. You can lose a notepad easily, but you can't lose an arm... Well, at least you can't lose it easily.''
You sensed the power awakening. What is it?
''I am a telepath and a mindwalker. I can go into people's minds when they get to a close enough range and see their thoughts, memories, even manipulate them. This all depends on the person's will and if they know what I'm doing. I can read minds, though, but I try to control that. I get bits and pieces sometimes, but I can supress it, choose not to hear. I try to do this as much as possible, but it gets hard to control sometimes. And occasionally, I'll slip into someone else's dream unintentionally. It can get difficult to sort out reality from dreaming sometimes.
Another problem I have is sometimes... I just hear things. I don't mean to. When I was younger, I remember I heard thoughts all the time and I couldn't control it. Just a flood of minds, of useless information. It got to the point where I thought about ending it just to stop it all. But I did eventually learn to control it. Open minds no longer plague me, I can close them off. But closed minds... those are the mysteries, the ones I actually have difficulty reaching. I can't help from trying sometimes. Sue me, I get curious.
My manipulation may be a bit unnerving to some, as if I caught you off guard and my energy was high, I might be able to force you to kill yourself. I never would, though. Never. This is a hard thing to force someone to do, though. Unless they want to die.
Dreams sometimes change at my will, but only other people's. And I can't always help it. It's not like I mean to go messing about in people's heads, it just happens sometimes. Especially if I'm asleep, when my guard is down. That's why I try to stay out of range of people at night. You never know.''
What do you think I am?
''I don’t know. But you are certainly as inquisitive about me as I am about you. I suppose we have that much in common. I tried pressing you for answers, but you won’t give away much. Stubborn, huh?''
Where upon this world did you initially dwell?
''Does it matter?''
Not anymore.
Why did you go out and seek this lost tribe at the word of a perpetual entity as myself?
''You told me to, and I knew someone had to do it. I believe I have this ability for a reason… To draw out people like me. To protect them. Unknown powers are at work.''
Would there be something you wish me to hear; speak it now.
''Forgive Aries, for he knows not what he says.''
That is all.
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
‘’Whatever you say, chap.’’
What is your real name?
‘’Yoan Ognyanov. Can you pronounce that?’’
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
‘’I was thinking Rex… No.. Caesar! Yes, call me Caesar. ‘C’ pronounced like a K. like Kaiser. So.. You know what; just write it like ‘Kaeser’ yes? Saves everyone the confusion.’’
How old are you, anyway?
‘’Twenty-two.’’
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
‘’A bit moderately built. Pretty athletic, I like sports. I remember being tanned but since I don’t see much sun anymore – am getting pretty pale. Darkbrown hair, pronounced cheekbones in my face, also stubbles because I often forget to shave. I keep my hair short, but you won’t see it I reckon, ‘cuz I mostly wear a beanie.
Clothes I wear are sturdy, dark leather boots and trousers with a bomber jacket. Also got gloves to beat someone’s head in, just in case. Also, because of my ability I need to wear sunglasses pretty much all the time. No, it's not to look cool and hardcore, nor is it a fashion statement. Trust me.’’
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
‘’It’s weird but it seems I can hypnotize people or something? Not sure if that’s how you call it, but it seems I can rouse up a group of people into lynching someone if I really wanted to. Granted; this probably won’t work on people that also have these… voices in their heads, or whatever. I seem to have a pretty good grasp on other people.
Being cool and stoic is always just a façade by people that think they’re coldblooded badasses. I can break the façade and put those faggots in their place if I wanted to. Not just people but even animals can sense my anger and be affected by it.
But that is just how I can affect people that are within a certain radius around me. I also have a stronger form of this power. The power to almost brainwash someone when that person looks me in the eyes. I do not have full power over what happens to the person, but they are often paralyzed when I do this. Just look me in the eyes and know fear! Fucking delicious. I wish people did it more often. And then I will be able to use my killer line:
‘’What, your mom never taught you not to make eye contact with FERAL BEASTS?’’
Har har har! Badass.
Anyway. To avoid this happening to allies I need to wear sunglasses, ye?’’
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
‘’He’s a cunt.
Well; he/it seems to look out for me. Calls me ‘Offspring of tyrants’, whatever that means. Feeds my ego occasionally, tells me to assert my dominance and carve out my own territory. Probably doesn’t understand we’re living in the 21th century. At best maybe if I travel to Canada I can come across some Indians and convince them to worship me as some shamanic messenger of god. I think I got that idea from some movie though. Is that what the Voice wants? Sounds cool enough.
I call him ‘Am’, because he never finished his line.’’
‘’I am.’’
‘’Am what?’’
‘’Am.’’
‘’Okay.’’
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
‘’Originally from Bulgaria. Moved to the US when I was very young. As for ‘looking’? You know, I’ve always had the feeling I had to find something, but I never knew what that was. Maybe it was Elvarren? I kept hearing that word, no idea where I heard it from originally. Seems painfully familiar though..’’
How did you end up here?
‘’I’m following you, Dusk. You fished me out of the crowd, remember? First time seeing someone with the same powers. There are probably some things you can teach me. Also, I have some unfinished business with that girl traveling with you.’’
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
‘’You better tell me everything that you know. I only agreed to follow you because I came looking for answers.’’
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
‘’Hrm. I was fine on my own…’’ |
48,936 | 1,321 | 16 | 2,025 | 3,674 | Pup
Pup had been busy yesterday. Going with Jay and Luci to the river, grabbing her hatchet on the way out, she had wandered the edge of wood looking at branches. Finding one that was acceptable, she sat with her back against a tree and began carving and shaping the branch, humming as she did so. As Luci began to clean the rabbits he had slain, Pup commandeered the skins left behind. She left him to the actual cooking and use of the meat, piling the skins next to her as she continued to work on the branch. She stayed behind as the other two left, concentrating on finishing her branch. It was an hour before she returned to the cabin, still humming lightly to herself and carrying more carved pieces of wood.
She dropped two pairs of rabbit skin mittens and a rabbit skin hat on the rickety table. "They're not very durable, but they'll help keep those of us who weren't prepared warmer. I'll see about making more actual clothes for this weather once we get something bigger killed. Like a deer or bear." With that, she walked over to the fireplace, and quickly started a fire. With that settled, she sat down and began humming again, working intently upon her pile of wood.
Hours passed with Pup not moving from her position next to the fire, humming and carving away. Occasionally she would mutter to herself, a curse or something to remember later, then lapse back into silence. She passed time like this late into the night, finishing the longbow and beginning to work on the rest of her wood. Fafnir perched on the mantle above the fire place, until sometime in the middle of the night, she looked up at the noises outside the cabin. "Fafnir, dear, could you go check that out? I'd rather not be ambushed by anyone tonight." The dragon trilled an affirmative, flying outside of the door. In a few minutes, he returned, trilling in alarm. "Whoa, whoa Fafnir slow down. What do you mean an unconscious bear? Right outside our cabin? We can't just leave it there."
Pup put aside what she had been working on, and stepped outside, following Fafnir to the darkness. What she saw made her freeze in place. The bear had gotten up and was wandering groggily around. "You said it was asleep Fafnir." She hissed under her breath, not daring to move. Relax. The real threat is gone. This thing isn't coherent enough to hurt you. What does that mean? Answer me! P didn't say anything more.
Fortunately for Pup, the bear had wandered off while she was angrily asking P to elaborate herself. Shaken, and thoroughly hoping that she was able to get a good night's sleep before it all hit the fan, she went back inside and laid against her backpack. Her project wasn't done, but that didn't matter. She needed sleep.
Dawn, when Kaesar leads in the new comers
Pup looked up from her project, she was busy putting the finishing touches on the wooden crossbow, and smiled at the newcomers. "Welcome!" She looked over the girl and frowned. "We're going to have to get you warmer clothes. Sit down by the fire if you're cold, I keep it going all day. If you have any questions pertaining to the voices in your head, your strange powers, or why you're being pursued by creepy men in the Grey Suits, no one here knows. Not even Dusk, and he brought us here. Hell, we're all practically strangers. Well, except for Dusk and Aries. I gather that they've known each other far longer than the rest of us have." She turned her attention to the cabin at large, gesturing to the unstrung longbow in the corner. "Does anyone happen to know how to shoot a longbow accurately? I made one last night, but the last time I touched one was ten years ago and it'll take me a while to get good with it. It's got about a 40lb draw weight if you're curious." | Character sheet
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
Can't really call you crazy when my voice has questions too.
What is your real name?
Freya Mathews. My parents had a fondness for norse mythology.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Puppeteer. Pup if you prefer. She glances away, talking to someone else. I'm not going to tell them tha-no, it's stupid, ugh, fine. She returns her attention. The voice, P, wishes to inform you of it's nickname for me. 'The Creator.'
How old are you, anyway?
25.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I'm terrible at this. I'm about five foot seven inches with a little longer than shoulder lenght brown hair that has a streak of white in the front. Natural, I promise. I have murky green eyes and I typically dress in clothing that is half formal half work. Brown, thigh high, lace up boots with dark blue jeans. A green long sleeve button up shirt, a brown leather vest over that, and brown leather gloves. Here's a picture for a better idea.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
I'm good at making and fixing things. Really good. If I have the proper tools I can create or fix basically anything I need or want to with a speed that would boggle the minds of most people. I don't even need to be taught how to use a tool, or what a machine is. I just grab them or lay a hand on them and know how to use tools and how machines work and how to fix them. Depending on how much I go 'in the zone' I could make something that should take years in a day. Though god am I tired after that. Sometimes I don't even need the tools, just the materials. Though that left me in a coma for a week, so I try to take it slow.
I can exert my will over machines and tools. Make pieces of a car engine stop working, draw a hammer to my hand, jam a gun, mostly little stuff like that. Though I have to be under two feet away or touching them for it to work.
I can also kinda, uh, give life to things. I'm not sure how far it goes, P assures me that it's only permanent things I've created myself, but that's how this little guy got here. She whistles, and a bronze mechanical dragon flies to her shoulder I call him Fafnir. Yes I can understand him. He's about as big as I can go for permanent, at least so far, life. Made me pass out and wake up in a hospital bed three days later.
Which, now that I think of it, was the beginning of the end. On the temporary side of things I can have a hammer or another tool do something by itself for a couple minutes, or have a bunch of tiny things like chess pieces move of their own volition for a game. It seems that their 'purpose' is whatever I deem it to be upon the 'blessing of life that I bestow'. P is very dramatic.
Fire and heat don't bother me. At all. I could stick my hand in a fire and be totally fine. I think I can't even get burned. I actually really enjoy blisteringly hot days of 100 degrees without breaking a sweat. It's why I hate this place, it's so cold. I think I can manipulate it too. Fire, that is. Like that guy from the Xmen movies you know, the one with the lighters. For example, fire reacts to my emotions some times. Flaring when I'm angry, dying out when I'm sad. From what I've gleaned from P, eventually I'll be able manipulate open flames to grow larger, burn hotter, or simply be snuffed out. It assures me that I can't actually create flames. Just manipulate them. So if you douse a flame, I can't make it spring back to life. Like I said, very similar to the guy from the X-men films. I think the whole affinity for fire thing has to do with the fact that my 'powers' are older than P likes to admit. From a time when all creating was done with fire, iron, and the strength of arm.
She hesitates
There's one more thing. Whenever I'm making things I get these...feelings I guess. They're like sensations of elements, or other supernatural traits like invincibility, breathing underwater, or never going dull, on the edge of consciousness. I think I could grab them and put them into whatever I'm making. Whenever I tried though, I passed out (I do that a lot when messing around with my powers don't I?) for a few hours and woke up with a killer headache. P insists that as long as I grow in power I could eventually do it.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
P? Its current choice of voice is that of a woman right now. I think it just likes that sound for itself, since it tried male and small child of both genders in an attempt to cajole me. P rarely makes me do things, since I mostly prefer to stand frozen in place, locked in an internal struggle, rather than listen to what it tells me to do. It generally approves when I'm making things though.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
Rural Missouri. There were always things that needed to be made or fixed, so I was a blessing around the household. My parents told me to take it easy on hot summer days after I went into a coma for a week. The doctors and nurses, all looking noticeably more exhausted after I woke up, had said that was the problem. P convinced me that it was better to go along than it was too try to convince them that I had powers and a voice.
I left after P made me drain my mother dry.
Wandered around for a few years, eventually setting up in an autoshop. We became quite popular for fast, really good, service. I had taken to my current style of clothing, trying to keep as little skin to skin contact with people as possible. I only fed off of wildlife or idiots in clubs, gently drifting by until they were tired and had to leave. It was around that time that I made Fafnir. My coworkers found me and took me to the hospital. I woke up a few minutes before the Greys showed up. P screamed at me to run, and for the first time in a long, long time I complied immediately.
Raced back home, got dressed, grabbed everything I thought I'd need (yes, that includes this toolbelt) and I've been running ever since.
How did you end up here?
P said head north. North ended up here.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I'll get this ran down piece of crap liveable, ideally before the Greys show up. I hate half-finished products. Also, don't touch the toolbelt without asking.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Chuckles. Someone likes being ominous.
Misc. Details
Contents of Pup's Backpack:
-25 Weather proof matches, with a water-proof container
-A dozen small shampoos stolen from hotels
-A hatchet
-A 27x52in towel
-A sewing kit
-A dozen bars of soap
-Hydration pack and hose
-A sleeping bag
-Spare clothing (two extra button up shirts, one made of thick wool, one made of flannel. An extra pair of pants. Two pairs of thick wool socks. An extra pair of brown leather work gloves. A scarf.)
-First aid kit
-A 14x16 foot tarp
On Pup's person and in her Toolbelt:
-Claw Hammer (toolbelt)
-Multitool (toolbelt)
-Two dozen nails (toolbelt)
-Swiss Army knife (person)
-Knife (tucked into boot)
-Compass (person)
-Lighter (person) |
48,937 | 1,321 | 17 | 2,587 | 440 | Hi!
Fuchsia looked over to the man greeting her without any signs of being startled by him. Truth be told, part of her had sensed him close by-- well, maybe not specifically him. She knew there were others and that they meant her no harm but this guy? She didn't expect anyone to look like this guy. Her brow raised as she looked the man over-- what a strange way to dress. While Fuchsia knew that people used to dress in this manner, or perhaps still did, the only opinion she could form about this man, dressed in skins and holding a spear, was that he looked as if he stepped right out of a Dungeons and Dragons campaign. She remained silent in his pause, further making the quiet awkward for them both.
"Do you know where I can find Elvarren? I'm quite confused about who or what it is and Steve is being very quiet about it."
Fuchsia waited for him to elaborate or say something more but he... just kind of stopped there. Again, an awkward silence settled between them. Taking a deep breath, Fuchsia wiped sweat from her brow, then told him, "I'm looking for Elvarren too. But. Uh. I mean, I don't know where it is-- you know there's other people here too er, like me and you, I mean-- can't you hear the whispers? Ah--" she paused "--that sounded weird? Yeah it did..." And as she trailed off, a man came from inside the cabin, and walked toward them.
‘’You guys have a lighter? I need to have a smoke really bad... I’m Yoa—, Kaesar, by the way.’’
He was straight to the point. Kaesar? Must have been one of those names. Fuchsia remained silent and non-responsive as he spoke, even breaking eye contact with Kaesar, as she stared at the ground. She listened. Kaesar spoke of the voice he heard and the name of it-- Am? And the other guy had mentioned Steve-- was that the name of the voice he heard? Were these just nicknames or were they confirmed? Truth be told, if they were the former? Fuchsia hadn't had a mind to nickname the voice in her head. It honestly seemed a bit disrespectful or strange-- she couldn't quite pin the feeling down to a word but, she wasn't going to name the voice, bottom line.
Kaesar advised her to be wary of Luci and Horus but instinct told her to form her own opinions. Her gut instincts had rarely been wrong about people, plus there was something about Kaesar that made her feel a little uncomfortable. Maybe it was how pushy he seemed to be. Then again, he warned them to head inside to avoid apparent danger, so maybe she was misjudging him? Fuchsia scratched her head and remained quiet as she followed Kaesar toward the cabin.
Be not complacent in your passivity. Question. Seek. Demand. As you are expected. Insisted the voice. Shaking her head, Fuchsia found herself content to be quiet for now, even when they entered the cabin. The time for asking questions would be later, for sure. Now however, seemed more to be a good time to get to know the others, but only based on observation. She was glad to not be alone in this but, she wasn't exactly convinced none of them could be trusted yet-- aside from Dusk, that is. People would still be people, mystical powers or not, and people could be just as terrible as they could be good, and Fuchsia would never place trust blindly... Question. Seek. Demand. Urged the voice and Fuchsia suddenly understood the meaning. Would it kill you to be less vague next time? She found herself screaming inside. Silence was her answer.
Upon entering the cabin-- "Welcome!"
Fuchsia made eye contact with the stranger, who was tinkering with a crossbow, very briefly. The rest of her words were lost as Fuchsia stared around the cabin with a heavy feeling od dread in her stomach. This was it? This was the safe place for them? It looked as if it wouldn't withstand a bad gust of wind at the most. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she kept quiet, standing there rather awkwardly, without much drive to go further into the cabin. Truth be told, she really just wanted to turn around and go back outside, but that would probably come off as rude.
Interaction with | What is your real name?
Amon....Amon Deus
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
You don't have to tell me that. Horus, like the God of sky and light.
How old are you, anyway?
21 this year.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
Average height, standing at about 181 cm and weighing at approx 70 kg. My hair is jet black with hints of gray hair, "raven black" as my mum would call it since there were a lot of ravens hanging out at the tree in front of the house. I keep it short. My eyes are sharp and the color of gold with eye circles beneath. Too many restless nights as of late. Other from these, my face is clean shaven and with no other noticeable features. As for what I wear, anything normal to blend in, though I never change my black hoodie, no symbols on it, just simple black. Right now I'm wearing dark gray hunting boots with baggy military camouflage dark grey jeans. Another thing that I always carry is a silver necklace, memento of the past.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
As I've experimented a lot with my ability, I have gotten an overall grasp of its current limitations and effects. In few words I can control light...in a way. I can gather it somewhere making a sort of highly illuminated object or even creating a sphere. Or I can make something absorb the photons giving it the true color black, no color at all since light doesn't escape from it. Basically I can trap light. Another thing I've been experimenting on is to bend the waves of light in order to render an object invisible. The most I can manage at the moment is my hand or objects of that size.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
Th..the voice? Which one? I mean..yes I will find Elvarren...
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
I come from..not there..not from there also..That's not even the right continent!..hhh I come from the far North of here.
How did you end up here?
Tchk, if I went by your decision I would've been dead by now, you don't know ANYTHING more than I do so shut..- Yeah, right, so I've been traveling a lot lately, mostly by foot by I hitchhiked whenever I could.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I have been..the people that took me along on their ride..well I made sure no one who met me could tell..anyway who are YOU to judge ME!?
WHAT ARE YOU ANYWAY!?
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being… |
48,938 | 1,321 | 18 | 1,969 | 278 | This girl's response towards him was strange, she seemed to look at him with curious eyes and did not seem to be startled or afraid. "Brave or uncaring" he thought to himself as she spoke of the similar place before trailing off. “Whispers? You mean Steve? Yeah he's around... others? You mean the ones that keep to the cabin over there?” he motioned his head slightly to the cabin as he spoke. But still he found it weird, it was always weird to talk to someone who wasn't in his head.
Almost didn't hear the newcomer at first. He seemed to be paying too much attention to the girl, internally he cursed at himself for not keeping better aware of his surroundings. This man was strange hell they were all strange, “Lighter?” Bear asked his brow furrowed in a questioning look, “what is a lighter?” he had a feeling that words between them would be unknown to him but he did not expect it so soon. Still, the man continued to speak about the three of them, "three, is he counting himself?" again he thought about it before letting the man finish. He spoke of others named Horus and Luci and to be wary of them in a low whisper, Bear however, spoke aloud, “Why are Horus and Luci Dangerous?”
Honestly bear does not know what would be considered polite, considerate, or subtle. He does understand for the most part person space, ownership of items, and to at least get permission before doing things with others or their things. But even then he is still what some would say a very rude person. He just doesn't know how to be tactful and doesn't really understand social cues. When others are more blunt with him he does tend to do well but these people act with deception, as if they haven't been able to trust others or are used to being lied too.
This man was confusing for him, spouting mostly nonsense and strange foreign words. “I do not know what this Wi-Fi is but I don't think I want it” he spoke to the man in a mono tone voice and maintained the questioning look before looking back the way he came. Something felt off, like he was being watched or stalked. Then he heard it the warning call from Hugin warning his friend of danger in the area and his instincts told him to hide.
Seemingly agreeing with this man who calls himself Kaeser, “I am unaware of this third friend you speak of, but it would be wise for us to go inside” the wooden spear he held in his hand was light yet strong and seemed to be more of a walking stick matching Bear in height, the polished metal tip gleamed in the sunlight that cut through the trees. Glancing back behind him again only for a moment Bear followed the other girl into the cabin calling out to his friend before entering, “Hugin, stay close and stay safe” the raven flew over head and perched itself up high in a pine tree near the cabin. His friend would stay nearby for several days leaving only to feed and drink from the river.
The cabin reminded Bear a lot like the old cabin he boarded up eight winters ago, "had it really been eight winters?" The thought stuck in his head for a short time before emerging through the doorway next to the smaller girl in strange clothes. This time he was greeted with a rather warm hello and explanation of why they were here, “Dusk?” he spoke, “that won't be for some time longer.” he listened further into what the girl at the table was saying, she seemed to be busy messing with a cross bow and mentioned something about a bow. “Hey look Steve Friends!” Bear sounded rather excited to meet so many new people, he even smiled. He wasn't one to judge others only ever really judging others to sized them up, to see if they could be a threat, “Look at their strange clothes Steve.”
He noticed after a few moments he was blocking the door so he politely shuffled to the side out of the way and sat down with his legs crossed in front of him. The large man smelled of pine nettles and a strange earthy smell with a hint of onion and mint. This unique smell had a purpose, a purpose to smell like the forest to better hide from predators and prey. “This place smells weird, kind of fruity and a little musky.” he found himself making his observations out loud uncaring if it was insulting to others. Yet he found himself staring at the women with the cross bow watching the way she manipulated the wood with careful purpose.
To be honest he stared for some time, for him it was rather mesmerizing. “Would you stop staring and say something” the rather agitated voice of Steve returned with vengeance. “O hi Steve you were being rather quiet there for a little while. What? Introduce myself? Fine I guess.” the man looked around the room at all of them after seemingly talking to himself, his head tilting ever so slightly as he looked among them with a look of curiosity and slight wonder. “Hello my names bear... at least that's what everyone calls me. I can't quite remember my real name.” again he looked about the other occupants of the small cabin that was beginning to get crowded.
One man had skin that was as pale as the full moon and seemed to be scarred in many places, another a girl with hair as bright as summer green grass had an alluring quality about her he could not point out. Another man he could see, strong and well-built with a straight scar running down his face. Definitely not caused by an animal or at least it doesn't look like it, a knife maybe. Another man seemingly average build with hair the color of Huginn's feathers and brilliant blue eyes like that of deep dangerous water.
Before he could continue with his observations, another man came through the door way. He looked up to this man from his seated position and could tell that he was slender with pale skin, about average height but still shorter than bear. His eyes were hazel and a prominent scar highlighted his lower lip. He seemed to speak to the lady making the bow before turning to Bear and speaking to him in a rather excited tone.
“Where did you come from? ... You found us? On your own? Normally I am the one finding other people. How strange. But a good pace of change, I suppose. What is your name? No, not your real one, sorry, your alias?”
the man had many questions all of which Bear was happy to answer.
“Alaska? Yeah that sounds right” he seemed to question himself for a moment before continuing, “yes well... not on my own. Steve helped me find you and my instincts gave me a direction too. He told me 8 winters ago that I was needed else where. That I needed to find the time before sunset.” he spoke in a cheerful tone yet paused for a moment and looked at his hands contemplating the journey here and how long it took him. “He told me on several occasions I was to be a... pathfinder I think or guide. Something about not knowing the way but finding the path for others to follow.” Bear looked up as he thought about what he just said, “yeah that sounds like something Steve would say.” again he paused as he looked around the room then back up to the man standing before him. “Well I told them but I can't really remember what my real name is but most people just call me bear.” he smiled at the man, it had been after all a few months since he last spoke to an actual person. “O and Hugin and I found your cabin yesterday but I spent a day crawling around the bushes avoiding what ever that thing is outside and foraging.” thinking of that the man pulled a gallon sized leather pouch from his belt and held it up to the man, “Berry?” | The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
Why are these questions important?
-Silence-
What is your real name?
Never mind, arguing with you is pointless. If I can remember I think it was Troy S... something, Smith maybe.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
What is an alias? You mean nick name? Uhh I think I have over heard some villagers call me... Bear yes that sounds right. Bear.
How old are you, anyway?
Old? Oh right, I have survived 26 winters.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I still do not understand why this is important. I would say I'm as tall as a three winters old spruce tree (6' feet) and as heavy as an adult reindeer (264 lbs.). My hair is as black as night and rests on my shoulders, my beard is as neat as I can get it... it can get in the way. I do wear wool clothes that are plain and tan, but mostly what I wear is my furs and I really like the brown grizzly bear fur. Other than that I have an old canvas backpack.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
Strange questions get stranger answers. I suppose you’re talking about what I can do that others can’t, the thing that quite possibly got my life givers killed? Hmm taking the souls of the animals and people I touch would be well enough on its own yet the great mother decided I needed something more. She gifted me with the ability to control her children, to dominate wildlife, to be an alpha. It does not seem to matter if they are tame or wild. When it comes to how difficult it is one animal is well enough on its own when it’s calm but put multiple animals in or angry animals that’s when it gets to the point where I tend to pass out or get weaker.
Yet when I do these things I can feel something, something more than what I am now. I feel like I can be stronger, that I can be faster, that my senses and reflexes can be keener. That in the end I can be one with these animals and nature.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
The voice what voice… oh you mean Steve? Steve is ok but gets upset when I call him that. He tells me or gives me a feeling of what to do or where to go. Like a compass, he’s not always around but lately he has been telling me to find “the time before sunset” and “others” with the random “feed” or “survive” thrown in. then he also whispers a word or maybe a name, I do not understand it. All he says is Elvarren.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
My Life givers lived in a small cabin deep within the Alaskan wilderness, what I have heard some call a home stead. I have been without them for 16 winters, they were good teachers, taught me how to talk, how to count, and how to survive. It has been 8 winters since the voice really started talking to me and when the hunger grew, 8 winters since I boarded up that cabin and set out to the east following Steve’s subtle directions, it doesn’t help that neither of us are good at talking.
How did you end up here?
Hiking through the mountains with vague directions is difficult, especially when one must worry about supplies, animals, and those weird people that try to follow you. Steve says they are dangerous so I avoid them and hide. I'm good at hiding and avoiding them, they don’t seem to have as much fun as I do in the forest though.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
The first animal I befriended was a mama bear, I brought her home but she didn’t like my life givers and killed them then left with some berry jam. That was a weird day, oh I almost forgot they never taught me how to read or write, I’ve learned enough to get by by myself but not much.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
No place is safe forever. |
48,939 | 1,321 | 19 | 1,037 | 368 | DUSK & Stheno
They walk. Another mile. And another mile through the taiga forests.
''Do you hear that?'' Dusk speaks.
''The whispers in the wind... These are not delusions, nor are you going insane. You must've heard them before. They are the Perpetuals -- voices -- of people afflicted with the same thing we are. If you pay attention to it, you can hear them from every direction, and from all corners of the globe. Do not be alarmed by it.''
They walk further, the climate is getting colder and bleaker even in the heart of spring. Why so far north? Why in this no-man's-land of boreal Canada?
''In the meantime, do you perhaps have any questions? I believe now is a good opportunity to ask; I can tell how confused and startled you are by everything you've witnessed. I will tell you what I know, even when I don't know much.''
Did she have questions.
What do you even say to that? Where did you even start? Things like 'who the hell are you' and 'what the hell are we doing in the cold' and 'what the hell is happening to me' all jockeys in her mind, all reasonable thoughts, but with her hands shoved into her pockets and her shoulders hunched together against the cold under her coat Elizabeth could only really bring herself to ask one thing.
"Why Elvarren?" She managed, tugging her cozy knit beanie down over her ears self consciously. She hadn't ever really said it our loud before, she realized, and it sounded stupider than she thought.
Because she was really that self conscious in front of a bloody eskimo.
And the eskimo gives reply:
''Elvarren...''
That same one word, utterly meaningless from the surface, though making you unable to shake off that feeling there's something quite profound to it.
''Humans crave for explanations to their lot in life, do they not? Especially those like us, cast in an unexplainable maelstrom of bizarre fates and fables of mysticism.
Elvarren represents the answer. Or at least, the Perpetuals seem to believe so. Why do we have these powers? Why are the Greymen looking for us? Why us, and not someone else? Elvarren is all we have to go on. Our only clue. The single distant light tower shining from the murky bay.
In fact, by the way the Perpetual is making it out to be, our very lives -- and perhaps those of our species as a whole -- revolves around finding it, now.''
Was that answer in any way helpful or satisfying to Elizabeth? Probably not.
Dusk begins to pant, as in fatigue. There is a visible strain appearing on his face as he lowers his head.
''Sorry. It's not easy, you know... I'm not happy about it either, to be of so little help. And this strain... to find you all before they do. Sometimes I wonder if...''
Dusk shakes his head.
''No, no. I am in too deep now. I must see this through -- we must see this through...!''
He wasn't wrong. If Eliza had any sense that Dusk knew anything more about what the hell Elvarren was than he was saying she would have...well, she'd have done...something, at any rate. Her thoughts flicked back to men smashed into walls and left on airport floors, to the way Charlie's arm looked after--
She wrapped her arms around herself, and not because she was cold.
Meanwhile her little sherpa seemed to he having a little meltdown of his own, which actually somehow made it easier. It was easier to deal with someone else having a hard time than it was to figure out whatever this mess actually meant for her, and even if he was crazy at least they were both crazy. She almost reached out to reassure him, flexing her long fingers tentatively, but he snapped out of it before she could manage. Her hand tucked quickly into her pocket, embarassed.
''Anyway, if you'd have asked me: ''WHERE Elvarren... that's where things get interesting. The Perpetual that enlisted me to its cause seems to be wisest as to its whereabouts, from where i'm standing. He insists it's towards a pole of the planet. That is why I chose this place... that is why I am bringing you all to my dad's lodge deep into Canada.''
"Sounds..."
Right, sweetling. It sounds right.
Thanks, voice in my head. Very comforting, she thought, but then felt silly for thinking it. Eliza wasn't a shrink, but she was pretty sure you weren't supposed to chat with your delusions.
"Better than anything I've got." She finished and admitted at the same time, and felt better for it. It was somehow easier to go with someone's plan, any plan, having accepted that she didn't have one of her own. Then she blinked.
"So when you say 'lodge'..."
''T'is a small place. Not quite befitting of a lady... more of a shelter for dispossessed.... I should warn you, some of the people ther--''
Dusk would have continued, when suddenly an expression of sheer dread formed on his face, and his movement halted abruptly. He sensed something.
''What? What is it?'' With a look like that on his face it had to be something serious, Eliza assumed, and tried to hazard a guess. "Not more Greymen, right?"
''No, no, it's not... There is no way they'd be able to trace us so fast in their current state.''
Dusk mumbles inwardly, enough so for his words to be unintelligible to Eliza.
''How familiar... Is it still alive? It's been a long time; that damned beast. I had half a thought that the Greymen would have gotten it by now. Well. Perhaps it is for the better.''
Listening to him mutter away didn't exactly help her opinion of the guy's sanity, but she knew enough that if something was bothering him like that it wasn't for nothing. It passed as soon as it came, it would seem, but she eyed him up until he gathered himself back together.
''Come on. It's not far now. We'll be safe there, trust me on at least that much.''
And lo, in the clearance amidst the trees appears the ramshackle lodge of Dusk's father mentioned earlier. Almost entirely made of wood, save for some use of lead and metal for the roof. The area is eerily quiet from the surface and shrouded in morning mist still. However, both Dusk and Eliza can sense that there are many people inside at present. Even if some of them are still in a state of slumber, or deliberately try be as quiet as they can, there are the whispers of Perpetuals that will inevitably lead others to them -- others likewise stricken by this ill fate.
Dusk and his new compatriot move to the door, with the Dusk opening it, he and Eliza finally leave the cold behind and move inside.
''People! It's me -- Dusk! I'm back!
Where is Aries? Hello?''
Entering the room, he can see four faces, three familiar and one completely alien to him.
Getting used to the very welcoming embrace of the lodge's warmer temperature, Dusk removes the winter hood that had hitherto covered his scalp, and for some this will be the first time getting a good look at him.
He appears like an ordinary young man, dark blond of hair, slender -- a bit gaunt even, though this is not quite visible under the thick winter's clothing which is indeed reminiscent to those worn by Inuit tribes. His complexion is pale, and his face handsome, even slightly feminine in a way that will make certain Balkan women swoon.
He turns to Fuchsia first. ''Hey. I knew you would make. I'm so sorry for having left you like that. But from now on, we'll stick together. For survival's sake, if nothing else.''
Then he looks over to the unfamiliar man with the beard. ''Where did you come from? ...You found us? On your own? Normally I am the one finding other people. How strange.. But a good pace of change, I suppose.
What is your name? No, not your real one -- your alias.''
For her part, Eliza met the rag-tag band of individuals with as much cheer as...well, no. She was awkward, her hands in the pockets of her black thigh-length coat, her head tucked under the stylishly-knit cream beanie tugged tight over hair that was very nearly platinum. Petite and slim, certainly compared to her parka-wearing guide, she managed a little wave of her fingers from the hip and a quiet "...'lo everbody..." before stepping to the side of the door and taking her place against a wall. What a motley little crew they'd found...
Collab with . | What is your real name?
...Elizabeth St. John.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Alias. I suppose I need one, now, don't I... Pity. I liked being Eliza.
...but call me Stheno.
How old are you, anyway?
Old enough to know better. Pre-thirty, and thanks so much for that little rose, Kyle...
...but I'm twenty nine.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I hate talking about myself. You know those people who hate talking about themselves? I'm one of them. I'm pretty, and slim, and I dye my hair more than I'd like but less than you think. I'm not tall. I've grey eyes, bleached white hair and...well, no figure...
...but if you must know, I like my collar bones.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
'Ability', it says. What, you mean this little talent of mine? The one that means I shouldn't see my son again? Or husband? Or feel normal? This isn't a bloody comic book, you know, this is my life and it's ending in what might as well be bloody Siberia for God's sake. So yes, I suppose, I can take people's essence. Or life, or energy, or...whatever. Whatever it is, I take something from them, and if they're very lucky it comes back. Sometimes it doesn't. Is that what you want me to say?
No. No, of course it's not, because that's not enough, is it. There has to be more, there's always more. Trouble comes in threes, they say, so if you must know I'm... I suppose you could say 'strong', but let me stop you there. When I say that, you're thinking bodybuilders, weights at the gym, Arnold Schwarzenegger, but that's not on. Not quite, at least. I'm... more than that.
Swing-a-telephone-pole-like-a-baseball-bat more than that.
Toss-your-car-over-my-shoulder more than that.
And, while we're at it, my skin is strong too, and my bones. They must be, because that's the only bloody explanation I can think of as to why they don't rip or break or cut like normal. I mean sometimes, sure, but not like they ought to. I've put my hand through a car door without a bloody scratch, I mean, can you believe it? I don't know. I just don't know, sometimes.
...but they told me I was strong, and tough, so there you are then.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
Oh yes, and thanks so much for that little chestnut. Going on about Elvarren, as if that isn't some made up word. I'd say I've gone mad, but apparently I'm not the only one. Mass hysteria is real, you know, I've read about it on the telly, and maybe that's what this is...
...but it's kind, kinder than I'd like. It tells me it's not my fault.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
Gloucester. I say 'England' and you all think London, like there isn't a whole rest of the country out there.
...but yes, I'm from Gloucester. I miss it. It was warmer there, though I'll give you not by much.
How did you end up here?
Well I flew, didn't I? I certainly didn't swim! London to Montreal to Saskatchewan to a rental car that I never took back...it ran out of petrol a ways back, and I suppose I...well, walked from there. At least I brought flats.
...but yes, I flew. What would you have done?
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I miss them. God, I miss them so much. Kyle and...and Charlie. I'm so sorry, Charlie, honey, mommy's so sorry...
...but I had to go, didn't I.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Oh yes, I'm sure. Of course I will.
...but will you? |
48,940 | 1,321 | 20 | 2,678 | 905 | Dusk?! Aeris thought, his body tensing up as he heard his friend's vioce. Really, he should have expected it, but it always came as a bit of a surprise to see him again after they'd seperated. Almost as if a part of him didn't expect him to return. That part he really tried not to pay any attention to.
Dusk, and his new companion's casual appearance was at least as bizzarre as the seemingly unrelated one by a short-haired girl and a long-bearded fellow who simply... strolled in. What were the chances of two random people finding him and his flock in such a place? There are no chances. ...only last chances. Aries almost rolled his eyes at that. Sometimes you really don't sound as intimidating as you think. Dusk must have met them before and given them directions, surely. Even when the short exchange revealed that really wasn't the case, Aries refused to let the nagging feeling that something's off bother him and focused on the presnt.
Once a double-check confirmed that was indeed Dusk, the other man felt a weight lift off his shoulders. It hadn't been long, but taking care of other people really had taken its toll on him. Not least because nothing he said had exactly the same effect as their leader's words.
"Welcome." He addressed the newcommers hastily before turning to his friend, keeping his voice low in the hope that no one would overhear. "I think we should talk as soon as we can do so in private." That said, he took his jacket and left the cabin heading into the nearby wood.
Meanwhile Jay, who was just sturring awake, was busy staring at the newcomers, and the man in perticular. Now that she was (mostly) well rested and (mostly) clean, the woman could concentrate on something other than herself. There was nothing discreet about Bear's looks, it was an all-out freak show. What was he up to, cosplaying? Or, don't tell me that not only do people like us exist, but so do werewolves too? Surely not! Then again, the was a dragon flying about the room and a boy who claimed to be able to cast curses, so how unbelievable would that be, really? She'd heard a whisper about a dead bear around the cabin so quite frankly, a werewolf ally sounded better than all the other causes she could think of. Of course, that was assuming that allies were to be had in this place.
Jay didn't really trust anyone here. Half of them looked too naive for their own good, and the other half, well. They were the ones you wanted as friends. If push came to shove, very few people in the room would survive. Kaesar, Lucy, Horus.. that's who she'd bet her cards on. That was why she'd been trying to strike a conversation with most anyone who would listen. Information was a weapon, one of the most dangerous she knew, and she wanted to polish it well before half of these people took their knowledge to their graves.
The woman stretched her stiff muscles and looked outside the window estimating it was the early hours of the day, somewhere between dawn and noon. One thing you could take from barely scraping by for weeks at a dump yard. It teaches you to pay attention to trivialities like the sun and moon. Sitting up and running a hand through her tousled hair she greeted the newcomers with a simple nod and glanced around the room.
"Don't you think maybe it's time to discuss what we know about Elvarren?" She left the question hang, the weight of it filling the room like thick smoke. | Aries
What is my real name?
Tobias Wever. But you wouldn’t know that. To you, I’m Aries.
Age?
I’m 26 years old.
What would you see looking at me?
Well… Pretty generic looks. Slightly feminine features. Quite tall, but don’t ask me to be specific, me and Dusk have been away from any tape measures for quite some time now. Taller than most men I encounter anyway. Not that there are many….
I have brown eyes and dark auburn hair that is usually messy. I don’t care much about mirrors, with my abilities what I end up seeing there isn’t always pleasant anyway. Cuts, bruises and a ghastly pale skin… No, thank you. I’m not fond of my looks and that’s why I don’t care about clothes either. A t-shirt and a jacket or shirt is my usual attire (shirts are good for covering scars and for stopping any bleeding. Win-win.)
What is my ability?
I can heal people. Simple as that.
Well… almost. The wounds get transferred to me. I can then heal myself, given that I have enough energy. I’m used to doing it by now and I have a pretty high pain threshold as I have the compulsion to help (I blame Dusk). But needless to say it’s not entirely pleasant. Also, the bigger the wound, the more energy I need so it can be troublesome.
The Voice?
Yeah, of course I have it, we all do. But I’d rather not talk about it.
Where did I come from, and how long have I been looking for Elvarren?
Netherlands. Too long.
How did I end up here?
Very good question. One more thing I can blame Dusk for. Well, I would like to anyway. Though things would have probably ended up the same anyway, even if his abilities hadn’t awoken before mine. But that’s beside the point. The point is that we went to school together, and we were in the same class. Not exactly “friends” until he started losing his grasp on reality. And I’ve been following him since. I’d trust him with my life… even if I don’t always trust him to take care of his own.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
Dusk is a dumbass.
….
Thank you, that felt good.
Jay
Theme
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
….Okay. That’s a good start…
What is your real name?
Catherine St.Clair.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Haha, don’t worry, it wasn’t my real name anyway.
Alias, huh? Hmm… Well, I like trinkets and I’m very pretty and colourful. How about Jay?
How old are you, anyway?
Let’s say… 20?
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I was born with good looks – something I’m still conflicted how I feel about. That’s why I dye my hair green – it seems most guys don’t have the balls to approach someone with green hair, and whoever does is usually nerdy enough and easy to get rid of. …or very bored and up for a challenge.
Yet, I can’t help myself and strive to look good. I can’t wear baggy or ripped or stained things. Well, unless that’s the point of them. See, clothes set the mood so you have to wear what’s appropriate for the occasion. I mostly manage. Though not so much this time.
When I put this dress on, the intention was to go to the club and have some fun. Originally it wasn’t so ripped and stained and stinky either, believe me. But I didn’t expect to end up in the fucking city dump… Man, I bet I look like a joke right now. This is embarrassing. Can I borrow some clothes?
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
My power… I don’t usually discuss that with strangers but given how you quite literally saved my life…
I never really bothered thinking up a name for it… “Transfer”? “Fake”? “Appropriate”? In any case, it’s quite straight-forward – I can temporarily “steal” the quality a certain item or material possesses. Say a feather can drift in the wind currents and so can I. A fish can breathe under water and so can I. I can make my skin tough as a tree bark and my nails sharp as talons… If I’m lucky enough to have a cat around, I could steal its reflexes… it only works with solid things, though. I can’t turn my body to liquid or anything near as powerful as becoming transparent. I can only gain the properties for a short while – up to a few minutes and it can be quite dangerous… what do I do after I take off the ground and am already too high to just drop? I try not to think about that.
When it comes to people, unfortunately I can’t steal other people’s and power users’ abilities, though I’m working on achieving that. Occasionally it works in my dreams, when I use it on those creatures, but I still find it hard to be able to touch those creatures and not get hurt myself…
Yeah, that is the catch. I need to touch the things I want to copy from. That’s why so far it only works with items. I’ve tried using my ability on humans. Unfortunately, they have passed out before I could acquire any of their qualities… But once I got to touch a power user… and nothing happened! I didn’t steal their power, but I felt it… unfortunately I had to back off before anything bad happened – I wouldn’t like to risk my life just for an experiment. Though I’m quite eager to try that again…
But otherwise it’s useful. I can also assign the property to another item – make water colder than it was and even make a rock as light as a leaf. But… that comes at a big cost. I can use my ability on myself easily, but when I try to transfer a quality to something else it makes me very tired… and hungry. I try to generally avoid doing that but there’s been more than one case when it’s come extremely useful.
Did I mention I’m a pretty decent fighter? I’m not a shoalin or anything that spectacular but so far I’ve managed to survive. I can take on men and even soldiers on the odd occasion. Of course, it might have to do with the fact that I play dirty. Quite dirty...
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
I don’t know much about it actually. He/she isn’t very talkative. I get a sense that she knows more than she’s telling me and I can’t tell if she is incapable or reluctant to tell me. Either way, she’s not much help with anything. Very occasionally she’ll warn me about something but it’s so quiet that I can’t tell whether it’s real or I’ve imagined it. Given how you yourself have that voice in your head, it’s probably real.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
L.A. Well, that’s where I grew up. Since I turned 13 I’ve been on the road though, so I couldn’t really call any place home. I started looking for Elvarren when I was 16.
How did you end up here?
Well… you know, right?
How did you find me anyway? After a week on that dump I thought I would die there. You and Aries turning up was like a small miracle. Well, not a small one. I am really indebted to you guys. I hope I can repay you. Thank you for taking care of my injuries too. That gang… they really meant business, didn’t they?
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I can’t think of anything right now. Thank you for asking.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Good to meet you too. Really good. |
48,941 | 1,321 | 21 | 943 | 214 | KAESAR
‘’Lighter? What is a lighter?’’
…No reply came from the shady adolescent.
‘’Why are Horus and Luci dangerous?’’
‘’Are you fucking retarded?’’ Kaesar hissed under his breath in a surge of anger -- he could only do so much to restrain himself. ‘’Keep your voice down, or one of these days it’ll get you killed. Fucking retard.’’
It appears I will not have much to fear from these two newbies seeing that one is extremely timid and shy, and the other is probably severely mentally handicapped by the looks of it. But respect is due where respect is due; he can grow a better beard than me.
“I do not know what this Wi-Fi is but I don't think I want it”
Kaesar doesn’t bother giving a reply. It was just a light-hearted joke. But the fact he’s not heard of it suggests that this guy has been living under a rock. In fact; by the way he dresses… probably literally, too.
“I am unaware of this third friend you speak of, but it would be wise for us to go inside”
Finally some sense out of him. And Kaesar decided to point out as much, since he’s probably already gotten on his bad side by calling him a retard.
‘’Finally you say something sensible, stranger…’’ And he holds open the door to let them in. Once they’ve finally gotten inside, Kaesar turns to his usual quiet brooding by retreating towards a corner. But before he does he tosses one remark – one that is less passive aggressive for once: ‘’You two better introduce yourselves to the others. You don’t know what’s going to happen. Plus I have a gut-feeling something’s going down soon. There’s someone hostile to us in the area. AM is saying so.’’
Time passed on. Sadly there wasn’t much to do because there aren’t any sockets in this building to charge up dead batteries. So Kaesar can’t even listen to his favourite Satanic Black-Metal for crying out loud. So as to not die of boredom he just overhears the small talk happening in the room, occasionally replying to something, occasionally making a joke to show goodwill, and generally just watching out of the window for any sign of Dusk returning.
Aries has come into the room, and later Jay. Jay. The green haired chick, whom AM told was a threat that was out to kill him. Was AM serious about that? Well, the damage is already done. Kaesar briefly makes eye contact with her, and greets her. ‘’Good to see you’re in better shape…’’ He grunts with a faint short-lived smile. The greet was more a test than anything else. Because it appears that she doesn’t remember him. It’s for the better. Kaesar doesn’t plan on telling her what exactly happened to her . It’s sad; she has such a pretty face and Kaesar regrets having done damage to it. Even if it was for survival… right?
IS THAT DOUBT I SENSE? HOW UNBECOMING OF A TYRANT…
Dusk enters the room.
Damn, what timing. And Kaesar didn't even notice. He was about to stand up from his seat to approach and welcome him. But who better to be the first to welcome the mysterious leader than his good friend and equally mysterious right-hand man? Aries walked up to him and said something to him. Something secret. What? The two mysterious leaders are keeping secrets from their retinue? But of course they are.
And Dusk gave a reply he could not quite overhear, but it was paired with a nod, so whatever Aries just said to him --- Dusk agreed. And then Aries left into the woods.
Than Dusk spoke with the handicapped man with the beard for a bit, before a voice came from the back of the shack.
"Don't you think maybe it's time to discuss what we know about Elvarren?"
Kaesar looks at the girl.
‘’Elvarren…’’ Dusk speaks.
‘’It is the key to our survival and the explanation of the powers at work. Not just how we got these abilities, but also why those ‘Men’ are after us.
Our voices know more about it, but for some reason they cannot tell us.’’
That was exactly what Kaesar didn’t want to hear. More of Dusk’s typical cryptic bullshitting. He always manages to say much while conveying oh so little.
‘’But, I know that you people want more concrete information as to what is going to happen to us.. Or what I am planning to do. So I will tell you, firstly, that I know where Elvarren is, and how we can find it. But we have to work together! By myself there is no chance I’d be able to reach it. So it’s not like I gathered you people out of pure charity and concern. Though that also plays a part. I need you guys as much as you need me.’’
Kaesar would be moved by that little talk, but at the moment he cannot be arsed. He really needs that smoke, and nobody’s given him a lighter. Maybe Pup’s dragon is capable of breathing fire? If so, would it be any good at lighting cigarettes? The Bulgarian decides to ask her while she’s still alive.
‘’Hey. Can your dragon breathe fire? If so, can you tell it to light a cigarette?’’ Kaesar has an impatient and, even eerily anxious look on his face, enough so for Pup to notice. Is he really that desperate to have a smoke? Talk about addiction…
Though, as soon it’s out of the way, Kaesar hurriedly heads for the door to move outside ASAP.
‘’Where are you going?’’
Dusk notices.
‘’...Going outside for a smoke. I will be back momentarily, relax.’’
Meanwhile everyone inside the lodge can indeed sense based on their Perpetuals, that there are people.. or things.. outside of the shack, and they are closing in. | I am perpetual.What are you?
''Carl or Karel Pääsuke''
Is that your name? To stay out of harms way you will thenceforth go by a new one. What will it be?
''Dusk''
For how long have you so far lived?
''Nineteen years, a bit more.''
I cannot yet perceive your world. Describe to me your own manifestation.
''I have skin and eyes and teeth and ears and a nose. For some reason I like to point this out specifically -- a voice like you, but tied to a body. My eyes are hazel, my hair oaken brown. I'm lean and about average height, maybe an inch or so taller, not by much. I have a scar across my lip, at the right. (don't ask.) I have a thin jawline with what one would probably refer to as 'softer' features, which may seem contradictory if you've ever seen me get... passionate over something.
I generally dress in, well, whatever I can find. I'm rather fond of tie-dye and converse shoes. I like bright colours, though admittedly, they do draw people's attention to me, which I don't need. Still, I can't help myself. Often my shoes don't match as I am on the run and have little time to care about how I look. And in these colder climates, I make certain to use many layers of clothing. You really have to just learn to wear what you find. I also tend to have writing all over my arms. When I need to remember something, I don't bother with notepads. You can lose a notepad easily, but you can't lose an arm... Well, at least you can't lose it easily.''
You sensed the power awakening. What is it?
''I am a telepath and a mindwalker. I can go into people's minds when they get to a close enough range and see their thoughts, memories, even manipulate them. This all depends on the person's will and if they know what I'm doing. I can read minds, though, but I try to control that. I get bits and pieces sometimes, but I can supress it, choose not to hear. I try to do this as much as possible, but it gets hard to control sometimes. And occasionally, I'll slip into someone else's dream unintentionally. It can get difficult to sort out reality from dreaming sometimes.
Another problem I have is sometimes... I just hear things. I don't mean to. When I was younger, I remember I heard thoughts all the time and I couldn't control it. Just a flood of minds, of useless information. It got to the point where I thought about ending it just to stop it all. But I did eventually learn to control it. Open minds no longer plague me, I can close them off. But closed minds... those are the mysteries, the ones I actually have difficulty reaching. I can't help from trying sometimes. Sue me, I get curious.
My manipulation may be a bit unnerving to some, as if I caught you off guard and my energy was high, I might be able to force you to kill yourself. I never would, though. Never. This is a hard thing to force someone to do, though. Unless they want to die.
Dreams sometimes change at my will, but only other people's. And I can't always help it. It's not like I mean to go messing about in people's heads, it just happens sometimes. Especially if I'm asleep, when my guard is down. That's why I try to stay out of range of people at night. You never know.''
What do you think I am?
''I don’t know. But you are certainly as inquisitive about me as I am about you. I suppose we have that much in common. I tried pressing you for answers, but you won’t give away much. Stubborn, huh?''
Where upon this world did you initially dwell?
''Does it matter?''
Not anymore.
Why did you go out and seek this lost tribe at the word of a perpetual entity as myself?
''You told me to, and I knew someone had to do it. I believe I have this ability for a reason… To draw out people like me. To protect them. Unknown powers are at work.''
Would there be something you wish me to hear; speak it now.
''Forgive Aries, for he knows not what he says.''
That is all.
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
‘’Whatever you say, chap.’’
What is your real name?
‘’Yoan Ognyanov. Can you pronounce that?’’
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
‘’I was thinking Rex… No.. Caesar! Yes, call me Caesar. ‘C’ pronounced like a K. like Kaiser. So.. You know what; just write it like ‘Kaeser’ yes? Saves everyone the confusion.’’
How old are you, anyway?
‘’Twenty-two.’’
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
‘’A bit moderately built. Pretty athletic, I like sports. I remember being tanned but since I don’t see much sun anymore – am getting pretty pale. Darkbrown hair, pronounced cheekbones in my face, also stubbles because I often forget to shave. I keep my hair short, but you won’t see it I reckon, ‘cuz I mostly wear a beanie.
Clothes I wear are sturdy, dark leather boots and trousers with a bomber jacket. Also got gloves to beat someone’s head in, just in case. Also, because of my ability I need to wear sunglasses pretty much all the time. No, it's not to look cool and hardcore, nor is it a fashion statement. Trust me.’’
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
‘’It’s weird but it seems I can hypnotize people or something? Not sure if that’s how you call it, but it seems I can rouse up a group of people into lynching someone if I really wanted to. Granted; this probably won’t work on people that also have these… voices in their heads, or whatever. I seem to have a pretty good grasp on other people.
Being cool and stoic is always just a façade by people that think they’re coldblooded badasses. I can break the façade and put those faggots in their place if I wanted to. Not just people but even animals can sense my anger and be affected by it.
But that is just how I can affect people that are within a certain radius around me. I also have a stronger form of this power. The power to almost brainwash someone when that person looks me in the eyes. I do not have full power over what happens to the person, but they are often paralyzed when I do this. Just look me in the eyes and know fear! Fucking delicious. I wish people did it more often. And then I will be able to use my killer line:
‘’What, your mom never taught you not to make eye contact with FERAL BEASTS?’’
Har har har! Badass.
Anyway. To avoid this happening to allies I need to wear sunglasses, ye?’’
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
‘’He’s a cunt.
Well; he/it seems to look out for me. Calls me ‘Offspring of tyrants’, whatever that means. Feeds my ego occasionally, tells me to assert my dominance and carve out my own territory. Probably doesn’t understand we’re living in the 21th century. At best maybe if I travel to Canada I can come across some Indians and convince them to worship me as some shamanic messenger of god. I think I got that idea from some movie though. Is that what the Voice wants? Sounds cool enough.
I call him ‘Am’, because he never finished his line.’’
‘’I am.’’
‘’Am what?’’
‘’Am.’’
‘’Okay.’’
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
‘’Originally from Bulgaria. Moved to the US when I was very young. As for ‘looking’? You know, I’ve always had the feeling I had to find something, but I never knew what that was. Maybe it was Elvarren? I kept hearing that word, no idea where I heard it from originally. Seems painfully familiar though..’’
How did you end up here?
‘’I’m following you, Dusk. You fished me out of the crowd, remember? First time seeing someone with the same powers. There are probably some things you can teach me. Also, I have some unfinished business with that girl traveling with you.’’
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
‘’You better tell me everything that you know. I only agreed to follow you because I came looking for answers.’’
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
‘’Hrm. I was fine on my own…’’ |
48,942 | 1,321 | 22 | 2,025 | 3,674 | Pup
Pup glanced between Fuschia and Eliza, frowning. They would need some gloves. She only had one spare pair, and the rest were useless. Walking over to her pack, she began to sort through it, listening as Dusk began to explain the situation finally. She snorted as he 'revealed' that he hadn't brought them here out of the goodness of his heart. "You don't say? And here I thought you were bringing us to this miserable and freezing middle of nowhere because you wanted to protect us from the Greys. Silly me." She finally fished her extra pair of gloves free, looking over between Eliza and Fuschia. "Which one of you would like proper gloves? I've only got one extra pair I'm afraid," She lifted her gloved and wiggled her fingers to show. "so the one who doesn't take the gloves will have to deal with the shit rabbit mittens I made. They're on the table."
As one of the women took them, she glanced over at Kaesar, raising an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, Fafnir can breathe fire. Dear, light the cigarette please?" Fafnir complied, quickly breathing a quick breath of fire at Kaesar's cigarette. The man left the house like it was burning down. Pup raised an eyebrow, glancing about at the rest of the group. Then she tensed, P saying urgently in her head They're coming. There's no way out. You should prepare for a fight.
"Shit. Shitshitshitshit." She strode quickly over and picked up her crossbow, loading one of her three bolts into it. "How many of us here know how to fight? I've got a hatchet and a knife. Can anyone use those effectively? I've only got three shots, and this thing isn't complete. It might break after the first. Unless, Dusk, there happens to be a secret exit that we don't know about?" | Character sheet
The voice in my head has some questions about you. No, I am not crazy.
Can't really call you crazy when my voice has questions too.
What is your real name?
Freya Mathews. My parents had a fondness for norse mythology.
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
Puppeteer. Pup if you prefer. She glances away, talking to someone else. I'm not going to tell them tha-no, it's stupid, ugh, fine. She returns her attention. The voice, P, wishes to inform you of it's nickname for me. 'The Creator.'
How old are you, anyway?
25.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
I'm terrible at this. I'm about five foot seven inches with a little longer than shoulder lenght brown hair that has a streak of white in the front. Natural, I promise. I have murky green eyes and I typically dress in clothing that is half formal half work. Brown, thigh high, lace up boots with dark blue jeans. A green long sleeve button up shirt, a brown leather vest over that, and brown leather gloves. Here's a picture for a better idea.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
I'm good at making and fixing things. Really good. If I have the proper tools I can create or fix basically anything I need or want to with a speed that would boggle the minds of most people. I don't even need to be taught how to use a tool, or what a machine is. I just grab them or lay a hand on them and know how to use tools and how machines work and how to fix them. Depending on how much I go 'in the zone' I could make something that should take years in a day. Though god am I tired after that. Sometimes I don't even need the tools, just the materials. Though that left me in a coma for a week, so I try to take it slow.
I can exert my will over machines and tools. Make pieces of a car engine stop working, draw a hammer to my hand, jam a gun, mostly little stuff like that. Though I have to be under two feet away or touching them for it to work.
I can also kinda, uh, give life to things. I'm not sure how far it goes, P assures me that it's only permanent things I've created myself, but that's how this little guy got here. She whistles, and a bronze mechanical dragon flies to her shoulder I call him Fafnir. Yes I can understand him. He's about as big as I can go for permanent, at least so far, life. Made me pass out and wake up in a hospital bed three days later.
Which, now that I think of it, was the beginning of the end. On the temporary side of things I can have a hammer or another tool do something by itself for a couple minutes, or have a bunch of tiny things like chess pieces move of their own volition for a game. It seems that their 'purpose' is whatever I deem it to be upon the 'blessing of life that I bestow'. P is very dramatic.
Fire and heat don't bother me. At all. I could stick my hand in a fire and be totally fine. I think I can't even get burned. I actually really enjoy blisteringly hot days of 100 degrees without breaking a sweat. It's why I hate this place, it's so cold. I think I can manipulate it too. Fire, that is. Like that guy from the Xmen movies you know, the one with the lighters. For example, fire reacts to my emotions some times. Flaring when I'm angry, dying out when I'm sad. From what I've gleaned from P, eventually I'll be able manipulate open flames to grow larger, burn hotter, or simply be snuffed out. It assures me that I can't actually create flames. Just manipulate them. So if you douse a flame, I can't make it spring back to life. Like I said, very similar to the guy from the X-men films. I think the whole affinity for fire thing has to do with the fact that my 'powers' are older than P likes to admit. From a time when all creating was done with fire, iron, and the strength of arm.
She hesitates
There's one more thing. Whenever I'm making things I get these...feelings I guess. They're like sensations of elements, or other supernatural traits like invincibility, breathing underwater, or never going dull, on the edge of consciousness. I think I could grab them and put them into whatever I'm making. Whenever I tried though, I passed out (I do that a lot when messing around with my powers don't I?) for a few hours and woke up with a killer headache. P insists that as long as I grow in power I could eventually do it.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
P? Its current choice of voice is that of a woman right now. I think it just likes that sound for itself, since it tried male and small child of both genders in an attempt to cajole me. P rarely makes me do things, since I mostly prefer to stand frozen in place, locked in an internal struggle, rather than listen to what it tells me to do. It generally approves when I'm making things though.
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
Rural Missouri. There were always things that needed to be made or fixed, so I was a blessing around the household. My parents told me to take it easy on hot summer days after I went into a coma for a week. The doctors and nurses, all looking noticeably more exhausted after I woke up, had said that was the problem. P convinced me that it was better to go along than it was too try to convince them that I had powers and a voice.
I left after P made me drain my mother dry.
Wandered around for a few years, eventually setting up in an autoshop. We became quite popular for fast, really good, service. I had taken to my current style of clothing, trying to keep as little skin to skin contact with people as possible. I only fed off of wildlife or idiots in clubs, gently drifting by until they were tired and had to leave. It was around that time that I made Fafnir. My coworkers found me and took me to the hospital. I woke up a few minutes before the Greys showed up. P screamed at me to run, and for the first time in a long, long time I complied immediately.
Raced back home, got dressed, grabbed everything I thought I'd need (yes, that includes this toolbelt) and I've been running ever since.
How did you end up here?
P said head north. North ended up here.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I'll get this ran down piece of crap liveable, ideally before the Greys show up. I hate half-finished products. Also, don't touch the toolbelt without asking.
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being…
Chuckles. Someone likes being ominous.
Misc. Details
Contents of Pup's Backpack:
-25 Weather proof matches, with a water-proof container
-A dozen small shampoos stolen from hotels
-A hatchet
-A 27x52in towel
-A sewing kit
-A dozen bars of soap
-Hydration pack and hose
-A sleeping bag
-Spare clothing (two extra button up shirts, one made of thick wool, one made of flannel. An extra pair of pants. Two pairs of thick wool socks. An extra pair of brown leather work gloves. A scarf.)
-First aid kit
-A 14x16 foot tarp
On Pup's person and in her Toolbelt:
-Claw Hammer (toolbelt)
-Multitool (toolbelt)
-Two dozen nails (toolbelt)
-Swiss Army knife (person)
-Knife (tucked into boot)
-Compass (person)
-Lighter (person) |
48,943 | 1,321 | 23 | 2,587 | 440 | Fuchsia had to admit she was feeling very uncomfortable and quite overwhelmed. There were far more people in the cabin than she expected to see. Rather unconsciously, she moved closer to Bear, very nearly hiding herself behind him. A lot of people were making her feel simply uncomfortable-- especially that Kaeser guy. While she didn't want to immediately count people out of her interactions well... she immediately counted him out. Sure, she was lonely and admitted that she wanted to be around other people, but that damn sure didn't mean everyone.
Dusk walked in with another person and the cabin felt even more crowded than before. It was at that point that she realized she was paratactically hiding behind Bear. she watched Kaeser walk out the door then Pup spoke up, "Which one of you would like proper gloves? I've only got one extra pair I'm afraid." Fuchsia responded in a questioning tone, "I don't need any?" Did she need some? Was there something she was missing? "I'm not cold," she added, "If that's the. Uh. Implication."
Pup spoke up then and began moving about hastily, "How many of us here know how to fight? I've got a hatchet and a knife. Can anyone use those effectively? I've only got three shots, and this thing isn't complete. It might break after the first. Unless, Dusk, there happens to be a secret exit that we don't know about?"
Taking a shuddering breath, Fuchsia asked, "F-fight what?" She looked around in confusion, "I'm not a fighter- I-I-I won't get in the way I-- Fight what? What's going on?" She felt her knees shaking and suddenly felt as if she were going to puke. Taking a few breaths didn't calm her, nor did trying to focus on something else, and her hands were feeling tingly. Not good. Tensing up, Fuchsia kept her position behind Bear and tried to fight off the coming anxiety attack.
Interaction with | What is your real name?
Amon....Amon Deus
Make sure no one learns it. So, have you thought of a good alias for yourself?
You don't have to tell me that. Horus, like the God of sky and light.
How old are you, anyway?
21 this year.
How would you describe your own appearance? Height, hair, clothes, whatever.
Average height, standing at about 181 cm and weighing at approx 70 kg. My hair is jet black with hints of gray hair, "raven black" as my mum would call it since there were a lot of ravens hanging out at the tree in front of the house. I keep it short. My eyes are sharp and the color of gold with eye circles beneath. Too many restless nights as of late. Other from these, my face is clean shaven and with no other noticeable features. As for what I wear, anything normal to blend in, though I never change my black hoodie, no symbols on it, just simple black. Right now I'm wearing dark gray hunting boots with baggy military camouflage dark grey jeans. Another thing that I always carry is a silver necklace, memento of the past.
Recently all of us are afflicted with these impossibly unreal abilities. Like Mystics. What is your ability?
As I've experimented a lot with my ability, I have gotten an overall grasp of its current limitations and effects. In few words I can control light...in a way. I can gather it somewhere making a sort of highly illuminated object or even creating a sphere. Or I can make something absorb the photons giving it the true color black, no color at all since light doesn't escape from it. Basically I can trap light. Another thing I've been experimenting on is to bend the waves of light in order to render an object invisible. The most I can manage at the moment is my hand or objects of that size.
What is your voice like? Has he told you anything aside to search for Elvarren?
Th..the voice? Which one? I mean..yes I will find Elvarren...
Where did you come from, and how long have you been looking for Elvarren?
I come from..not there..not from there also..That's not even the right continent!..hhh I come from the far North of here.
How did you end up here?
Tchk, if I went by your decision I would've been dead by now, you don't know ANYTHING more than I do so shut..- Yeah, right, so I've been traveling a lot lately, mostly by foot by I hitchhiked whenever I could.
Anything else you want to get off your chest?
I have been..the people that took me along on their ride..well I made sure no one who met me could tell..anyway who are YOU to judge ME!?
WHAT ARE YOU ANYWAY!?
It is good to meet you, friend. You’ll be safe here – for the time being… |
48,944 | 1,322 | 0 | 255 | 850 | The day was February the 11th in the year 800, a random Tuesday by any means. The northern hemisphere was steeped in winter, while the southern enjoyed a blistering summer. Our story revolves around ten mysterious rings. As fate would have it, on this day, the rings would sit idly in the corner of history no more. They wanted to make themselves known once again. Would they be another catalyst for society? Or would they destroy another civilization? Only time would tell....
Year 800 - Feb 11th - Mid Afternoon...
Year 800 - Feb 11th - Mid Afternoon - Part 2...
(Some optional reading music...) | Name: Lester Barman of Northumbria (a factual kingdom)
Age: 25
Occupation: Bartender
Ring: Violet
Appearance:
Biography:
Lester grew up in the city of York, located in the southern reaches of Northumbria. He never knew his mother, as she died shortly after giving birth to him, her first and only child. His father was a small time innkeeper, always struggling to pay the taxes. Father and son lived in one spare room within the inn. From a young age, Lester was put to work, first with cleaning chores, then with serving the patrons, and eventually slinging the drinks from behind the bar, along side his father.
By the age of nineteen, the small inn had risen to become a very respectable establishment, mostly due to Lester's ability to entertain bar guests. Life was looking on the up and up, until that fateful day...
One morning, Lester's father left to make his usual tax payments, but he did not return that evening as usual. Unable to do anything else, Lester went on doing his job, that day, that week, and a few weeks following. Then one morning, before open, a gang of men came knocking. They were nobles, looking for their tax payments. Lester tried to explain that his father had disappeared weeks prior on his way to pay them. He was unaware that the payment had never reached them and was unsure about the fate of his father. The men had no sympathy for the young man's situation. They proclaimed the building, and everything in it, state property. Lester was promptly kicked out onto the streets. He carried nothing more than small bag of clothing with one or two sentinmental trinkets hidden inside.
A nearby barkeep quickly snatched up the abandoned young man, offering him a position as a bartender there as well. For the next two years, Lester would stay at that pub living life much as he had before his father went missing. His same regulars came to visit him, and he made quite a bit of coin. But life was hallow now. His father was gone, and all the time he spent searching went completely to waste. Unable to stand this lifestyle that reminded him of the past, Lester decided to leave York.
For three years, Lester traveled aimlessly, from town to town. He searched for nothing more than a place to call home, somewhere that he felt safe. But in order to keep money in his pocket, the bartending profession kept pulling him back. From pub to pub, inn to inn, he stayed in no one town longer than a few months.
At his most recent establishment, Lester had a rather peculiar experience. A solitary man had quietly sat at the end of his bar. The man sipped on nothing but one or two weak ales. Lester tried to make conversation with the man, but he showed no interest in conversation. The man kept looking around as if he was waiting on someone. They never arrived.
At closing time, the man simply paid his tab and walked away. Lester chased the man down. He had given Lester far too many coins for such a small tab. The man only had two words for him, "Keep it." Lester had grown accustomed to big tippers, but this would be his best ever, nearly 10 times more than what the man had owed.
Later, as he was wiping down the bar, an expensive piece of jewelry caught his eye. It was violet ring, laid on the counter in front of were the man had sat.
Lester remained at this pub for nearly a month longer. He kept the abandoned ring in his pocket for safe keeping, in case man were to return. He would gladly give it back, but the man never returned. His words, "Keep it." kept running through Lester's mind. Was he also speaking of the ring when he said that? In any case, Lester's time was up. This too was not the town for him.
He now wanders the country side... with new accessory on his right hand. |
48,945 | 1,322 | 1 | 1,836 | 2,622 | Brandon let out a small sigh. It's time to make another trip to the town to sell some herbs and get some food to last another week. He looked at his right hand where the crystal ring was located. He still wasn't sure what to do with this thing. He loved the prospect of bending time to his will, but so far, he wasn't doing much. He was only able to slow down time by only a little so he guessed he'd have to practice that. But what did it really mean? What was this all for? Was it really just something for anyone to use for their own benefit or would they be part of some sort of adventure like the ones in the storybooks? He shook his head and put on some gloves.
Ah whatever, if it comes, it comes. He packed everything in some carry-on bags and then placed some on a basket. He whistled. "Shawn, come here boy!" The black labrador came up to him and then wagged his tail. "Okay boy, let's go to town." Shawn barked and then bit the handle of the basket. Brandon then took hold of two more bags. He visited the two graves and prayed before leaving the area of farm. He followed the dirt path that cuts through the forest and then to the road. The town wasn't very far from here but a carriage usually came through so he'll try to ride from one of those. But for now, they were walking. True to his thoughts, a carriage passed by and he got to ride on it with Shawn.
The brown haired male and his dog finally arrived at the town. He frequented three towns actually which surrounds the farm but this was the closest one. He then entered the local medicine shop that is usually his number one customer in town... in every town actually. Medical shops like that usually need a lot of herbs after all.
"Ah, Brandon! It's good to see you again. Do you have what I need?" The shop owner asked. She was a middle aged woman. She was a very kind woman with a heart of gold... and an eye for herbs. "Ooh, Shawn's here too. Do you want some food boy? Hm?"
Shawn's tail wagged excitedly. He placed the basket he was carrying on the counter and then barked. The shop owner took out some beef and then offered it to Shawn who immediately ate it up. "Thanks Mrs. Torres." He then placed the two other bags on the counter. "That's everything and I pitched in a little extra."
"Oh thank you Brandon!" Mrs. Torres exclaimed. "So how are you holding up with Mr. Euan's death?"
"We're doing good. Master already told me all about taking care of the herbs and we could travel to towns by ourselves." Brandon replied with a smile.
"That's good, that's good." Mrs. Torres counted the gold coins and then put them all in a pouch. "Here you go Brandon. It has been a pleasure dealing with you."
Brandon bowed his head and then exited. "Well boy, we have some coins here. Let's buy what we need and let's leave yeah?" And so the pair was strolling around town, visiting stores and the likes. | Name: Brandon Deschnik
Age: 18
Occupation: Until recently, apprentice herbalist and botanist
Ring: Clear Crystal Ring
Appearance: Brandon stands at a height of 5'7 and weighs rather averagely. He has a lean type of body. He usually dresses in a fashion that you would see travellers in with a cloak to keep him insulated from the cold and protected from the heat. He would often be seen with a knapsack containing multiple journals and pens. It also contains some herbs that would be beneficial in travels.
Biography: Brandon was born an orphan in some no-name town. It was out of the way so outsiders rarely came.. well, besides his parents at least. They had told him that he was given to the orphanage and the parents just disappeared, assumed to have moved on. Because Brandon didn't know them, he didn't really care about it. There were only three people in that orphanage so basically? Only three kids were abandoned with the other two dealing with the same thing he was - one was three years older than him and the other was five years older. No one had waned to keep them because there was a superstition going around that adopting a stranger's child will lead to bad luck. The owner of the orphanage was a nice young lady who thought that she already had the worst luck out of everyone there, so why not take care of these three poor children? The first eight years of his life was spent in that village. Their 'mother' had trouble raising all three of them. The oldest of the three decided to help out to earn money while the other two still learned.
Brandon showed great interest in plants, and not just crops, herbs especially. But the village only offered him very limited knowledge about said plants. He shared this with his 'mother' and she resolved to find someone who knew more about herbs. Fate had answered his plea by having a travelling botanist pass through the village. He stayed there for a while and he got to know Brandon. His name was Euan. He grew fond of Brandon and decided to adopt him. After a deal was reached between his 'mother' and Euan, they were off. He became Euan's assistant and learned many things. They rarely settled down for more than two months in a town. Around five years ago, they stumbled upon a small farm which only had one inhabitant. The farmer welcomed them with open arms but rarely spoke to them in a caring fashion. He told them that he was running out of time and he needed to pass his ring off to someone. Euan decided to humor the man and told him that he will care for it.
That was when Brandon was sent out to check on the plants while the two adults talked. He was absolutely clueless on what was happening inside the house. Once he finished, he entered the house and Euan told him that they were going to base here. Brandon didn't really care about it. He was happy with the farm. It was filled with herbs of different kinds! He was going to have fun here. He noticed that Euan had the ring the farmer was wearing before. Euan told him that the farmer had died and that they should bury him. They did and then lived in the farm for the rest of the years. Euan displayed the powers of the ring bit by bit but Brandon wasn't very interested in it. The two still go out to search and study the flora that dot the land around. They were different, that was for sure, and invaluable. They sometimes go to the cities to sell what they had. They even got enough money to buy a black dog which still lives with him up to now. His name is Shawn.
Five days prior to the this day, Euan had died from a certain disease that he had kept from Brandon all these years. Now it was Brandon's turn to wear the ring. Euan made him promise to never give it to anyone else unless he, himself, was dying. He also explained the range of abilities that it will develop according to what he has experienced. Brandon understood and Euan entrusted it to him. He died two days later. Brandon buried Euan and is still thinking of whether or not he should leave he farm. He didn't know if there were other rings like his. Well, he knew that he should at least keep recording and selling herbs and other plants. |
48,946 | 1,322 | 2 | 1,869 | 307 | Arthur Einhart
To walk in the shadow of a name which is known and feared through the Kingdom is something Arthur did not enjoy. Especially because he felt displaced, as if his efforts haven't been rewarded. No matter what he did, he was still a squire - perhaps it was because of his young age, perhaps it was because he wasn't skilled enough as a swordsman to become a full pledged knight... Not that the actual reason mattered, in his head, the only point of valid importance was that he still responded to knights as a squire, and not as an equal. That had to be changed, somehow...
Little did he know that the answer was the shiny looking ring in his left thumb. Strange, he could swear the ring was too big to fit so perfectly into his finger, it was used by his father after all and the man had hands of a seasoned veteran warrior, which he indeed was before his passing. Arthur gently ran his index finger over the accessory, his mind filled with thoughts about what his grandfather said a while ago: The ring would help him carry his family's name forward and bring glory to his own name... How?
Arthur's steps were slow and precise as he wandered through the cobblestone, making path through the city without an actual goal. He was wandering rather aimlessly, left to his own thoughts. The noises of folk and cheering caught his attention however, the young to be knight casting a glance to his side. There were two drunk men trading fists with one another. Arthur exhaled a sigh with a tsk sound.
With a stern posture, the boy turned and began walking in direction of the pub, stopping two meters away from the fighting men. He rested a hand atop his sword's hilt.
"Stop, both of you. Take your brawl elsewhere, the streets of this town is no ring for solving personal issues."
The boy's voice was commanding and particularly imposing even though he looked much younger than the two brawling men - and the fact that he had no actual authority within the town. He was a squire, after all. | ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇ:
ɴᴀᴍᴇ:
Arthur Einhart
ᴀɢᴇ:
Seventeen (17)
ᴏᴄᴄᴜᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ:
Knight-squire
ʀɪɴɢ:
The White Crystal Ring
ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ:
no eyepatch though. His eyes are a crystalline blue, often one of them is covered by stray locks of his golden hair. He's seen using a very basic armor, mostly leather with steel platings gauntlets and resistent leather boots - the rest of his attire consists of flexible leather armor with a blue tabbard/cloak over it: The Einhart Coat of Arms is clearly visible on his back.
Underneath the clothing/armor, Arthur stands at 5'7, having a lean figure with only underlining displays of muscle. Clearly not muscular, it's a surprise the boy can wield and swing his sword so easily around.
On his side, he has a blue scabbard with a seemingly quality blade sheathed.
ʙɪᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ:
The Einhart family is known as nobles, with many of the male members being imposing figures in the military story. As tradition,
they were trained since a very young age, inspired to follow their family member's destiny and take arms to conquer glory and wealth.
Arthur was no exception; from his very early years, the boy spent countless hours practicing with a wooden blade, learning sword techniques and fighting abilities under the guidance of his father - whom was a stern, yet caring man known as Denvar. He was known as The Unbreakable, as a title.
Years would pass and Arthur's training only intensified, the boy displaying clear signs of a certain talent when it came to swordfighting.
As a rite of passage, Denvar would take Arthur for a hunting trip and the boy would need to slay a beast on his own and only then, he would be called a man. His mother insisted that the boy was too young, being only ten at the time, but Denvar assured that no son of his would fail, after all, as Denvar said: Arthur carried his honor on his shoulders and his determination on his eyes.
It took five days for them to return - five days that had left Arthur's mother in agony, unknowing what had happened. When the both of them returned, she could tell by Denvar's wide grin that Arthur was no longer a young boy, but a honorable man who would carry the Einhart family. That day, they commemorated. The next few weeks, they found out their family would become bigger. Elizabeth, Arthur's mother, was pregnant. Later, Elise was born: Arthur's sister.
Years passed in a rather peaceful day - many times, Denvar was called to arms and left his family with the fear of losing him, however, there was a reason he was called The Unbreakable. When Arthur became fifteen years old, his family was hit with a devastating disgrace: Denvar's death.
Betrayed by a knight of the kingdom, he was poisoned and assassinated. This devastated Arthur, whom looked after his father with pride, always following his steps. Elizabeth, even though broken emotionally, held the family together by ensuring she would ease the burden of their loss, distracting Arthur and Elise as much as she could. Vinar, the patron of the Einhart family and Denvar's father, visited Arthur and his family a few days after the incident. He explained that some things were recovered from Denvar: His sword, his armor and, as explained by Vinar, the most important of it all: A strange looking ring. Vinar told Arthur that it was his task to protect his family from all harm and to make the world hear and fear the Einhart name and that the ring would make this accomplishable for as long as he kept it.
He never told Arthur, however, how it functioned or how exactly he would do this. So the boy is left to decide his own future and the powers kept within the white crystal ring. |
48,947 | 1,322 | 3 | 2,435 | 3,764 | Rika
Rika walked from the mountain and to the town center in perfect silence. He didn't utter a word as he went past two people fighting while someone else tried to stop it. He walked into a general store and walked straight to the counter. There, he gave the woman a simple note provided by the monks.
"Ah, hello Rika. Nice to see you again. Here's everything on the list, are you alright this morning."
Rika gave but a simple nod and placed the coins on the counter. He then walked out of the store with the bag as she counted the money. Of course, she would find it was the exact change like it was every time. Rika sat himself on a bench for now and held out his hand, staring at the indigo ring. Slowly he faced his palm towards the floor and as he did, it made a very small hand made out of darkness come out the floor but it was gone as quick as it was made. Rika had little to no control over the ring's power, he still needed to control how to use it. He looked in the bag to check everything. It was all fruit and vegetables. No meat at all. It was all vegetarian food. It was what he and the monks lived off. | Name: Rika Harmony of Azrovak
Age: 13
Gender: Male (Androgynous)
Occupation: Monk
Ring: Indigo
Appearance:
Personality: Rika is completely neutral. He is in perfect balance with everything he does. Rika cannot physically talk and is completely mute nor does he use sign language because of this it can be hard to have a conversation with him however he is incredibly smart and understanding. He likes to analyse everything around him. Rika is a friendly and wouldn't hurt a fly. He never gets angry no matter what you do to him, keeping perfect calm throughout all situations. The downside to him is that he can find it difficult to make friends. Rika is a sociopath, having no empathy or feeling no guilt for the actions or mistakes he has made. He is unafraid in most situations and stays quiet at all times. Nor does he have any remorse or shame even in extreme situations.
Biography: Rika was born completely speechless. He could not physically speak, it was impossible for him. No matter how much his mother tried he stayed completely silent. Her son was a mute. It was at age sven that she took Rika to a temple mountain where some monks explained that they. According to the ancient monks Rika would never be able to speak. There was nothing they could do for him for it wasn't his unwillingness to speak but his inability to speak They said that if Rika wished to stay and was allowed to stay without the guidence of his mother, the monks would teach Rika the ways of the monks. After some reluctants Rika's mother eventually agreed.
It was then that Rika began to grow up with the Monks who were called the Monks of Perfect Balance. They taught Rika how to keep himself in perfect harmony and balance. This alone took him until he was twelve years old to fully learn. When he did finally learn the monks tried to teach Rika sign language however Rika was just not interested in sign language. He didn't bother to learn, and wasn't interested in conversations. As he grew up, they learned that he was a borderline Sociopath. Rika then stayed with the monks for the next year until he was thirteen of age, keeping in perfect balance and harmony. He became known as the Silent Youth.
At times, Rika wrote notes for the monks and leave it for them to see whenever he needed something or was visiting the world beyond. Rika was mostly very independant and often didn't seek the advice or help from his fellow monks. During his stay at the temple, the monks decided to give Rika one final test. They gave him an indigo ring and told him that they themselves did not understand it's power or how to use it and they wondered if he could figure out the mysterious ring. It took him all but two days to figure out how to use it's power. The ring allowed him to slightly control darkness. He was even able to see spirits of the dead while having it on. Of course, all this came after a whole day of wearing the ring. So Rika showed the monks it's power, even if it were weak and little. They told him he could keep the ring asa reward for figuring out it's use. |
48,948 | 1,322 | 4 | 875 | 200 | It didn’t take long for Cait to figure out where the best place in town would be to find easy marks, the Pub was crawling with drunkards even on a Tuesday night. She pulled her hood over her blond hair, it tended to stick out in people’s memory if she didn’t keep it covered. The place was crowded enough that she was easily able to use the concealed dagger up her sleeve to cut coin purses from Pub patron belts. She had amassed a rather tidy sum and was headed on her way out when two of the drunks she’d pilfered from discovered their coins missing, obviously upset that they couldn’t buy more drinks as they had no coins with which to buy said drinks.
As the men brawled Cait made another lap around the pub, biding her time to make a clean exit; hopefully, no one else would notice their missing coin purse. She noticed a glint of candlelight reflected off a gem, she was quick to notice such things. A young man had entered after the two drunkards had taken their brawl to the streets, not wanting to mess with the guard standing at the entrance/exit of the pub. He wore a violet ring on his right hand. Cait mused over what a pretty penny she could make off it but thought better of it, it was harder to knick the things people wore on them.
She sidled up to the man at the bar and quickly sized him up.
“Can you believe those two idiots? All riled up over some stolen coin. If you really need it, you shouldn’t leave it in a place so accessible to others. Enjoy your drink, lad,”Cait had hoped the conversation would keep the man distracted just long enough for her to get his coin purse.
When the small cloth bag hit the palm of her hand she moved it into one of the pouches on her belt, far more secure than the typical money purses the common folk carried. She made sure to conceal her dagger again before making her way out of the pub, skipping over the two drunkards still flailing about in the street, no one paying them any mind as the show was now over. She used them to keep from having to step in the mud puddles, it had rained earlier that day but it was a clear night.
The moon was bright, which made her thieving a little harder as there were less shadows for her to hide in. But no matter, she would just have to settle for moving on to the next city, she had the feeling she’d been made at the pub and not just by the drunkards she’d stepped on. | Name: Caitlin (Cait) Flannigan of Eucora (a made up kingdom)
Age: 24
Occupation: Guardian of the Stone
Appearance:
Biography:
Cait was born to a noble family, she was destined to have the finest things in life and be married off to another noble man that would hopefully continue to raise her family’s position in society. She was taught from a young age how to act, how to talk, how to walk when in public. She quickly became bored with her life, wanting more. She decided she had enough when she was fifteen, said goodbye to her younger sisters and ran away from home, never looking back.
Cait wandered for a few years, her whims taking her on whichever adventure she fancied next. On her adventures she learned handy skills like pick pocketing and lock picking. She was adept with a bow but prefers her daggers and short swords to almost anything else. Alvar found her drunk in a tavern one night. He thought he was going to need to help the young girl as a group of men tried to take advantage of her in her drunken state. Cait quickly dispatched the thugs and went back to her ale. Impressed by her skill Alvar offered to train her. Cait waived him off but he persisted for three days before she finally relented that the old man might have something to teach her that her adventures had yet to give her – a purpose for her life.
Alvar was the guardian of the green stone ring. He explained to Cait how he belonged to a very long line of guardians, their lives dedicated to the protection of this ring. So Alvar trained Cait, making her an even more skilled fighter/thief. Alvar gave Cait a life of discipline and a sense of honor and purpose. Her world was turned upside down when Alvar was murdered by a rove of bandits, wanting to steal the ring from him when they refused to pay the “toll” the bandits were charging for using the road. Alvar had been too skilled to be killed by the bandits, he had only died because Cait had made a stupid mistake and he’d sacrificed himself for her. In a rage Cait slaughtered the bandits, pulling Alvar into her lap as he bled to death. He gave her the ring and begged her to protect it with her life. That was three days ago. |
48,949 | 1,322 | 5 | 255 | 850 | A beautiful girl shrouded by a cloak started talking to Lester out of the blue. Normally, he would entertain the company of anyone as attractive as herself, but something was off. Women typically let the men speak first, and something else, there was something else. "Yeah... they shouldn't do that should they?" Lester let off an honest laugh that betrayed his suspicious thoughts.
Lester watched as the lady began to cross the room. Without thinking about it, his hand had wandered to his side in search of his money pouch. It was gone. The girl! She had taken it. "... shouldn't leave it in a place so accessible to others." Those were her words exactly.
Lester gave chase as quickly as possible without stirring up a fuss in the pub. On the street, he caught up to the lady. He waited to speak until he was within a few meters. He tried to sound calm, charming, and firm all at the same time. Years of bar talk guided him. "Oi there! Miss! I've got a question. May I have a second of your time?" | Name: Lester Barman of Northumbria (a factual kingdom)
Age: 25
Occupation: Bartender
Ring: Violet
Appearance:
Biography:
Lester grew up in the city of York, located in the southern reaches of Northumbria. He never knew his mother, as she died shortly after giving birth to him, her first and only child. His father was a small time innkeeper, always struggling to pay the taxes. Father and son lived in one spare room within the inn. From a young age, Lester was put to work, first with cleaning chores, then with serving the patrons, and eventually slinging the drinks from behind the bar, along side his father.
By the age of nineteen, the small inn had risen to become a very respectable establishment, mostly due to Lester's ability to entertain bar guests. Life was looking on the up and up, until that fateful day...
One morning, Lester's father left to make his usual tax payments, but he did not return that evening as usual. Unable to do anything else, Lester went on doing his job, that day, that week, and a few weeks following. Then one morning, before open, a gang of men came knocking. They were nobles, looking for their tax payments. Lester tried to explain that his father had disappeared weeks prior on his way to pay them. He was unaware that the payment had never reached them and was unsure about the fate of his father. The men had no sympathy for the young man's situation. They proclaimed the building, and everything in it, state property. Lester was promptly kicked out onto the streets. He carried nothing more than small bag of clothing with one or two sentinmental trinkets hidden inside.
A nearby barkeep quickly snatched up the abandoned young man, offering him a position as a bartender there as well. For the next two years, Lester would stay at that pub living life much as he had before his father went missing. His same regulars came to visit him, and he made quite a bit of coin. But life was hallow now. His father was gone, and all the time he spent searching went completely to waste. Unable to stand this lifestyle that reminded him of the past, Lester decided to leave York.
For three years, Lester traveled aimlessly, from town to town. He searched for nothing more than a place to call home, somewhere that he felt safe. But in order to keep money in his pocket, the bartending profession kept pulling him back. From pub to pub, inn to inn, he stayed in no one town longer than a few months.
At his most recent establishment, Lester had a rather peculiar experience. A solitary man had quietly sat at the end of his bar. The man sipped on nothing but one or two weak ales. Lester tried to make conversation with the man, but he showed no interest in conversation. The man kept looking around as if he was waiting on someone. They never arrived.
At closing time, the man simply paid his tab and walked away. Lester chased the man down. He had given Lester far too many coins for such a small tab. The man only had two words for him, "Keep it." Lester had grown accustomed to big tippers, but this would be his best ever, nearly 10 times more than what the man had owed.
Later, as he was wiping down the bar, an expensive piece of jewelry caught his eye. It was violet ring, laid on the counter in front of were the man had sat.
Lester remained at this pub for nearly a month longer. He kept the abandoned ring in his pocket for safe keeping, in case man were to return. He would gladly give it back, but the man never returned. His words, "Keep it." kept running through Lester's mind. Was he also speaking of the ring when he said that? In any case, Lester's time was up. This too was not the town for him.
He now wanders the country side... with new accessory on his right hand. |
48,950 | 1,322 | 6 | 2,141 | 52 | Jill
Ah! Jill yelped out in pain as a dark drop of blood oozed out of her finger. This was the third time that morning she had pricked herself. She quickly dabbed the site with a scarf that was laying around, careful not to get any blood on the garment she working on. She had been working away for what seemed like ages with little progress to account for. She slumped back in her chair, trying to get a kink out of her neck. How long had she been sitting here? Jill got up to stretch her back but the motion immediately got her back into her chair. Her field of vision was filled with tiny dark blotches that seemed to dance mockingly. I need to lay off the alcohol for a while she thought, as a sudden headache began to make her temples throb. Figuring she wasn't going to get any more work done, Jill got up slowly and made for her bed, almost stumbling over the footstools that encircled a small , round wooden table. Countless playing cards and coins covered the table and in the centre of it all was the fruit of yesterday's efforts: A pearl necklace. It had been ages since she had last gambled but yesterday a couple of drinks with old friends lead the group to a game in a drunken spur of the moment.
Jill plopped on her bed, her head hanging off the other side as she lifted up an envelope to the sunlight. It had an invitation within, one that she had read countless times over the last week. A window remained flung open, bringing in sounds from the bustling marketplace.She closed her eyes momentarily, listening to the voices outside.She could hear angry men shouting, the chirping of birds and laughter.
Laughter? Jill got up as though a bolt of lightning had hit her. She recognized the source of the sound and jumped out of her bed with her pillow. She then rushed to her round table and swiftly picked up her cards, stashing the lot within the fabric sleeve that covered the pillow. Once that was taken care of, she threw the thing in a haste, the pillow only managing to reach the foot end of her bed. She then carefully counted the gold pieces and rounded them up in a small leather pouch which she hid in one of the pockets of her trousers. She could hear footsteps approaching as she grabbed her pearl necklace and darted frantically, unsure of what to do next. As the door creaked open, Jill slung on the necklace and tucked it under her tunic.
"Jill! It's been ages!" A familiar voice beamed as a wide figure filled the doorway.
You saw me just a week ago, Jill thought.
"How's it going?" she replied as she walked up to greet her mother. At that moment, another figure entered the room. It was Jill's eldest sister.
"Katheriiine. How nice it is to see you again." Jill started with a forced smile, barely able to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
Katherine only smiled, dismissing her sister's surly greeting as she walked towards the desk,observing what Jill had been working on.
"So what brings you two here?" Jill inquired, hoping they weren't going to get started with advising her to keep her place clean , staying in touch and all that crap again.
"It's ... about my party."
"What about it?" Jill retorted. She wasn't going to let Katherine make her dramatic pauses. She'd barely gotten any work done and was in no mood for tolerating her family's nonsense today.
"We want you to come , of course! I dont care if you have a million dresses to take care of, you're coming tomorrow!" Her mom exclaimed.
Oh.
"And since you're coming to a party, you'll have to look the part too .After all , I can't have my younger sister looking unkempt in front of courtiers and dignified nobles. There's just no way I will allow it." Katherine interjected, suddenly looking more animated than usual.
Oh
In the end it was all pretence after all. It was all about making appearances with her family.
"I dont thin-" Jill started, but was cut short by her mother.
"Oh don't you worry about a thing, we've got everything covered. Katherine and I picked this wonderful work of linen for you ! Now all we need is to look for the right accessories" Her mother described, going on and on in the high-pitched and overly-detailed manner she was used to speaking in.
"I'm pretty sure Jill has some trinkets lying around here" Katherine added as she opened a closet, falling victim to an avalanche of bundled up clothes, a bag, some books and a figurine.
"Kat, I'd rather you wouldnt open my-
"Oh isn't this the figurine you snagged off that poor girl Leslie? I wasn't aware it came with a ring." Katherine exclaimed as she examined the statue before sliding the ring off it.
That was the last straw.
"Enough!" Jill exploded, before snatching the ring from Katherine's hand. She then stormed towards the door, turning back halfway through.
"Look, I don't care about your party! Make whatever excuse you want for your beloved nobles, I'm not coming."
Jill slammed the door behind her and in a fit of fury she walked off into the streets.
She felt like an idiot. She knew she shouldn't have blown off as she had but Jill was already having a rough day and she didn't feel like going back and making nice. She noticed she still had her fist clenched around the ring. It was all this stupid thing's fault, Jill thought as she put on the ring on her left hand, feeling strangely satisfied with how perfectly it fit her finger. Days like these, she wished things would fix themselves. She knew what her quick fix was. Some booze and a gamble. However, Jill resisted the urge to turn for the pub and walked into the marketplace instead. She wandered aimlessly, hoping it would become dark soon and her mother and sister would be gone by the time she returned. | Name: Jill Wayland
Age: 19
Occupation: Seamstress
Ring: Orange
Appearance:
Biography:
Jill grew up on the outskirts of the capital where her parents and 4 sisters lived in a cozy house next to an inn that her family had owned for generations. Jill's father Luke Wayland, was a travelling merchant who was often absent from family events and her mother, a reputed teacher in the neighborhood, had to bear the burdens of parenthood mostly by herself.Luke Wayland's business involved exquisite finds from faraway and he often frequented the houses of high nobles, who were usually the only ones around with both the money and time to fawn over trinkets, uncut gems and the like. Although his presence was often missed, good business meant that the family lived quite comfortably with not much to complain about.Jill had a lukewarm childhood, with not much struggles save for the constant need to define herself as an individual different from her sisters. As the child right in between, she had neither the elegance of her sophisticated elder sisters nor the charm of her younger, amiable sisters.However, as she grew older, Jill's focus shifted towards getting better at the things she was good at rather than wait for people to acknowledge her a person. Jill helped her mother with the inn and by spending time with the various lodgers, Jill had picked up quite a set of skills. She learnt how to sew and was decent at art and painting as well.
However, with good things Jill also picked up a few bad things at the inn. Unknown to her family, she had become a habitual gambler. It began with fun games at first but it soon turned into a near addiction for her. She was always up for a bet and when the habitants of inn refused to feed her hobby she turned to pubs and the marketplaces. Over time, Jill got crafty enough to win most of her gambles and no cheap trick was beyond her. Countless victories made her overconfident and Jill even took on proclaimed witches and royal subjects. During one of her similar outings she had put on stake her father's most recent treasures: a handful of pearls and a crown of rare gems in exchange for an angel figurine from a young woman, Leslie, who unknown to Jill, happened to be the daughter of a merchant as well. When she was about to return with her winnings, Jill noticed an orange ring on the angel's left hand. Leslie, who had also just noticed the ring, pleaded with Jill to return it,for she had forgotten to remove the ring. Leslie's pleas fell on deaf ears and Jill ignored her even when she told her about how the ring mattered a lot to her father. Jill's victories were but short-lived. When Leslie confessed to her father, news of the figurine soon reached Luke as well. The family finally figured out where Jill's allowances were disappearing and she was persuaded to give up gambling. Jill begrudgingly agreed, on one condition: she wasn't going to return anything she had won until now.
3 years later, Jill became a seamstress and moved out of her house when she began to earn enough to take care of herself.Without her family's interference, she has fallen back into her habit of gambling; although its now longer as big of a problem as it was in the past. Jill's not sure of whether she has really found her calling yet, but atleast her earnings mean that she can fund her habit for now. |
48,951 | 1,322 | 7 | 1,836 | 2,622 | It had only been a while but Brandon has nearly filled his bag with all the goods he managed to buy and his gold pouch wasn't very low yet. Maybe he could visit another two shops before leaving the town. So he entered one of the food shops that dot the town.
"Pleasure doing business with you!" He called out. Brandon had only exited a store when Shawn suddenly stiffened and sniffed around. The brown haired male looked curiously at his pet, wondering what had gotten into the black Labrador. It then took off, much to Brandon's shock. He quickly chased after the dog, nearly bumping into anyone who was in the way. For a pretty old dog, he ran so fast. But the only thing he was worrying was why his dog was running away.
Shawn brushed against Jill's legs and barked. However, it was no angry bark - it was more friendly. Its tail was wagging. It was as if it was sensing her sadness and then wanted to see if she needed some help. Though, to be perfectly honest, a dog suddenly charging at you doesn't seem to be the friendliest of sights.
Brandon was close behind. "Shawn, what are you doing!?" He yelled out before skidding to a stop beside the black dog who was still staring at the girl, ignoring his master completely. Brandon frantically looked between his dog and Jill. "U-Uh, I'm sorry! Did my dog do anything to you? I don't know what overcame him. I am so very sorry!" Brandon kept bowing to the girl. He then turned to Shawn. "You should apologize for disturbing the lady too!" It would seem that the two had some form of connection that you would see a master and his pet. Shawn's tail stopped wagging and it looked down on the ground as Brandon reprimanded the dog. | Name: Brandon Deschnik
Age: 18
Occupation: Until recently, apprentice herbalist and botanist
Ring: Clear Crystal Ring
Appearance: Brandon stands at a height of 5'7 and weighs rather averagely. He has a lean type of body. He usually dresses in a fashion that you would see travellers in with a cloak to keep him insulated from the cold and protected from the heat. He would often be seen with a knapsack containing multiple journals and pens. It also contains some herbs that would be beneficial in travels.
Biography: Brandon was born an orphan in some no-name town. It was out of the way so outsiders rarely came.. well, besides his parents at least. They had told him that he was given to the orphanage and the parents just disappeared, assumed to have moved on. Because Brandon didn't know them, he didn't really care about it. There were only three people in that orphanage so basically? Only three kids were abandoned with the other two dealing with the same thing he was - one was three years older than him and the other was five years older. No one had waned to keep them because there was a superstition going around that adopting a stranger's child will lead to bad luck. The owner of the orphanage was a nice young lady who thought that she already had the worst luck out of everyone there, so why not take care of these three poor children? The first eight years of his life was spent in that village. Their 'mother' had trouble raising all three of them. The oldest of the three decided to help out to earn money while the other two still learned.
Brandon showed great interest in plants, and not just crops, herbs especially. But the village only offered him very limited knowledge about said plants. He shared this with his 'mother' and she resolved to find someone who knew more about herbs. Fate had answered his plea by having a travelling botanist pass through the village. He stayed there for a while and he got to know Brandon. His name was Euan. He grew fond of Brandon and decided to adopt him. After a deal was reached between his 'mother' and Euan, they were off. He became Euan's assistant and learned many things. They rarely settled down for more than two months in a town. Around five years ago, they stumbled upon a small farm which only had one inhabitant. The farmer welcomed them with open arms but rarely spoke to them in a caring fashion. He told them that he was running out of time and he needed to pass his ring off to someone. Euan decided to humor the man and told him that he will care for it.
That was when Brandon was sent out to check on the plants while the two adults talked. He was absolutely clueless on what was happening inside the house. Once he finished, he entered the house and Euan told him that they were going to base here. Brandon didn't really care about it. He was happy with the farm. It was filled with herbs of different kinds! He was going to have fun here. He noticed that Euan had the ring the farmer was wearing before. Euan told him that the farmer had died and that they should bury him. They did and then lived in the farm for the rest of the years. Euan displayed the powers of the ring bit by bit but Brandon wasn't very interested in it. The two still go out to search and study the flora that dot the land around. They were different, that was for sure, and invaluable. They sometimes go to the cities to sell what they had. They even got enough money to buy a black dog which still lives with him up to now. His name is Shawn.
Five days prior to the this day, Euan had died from a certain disease that he had kept from Brandon all these years. Now it was Brandon's turn to wear the ring. Euan made him promise to never give it to anyone else unless he, himself, was dying. He also explained the range of abilities that it will develop according to what he has experienced. Brandon understood and Euan entrusted it to him. He died two days later. Brandon buried Euan and is still thinking of whether or not he should leave he farm. He didn't know if there were other rings like his. Well, he knew that he should at least keep recording and selling herbs and other plants. |
48,952 | 1,322 | 8 | 2,141 | 52 | It had been ages since Jill had left for the marketplace, yet nothing among the various stalls had caught her interest. She walked by each vendor lazily, giving their items only a half-interested fleeting gaze before moving on. Since when had business here been so dry? Jill thought to herself. Then again, these were everyday people selling everyday items. It was unfair of her to expect them to have rubies on display when only a small fraction of the populace could afford that sort of thing.
"Fresh fruit! Fresh vegetables! Get them while you can!" An old lady beamed up at the passing by crowd, causing Jill to let out a loud yawn, her eyes now slightly teary. This was much to the old lady's disapproval, who muttered something about rude whippersnappers under her breath, causing Jill to sprint away from her stall.
Jill's thoughts returned to the family drama she had left back at home. She was now having second thoughts. Was she making too much of a fuss about nothing? Would it be better for everyone if she just went along with their plans quietly? What if she was in the right after all? Maybe her family was in the wrong for always deciding things for her. She swept away her bangs in frustration and trudged forward, not really looking where she was going.
She had barely passed another shop or two, when all of a sudden she noticed a dog plunging forward in full speed. Sometimes she wondered where dogs got all their energy from, she herself could barely manage doing her daily chores. She turned around, curious to find out what the dog was after. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No master waiting for it with a treat, no wild animal to give chase after. It took Jill a moment to register that the dog was dashing towards her. When it had finally dawned upon her, Jill turned back at the dog in dread only to find out that it was now only a few steps away from her. Why me? She thought as she shut her eyes and instinctively crouched down; almost shrieking in fear as she did so.
Well? Was the dog going to bite her? Jill wondered,as she slowly mustered the courage to open her eyes. The dog was there alright, brushing against her, but it didn't seem as hostile as she had feared. It gave a friendly bark, dissolving any qualms Jill had had about the dog's nature. Jill laughed nervously, falling back in relief. She hesitated for a moment, but ended up petting the dog. It seemed nice enough, now that Jill was calm and collected. For some weird reason,she felt a tad bit better. It was probably swell being a dog Jill thought as she petted the dog. Dogs don't have any worries...do they?
She heard someone shouting in the distance, the sound bringing her thoughts back to her surroundings. She looked around and saw a few kids who had stopped to stare at her, while some adults went about their business but only after giving her a condescending look.
She had freaked out completely, after all. Talk about an over reaction, her inner voice criticized. Jill immediately got up, dusting her self off, making up her mind to never again let a dog get the better of her .
The shouting figure was that of a boy, who stopped abruptly beside the dog. Jill figured out that he was the dog's owner. Before she could gather the energy to get furious and go on about how the owner should've kept his dog on a tighter leash, he had already started apologizing. In fact the more he apologized, the lesser she felt like complaining.
"It's alright,you don't have to apologise!" She exclaimed; and she meant it.
"Your dog's done nothing much,that is, besides almost scaring the daylights out of me" she added with a grin. | Name: Jill Wayland
Age: 19
Occupation: Seamstress
Ring: Orange
Appearance:
Biography:
Jill grew up on the outskirts of the capital where her parents and 4 sisters lived in a cozy house next to an inn that her family had owned for generations. Jill's father Luke Wayland, was a travelling merchant who was often absent from family events and her mother, a reputed teacher in the neighborhood, had to bear the burdens of parenthood mostly by herself.Luke Wayland's business involved exquisite finds from faraway and he often frequented the houses of high nobles, who were usually the only ones around with both the money and time to fawn over trinkets, uncut gems and the like. Although his presence was often missed, good business meant that the family lived quite comfortably with not much to complain about.Jill had a lukewarm childhood, with not much struggles save for the constant need to define herself as an individual different from her sisters. As the child right in between, she had neither the elegance of her sophisticated elder sisters nor the charm of her younger, amiable sisters.However, as she grew older, Jill's focus shifted towards getting better at the things she was good at rather than wait for people to acknowledge her a person. Jill helped her mother with the inn and by spending time with the various lodgers, Jill had picked up quite a set of skills. She learnt how to sew and was decent at art and painting as well.
However, with good things Jill also picked up a few bad things at the inn. Unknown to her family, she had become a habitual gambler. It began with fun games at first but it soon turned into a near addiction for her. She was always up for a bet and when the habitants of inn refused to feed her hobby she turned to pubs and the marketplaces. Over time, Jill got crafty enough to win most of her gambles and no cheap trick was beyond her. Countless victories made her overconfident and Jill even took on proclaimed witches and royal subjects. During one of her similar outings she had put on stake her father's most recent treasures: a handful of pearls and a crown of rare gems in exchange for an angel figurine from a young woman, Leslie, who unknown to Jill, happened to be the daughter of a merchant as well. When she was about to return with her winnings, Jill noticed an orange ring on the angel's left hand. Leslie, who had also just noticed the ring, pleaded with Jill to return it,for she had forgotten to remove the ring. Leslie's pleas fell on deaf ears and Jill ignored her even when she told her about how the ring mattered a lot to her father. Jill's victories were but short-lived. When Leslie confessed to her father, news of the figurine soon reached Luke as well. The family finally figured out where Jill's allowances were disappearing and she was persuaded to give up gambling. Jill begrudgingly agreed, on one condition: she wasn't going to return anything she had won until now.
3 years later, Jill became a seamstress and moved out of her house when she began to earn enough to take care of herself.Without her family's interference, she has fallen back into her habit of gambling; although its now longer as big of a problem as it was in the past. Jill's not sure of whether she has really found her calling yet, but atleast her earnings mean that she can fund her habit for now. |
48,953 | 1,322 | 9 | 875 | 200 | Oi there! Miss! I've got a question. May I have a second of your time?
Cait swore under her breath, the man at the bar had obviously figured out that she'd taken his money. She thought momentarily of running but a quick glance around told her there were city guards nearby and so far the man wasn't making a fuss. She pulled her hood a little lower over her eyes, trying to obscure her face a little more in case she was going to have to make a run for it. The man would have to make a very convincing argument for her to part with the coins.
She whirled around and shot him a charming crooked half smile, "I suppose I can spare a moment, but just a moment. I'm afraid I'm not local, if you're looking for directions." She was momentarily distracted by the man's ring again, something about it called to her. She grabbed the ring she wore on a chain around her neck. "Interesting piece you've got there. How'd you come by it?"
It couldn't be like hers...or could it? | Name: Caitlin (Cait) Flannigan of Eucora (a made up kingdom)
Age: 24
Occupation: Guardian of the Stone
Appearance:
Biography:
Cait was born to a noble family, she was destined to have the finest things in life and be married off to another noble man that would hopefully continue to raise her family’s position in society. She was taught from a young age how to act, how to talk, how to walk when in public. She quickly became bored with her life, wanting more. She decided she had enough when she was fifteen, said goodbye to her younger sisters and ran away from home, never looking back.
Cait wandered for a few years, her whims taking her on whichever adventure she fancied next. On her adventures she learned handy skills like pick pocketing and lock picking. She was adept with a bow but prefers her daggers and short swords to almost anything else. Alvar found her drunk in a tavern one night. He thought he was going to need to help the young girl as a group of men tried to take advantage of her in her drunken state. Cait quickly dispatched the thugs and went back to her ale. Impressed by her skill Alvar offered to train her. Cait waived him off but he persisted for three days before she finally relented that the old man might have something to teach her that her adventures had yet to give her – a purpose for her life.
Alvar was the guardian of the green stone ring. He explained to Cait how he belonged to a very long line of guardians, their lives dedicated to the protection of this ring. So Alvar trained Cait, making her an even more skilled fighter/thief. Alvar gave Cait a life of discipline and a sense of honor and purpose. Her world was turned upside down when Alvar was murdered by a rove of bandits, wanting to steal the ring from him when they refused to pay the “toll” the bandits were charging for using the road. Alvar had been too skilled to be killed by the bandits, he had only died because Cait had made a stupid mistake and he’d sacrificed himself for her. In a rage Cait slaughtered the bandits, pulling Alvar into her lap as he bled to death. He gave her the ring and begged her to protect it with her life. That was three days ago. |
48,954 | 1,322 | 10 | 1,999 | 33 | Orgin stood overlooking a small stand of his wares, the day had been dragging on and the small things he had for sale at this point were not selling well, however the hope of a sale vanished from the mind as a small brawl in the street broke out. He looked on silently as the men got to their feet and dusted off. This seemed to start a chain of events that led to quite a commotion, he watched as a rather large dog bounded after a woman, he watched as two more people leave the pub as well, seemingly with intent.
What on earth is going on in this town today, it seems it may be a hair lively for what I need. He thought as he began to reconsider having stopped here. The only reason he had even come to this town in the first place was to speak with a scholar or a dealer of antiquities in order to glean some sort of idea what kind of ring it was he now wore, but the strange bustling that was occurring it couldn't be coincidence, could it?
Orgin began to pack away his goods for the day not before strapping a strikingly heavy short sword to his waist, he figured that this would be a good a time as any to either look about town, perhaps even speak with some of the locals about the ring. Before Orgin could even take a few steps, he noticed the second pair to come from the pub, now speaking to each other in the street, more peculiar was that both of them sported a fancy ring, of which seemed to be the topic of their discussion. Orgin tried to inch closer, not wanting to outright jump into a strange pairs conversation, however he did want to see if he could hear them and learn if perhaps this was the day he learned something about the ring. | Name: Orgin Razakiel of Solruk
Age: 24
Occupation: Blacksmith
Ring: Black crystal ring of Space
Appearance:
He is around six foot tall and moderate build, he sports many small burns and scars around his hands and forearms from his long hours in the forge.
Biography: As a young boy in the slums of Solruk, Orgin took to the crafts quickly. The youth was most at home with tool in hand and a flame to stoke his inspiration, it was all the magic he had ever needed. he became a somewhat accomplished smith and tinkerer, many small gadgets and his forged tools kept him in business and that was enough.
Soon enough Orgin found himself in quite a predicament, a smith from another city had come into town, his steel and his prowess far exceeding anything the young man could produce. The end of his life in view, Orgin took one final chance, he traveled farther than he had before in search of better material. The trek left him tired but he knew that if this didn't work he would be ruined, he could never be anything more. Orgin dug, and dug, but the ore was no better, he feared the worst, but just as his hope started to fade, his pick broke though to a small cave, as he stepped though the hole he saw that the cave, maybe only the size of a bedroom, had one stalagmite jutting up out of the floor. As Orgin lifted a torch and looked in he saw, resting on the pillar, was a ring set with a jet black gem. The stone was nearly pulling him in, and as he grasped the ring he knew this could be what saves him.
Orgin returned home to Solruk, no one, no material at all, only the ring, he rushed to his home and packed all of his tools, Solruk was no longer home for him, he knew that this ring was special, but this city was no longer worth the time. On the road out of the city he thought to himself, Why is the ring special, why do I care? as he pondered the idea, his rickety cart hit a rough bump and his hammer fell from the cart. Orgin thrust out the ringed hand to the hammer as it fell only to see a distortion around it, and in the instant, the hammer was in his hand. Orgin stared at the hammer, then the ring, he began to laugh and grin, this was something special, and he would find out how far it went. |
48,955 | 1,322 | 11 | 1,836 | 2,622 | Brandon's tense muscles relaxed when she hadn't responded with a shout. This came a little bit as a surprise since a lot of people got angry when this happened. It didn't happen frequently, but it still happened. He really should have bought a leash for him. As well-trained as Shawn is, he was still an animal. He guessed he should have taken the advice of every other person he talks with when it came to handling Shawn.
"I'm really sorry for that. He doesn't usually do this..." He said with a sigh. He then whistled and Shawn padded over to his side and then sat down beside him with his head still down.
He then gave her a silly grin and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm just as surprised as you." He then looked around, as if avoiding eye contact with the girl, and then noticing that there were some adults who just left but was really looking at them with a look that made him uneasy. He didn't really see her when she was down so he didn't really get why.
But now that he was aware of the loads of people around them, he suddenly got a little bit embarrassed as shown by a light blush on his cheeks. Oh but he shouldn't leave just like that. He looked back at Jill but still somehow avoiding direct eye contact. "Oh, uh, I have to make it up to you somehow..." He softly said, fiddling his fingers.
"This would be the perfect time to make a friend!"
Euan's words rang in his head. As one can tell, he wasn't much for interactions. He always stuck by Euan, and even way back when he was living in a village, he only ever really interacted with the two other orphans and the mother. Maybe he should snag this opportunity to actually get to know someone besides the people he barters with. It seemed like the perfect opportunity. Euan always says that a lot of acquaintances would pay off.
"Uh, would you like some food? My treat." He suggested with a small smile. He was pretty hungry. Even if she would decide not to come with him, he would still have to eat. Shawn would have been pretty hungry too anyway. | Name: Brandon Deschnik
Age: 18
Occupation: Until recently, apprentice herbalist and botanist
Ring: Clear Crystal Ring
Appearance: Brandon stands at a height of 5'7 and weighs rather averagely. He has a lean type of body. He usually dresses in a fashion that you would see travellers in with a cloak to keep him insulated from the cold and protected from the heat. He would often be seen with a knapsack containing multiple journals and pens. It also contains some herbs that would be beneficial in travels.
Biography: Brandon was born an orphan in some no-name town. It was out of the way so outsiders rarely came.. well, besides his parents at least. They had told him that he was given to the orphanage and the parents just disappeared, assumed to have moved on. Because Brandon didn't know them, he didn't really care about it. There were only three people in that orphanage so basically? Only three kids were abandoned with the other two dealing with the same thing he was - one was three years older than him and the other was five years older. No one had waned to keep them because there was a superstition going around that adopting a stranger's child will lead to bad luck. The owner of the orphanage was a nice young lady who thought that she already had the worst luck out of everyone there, so why not take care of these three poor children? The first eight years of his life was spent in that village. Their 'mother' had trouble raising all three of them. The oldest of the three decided to help out to earn money while the other two still learned.
Brandon showed great interest in plants, and not just crops, herbs especially. But the village only offered him very limited knowledge about said plants. He shared this with his 'mother' and she resolved to find someone who knew more about herbs. Fate had answered his plea by having a travelling botanist pass through the village. He stayed there for a while and he got to know Brandon. His name was Euan. He grew fond of Brandon and decided to adopt him. After a deal was reached between his 'mother' and Euan, they were off. He became Euan's assistant and learned many things. They rarely settled down for more than two months in a town. Around five years ago, they stumbled upon a small farm which only had one inhabitant. The farmer welcomed them with open arms but rarely spoke to them in a caring fashion. He told them that he was running out of time and he needed to pass his ring off to someone. Euan decided to humor the man and told him that he will care for it.
That was when Brandon was sent out to check on the plants while the two adults talked. He was absolutely clueless on what was happening inside the house. Once he finished, he entered the house and Euan told him that they were going to base here. Brandon didn't really care about it. He was happy with the farm. It was filled with herbs of different kinds! He was going to have fun here. He noticed that Euan had the ring the farmer was wearing before. Euan told him that the farmer had died and that they should bury him. They did and then lived in the farm for the rest of the years. Euan displayed the powers of the ring bit by bit but Brandon wasn't very interested in it. The two still go out to search and study the flora that dot the land around. They were different, that was for sure, and invaluable. They sometimes go to the cities to sell what they had. They even got enough money to buy a black dog which still lives with him up to now. His name is Shawn.
Five days prior to the this day, Euan had died from a certain disease that he had kept from Brandon all these years. Now it was Brandon's turn to wear the ring. Euan made him promise to never give it to anyone else unless he, himself, was dying. He also explained the range of abilities that it will develop according to what he has experienced. Brandon understood and Euan entrusted it to him. He died two days later. Brandon buried Euan and is still thinking of whether or not he should leave he farm. He didn't know if there were other rings like his. Well, he knew that he should at least keep recording and selling herbs and other plants. |
48,956 | 1,322 | 12 | 255 | 850 | ..."Interesting piece you've got there. How'd you come by it?"
A creepy crawling feeling ran up Lester's spine when the hooded woman pointed out his ring. She was changing the subject multiple times. She was looking to make a quick escape. And she was eyeballing Lester's only remaining object of value. Everything about the woman made him uneasy, but none of these thoughts leaked out of his voice:
"Yeah, I found this ring at my last job. It's all I have left after loosing all my money to a crafty yet beautiful pickpocket." He let these words sink in for a split second before coming in with the punch line. "But honestly though, all niceties aside, I need that money to survive. I don't know what kind of financial bind you may be in, but if you can spare it, would you mind?"
Lester let off the most comforting smile he could muster. His best hope was to appeal to the woman's human side. He didn't want this to end in some sort of fight or footrace. His wit was his best asset, not his fists or his feet. His heart pounded as he tried to remain calm.
To complicate things further, Lester had begun to feel the gaze of an extra pair of eyes. What this new person wanted, he did not care. He would not look away from the woman. His calming, pleading stare would not be broken. | Name: Lester Barman of Northumbria (a factual kingdom)
Age: 25
Occupation: Bartender
Ring: Violet
Appearance:
Biography:
Lester grew up in the city of York, located in the southern reaches of Northumbria. He never knew his mother, as she died shortly after giving birth to him, her first and only child. His father was a small time innkeeper, always struggling to pay the taxes. Father and son lived in one spare room within the inn. From a young age, Lester was put to work, first with cleaning chores, then with serving the patrons, and eventually slinging the drinks from behind the bar, along side his father.
By the age of nineteen, the small inn had risen to become a very respectable establishment, mostly due to Lester's ability to entertain bar guests. Life was looking on the up and up, until that fateful day...
One morning, Lester's father left to make his usual tax payments, but he did not return that evening as usual. Unable to do anything else, Lester went on doing his job, that day, that week, and a few weeks following. Then one morning, before open, a gang of men came knocking. They were nobles, looking for their tax payments. Lester tried to explain that his father had disappeared weeks prior on his way to pay them. He was unaware that the payment had never reached them and was unsure about the fate of his father. The men had no sympathy for the young man's situation. They proclaimed the building, and everything in it, state property. Lester was promptly kicked out onto the streets. He carried nothing more than small bag of clothing with one or two sentinmental trinkets hidden inside.
A nearby barkeep quickly snatched up the abandoned young man, offering him a position as a bartender there as well. For the next two years, Lester would stay at that pub living life much as he had before his father went missing. His same regulars came to visit him, and he made quite a bit of coin. But life was hallow now. His father was gone, and all the time he spent searching went completely to waste. Unable to stand this lifestyle that reminded him of the past, Lester decided to leave York.
For three years, Lester traveled aimlessly, from town to town. He searched for nothing more than a place to call home, somewhere that he felt safe. But in order to keep money in his pocket, the bartending profession kept pulling him back. From pub to pub, inn to inn, he stayed in no one town longer than a few months.
At his most recent establishment, Lester had a rather peculiar experience. A solitary man had quietly sat at the end of his bar. The man sipped on nothing but one or two weak ales. Lester tried to make conversation with the man, but he showed no interest in conversation. The man kept looking around as if he was waiting on someone. They never arrived.
At closing time, the man simply paid his tab and walked away. Lester chased the man down. He had given Lester far too many coins for such a small tab. The man only had two words for him, "Keep it." Lester had grown accustomed to big tippers, but this would be his best ever, nearly 10 times more than what the man had owed.
Later, as he was wiping down the bar, an expensive piece of jewelry caught his eye. It was violet ring, laid on the counter in front of were the man had sat.
Lester remained at this pub for nearly a month longer. He kept the abandoned ring in his pocket for safe keeping, in case man were to return. He would gladly give it back, but the man never returned. His words, "Keep it." kept running through Lester's mind. Was he also speaking of the ring when he said that? In any case, Lester's time was up. This too was not the town for him.
He now wanders the country side... with new accessory on his right hand. |
48,957 | 1,322 | 13 | 2,141 | 52 | Jill noticed the boy color up but she wasn't too sure why he was embarrassed. She saw him looking around at the people who had been staring at her and wondered if that was it . Maybe he was just introverted, she thought. Only now had she taken a good look at him, noticing that he was carrying a bag almost filled to its maximum capacity, threatening to burst open any second. Was he travelling? she wondered.
As she made note of this, the boy started again , fiddling with his fingers. I have to make it up to you somehow he had said, but she didn't really feel that way. After all, she was safe and sound and it was just a silly incident that he couldn't have seen coming. She had made up her mind to refuse any money or items the boy was about to give her. Would you like some food? My treat. Food was okay, Jill decided. She could accept that. In fact it was about time she ate something, she was starving. Jill had been working since the morning and after the ruckus at home she had forgotten completely about eating. This often happened with her. Whenever she got too absorbed in her work or upset, she'd ditch meals. Not on purpose entirely,however, as she was a complete foodie and could wolf down a worrying amount of food within a minute's notice.
She beamed up at his offer and nodded. "I'd really like that! I haven't had a morsel since the morning and its already noon!" She complained with a dramatic show of clutching her empty belly and staggering as if she had no energy to stand.
'I'm Jill by the way, Jill Wayland. What's your name?" She asked with an extended hand. She was a social butterfly who had never had much difficulty getting on good terms with most people. Her chatty personality helped her with this, as she was the kind of person who'd never run out of things to talk about.The downside however, was that sometimes her mind-to-mouth filter was almost nonexistent.
"What's in that bag?" She asked him straightforward, unable to hold back her curiosity. "Are you travelling?" | Name: Jill Wayland
Age: 19
Occupation: Seamstress
Ring: Orange
Appearance:
Biography:
Jill grew up on the outskirts of the capital where her parents and 4 sisters lived in a cozy house next to an inn that her family had owned for generations. Jill's father Luke Wayland, was a travelling merchant who was often absent from family events and her mother, a reputed teacher in the neighborhood, had to bear the burdens of parenthood mostly by herself.Luke Wayland's business involved exquisite finds from faraway and he often frequented the houses of high nobles, who were usually the only ones around with both the money and time to fawn over trinkets, uncut gems and the like. Although his presence was often missed, good business meant that the family lived quite comfortably with not much to complain about.Jill had a lukewarm childhood, with not much struggles save for the constant need to define herself as an individual different from her sisters. As the child right in between, she had neither the elegance of her sophisticated elder sisters nor the charm of her younger, amiable sisters.However, as she grew older, Jill's focus shifted towards getting better at the things she was good at rather than wait for people to acknowledge her a person. Jill helped her mother with the inn and by spending time with the various lodgers, Jill had picked up quite a set of skills. She learnt how to sew and was decent at art and painting as well.
However, with good things Jill also picked up a few bad things at the inn. Unknown to her family, she had become a habitual gambler. It began with fun games at first but it soon turned into a near addiction for her. She was always up for a bet and when the habitants of inn refused to feed her hobby she turned to pubs and the marketplaces. Over time, Jill got crafty enough to win most of her gambles and no cheap trick was beyond her. Countless victories made her overconfident and Jill even took on proclaimed witches and royal subjects. During one of her similar outings she had put on stake her father's most recent treasures: a handful of pearls and a crown of rare gems in exchange for an angel figurine from a young woman, Leslie, who unknown to Jill, happened to be the daughter of a merchant as well. When she was about to return with her winnings, Jill noticed an orange ring on the angel's left hand. Leslie, who had also just noticed the ring, pleaded with Jill to return it,for she had forgotten to remove the ring. Leslie's pleas fell on deaf ears and Jill ignored her even when she told her about how the ring mattered a lot to her father. Jill's victories were but short-lived. When Leslie confessed to her father, news of the figurine soon reached Luke as well. The family finally figured out where Jill's allowances were disappearing and she was persuaded to give up gambling. Jill begrudgingly agreed, on one condition: she wasn't going to return anything she had won until now.
3 years later, Jill became a seamstress and moved out of her house when she began to earn enough to take care of herself.Without her family's interference, she has fallen back into her habit of gambling; although its now longer as big of a problem as it was in the past. Jill's not sure of whether she has really found her calling yet, but atleast her earnings mean that she can fund her habit for now. |
48,958 | 1,322 | 14 | 1,836 | 2,622 | Brandon's eyes lit up when she had agreed and then laughed at her little dramatic display. "Well, good thing Shawn found you huh?" He said with a grin, the red tint on his face now disappearing as his focus was solely on her. Hey, this just might be a good time to make an acquaintance. This was a good thing for Brandon. He decided to see this to the end.
"Brandon Deschnik. Nice to meet you." He said before wrapping his gloved hand around hers and then shaking it. After a good shake, he broke the contact and then started walking, gesturing for her to follow. Shawn had also stood up and began following his master. Much unlike Jill, his social skills were no greater than mediocre. He hasn't exactly gotten a lot of practice in that particular field as he normally exchanges talking with reading. It led to him being a lot more awkward than he should be.
"Huh? Oh this?" He looked at his bag and then back at her. "I'm stocking up. Some food, some supplies, the usual." He replied with a shrug. Brandon does admit that it looked like he was packing up for some sort of voyage considering it looked like it was going to blow at any second. "Nah, I live at a clearing in the forest just an hour away from here." He said, gesturing to the direction of the exit of the town.
"Well I used to travel but I have some business now." He continued as he rubbed the back of his head. He did promise he would protect the farm so unless someone else takes up the offer of living there, he's stuck. "How about you Jill?" | Name: Brandon Deschnik
Age: 18
Occupation: Until recently, apprentice herbalist and botanist
Ring: Clear Crystal Ring
Appearance: Brandon stands at a height of 5'7 and weighs rather averagely. He has a lean type of body. He usually dresses in a fashion that you would see travellers in with a cloak to keep him insulated from the cold and protected from the heat. He would often be seen with a knapsack containing multiple journals and pens. It also contains some herbs that would be beneficial in travels.
Biography: Brandon was born an orphan in some no-name town. It was out of the way so outsiders rarely came.. well, besides his parents at least. They had told him that he was given to the orphanage and the parents just disappeared, assumed to have moved on. Because Brandon didn't know them, he didn't really care about it. There were only three people in that orphanage so basically? Only three kids were abandoned with the other two dealing with the same thing he was - one was three years older than him and the other was five years older. No one had waned to keep them because there was a superstition going around that adopting a stranger's child will lead to bad luck. The owner of the orphanage was a nice young lady who thought that she already had the worst luck out of everyone there, so why not take care of these three poor children? The first eight years of his life was spent in that village. Their 'mother' had trouble raising all three of them. The oldest of the three decided to help out to earn money while the other two still learned.
Brandon showed great interest in plants, and not just crops, herbs especially. But the village only offered him very limited knowledge about said plants. He shared this with his 'mother' and she resolved to find someone who knew more about herbs. Fate had answered his plea by having a travelling botanist pass through the village. He stayed there for a while and he got to know Brandon. His name was Euan. He grew fond of Brandon and decided to adopt him. After a deal was reached between his 'mother' and Euan, they were off. He became Euan's assistant and learned many things. They rarely settled down for more than two months in a town. Around five years ago, they stumbled upon a small farm which only had one inhabitant. The farmer welcomed them with open arms but rarely spoke to them in a caring fashion. He told them that he was running out of time and he needed to pass his ring off to someone. Euan decided to humor the man and told him that he will care for it.
That was when Brandon was sent out to check on the plants while the two adults talked. He was absolutely clueless on what was happening inside the house. Once he finished, he entered the house and Euan told him that they were going to base here. Brandon didn't really care about it. He was happy with the farm. It was filled with herbs of different kinds! He was going to have fun here. He noticed that Euan had the ring the farmer was wearing before. Euan told him that the farmer had died and that they should bury him. They did and then lived in the farm for the rest of the years. Euan displayed the powers of the ring bit by bit but Brandon wasn't very interested in it. The two still go out to search and study the flora that dot the land around. They were different, that was for sure, and invaluable. They sometimes go to the cities to sell what they had. They even got enough money to buy a black dog which still lives with him up to now. His name is Shawn.
Five days prior to the this day, Euan had died from a certain disease that he had kept from Brandon all these years. Now it was Brandon's turn to wear the ring. Euan made him promise to never give it to anyone else unless he, himself, was dying. He also explained the range of abilities that it will develop according to what he has experienced. Brandon understood and Euan entrusted it to him. He died two days later. Brandon buried Euan and is still thinking of whether or not he should leave he farm. He didn't know if there were other rings like his. Well, he knew that he should at least keep recording and selling herbs and other plants. |
48,959 | 1,322 | 15 | 1,907 | 69 | A horse drawn carriage cobbled past the city entrance and halted to a quick stop. A hairy, surly man holding the reigns whispered through his remaining teeth of their arrival, as a leather boot burst through the carriage's side door. The driver cursed about wood value while said boot dove out, dragging behind a skinny, cloaked young man with a big, fancy hat. This brunette boy carried a small side bag, and a small, sturdy case strapped to his back. For a moment he stood and took a breath, taking in all the surroundings. Particularly a beautiful set of pink flowers right beside the gate, one of which he plucks and places securely in his hat. The driver took an abacus out and started making calculations.
"Alright so where's this Aunt that's gonna pay for your trip. That'll be-"
The passenger turns his head towards the driver, takes in one breath, raises his finger, begins to speak his answer, aaaaaaand proceeds to bolt in to the city streets like his life depends on it. For all we know it might. The first test is whether that driver would even bother to run after him for the debt. And he would. Well surely this young man is much faster and agile than an old, geezer driver. And he is...for now. Next comes the real challenge, either losing him in distance or line of sight. Both should be easy in such a cramped and crowded city market. If only this kid would stop running away in a straight line! But yet another flower seems to have caught his eye, a young maiden walking through the city.
The young man almost passes the girl immediately, slowing to a stop just past her and backing up in a jog to stand next to her. He reaches up to his hat, plucks the pink flower from it, and stands it up in front of the lady. He even gave a small bow, causing a yellow ring on a necklace to fall out of his shirt. Meanwhile the raging driver still closes in.
"A pretty flower for the pretty lady. Lorenzo Martine, at your service."
Lorenzo looked up just in time to see the fuming driver just a few feet away. So he jumped away, barely escaping his vengeful clutches. With a wave goodbye he set out on his escape again, zig-zagging through stalls and people. After a few turns it looked like he finally lost the crazy fool. Lorenzo would honestly pay him back once he was able, he just wasn't able to afford it right now. And who's going to give you a ride across the country on an I.O.U. alone?
Winded, hot, and sweaty, Lorenzo Martin found the one place in town that felt right at home. A small tavern with a good crowd. No shows would be happening anytime soon, but he was definitely going to scope out the joint. Maybe he should lay low till that driver stopped looking for him. | Name: Lorenzo Martine of fair Verona
Age: 21
Occupation: Musician
Ring: Yellow
Biography: Is a song acceptable?
From fair Varona Lorenzo the magnificent hails
His mother and father spun to him magnificent tales
And with his voice he'd sing them out loud
Always sure to gather a crowd
The string of his lute always in tune without fail
One fair maiden caught the young boy's eye
Upset his stomach and made him think he could fly
Love at first sight he was sure
A pain he could not yet endure
He told his parents he had to say goodbye
His mother and father had one more story to tell
Of how they said goodbye and did it well
Father gave a ring
The wedding bells would sing
So they gave him that ring and made his heart swell
Lorenzo Martine the magnificent went out that night
To show the maiden the ring in the best light
But she declined the ring of his mother
For she was in love with another
So Lorenzo left fair Verona...after a fair fight |
48,960 | 1,322 | 16 | 255 | 850 | Year 800 - Feb 11th - Mid Afternoon
The skies were especially dreary, but not enough to cause alarm. Children played in the streets, while adults toiled away to earn a living. Beggars searched for food; elites planned their parties. At the end of the day, families would rest their eyes and drunks would leave the pub. It would be just another day. Nothing special was going to happen. Or so the ignorant people believed...
Little did anyone know, just beyond the horizon, a storm of epic proportions was approaching uncharacteristically fast. It was destroying entire towns in mere hours. Survivors were being left in shambles, staring at years of hard work, gone in mere instants, lives changed forever.
Our tale begins in a special village. Yes they would recount the destruction of the the horrible storm. But among these recollections are stories unique only to this particular village. For never in history had all ten of the "Legendary Rings of Power" been conveniently gathered in one place. Stories spoke of witches, demons, angels, and more. We now believe that these stories were actually first hand accounts of those that saw a "Ring of Power" at work.
But lets not get too ahead of ourselves. The leading men and women of our tale did not hear of this storm right away. Like all other villages before them, there would be no time for warning. When the storm would hit, everything would be thrown to chaos. Until then, it was business as usual.
Note #1: A link to this post now lives in the 0th IC post.
Note #2: Next entry will take place after a minimum of 5 more IC posts and a minimum of three more days. | Name: Lester Barman of Northumbria (a factual kingdom)
Age: 25
Occupation: Bartender
Ring: Violet
Appearance:
Biography:
Lester grew up in the city of York, located in the southern reaches of Northumbria. He never knew his mother, as she died shortly after giving birth to him, her first and only child. His father was a small time innkeeper, always struggling to pay the taxes. Father and son lived in one spare room within the inn. From a young age, Lester was put to work, first with cleaning chores, then with serving the patrons, and eventually slinging the drinks from behind the bar, along side his father.
By the age of nineteen, the small inn had risen to become a very respectable establishment, mostly due to Lester's ability to entertain bar guests. Life was looking on the up and up, until that fateful day...
One morning, Lester's father left to make his usual tax payments, but he did not return that evening as usual. Unable to do anything else, Lester went on doing his job, that day, that week, and a few weeks following. Then one morning, before open, a gang of men came knocking. They were nobles, looking for their tax payments. Lester tried to explain that his father had disappeared weeks prior on his way to pay them. He was unaware that the payment had never reached them and was unsure about the fate of his father. The men had no sympathy for the young man's situation. They proclaimed the building, and everything in it, state property. Lester was promptly kicked out onto the streets. He carried nothing more than small bag of clothing with one or two sentinmental trinkets hidden inside.
A nearby barkeep quickly snatched up the abandoned young man, offering him a position as a bartender there as well. For the next two years, Lester would stay at that pub living life much as he had before his father went missing. His same regulars came to visit him, and he made quite a bit of coin. But life was hallow now. His father was gone, and all the time he spent searching went completely to waste. Unable to stand this lifestyle that reminded him of the past, Lester decided to leave York.
For three years, Lester traveled aimlessly, from town to town. He searched for nothing more than a place to call home, somewhere that he felt safe. But in order to keep money in his pocket, the bartending profession kept pulling him back. From pub to pub, inn to inn, he stayed in no one town longer than a few months.
At his most recent establishment, Lester had a rather peculiar experience. A solitary man had quietly sat at the end of his bar. The man sipped on nothing but one or two weak ales. Lester tried to make conversation with the man, but he showed no interest in conversation. The man kept looking around as if he was waiting on someone. They never arrived.
At closing time, the man simply paid his tab and walked away. Lester chased the man down. He had given Lester far too many coins for such a small tab. The man only had two words for him, "Keep it." Lester had grown accustomed to big tippers, but this would be his best ever, nearly 10 times more than what the man had owed.
Later, as he was wiping down the bar, an expensive piece of jewelry caught his eye. It was violet ring, laid on the counter in front of were the man had sat.
Lester remained at this pub for nearly a month longer. He kept the abandoned ring in his pocket for safe keeping, in case man were to return. He would gladly give it back, but the man never returned. His words, "Keep it." kept running through Lester's mind. Was he also speaking of the ring when he said that? In any case, Lester's time was up. This too was not the town for him.
He now wanders the country side... with new accessory on his right hand. |
48,961 | 1,322 | 17 | 2,141 | 52 | Jill looked in the direction of the forest and let out an ohh before listening to what else Brandon had to say. She wondered why he was living at a clearing instead of the town like everybody else but then decided that it probably had something to do with his "business". When it was her turn to describe what she did, Jill didnt' hold back at all in the beginning.
"Well I'm a seamstress. I put together dresses for parties, fix up hats, that sort of a thing. It can get mundane at times but at least I make enough money." Jill started, realizing how it wasn't really a job that she had been proud of so far. She was awfully slow and would sometimes procrastinate and end up with a pile of half-finished pieces and others that were stitched to the wrong sizes; and then she would scream. She was grateful for it, however.
"It may not be the best job, but it helped me move out into my own place. Faar from my siblings" Jill added, with a sigh of relief. She would have vented more about her family if she didn't know better. From past experience, Jill had learnt that people found it very off-putting when she kept on ranting about her family problems and she wasn't going to scare away a potential friend with that mistake again. She redirected the discussion towards Brandon. "So do you live alone as well?" Jill inquired.
Before she could listen to what he had to say, Jill was startled by a racing figure that sped past her; and then to her amusement, jogged back to give her a flower.
"Why,thank you!" was all Jill managed before accepting the flower. Modesty was an alien concept to Jill and there wasn't a shy bone in her body, but she was still a bit surprised by the sudden happening of things. Before she could say anything else, another man, and an angry one at that, caught up with the boy who barely escaped his attack before running off again , waving as he did so. A very confused Jill reciprocated the wave, before the figure was gone. Jill stared into the distance, only now focusing on the trinket that had flashed before her eyes momentarily. It reminded her of her own ring and Jill flexed her fingers, reflecting the pale afternoon sunlight off the ring. | Name: Jill Wayland
Age: 19
Occupation: Seamstress
Ring: Orange
Appearance:
Biography:
Jill grew up on the outskirts of the capital where her parents and 4 sisters lived in a cozy house next to an inn that her family had owned for generations. Jill's father Luke Wayland, was a travelling merchant who was often absent from family events and her mother, a reputed teacher in the neighborhood, had to bear the burdens of parenthood mostly by herself.Luke Wayland's business involved exquisite finds from faraway and he often frequented the houses of high nobles, who were usually the only ones around with both the money and time to fawn over trinkets, uncut gems and the like. Although his presence was often missed, good business meant that the family lived quite comfortably with not much to complain about.Jill had a lukewarm childhood, with not much struggles save for the constant need to define herself as an individual different from her sisters. As the child right in between, she had neither the elegance of her sophisticated elder sisters nor the charm of her younger, amiable sisters.However, as she grew older, Jill's focus shifted towards getting better at the things she was good at rather than wait for people to acknowledge her a person. Jill helped her mother with the inn and by spending time with the various lodgers, Jill had picked up quite a set of skills. She learnt how to sew and was decent at art and painting as well.
However, with good things Jill also picked up a few bad things at the inn. Unknown to her family, she had become a habitual gambler. It began with fun games at first but it soon turned into a near addiction for her. She was always up for a bet and when the habitants of inn refused to feed her hobby she turned to pubs and the marketplaces. Over time, Jill got crafty enough to win most of her gambles and no cheap trick was beyond her. Countless victories made her overconfident and Jill even took on proclaimed witches and royal subjects. During one of her similar outings she had put on stake her father's most recent treasures: a handful of pearls and a crown of rare gems in exchange for an angel figurine from a young woman, Leslie, who unknown to Jill, happened to be the daughter of a merchant as well. When she was about to return with her winnings, Jill noticed an orange ring on the angel's left hand. Leslie, who had also just noticed the ring, pleaded with Jill to return it,for she had forgotten to remove the ring. Leslie's pleas fell on deaf ears and Jill ignored her even when she told her about how the ring mattered a lot to her father. Jill's victories were but short-lived. When Leslie confessed to her father, news of the figurine soon reached Luke as well. The family finally figured out where Jill's allowances were disappearing and she was persuaded to give up gambling. Jill begrudgingly agreed, on one condition: she wasn't going to return anything she had won until now.
3 years later, Jill became a seamstress and moved out of her house when she began to earn enough to take care of herself.Without her family's interference, she has fallen back into her habit of gambling; although its now longer as big of a problem as it was in the past. Jill's not sure of whether she has really found her calling yet, but atleast her earnings mean that she can fund her habit for now. |
48,962 | 1,322 | 18 | 1,836 | 2,622 | Brandon nodded his head as he continued to listen. A seamstress huh? It was honest work at least. Oh, wait, that reminded him of the cloak he accidentally ripped. Maybe she could work on that. As he continued to listen, he noticed that she wasn't exactly fully enjoying the job she had. Maybe she had some other passion? It didn't seem like she wanted to quit either. Huh, he probably wouldn't understand how she feels. Upon hearing about her liking the fact that she wanted to be far away from her family, he couldn't help but ask. "Why do you want to be far from your family?" It was the same curiosity that drove him to read more about quite a lot of things. This time, it was because he never really got the whole 'family' thing.
He opened his mouth and closed it again, trying to find the right words for her question. Should he just tell the truth that he hasn't been living alone for a long while or should he just tell the half truth? Well, it shouldn't be too bad right. Before he could say anything, a man came running towards them before giving a flower to Jill. He seemed to be in a hurry. Looked like a flirt though, but that was another thing. Brandon wasn't focused on the flower though as a yellow ring on a necklace slid out of the man's shirt and into their sight. It looked familiar. It looked a lot like the ring he was wearing now that they got from the dying farmer. Did that mean that there were more rings like this? Ring with power? Oh my...
He looked back at Jill after the interruption and continued to speak. "Oh, the person I was living with died a few days ago. So, yeah, I guess I'm living alone now." Brandon didn't actually sound all too sad. That was just life and he couldn't do anything about it. Everyone would die at some point. Euan did say that he had lived his life to the fullest so he was prepared for his death. Brandon didn't grieve much for him.
He then stopped, blinked and then looked down only to notice that she had a ring around her finger as well. The same kind as his and the man's. Brandon looked back up. "Um, this might be a bit personal but where did you get that ring?" He then removed his glove on his right hand and then showed the Clear Crystal Ring to her. "I don't think it's just me but... don't they look alike?" It was a gut feeling but he couldn't help but ask. This was the first time he's ever seen anything like it so he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to find out more about it. | Name: Brandon Deschnik
Age: 18
Occupation: Until recently, apprentice herbalist and botanist
Ring: Clear Crystal Ring
Appearance: Brandon stands at a height of 5'7 and weighs rather averagely. He has a lean type of body. He usually dresses in a fashion that you would see travellers in with a cloak to keep him insulated from the cold and protected from the heat. He would often be seen with a knapsack containing multiple journals and pens. It also contains some herbs that would be beneficial in travels.
Biography: Brandon was born an orphan in some no-name town. It was out of the way so outsiders rarely came.. well, besides his parents at least. They had told him that he was given to the orphanage and the parents just disappeared, assumed to have moved on. Because Brandon didn't know them, he didn't really care about it. There were only three people in that orphanage so basically? Only three kids were abandoned with the other two dealing with the same thing he was - one was three years older than him and the other was five years older. No one had waned to keep them because there was a superstition going around that adopting a stranger's child will lead to bad luck. The owner of the orphanage was a nice young lady who thought that she already had the worst luck out of everyone there, so why not take care of these three poor children? The first eight years of his life was spent in that village. Their 'mother' had trouble raising all three of them. The oldest of the three decided to help out to earn money while the other two still learned.
Brandon showed great interest in plants, and not just crops, herbs especially. But the village only offered him very limited knowledge about said plants. He shared this with his 'mother' and she resolved to find someone who knew more about herbs. Fate had answered his plea by having a travelling botanist pass through the village. He stayed there for a while and he got to know Brandon. His name was Euan. He grew fond of Brandon and decided to adopt him. After a deal was reached between his 'mother' and Euan, they were off. He became Euan's assistant and learned many things. They rarely settled down for more than two months in a town. Around five years ago, they stumbled upon a small farm which only had one inhabitant. The farmer welcomed them with open arms but rarely spoke to them in a caring fashion. He told them that he was running out of time and he needed to pass his ring off to someone. Euan decided to humor the man and told him that he will care for it.
That was when Brandon was sent out to check on the plants while the two adults talked. He was absolutely clueless on what was happening inside the house. Once he finished, he entered the house and Euan told him that they were going to base here. Brandon didn't really care about it. He was happy with the farm. It was filled with herbs of different kinds! He was going to have fun here. He noticed that Euan had the ring the farmer was wearing before. Euan told him that the farmer had died and that they should bury him. They did and then lived in the farm for the rest of the years. Euan displayed the powers of the ring bit by bit but Brandon wasn't very interested in it. The two still go out to search and study the flora that dot the land around. They were different, that was for sure, and invaluable. They sometimes go to the cities to sell what they had. They even got enough money to buy a black dog which still lives with him up to now. His name is Shawn.
Five days prior to the this day, Euan had died from a certain disease that he had kept from Brandon all these years. Now it was Brandon's turn to wear the ring. Euan made him promise to never give it to anyone else unless he, himself, was dying. He also explained the range of abilities that it will develop according to what he has experienced. Brandon understood and Euan entrusted it to him. He died two days later. Brandon buried Euan and is still thinking of whether or not he should leave he farm. He didn't know if there were other rings like his. Well, he knew that he should at least keep recording and selling herbs and other plants. |
48,963 | 1,322 | 19 | 255 | 850 | Lester's attempts at retrieving his money had fallen through. After only a short conversation, the lady had ran off. With a deep sigh, Lester decided to chalk that one up to a loss. "It's okay." He told himself. "Some people don't tip. Some people steal money. They all have an especially warm place waiting for them in their future."
Lester had almost completely forgotten about the white haired man that had apparently moved closer in order ease drop. In one deep breath he thought though his options. He could try and engage the man in conversation to find out why he was listening in. Or he could just move on; if the man wanted to talk, surely he would have said something by now.
Going with this second assumption, Lester turned and began to walk back toward the tavern. Now more than ever, he needed a job. It had been a while since he was completely without money. The only thing of value he owned at this point was his violet ring. And judging by his conversation with the thief, it could be even more valuable than he imagined. | Name: Lester Barman of Northumbria (a factual kingdom)
Age: 25
Occupation: Bartender
Ring: Violet
Appearance:
Biography:
Lester grew up in the city of York, located in the southern reaches of Northumbria. He never knew his mother, as she died shortly after giving birth to him, her first and only child. His father was a small time innkeeper, always struggling to pay the taxes. Father and son lived in one spare room within the inn. From a young age, Lester was put to work, first with cleaning chores, then with serving the patrons, and eventually slinging the drinks from behind the bar, along side his father.
By the age of nineteen, the small inn had risen to become a very respectable establishment, mostly due to Lester's ability to entertain bar guests. Life was looking on the up and up, until that fateful day...
One morning, Lester's father left to make his usual tax payments, but he did not return that evening as usual. Unable to do anything else, Lester went on doing his job, that day, that week, and a few weeks following. Then one morning, before open, a gang of men came knocking. They were nobles, looking for their tax payments. Lester tried to explain that his father had disappeared weeks prior on his way to pay them. He was unaware that the payment had never reached them and was unsure about the fate of his father. The men had no sympathy for the young man's situation. They proclaimed the building, and everything in it, state property. Lester was promptly kicked out onto the streets. He carried nothing more than small bag of clothing with one or two sentinmental trinkets hidden inside.
A nearby barkeep quickly snatched up the abandoned young man, offering him a position as a bartender there as well. For the next two years, Lester would stay at that pub living life much as he had before his father went missing. His same regulars came to visit him, and he made quite a bit of coin. But life was hallow now. His father was gone, and all the time he spent searching went completely to waste. Unable to stand this lifestyle that reminded him of the past, Lester decided to leave York.
For three years, Lester traveled aimlessly, from town to town. He searched for nothing more than a place to call home, somewhere that he felt safe. But in order to keep money in his pocket, the bartending profession kept pulling him back. From pub to pub, inn to inn, he stayed in no one town longer than a few months.
At his most recent establishment, Lester had a rather peculiar experience. A solitary man had quietly sat at the end of his bar. The man sipped on nothing but one or two weak ales. Lester tried to make conversation with the man, but he showed no interest in conversation. The man kept looking around as if he was waiting on someone. They never arrived.
At closing time, the man simply paid his tab and walked away. Lester chased the man down. He had given Lester far too many coins for such a small tab. The man only had two words for him, "Keep it." Lester had grown accustomed to big tippers, but this would be his best ever, nearly 10 times more than what the man had owed.
Later, as he was wiping down the bar, an expensive piece of jewelry caught his eye. It was violet ring, laid on the counter in front of were the man had sat.
Lester remained at this pub for nearly a month longer. He kept the abandoned ring in his pocket for safe keeping, in case man were to return. He would gladly give it back, but the man never returned. His words, "Keep it." kept running through Lester's mind. Was he also speaking of the ring when he said that? In any case, Lester's time was up. This too was not the town for him.
He now wanders the country side... with new accessory on his right hand. |
48,964 | 1,322 | 20 | 1,907 | 69 | As Lorenzo walked to the tavern door, what looked to be a local was doing just the same. He thought this was his first, best chance at getting some good dirt on the town and maybe finding some quick coin. Lorenzo approached the door and held it open for the man.
"After you sir." he offered, gesturing inside. | Name: Lorenzo Martine of fair Verona
Age: 21
Occupation: Musician
Ring: Yellow
Biography: Is a song acceptable?
From fair Varona Lorenzo the magnificent hails
His mother and father spun to him magnificent tales
And with his voice he'd sing them out loud
Always sure to gather a crowd
The string of his lute always in tune without fail
One fair maiden caught the young boy's eye
Upset his stomach and made him think he could fly
Love at first sight he was sure
A pain he could not yet endure
He told his parents he had to say goodbye
His mother and father had one more story to tell
Of how they said goodbye and did it well
Father gave a ring
The wedding bells would sing
So they gave him that ring and made his heart swell
Lorenzo Martine the magnificent went out that night
To show the maiden the ring in the best light
But she declined the ring of his mother
For she was in love with another
So Lorenzo left fair Verona...after a fair fight |
48,965 | 1,322 | 21 | 2,141 | 52 | Oh I'm so sorry to hear that said Jill when she heard about Brandon's family member. He didn't seem too sad and had stated the death in a rather matter-of-fact way. Jill wondered whether this was his way of coping with the death or whether he had really moved on. Either way, she wasn't too sure about what she could say without sounding insensitive or too patronizing. She let the silence hang in the air as she mulled over possible appropriate responses. Before she could add anything, however, their conversation had moved on.
"Oh this? It was actually part of a figurine. You have no idea the trouble it's been. First the girl I gambled with threw a fit over how the ring wasn't part of the deal, even though I'd won it fair and square with the figurine it and then today, I almost exploded at my sister over this ring". Jill babbled, stopping only now to catch her breath. She then realized she had let the part about it being a gamble prize slip.There ya go again. Cant help but run your mouth can you? She reprimanded herself. However, she was glad when the discussion moved on, hoping Brandon wasnt going to latch on to details.
She brought her ring close to his and stared at them intently for a while. They were quite alike."Maybe they were crafted by the same person?" Jill wondered.She then remembered the yellow ring. "You know I might be jumping to conclusions, but I think the person who just passed by us had a similar ring as well. Do you think these are valuable?" Jill asked. If these rings were of great value, Jill could probably try getting her hands on the others and make a fortune out of them. On the flipside, however, it meant she had to take more care of her ring from now on and couldn't let it get stolen. She almost flinched at the thought, before eyeing the people around them warily, wondering if anyone had taken interest in the rings. | Name: Jill Wayland
Age: 19
Occupation: Seamstress
Ring: Orange
Appearance:
Biography:
Jill grew up on the outskirts of the capital where her parents and 4 sisters lived in a cozy house next to an inn that her family had owned for generations. Jill's father Luke Wayland, was a travelling merchant who was often absent from family events and her mother, a reputed teacher in the neighborhood, had to bear the burdens of parenthood mostly by herself.Luke Wayland's business involved exquisite finds from faraway and he often frequented the houses of high nobles, who were usually the only ones around with both the money and time to fawn over trinkets, uncut gems and the like. Although his presence was often missed, good business meant that the family lived quite comfortably with not much to complain about.Jill had a lukewarm childhood, with not much struggles save for the constant need to define herself as an individual different from her sisters. As the child right in between, she had neither the elegance of her sophisticated elder sisters nor the charm of her younger, amiable sisters.However, as she grew older, Jill's focus shifted towards getting better at the things she was good at rather than wait for people to acknowledge her a person. Jill helped her mother with the inn and by spending time with the various lodgers, Jill had picked up quite a set of skills. She learnt how to sew and was decent at art and painting as well.
However, with good things Jill also picked up a few bad things at the inn. Unknown to her family, she had become a habitual gambler. It began with fun games at first but it soon turned into a near addiction for her. She was always up for a bet and when the habitants of inn refused to feed her hobby she turned to pubs and the marketplaces. Over time, Jill got crafty enough to win most of her gambles and no cheap trick was beyond her. Countless victories made her overconfident and Jill even took on proclaimed witches and royal subjects. During one of her similar outings she had put on stake her father's most recent treasures: a handful of pearls and a crown of rare gems in exchange for an angel figurine from a young woman, Leslie, who unknown to Jill, happened to be the daughter of a merchant as well. When she was about to return with her winnings, Jill noticed an orange ring on the angel's left hand. Leslie, who had also just noticed the ring, pleaded with Jill to return it,for she had forgotten to remove the ring. Leslie's pleas fell on deaf ears and Jill ignored her even when she told her about how the ring mattered a lot to her father. Jill's victories were but short-lived. When Leslie confessed to her father, news of the figurine soon reached Luke as well. The family finally figured out where Jill's allowances were disappearing and she was persuaded to give up gambling. Jill begrudgingly agreed, on one condition: she wasn't going to return anything she had won until now.
3 years later, Jill became a seamstress and moved out of her house when she began to earn enough to take care of herself.Without her family's interference, she has fallen back into her habit of gambling; although its now longer as big of a problem as it was in the past. Jill's not sure of whether she has really found her calling yet, but atleast her earnings mean that she can fund her habit for now. |
48,966 | 1,322 | 22 | 255 | 850 | Year 800 - Feb 11th - Mid Afternoon - Part 2
The sky grew darker as ominous storm clouds came into view over the hillside. Torrents of hail and occasional bolts of lightning escaped these clouds, devastating the land below. It only took a matter of moments before the first of the storm began to hit the village. Heavy rain, lightning, and even bits of hail. It was a nightmare. Poorly built buildings were already showing signs of damage.
Unimaginably, the storm would get much worse before it got any better. Just beyond the line of visibility, three titanic beasts were ripping apart the country side. By today's standards, we would be looking at a two F3 tornadoes dancing around in front of a mammoth F4 tornado.
As the storm bared down upon them, our legendary ring owners would have to brave the storm like everyone else. Luckily, the buildings in the village center had been built for such action. They would hold up to the forefront of this storm with only moderate damage, fore sure. But what will our story's protagonists do when the full force of the storm arrives? Will they rise up to become heroes? Or will they elect to save their own mortal hides?
The answers to these questions and more will be revealed soon enough...
Note #1: Take into consideration your character's power level when posting (found within the first OOC post). Everyone should only be displaying Level 1 minor powers at the moment.
Note #2: The full brunt of this storm will bear down after at least 5 more IC posts and 7 more IRL days. When that happens, look forward to a temporary power boost! | Name: Lester Barman of Northumbria (a factual kingdom)
Age: 25
Occupation: Bartender
Ring: Violet
Appearance:
Biography:
Lester grew up in the city of York, located in the southern reaches of Northumbria. He never knew his mother, as she died shortly after giving birth to him, her first and only child. His father was a small time innkeeper, always struggling to pay the taxes. Father and son lived in one spare room within the inn. From a young age, Lester was put to work, first with cleaning chores, then with serving the patrons, and eventually slinging the drinks from behind the bar, along side his father.
By the age of nineteen, the small inn had risen to become a very respectable establishment, mostly due to Lester's ability to entertain bar guests. Life was looking on the up and up, until that fateful day...
One morning, Lester's father left to make his usual tax payments, but he did not return that evening as usual. Unable to do anything else, Lester went on doing his job, that day, that week, and a few weeks following. Then one morning, before open, a gang of men came knocking. They were nobles, looking for their tax payments. Lester tried to explain that his father had disappeared weeks prior on his way to pay them. He was unaware that the payment had never reached them and was unsure about the fate of his father. The men had no sympathy for the young man's situation. They proclaimed the building, and everything in it, state property. Lester was promptly kicked out onto the streets. He carried nothing more than small bag of clothing with one or two sentinmental trinkets hidden inside.
A nearby barkeep quickly snatched up the abandoned young man, offering him a position as a bartender there as well. For the next two years, Lester would stay at that pub living life much as he had before his father went missing. His same regulars came to visit him, and he made quite a bit of coin. But life was hallow now. His father was gone, and all the time he spent searching went completely to waste. Unable to stand this lifestyle that reminded him of the past, Lester decided to leave York.
For three years, Lester traveled aimlessly, from town to town. He searched for nothing more than a place to call home, somewhere that he felt safe. But in order to keep money in his pocket, the bartending profession kept pulling him back. From pub to pub, inn to inn, he stayed in no one town longer than a few months.
At his most recent establishment, Lester had a rather peculiar experience. A solitary man had quietly sat at the end of his bar. The man sipped on nothing but one or two weak ales. Lester tried to make conversation with the man, but he showed no interest in conversation. The man kept looking around as if he was waiting on someone. They never arrived.
At closing time, the man simply paid his tab and walked away. Lester chased the man down. He had given Lester far too many coins for such a small tab. The man only had two words for him, "Keep it." Lester had grown accustomed to big tippers, but this would be his best ever, nearly 10 times more than what the man had owed.
Later, as he was wiping down the bar, an expensive piece of jewelry caught his eye. It was violet ring, laid on the counter in front of were the man had sat.
Lester remained at this pub for nearly a month longer. He kept the abandoned ring in his pocket for safe keeping, in case man were to return. He would gladly give it back, but the man never returned. His words, "Keep it." kept running through Lester's mind. Was he also speaking of the ring when he said that? In any case, Lester's time was up. This too was not the town for him.
He now wanders the country side... with new accessory on his right hand. |
48,967 | 1,322 | 23 | 1,836 | 2,622 | Brandon listened intently on how she had gotten her ring. It was different from him so he could assume that it wasn't necessarily passed down from one person to another. He wasn't at all interested that it had been part of a gamble. It was just the different circumstances they had gotten it. "I see. So it can just be given to anyone." He said out loud with a nod. So that means that this power is just meant to be passed down? But how could that be? Hadn't someone used it for something bad from way back in the days or did they just happen to all have good owners? Or neutral one? That was odd.
As Jill expected his ring as well, it became obvious that she had no idea what power is inside of it. He could also assume that the guy who passed them had no idea as well. But concluding from the fact that he had already seen three, was it possible that there were more? Jill had asked something causing him to snap out of his thoughts. He quickly wore his glove again, intent on hiding it from prying eyes. "I have no doubt that they're valuable." He said with a nod as he crossed his arms. He wasn't sure whether he should tell her that the ring might have some special properties to it. He wasn't even sure if they were the same so he didn't want to impart unsure knowledge to someone.
From the distance, he could see the sky darkening coming along with a frightening amount of lightning. There was no time for him to retreat back to his house. He turned to Jill. "We need to find somewhere to cover us!" The tavern had been closest to them. With that, he grabbed her arm and then hurried towards the tavern with Shawn running alongside them. Jill had the choice to break away from him but he wouldn't particularly stop because of that. Once he was inside, he would quickly take a seat and turn to the others who decided to seek refuge in the tavern. The storm wasn't stopping and it didn't look like it was getting any better for a long time. | Name: Brandon Deschnik
Age: 18
Occupation: Until recently, apprentice herbalist and botanist
Ring: Clear Crystal Ring
Appearance: Brandon stands at a height of 5'7 and weighs rather averagely. He has a lean type of body. He usually dresses in a fashion that you would see travellers in with a cloak to keep him insulated from the cold and protected from the heat. He would often be seen with a knapsack containing multiple journals and pens. It also contains some herbs that would be beneficial in travels.
Biography: Brandon was born an orphan in some no-name town. It was out of the way so outsiders rarely came.. well, besides his parents at least. They had told him that he was given to the orphanage and the parents just disappeared, assumed to have moved on. Because Brandon didn't know them, he didn't really care about it. There were only three people in that orphanage so basically? Only three kids were abandoned with the other two dealing with the same thing he was - one was three years older than him and the other was five years older. No one had waned to keep them because there was a superstition going around that adopting a stranger's child will lead to bad luck. The owner of the orphanage was a nice young lady who thought that she already had the worst luck out of everyone there, so why not take care of these three poor children? The first eight years of his life was spent in that village. Their 'mother' had trouble raising all three of them. The oldest of the three decided to help out to earn money while the other two still learned.
Brandon showed great interest in plants, and not just crops, herbs especially. But the village only offered him very limited knowledge about said plants. He shared this with his 'mother' and she resolved to find someone who knew more about herbs. Fate had answered his plea by having a travelling botanist pass through the village. He stayed there for a while and he got to know Brandon. His name was Euan. He grew fond of Brandon and decided to adopt him. After a deal was reached between his 'mother' and Euan, they were off. He became Euan's assistant and learned many things. They rarely settled down for more than two months in a town. Around five years ago, they stumbled upon a small farm which only had one inhabitant. The farmer welcomed them with open arms but rarely spoke to them in a caring fashion. He told them that he was running out of time and he needed to pass his ring off to someone. Euan decided to humor the man and told him that he will care for it.
That was when Brandon was sent out to check on the plants while the two adults talked. He was absolutely clueless on what was happening inside the house. Once he finished, he entered the house and Euan told him that they were going to base here. Brandon didn't really care about it. He was happy with the farm. It was filled with herbs of different kinds! He was going to have fun here. He noticed that Euan had the ring the farmer was wearing before. Euan told him that the farmer had died and that they should bury him. They did and then lived in the farm for the rest of the years. Euan displayed the powers of the ring bit by bit but Brandon wasn't very interested in it. The two still go out to search and study the flora that dot the land around. They were different, that was for sure, and invaluable. They sometimes go to the cities to sell what they had. They even got enough money to buy a black dog which still lives with him up to now. His name is Shawn.
Five days prior to the this day, Euan had died from a certain disease that he had kept from Brandon all these years. Now it was Brandon's turn to wear the ring. Euan made him promise to never give it to anyone else unless he, himself, was dying. He also explained the range of abilities that it will develop according to what he has experienced. Brandon understood and Euan entrusted it to him. He died two days later. Brandon buried Euan and is still thinking of whether or not he should leave he farm. He didn't know if there were other rings like his. Well, he knew that he should at least keep recording and selling herbs and other plants. |
48,968 | 1,322 | 24 | 255 | 850 | "After you sir." he offered, gesturing inside.
Lester kindly nodded toward the fancily dressed minstrel. "Thank you good sir. The bar is calling my name. You can join if you wish." With that kind statement, Lester began to make his way to the bar.
Just before Lester reached for a chair, he stopped. A chill ran down his spine, as the intruding smell of rain water filled his nostrils. A moment later, the harsh clapping of thunder shook the building. Looking up at the ceiling, Lester closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The smell of rain, it's something everyone has experienced at some point, but why could he smell it so strongly now? Rain was not hitting the roof yet.
Lester tried to shake a feeling of dread that was slowly growing in his chest. He grabbed a chair at the bar and made it his as he sat. Patiently he sat with his elbows on the bar and his fingers interlocked beneath his chin. A pensive look took over his face as he wrestled with the strange anxiety growing within himself. He had never been scared of storms, why did that seem to be the case now?
The sound of rain started off slowly at first, but in a matter of moments, the rain and wind became monstrous. Lester had closed his eyes. The barkeep's jovial voice interrupted Lester's thoughts. "Ho there lad! You seem a little shaken by this storm! Don't be! This tavern has seen the worst of mother nature's treats, and it holds strong each time. What can I get ya?" | Name: Lester Barman of Northumbria (a factual kingdom)
Age: 25
Occupation: Bartender
Ring: Violet
Appearance:
Biography:
Lester grew up in the city of York, located in the southern reaches of Northumbria. He never knew his mother, as she died shortly after giving birth to him, her first and only child. His father was a small time innkeeper, always struggling to pay the taxes. Father and son lived in one spare room within the inn. From a young age, Lester was put to work, first with cleaning chores, then with serving the patrons, and eventually slinging the drinks from behind the bar, along side his father.
By the age of nineteen, the small inn had risen to become a very respectable establishment, mostly due to Lester's ability to entertain bar guests. Life was looking on the up and up, until that fateful day...
One morning, Lester's father left to make his usual tax payments, but he did not return that evening as usual. Unable to do anything else, Lester went on doing his job, that day, that week, and a few weeks following. Then one morning, before open, a gang of men came knocking. They were nobles, looking for their tax payments. Lester tried to explain that his father had disappeared weeks prior on his way to pay them. He was unaware that the payment had never reached them and was unsure about the fate of his father. The men had no sympathy for the young man's situation. They proclaimed the building, and everything in it, state property. Lester was promptly kicked out onto the streets. He carried nothing more than small bag of clothing with one or two sentinmental trinkets hidden inside.
A nearby barkeep quickly snatched up the abandoned young man, offering him a position as a bartender there as well. For the next two years, Lester would stay at that pub living life much as he had before his father went missing. His same regulars came to visit him, and he made quite a bit of coin. But life was hallow now. His father was gone, and all the time he spent searching went completely to waste. Unable to stand this lifestyle that reminded him of the past, Lester decided to leave York.
For three years, Lester traveled aimlessly, from town to town. He searched for nothing more than a place to call home, somewhere that he felt safe. But in order to keep money in his pocket, the bartending profession kept pulling him back. From pub to pub, inn to inn, he stayed in no one town longer than a few months.
At his most recent establishment, Lester had a rather peculiar experience. A solitary man had quietly sat at the end of his bar. The man sipped on nothing but one or two weak ales. Lester tried to make conversation with the man, but he showed no interest in conversation. The man kept looking around as if he was waiting on someone. They never arrived.
At closing time, the man simply paid his tab and walked away. Lester chased the man down. He had given Lester far too many coins for such a small tab. The man only had two words for him, "Keep it." Lester had grown accustomed to big tippers, but this would be his best ever, nearly 10 times more than what the man had owed.
Later, as he was wiping down the bar, an expensive piece of jewelry caught his eye. It was violet ring, laid on the counter in front of were the man had sat.
Lester remained at this pub for nearly a month longer. He kept the abandoned ring in his pocket for safe keeping, in case man were to return. He would gladly give it back, but the man never returned. His words, "Keep it." kept running through Lester's mind. Was he also speaking of the ring when he said that? In any case, Lester's time was up. This too was not the town for him.
He now wanders the country side... with new accessory on his right hand. |
48,969 | 1,322 | 25 | 2,141 | 52 | Jill heard a low grumble from above and her ears perked up. She looked up, watching for any signs of rain when she realized that a dark blanket of clouds had covered the sky.She wondered if a storm was building up and the thought excited her.She had always had an irrational and a rather odd liking for bad weather.Jill was the kind of person who would look forward to thunder or would jump up in joy whenever it rained heavily.The disastrous temperament of a storm somehow soothed the inner turmoil of her own chaotic thoughts.She stared at sky above for a long time, expecting rain drops to dampen her head at any second now.
"We need to find somewhere to cover us!" Brandon's voice interrupted her thoughts, snapping her back to reality. Storms were nice and all, but only from the comfort of an indoors shelter. It would be disaster if Jill was caught in the midst of chaos. Especially after the mess at home.She followed him into the tavern, the place being all too familiar to her. By instinct, Jill decided to head to the stools lined up at the front, where she usually chatted up with others like her. Then her eyes fell on her ring and she stopped midway. If she got drunk at a time like this, there was no doubt she would lose possession of her ring. Unconsciously balling up her hand into a fist, Jill turned away. Unsure of what to do next, she walked around, looking at the people that had gathered there. | Name: Jill Wayland
Age: 19
Occupation: Seamstress
Ring: Orange
Appearance:
Biography:
Jill grew up on the outskirts of the capital where her parents and 4 sisters lived in a cozy house next to an inn that her family had owned for generations. Jill's father Luke Wayland, was a travelling merchant who was often absent from family events and her mother, a reputed teacher in the neighborhood, had to bear the burdens of parenthood mostly by herself.Luke Wayland's business involved exquisite finds from faraway and he often frequented the houses of high nobles, who were usually the only ones around with both the money and time to fawn over trinkets, uncut gems and the like. Although his presence was often missed, good business meant that the family lived quite comfortably with not much to complain about.Jill had a lukewarm childhood, with not much struggles save for the constant need to define herself as an individual different from her sisters. As the child right in between, she had neither the elegance of her sophisticated elder sisters nor the charm of her younger, amiable sisters.However, as she grew older, Jill's focus shifted towards getting better at the things she was good at rather than wait for people to acknowledge her a person. Jill helped her mother with the inn and by spending time with the various lodgers, Jill had picked up quite a set of skills. She learnt how to sew and was decent at art and painting as well.
However, with good things Jill also picked up a few bad things at the inn. Unknown to her family, she had become a habitual gambler. It began with fun games at first but it soon turned into a near addiction for her. She was always up for a bet and when the habitants of inn refused to feed her hobby she turned to pubs and the marketplaces. Over time, Jill got crafty enough to win most of her gambles and no cheap trick was beyond her. Countless victories made her overconfident and Jill even took on proclaimed witches and royal subjects. During one of her similar outings she had put on stake her father's most recent treasures: a handful of pearls and a crown of rare gems in exchange for an angel figurine from a young woman, Leslie, who unknown to Jill, happened to be the daughter of a merchant as well. When she was about to return with her winnings, Jill noticed an orange ring on the angel's left hand. Leslie, who had also just noticed the ring, pleaded with Jill to return it,for she had forgotten to remove the ring. Leslie's pleas fell on deaf ears and Jill ignored her even when she told her about how the ring mattered a lot to her father. Jill's victories were but short-lived. When Leslie confessed to her father, news of the figurine soon reached Luke as well. The family finally figured out where Jill's allowances were disappearing and she was persuaded to give up gambling. Jill begrudgingly agreed, on one condition: she wasn't going to return anything she had won until now.
3 years later, Jill became a seamstress and moved out of her house when she began to earn enough to take care of herself.Without her family's interference, she has fallen back into her habit of gambling; although its now longer as big of a problem as it was in the past. Jill's not sure of whether she has really found her calling yet, but atleast her earnings mean that she can fund her habit for now. |
48,970 | 1,323 | 0 | 544 | 1,477 | In the capital of New Capita, Mokata Kingdom, people were quite busy running around trying to achieve an entire day's amount of work in a small amount of hours. The reason behind this being that earlier that afternoon the King would be sending down his official messanger to give the people of the kingdom a new royal decree. Rumor had it that the decree would contain new information regarding the rumors of the big mysterious upcoming threat that has caused a surge of refugees to swarm New Capita.
Most of said refugees were quite shaken, and the people that saw their condition didn't fare much better. Anything that could make an island of warriors basically disappear within a few days would be a terrifying concept in itself, but seeing some of those career soldiers clinging to what was left of their families with that dead look in their eyes...It was harrowing.
Residents were gathering in the capital to recieve the news firsthand, though doomsayers had already taken to the street shouting about the endtimes. All anyone could truly hope was that their words were simply hollow shouts for attention.
This had caused quite the stir of adventurers from all corners of New Capita, causing not only an influx of civilians flooding the kingdom but of many warriors of various shapes and sizes wielding magic, melee weapons, and ranged weapons alike. Some were people who could transform into beasts, others were people who claimed dominion over smaller creatures. There were warriors who were skilled snipers with their bows, and others who mountained over others with their physique.
At the sound of noon's bell the people gathered in front of the front gates of the castle of Mokata, eagerly watching as the official messanger walked down the steps, parchment in hand.
"His Royal Highness has decreed a state of emergency. The unknown threat in the south has destroyed both the kingdom of Rjaskav and Solvnir. All of the information we have is from key nobles that have relocated here to seek refuge, so its reliability is questionable. These are trying times and as such, recent events may have skewed their perception. All we know for certain is that a strange conquering army invaded the island and conquered it. Because of this, the king is offering a bounty of two hundred and fifty thousand gold to any group that can provide solid evidence of this strange army. This reconaisance will be vitally important in the days to come, so any and all adventurers are invited to participate in the scouting party. In the meantime, the king has asked that our citizens provide shelter and aid to the refugees
fleeing their home as we could only hope they would for us." The messenger read from the gold trimmed oarchment. | Name: Kieran Hishamie
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Kieran is very sarcastic and loves to make light of serious situations. His quick wit and sharp tongue often land him in more trouble than not.
Starting Classes: Archer
Bio: Kieran was born to moderately average family, neither known nor unknown. They never had more than enough but never less than what was needed. It was an average life, no danger, and a secure future......and Kieran hated it. Kieran yearned for adventure, and his heart and mind always told him to venture out into places he has never been. He was born and raised in the South of New Capita, on a small farm not too far away from a settlement. At age thirteen Kieran packed up a few belongings, picked up a small wooden bow, and after saying goodbye to his parents. He then travelled to the other nearby islands, going on many adventures and experiencing life. He developed his archery skills as the years went on, as well as his hunting abilites. When the Abyss let out creatures, Kieran decided to quit adventuring so far away from home and stay in New Capita. |
48,971 | 1,323 | 1 | 995 | 1,712 | Troe Revinah
Troe gripped his singlet ring when he heard the news. Had his family been among the refugees he would have run into them by now. They would have certainly looked him up, and it certainly wouldn't take his two sisters long as they wrote to him every opportunity they had. They had been silent for quite a while longer than usual, which should have been a sign...but perhaps he didn't want to think about it.
Fighting back tears at the thought, he resigned himself to join one of the many scouting parties that would undoubtedly arise to claim the money. While he doubted there was anything he could do to help his almost definitely deceased family, he could at least find out what had happened. Rjaskav and Solvnir were filled with stout and skilled warriors, for something to conquer them without much fuss...it couldn't be a normal invading army. It was clear that the king's decree was merely to calm the people and advertise the reconnaissance contract.
This brought up an excellent question, why would the king send adventurers out instead of the royal army? Certainly they had plenty of scouts available. Unless of course he knew the danger of the mission...adventurers would be expendable and much more versatile, but that wouldn't be enough to justify sending strangers to their dooms.
Troe sighed and placed his ring back on. For all he knew, that was all that remained of his home. He reached into his bag and gripped his spelltome. It was just a standard wind spell, but it could definitely do some damage.
"Now all I have to do is find a group to travel with and..." He trailed off as he scanned the crowd for anyone that looked like they were planning to take the offer. | Name: Troe Revinah
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Troe can be an incredibly cold sort, but if one were to observe carefully, they would likely notice how protective he is of his allies. On the outside he seems to be studious, though more often than not he reads for pleasure instead by hiding stories inside his text books and tomes.
Class: Mage
Starting equipment: Wind Tome, Vulenary
Bio: Troe was born to a high family in Rjaskav which, for better or worse, exempted him from the war. Instead he took a path that was rare for inhabitants of Irinoth, magic. Most aristocrats were either knights or lazy good for nothings that considered the battles that took place as a spectator sport. After a few years of practice he learned that he had a knack for it despite his home's general distaste for magic. Eventually he decided that instead of using his parents' wealth to order books from New Capita, he'd just go to where the books were. Of course, this complicated things with his family as they didn't approve of their youngest embarking to a foreign land. This eventually led to Troe taking a bag filled with money and stowing away on a trader's ship to the northernmost island.
A few years in New Capita saw Troe working at a library in order to have easy access to the study materials as well as a few books for leisure reading. While he had plenty of money and a number of invitations to noble houses because of his lineage. All of that pomp and circumstance would have simply distracted him from his stories...and to a lesser extent his studies.
The news of his kingdom's fall may not have reached him just yet, but on some level he already knows. Perhaps that is why he has evaded people for some time, as though an outside source confirming the news would make it real. |
48,972 | 1,323 | 2 | 351 | 2,364 | Artyom Barkov
While he had seem plenty of refugees from Rjaskav and Solvnir that seemed broken down or just... hollow from the horrors, Artyom didn't seem all that fussed himself. Standing in the crowd with an almost bored expression, hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had traveled with him through good days and ensured that he lived to see through the bad ones as he listened to the announcement. Truthfully he didn't really need to hear about what the creatures were; He was fairly certain that his own experiences with them were greater then anything some noble bastards had noticed while looking over their shoulder with their tail between their legs while driving a wagon filled with as much of their wealth as they could load up while their hired help fought and died to buy them time... but you never knew, maybe someone had actually spotted something he had missed.
As the announce came and went, he learned nothing new about the creatures down south... but the bounty that they were offering as a damn fine one... and odds were good that there was still plenty of riches back south that hadn't been transported in time that could be rescued from the darkness.
Glancing around himself for a moment to see if he could spot any other takers, his gaze fell on a young boy wearing the colors of their homeland of Rjaskav doing the same. Offering the kid a small smile, he walked over before nodding his head. "Thinking of heading back south?" He offered the kid a hand to shake "Artyom Barkov, ready to go for a second round with the shadowy buggers. Beats waiting around for them to get here." | Name: Artyom Barkov
Appearance:
Age:25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual
Personality: Brash, somewhat arrogant and (if he believes himself to be right) rather headstrong, Artyom is not a man who backs down easily. His career as a professional mercenary as also left him as something of a 'Moral Void', having committed several jobs over the years that others might considered horrible without feeling a twinge of guilt; He manages to do this because he views himself as little more then a tool akin to an axe. After all, an axe doesn't care if it is chopping into wood, the skull of a wolf or the ribcage of a enemy, only that its wielder cleans it and ensures that it is in good condition.
He also believes that actions taken to help others should be done in as discrete a fashion as possible, both for the sake of the pride of those that are being helped and because if someone is making a big deal out of being charitable to others, they aren't doing it to actually help them.
Starting Classes: Mercenary
Starting Equipment: Iron sword and Vulenary.
Bio:
Artyom was born in the nation of Rjaskav in a rather poor, downtrodden village who's glory days were long passed with when the local silver mine ran dry. Opportunities to eat a steady meal were few and far between and as soon as Artyom was old enough to be considered a man when he turned thirteen he was given what his family could spare before being booted at the door to fend for himself so that his younger brothers and sisters could have more to eat.
With no future in his birth village, Artyom traveled towards the nearest city and by chance signed up with a mercenary band that was recruiting there. For over a decade he happily served with the Sunset Axe Company, occasionally fighting a battle with Solvnir but more often then not being employed to handle... more local disputes.
The onset of the Abyss was something of a short boon for the Sunset Axe company; They were able to make a killing protecting the wealthy from the onset of nightmarish horrors that came from the darkness at first, but after one battle went horribly wrong most of the company died and it was quickly decided that now was a good as time as any to retire with as much of their loot as they could. Fleeing towards New Capita, Artyom found himself without... well, anything to do. Granted he still had enough money to keep himself going for a while before that became a problem, but sooner or later he was going to have to address that. |
48,973 | 1,323 | 3 | 1,448 | 3,924 | Before Nick could enter any of the houses, which he still called 'dens', a whole bunch of people started gathering somewhere, and oddly few of them even noticed him. he noticed them, of course, and he was amazed. Humans... and this many, too! Nick thought as he walked over towards where everyone was gathering, still in his fox form as usual, of course, that being said, he wasn't quite aware that he HAD a human form, yet, and he sat down and listened as a short man shouted through a metal tube to tell everyone about some approaching evil... and they were offering gold, oddly enough, for any evidence of a strange army. Nick had heard of armies before, they were simply what they called a huge group of humans with that metal stuff, but this dark army was apparently strange, somehow. That's just about when he recalled that the shouting guy said something about them destroying an entire island... yeah, that WOULD be cause for alarm, and if this gold stuff could be traded for anything, then that would be why they were offering so much for information about it. Nick's attention eventually turned to a couple of humans, one wearing a robe, and one wielding a sword... he overheard a bit of the conversation that implied that these guys were going to fight against these 'shadowy buggers', and from the context, Nick figured out that he meant that 'strange army' that destroyed that island. Nick made his way to those two, apparently scaring a few people along the way, and he sat down near the sword-wielding one, and simply said "If those things are what I think they are, then I'll help as much as I can,"
Nick didn't exactly realize that these people might not be used to the idea of a talking fox, so he just sat there, waiting for a reply while he tried to take in the sights and smells around him. It smelled mostly of sweat, and it seemed like the crowd of people blocked most of the sights, unfortunately, as they seemed to be densely packed into the center of town, where the announcement was made. The people were wearing all sorts of different clothes, and colors, implying that they had various different roles, or varying amounts of wealth. Due to Nick moving his line of sight around, it probably seemed like he wasn't paying attention to anything anyone was saying, but he was still waiting for some sort of response from the humans he spoke to, earlier, and once he heard them speak, he would make sure to keep his ears tilted towards them, just so he could hear it, unaware of the fact that him moving his head and eyes away from the group was probably seen as rude to them. Huh... that stench is overpowering... where is it coming from? Ugh, it smells like it's coming from everywhere, and worse, I can't see through this wall of humans. Wait, they didn't trap me, did they? I hope not, but maybe I should start thinking about an escape plan just in case they did. Nick thought to himself as he searched the wall of humans for any different smells, or anywhere that wasn't blocked by them... a truly fruitless endeavor, to be sure. | Name: Nicholas "Nick" (this character lacks a last name)
Appearance: While he's usually in his fox form, when he's actually in his human form (which he hasn't actually done, yet), he looks like a rather scrawny, pale, somewhat tall man. His orange hair seems to match his fox form's fur, and he has brown eyes. He typically wears whatever happens to be convenient at the time, often wearing dull-colored peasant clothes when forced into his human form. Like others of his kind, he still has his ears and tail while in human form.
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Personality: Nick is usually friendly, curious about things, and more than eager to try new things. He's also a bit too talkative for something that's supposed to be good at hiding. Ever since a certain event (detailed in the Bio section), he's had a hatred of horses, and ever since another event, he's harbored a strong disliking of wolves, not to mention people who turn into them. Nick also despises almost all vegetables, though he doesn't mind most fruit for some reason... he will, however, eat any meat, no matter how raw, even if he's in his human form, which can be dangerous for him.
Starting Class: Kitsune
Starting equipment: Beaststone, Vulnerary, Bamboo Pole
Bio: Nick was born into a rather isolated den, with few members outside of his immediate family, and fewer still interaction with humans. In fact, he's only heard them in name, and passed them off as a sort of fairy tale, something that's not real, like magic, or forest fairies. Regardless of this, he and the rest of his kin still learned what they called the 'language of humans', which Nick had to laugh at, since, again, he thought they weren't real. Once, after his lessons, and during play time, he and his sister Hannah were throwing around a bamboo pole, and, after a few rounds, Nick caught it, and a strange, armored thing riding on a horse ran by. He thought nothing of it, at first, and at first, he was more disappointed that he couldn't catch up to the thing to eat it... but then he tried to throw the stick to his sister... and she didn't catch it, ever. Nick walked over to her, only to see her dead, her pelt taken, and some sort of weird, pointy stick through her head.
He returned home with the bamboo pole, which they were using as a stick, as well as some mental scars... he thought horses were cowards, always running away whenever they saw a snake, or a moving bush, or even a kitsune, but that one... that one was out for blood, his sister's blood. He almost couldn't believe it, and the shock of his sister dying made him silent for the next five years. His parents and other siblings tried their best to cheer him up, to get Nick to speak, once more, but for five years, their attempts failed. He even refused to stray from his den, even during playtime. A few of his siblings, his mother, and his father all gave up long before he said his first words after that, and those words were "The horses will pay," this was bittersweet to his family, on one hand, Nick was speaking, again, but on the other, he just swore vengeance against an entire species.
From that day forward, he vowed to take revenge by killing any horses he saw, and, just his luck, it seemed like he had a knack for knowing where to attack them, and he's had quite a bit of success in hunting the cowardly things, though, he never saw one with another armored... thing on it, ever again. After finally speaking again, he tried to describe it to his mother and father, but they seemed to call that thing a 'human'... but that didn't make sense, those things were only in stories, like dragons and flying horses, right? A few years passed, and misfortune struck his family once more, as wolves, or something that looked somewhat like a wolf, at least to Nick found their den, and destroyed everything in sight, managing to kill Nick's big brother, and poor Nick wasn't fast or strong enough to stop the strange almost wolflike creatures, so he and the rest of his family did the only thing they could... they ran, like cowards. At first, it almost seemed like Nick was going to do the same thing he did with the horse and the thing, that is, fall silent for years, and then declare that he would make the species extinct, but, once he got far enough away from them, he simply asked "Those things are our enemy right?" to which, his family nodded, and he responded to their nod with a simple "Good,"
Nick has been wandering around in New Capita ever since that incident, and, even after having explored a decent chunk of the place, things still manage to surprise him... such as these strange, giant wooden things in the water, and dens for unknown creatures made of stone and wood. He didn't know what to call a place that had that many dens, but, he just had to get closer, right? Whatever these things held had to be interesting, just based on the design... and worst come to worst, he'd just face off against one of those weird wolf things, again, and have to run away if they're too strong, right? Nothing bad could possibly happen if he tried to enter one of these dens... right? |
48,974 | 1,323 | 4 | 729 | 2,152 | Ansgar Staudinger
Ansgar was simply one of the numerous bodies that found themselves being coralled towards the square where some royal decree of some sort, or another, was to be made. The soldier himself had not been awake for terribly long, and had a pounding headache from the night of hard drinking. Frankly, he was surprised he was awake right now, and so early too! That had been his life the past few days since he arrived here in the capitol, was drinking himself into a coma and ignore the refugees as best he could. Unlike quite a few good samaritans that had been helping refugees and the like, the man had fled from the now conquered island quite a few years prior to that. Yet here he was, faced with once again the prospect of going back south towards such places. It was unlikely anyone who knew him had survived, which made him rather less averse to the idea of the matter. However, he had to figure out a group that would march their happy asses down there and not die. He didn't wear the colors of his home anymore, it was too obvious if someone was trying to track him these days still for what happened, yet he did spot something that might be of use. Two wearing the colors of Rjaskav, long standing enemies of his own home nation. There seemed to be another who seemed interested in helping, but he could not get a solid read on him. Too much of a hangover, really. Yet he didn't feel any real ill will towards them. The infighting between both nations was as much keeping one another sharp, as it was anything else.
Since he had no identifying markings that related him to Solvnir and, by all accounts, both nations were wiped out, there was no qualms on the part of Ansgar with working with the two. They seemed competent enough, and he casually approached the two of them, lance resting on his shoulders, walking with a relaxed gait, apparently unconcerned with the royal decree's hidden motives. Why waste state manpower when you could con glory seekers and those trying to make their fortune to do the work for you? It made sense to the former Solvnir soldier, so he gave it no further thought. Rather, he spoke at the two Rjaskav men, since he caught the tail end of one mentioning heading down southwards to do some scouting on the matter, follow through with the royal decree, all that fine business. "Waiting only delays the inevitable, eh? Got no stake in the matter outside survival, but that is as fine a stake as any, I would wager." Riches really meant little to Ansgar, as long as he could afford his next drink, he was happy. Odd behavior for a man of Solvnir, but he had distanced himself as much as he could, at least off the field of battle. In a fight? It would likely give him away as a former member of their standing army. But, for now? They likely would not be able to tell the difference. | Name:
Ansgar Staudinger
Age:
28
Gender:
Male
Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual
Personality:
For being an accused deserter and on the run soldier, Ansgar refuses to succumb to the easier methods of a petty bandit or rogue. He is, first and foremost, a career soldier, and one can usually expect the normal professional, focused discipline that would be required of one who would serve in an organized army. Yet, he often, outside of combat, is known for being a heavy drinker and overtly lack luster in regards to his training or continued betterment, seemingly careless towards such things in favor of relaxing and enjoying his time on the world. As such, he tends to take offense at those that would threaten it or judge him without knowing the whole story, since they tend to be needlessly harsh and think they know it all, regardless of whether they really do or not. Beyond this, he tries to be amiable and able to work with anyone, but bring up the charges of desertion and he tends to get rather angry, to put it mildly.
Starting Classes:
Soldier
Starting Equipment:
Iron Lance
Vulnerary
Bio:
Ansgar used to be a standing soldier with one of the armies of Solvnir, raised to be wield the lance against the armies of Rjaskav as well. However, while his upbringing was fairly typical of one expected to be a soldier of any sort, he routinely clashed with the youngest of the general's children, an annoyingly entitled lady who seemed to think that birthright alone warranted superior command. Despite her losing their training duels more often than not, she seemed insistent on trying to assert her dominance over Ansgar. This would continue until his twentieth birthday, when they came to blows again, not just in training. Ansgar had withdrawn a unit under his command from a suicidal charge, not one for wasting resources for no gain. However, this slighted the woman who, technically, was superior to Ansgar in rank and demanded that he return to the field with the men. Ansgar refused the order, pointing out its blatantly suicidal nature and pointlessness. She drew her sword on him, and he defended himself from her attack. The fight ended in a short exchange, the reach and punch of the lance overpowering the swordswoman easily. Yet, she refused to surrender this time, and Ansgar was forced to run her through, spilling her life blood onto the ground. He waited not for the inevitable arrest, execution, and so on, rather, fleeing the island for Airi Island, a land of lawlessness that would make tracking him rather impossible. He would spend the next eight years honing his craft, focusing solely on advancing his skill in combat, and with the lance. Yet, when word reached him that his home had been consumed by this Void, an empty pain echoed in his gut. He chose to finally leave his self imposed exile on Airi Island, finding himself drifting towards New Capita instead, though the why eluded him. Perhaps, since he had no home, he might find a new one there? And perhaps, of course, he might avenge his lost home somehow if this Abyss arrived to try and claim New Capita while he was there. |
48,975 | 1,323 | 5 | 995 | 1,712 | Troe Revinah
Troe cautiously shook the man's hand. He wasn't exactly one to brashly greet strangers, but maybe it would be good to have an outspoken ally like this one.
"I'm Troe of house Revinah. Nice to meet you." Troe introduced himself formally. Despite his leaving, he still had to represent his family on some level. Besides, he didn't know anything about this man other than the fact that he was clearly from Rjaskav. "I haven't been back home in years, but it seems that now I don't have a choice." He said attempting a more casual tone.
"Wait...you said another round? You've already faced them?" He asked curiously. The information from a few moments ago was severely lacking, and if they had to come to blows with whatever had taken both the Rjaskavi and Solvniri forces on, any small detail could be vital.
Before he could press for more answers however, a fox walked up and began to speak to Artyom. Troe realized that it was a kitsune like the ones he had seen in a few of the stories he read instead of studying. Though, it was a bit curious that it wasn't in its human form. It was offering to help in the mission, so of course that was good.
It seemed as though they were gathering a party pretty quickly as another man walked up and began to speak of helping out. It was a bit odd for strangers to congregate like this, but Troe would never turn away help in such a dangerous mission.
"I'll agree with you on that." Troe said to the newcomer. "Though, I'd be lying if I said survival was my biggest concern here." He continued idly adjusting the ring on his finger. | Name: Troe Revinah
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Troe can be an incredibly cold sort, but if one were to observe carefully, they would likely notice how protective he is of his allies. On the outside he seems to be studious, though more often than not he reads for pleasure instead by hiding stories inside his text books and tomes.
Class: Mage
Starting equipment: Wind Tome, Vulenary
Bio: Troe was born to a high family in Rjaskav which, for better or worse, exempted him from the war. Instead he took a path that was rare for inhabitants of Irinoth, magic. Most aristocrats were either knights or lazy good for nothings that considered the battles that took place as a spectator sport. After a few years of practice he learned that he had a knack for it despite his home's general distaste for magic. Eventually he decided that instead of using his parents' wealth to order books from New Capita, he'd just go to where the books were. Of course, this complicated things with his family as they didn't approve of their youngest embarking to a foreign land. This eventually led to Troe taking a bag filled with money and stowing away on a trader's ship to the northernmost island.
A few years in New Capita saw Troe working at a library in order to have easy access to the study materials as well as a few books for leisure reading. While he had plenty of money and a number of invitations to noble houses because of his lineage. All of that pomp and circumstance would have simply distracted him from his stories...and to a lesser extent his studies.
The news of his kingdom's fall may not have reached him just yet, but on some level he already knows. Perhaps that is why he has evaded people for some time, as though an outside source confirming the news would make it real. |
48,976 | 1,323 | 6 | 2,325 | 2,409 | Fie Testarossa
Fie sighed as she heard the announcement it was basic and she honestly was interested in the money reward it should help greatly with her research. Despite it she couldnt help but overhear them talking about forming a group something she could probably aid in if they werent like most others and call her evil due to being a dark mage. "If I may cut in would you have room for one more person?" She added she walked up to them her cape seemingly defying logic as despite walking it was staying perfect straight. "Fie Testarossa is my name" She added as if her name wasn't important to the overall conversation.
She knew about the whole abyss thing and was researching a bit into it but overall it was a back burner project to her but she was going to be dead honest at the rate it was going perhaps a shift in focus was required. If she could figure out how it worked perhaps she would be able to figure out how to stop it. She recognized one from the library in which she worked she didnt talk to him much as she was often busy with her own research more than socializing with her peers. She looked at the group her mind drifting to thoughts onto her projects and how to best carry them as got lost into her own thoughts waiting from them to respond as her foot tapped waiting for their answer. | Name:Fie Testarossa
Appearance:
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Personality: Fie can come across as very odd speaking and often flitting between subjects as they come to mind this makes her seem a bit airheaded but its far from the truth as due to her singular drive causes her to change her focus from one subject to the next if it means getting closer to what she seeks.
Starting Classes: Dark Mage
Starting Equipment: Flux, Fire, Vulenary
Bio: Fie was born to a family of scholars or so she liked to believe. She doesn’t know the true answer as she was orphaned from the time she was four years of age. With that said she has always been curious about things and how they worked magic was something that called to her something that she couldn’t explain readily. This curiosity is what drew her to studying magic as a whole. Thankfully growing up in New Capita was a blessing for this as her drive and study quickly netted her a small job at the library allowing her all the time to study the inner workings of magic. Elder magic came easy to her knowledge being the key factor in it something she thought fit her perfectly. Despite being shunned majority of the time for practicing “dark magic” and as such considered “evil” or “not right”. She was always eager to correct and or educate those seeking knowledge on the esoteric branch of magic. |
48,977 | 1,323 | 7 | 439 | 32 | Rosalia Flos
The only outward indication of any distress at the news came in the form of a furrowed brow and the faintest of frowns putting at her lips. Rosalia felt that familiar ache in her chest at the reminder that her home was no more, but the knowledge that her parents had at least managed to flee numbed a pain that otherwise would have been much more intense. Still, her heart ached for the friends who she knew had likely been unable to escape; although her mother and father had been able to use their rank to escape so quickly, the same could not be said for the majority of others.
That was merely one worry off of her chest though. Even if she were to ignore the fact that her younger sister was still unaccounted for, there was…you know, the whole thing about the land presently being under some sort of dire, mysterious threat. Truly, she couldn’t help but note dryly, blinking slowly as her eyes scanned the crowd that surrounded her, There is never any rest for my poor heart.
Her gaze flickered from face to face, taking in the different expressions that each individual wore. None, she noted with no surprise, looked remotely happy at the decree, though a few had a spark in their eyes as they quickly converged with others to whisper about something or the other. If she were to wager a guess, Rosalia would bet that some people were considering that little deal of the King’s. Money was always a powerful motivating factor, and the King obviously knew that it’d sway more than a few people. For a moment she wondered if they were aiming for two birds with one stone—find more information about this “threat” and simultaneously decrease the number of refugees that had suddenly flooded the kingdom by sending them off on a dangerous journey—but she dismissed the thought with a sharp shake of her head.
Rosalia had just been about to turn and leave when she caught a snippet of conversation from the small group of men that had formed just beside her. She hesitated for all of one moment before speaking up, her voice quiet but still audible above the din of voices around them. ”Brave to be considering to undertake such a task,” she murmured, eyes drifting between each of them in turn (and momentarily doing a double-take at the fox), ”Though I will be the first to admit that sitting here and doing nothing will do little to benefit us.” | Name: Cael Augire
He is about 5'11" and his eyes are yellow-golden in hue.
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Personality: When around people that he doesn't trust or know, Cael channels a confident facade. It's a mask designed after years on the road, designed to keep him from appearing weak. It's also part of preventing people from knowing of his humble origin. When around people that he trusts though, he shows a more relaxed side of himself, not as tensely held together as he is around strangers. He's also quite mischievous with his closest friends.
In battle, he's all about teasing opponents into mistakes, when they allow him. He fancies himself a strategist and has barked off orders to people even when he had no right or position to do so. The one time that he was furious whilst fighting, one of his fellow mercenaries told him that he exuded killing intent. He always tries to keep his own emotions under control so that he can take advantage of his enemies that don't do the same.
Starting Class: Myrmidon
Starting Equipment: Iron Sword, Vulenary
Bio: Cael didn't know his mother, but his father was around long enough to teach him how to survive the world. He was taught that letting people get to him was a sure way to fail, and that he shouldn't let anyone in. It didn't take him long after his father left for one war or another to understand what he meant by that. His father never returned, but by the point that Cael knew that he wouldn't be seeing the man again, he'd already figured out how to make peace with it. He'd been left in the care of a former mercenary, someone that had survived fight after fight. That man, Durzo, taught Cael how to fight properly with a blade. Cael considers Durzo more of a father than his ever was. He tends to send the man money from the jobs he's taken, at least prior to this Abyss incident taking place. Now that he's convinced the man to get away from New Capita, he's looking for a way to help stop the Abyss from taking over his home. He'd grown fond of his own personal house on the island, a dozen miles outside of the capital. |
48,978 | 1,323 | 8 | 1,792 | 1,093 | ---The Capital of New Capita---
Keerin had been doing nothing but assist the refugees ever since they came. The tales of armies with shadow for their cloaks and darkness as their weapons were widely-known amongst the shellshocked survivors. The so-called 'Abyss' had appeared from the south and has been expanding ever since, consuming the two kingdoms south of New Capita into its void.
None of this concerned Keerin much. Her loved ones were far away from all this. However, if this 'Abyss' continued its expansion then she might want to do something about it. It was then a royal decree was announced.
"His Royal Highness has decreed a state of emergency. The unknown threat in the south has destroyed both the kingdom of Rjaskav and Solvnir. All of the information we have is from key nobles that have relocated here to seek refuge, so its reliability is questionable. These are trying times and as such, recent events may have skewed their perception. All we know for certain is that a strange conquering army invaded the island and conquered it. Because of this, the king is offering a bounty of two hundred and fifty thousand gold to any group that can provide solid evidence of this strange army. This reconaisance will be vitally important in the days to come, so any and all adventurers are invited to participate in the scouting party. In the meantime, the king has asked that our citizens provide shelter and aid to the refugees
fleeing their home as we could only hope they would for us."
The bounty was high and Keerin didn't doubt that an army of adventurers would set out, ready to claim that bounty. She, however, doubted that all of them would return alive or, if they were lucky, return as shellshocked people no different from the refugees.
Still, if the stories of the 'Abyss' were true and it will expand forever, Keerin believed she would need to get to the bottom of this before it was too late. Or at the very least, properly warn her beloved. Of course, that assumed that she would survive the adventure. She thought that maybe she should have a contingency plan of sorts.
The Cleric saw a group already forming and talking about heading out. She decided that this group was as good as any and with her Mend staff in hand, she approached the group. "You are a group heading out, yes? Do you have need for a Cleric in your group?" Keerin asked calmly. Her eyes began checking all those present but she put little effort in it. She might be turned down after all making all that a waste. | Name: Keerin
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Straight (and married, sort of.)
Personality:
Quiet and reserved but when push comes to shove, she will put her foot down and not move an inch (unless it becomes physical then you can move her all you want :3).
As such, Keerin can come off as secretive and antisocial. And she likely is as she will only say what is needed and be quiet at all the rest. One would be correct in that she is hiding a secret but it is a secret for a reason.
She will also not fight for any reason, not even to defend herself, but she will try to put others out of harm's way, even at the cost of her own life.
Class: Cleric
Bio:
Keerin will say she came from Santorini Island as your run-of-the-mill Cleric, healing people for a living but I'll tell you the truth with a poem. *ahem*
In a small kingdom, minor and unknown
Lived a young boy, heir to the throne
He had two retainers, beauties of the land
The best of friends, but both craved the prince's hand
The tired King himself, the prince's father
Loudly he declared, clear was his order
"The both of you shall marry my son!
Let this command be questioned by none!"
And thus, the strangest of marriages was sanctioned
But despite the King's words, its sanctity was questioned
Whispers of taboo and damnation
Turned to yells of reject and condemnation
One of the maidens, Keerin the Sage
Blind she was not to the kingdom's outrage
The unholy union of three souls
Was an act darker than the blackest coal
She could not bear to watch her beloved
To be spat on and decried for all their lives
And so she decided to end this curse
By leaving completely, uttering no words |
48,979 | 1,323 | 9 | 111 | 54 | Markus Grey
Markus had been in the middle of the crowd when the announcement came. He tried to stay close to where his kitchen was, but was quickly swept away by the large swarm of people that flooded the area. So despite his best wishes, he found himself in the middle of a large group of people with shock in their eyes, but also something more. Some spoke of going down to fight the disaster, and claiming the bounty placed for new information.
Markus considered whether or not he wanted the reward. Money is certainly a problem when you have to feed a wyvern, and it would pay more than cooking. Markus nodded to himself. While the premise of making more money, and letting his wyvern fly free to the skies seemed the reason for his choice, he knew he wanted to join to regain the sense of camaraderie he had known on his home of Airi Island. He nodded to himself. and he wandered over to a group of people. As he glanced over their party he grimaced. There was no sense of co-operation, just a lust for money. He had a feeling they might die in the face of this threat.
Markus shifted his person over to another group that had caught his eye. Well, it wasn't so much the group, as the fox that was within that group. He waited at the outskirts for the conversation to finish, however, as more and more people joined he knew it would be harder to get his voice in. So he waited longer. There was a lot of odd people in the group too. But he let it slide. He'd be able to have fun with this group, he felt it. He put the ladle he had carried from the kitchen out in front of him, hoping that one of them might realize he could cook, something any well respected group of mercenaries needed. | Name: Markus Grey
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Markus Grey considers himself a smart man, who has an thirst for knowledge. He is a charming individual who loves learning, and socializing with other people, to make up for lost time. He also loves to cook and predict the future with his tarot cards he stole from a corpse. He treats most people he meets with respect, however that is quickly lost upon a slight. He isn't very lucky and when he isn't with his wyvern, he's not very strong or happy.
Starting Class: Wyvern Rider
Starting Equipment: Iron Axe, Vulenary, Ladle
Bio: Markus Grey grew up on Airi Island, born into one of the many criminal groups dotted among the landmass. He wasn't very strong, and he wasn't determined to hurt others for a living. As such, he was shunned, and beat. Eventually he was thrown into a prison, where he stayed for several years, with minimal human contact, except the woman who brought him his meager rations. A rival group invaded the camp, and slew many of the members of Markus' clan. When they stumbled upon Markus, they welcomed him into their arms, and Markus was given a much more happy living. However, still not being strong, and suffering from muscle atrophy from being locked in a cell, they gave him a wyvern. He bonded with the wyvern, and she served as a vessel for his will, where his body couldn't take him. Eventually, the leader of the clan was murdered, and the group went their own separate ways. Markus stumbled around on the Island for a few more years, trying to find a purpose for his life, straying from group to group with his wyvern. Eventually he decided to go New Capita with his wyvern. After hijacking a ship with his wyvern, he demanded transport to the island to find a purpose for his life, finding a job as a chef, and a side job as a fortune teller for people with too much time on their hands. This worked even better for his wyvern, who got to eat all of the scraps. But eventually Markus' mind strayed again, and he found himself often staring into the distance searching for the thrill of combat. |
48,980 | 1,323 | 10 | 351 | 2,364 | Artyom Barkov
It was interesting.
All he had done was shake a kid's hand (named Troe... came from a noble house and still acted like that meant something in this new day and age. Who knew, maybe he'll live long enough that it just might) and stated an interest in heading South in pursuit of fun and profit when an absolute flood of people came out of the woodwork in order to join such an endeavor! One of them was even a talking bloody fox! Hell, he strongly suspected that if he waited for a little while longer a couple more people would show up and attempt to throw their lot in with this group that seemed to be forming around himself and Troe.
If Artyom had known it would have been this easy to create a mercenary band, he would have gone out on his own years ago. Still, there were some things that had to be brought into order first and foremost.
Letting out a short, sharp whistle in order to draw forth the attention of everyone there, he quickly slid into the role of a confident sergent. "Alright everyone listen up! To answer what questions that have been asked so far, yes this group is going to be heading South in relation to the bounty just offered and anyone who asked if we could use whatever talents or skill set you just said welcome aboard!" Taking a moment to take a deep breath, he quickly continued "I have faced these things before and survived, I'm happy to go into more detail about that after we have started to head off because I would don't want to tell that story more times then I have to for educational purposes and I suspect we'll be getting a few more people before we leave."
Taking a moment to see if there were going to be any other hopefuls walking over to sign up, he quickly decided to get into the brass tax "Now that we have that settled, my name is Artyom and who here knows where we can get a wagon or two, some beasts to pull it and some basic supplies around here? Because I don't know about you but I would rather avoid cannibalism because there wasn't any food for as long as possible." From the dark chuckle that escaped him, it was meant to be a joke... mostly.
Pointing out to the man with the ladle, he quickly asked "You know how to fight as well as cook? Because it'll make everyone's lives a lot easier if you can." | Name: Artyom Barkov
Appearance:
Age:25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual
Personality: Brash, somewhat arrogant and (if he believes himself to be right) rather headstrong, Artyom is not a man who backs down easily. His career as a professional mercenary as also left him as something of a 'Moral Void', having committed several jobs over the years that others might considered horrible without feeling a twinge of guilt; He manages to do this because he views himself as little more then a tool akin to an axe. After all, an axe doesn't care if it is chopping into wood, the skull of a wolf or the ribcage of a enemy, only that its wielder cleans it and ensures that it is in good condition.
He also believes that actions taken to help others should be done in as discrete a fashion as possible, both for the sake of the pride of those that are being helped and because if someone is making a big deal out of being charitable to others, they aren't doing it to actually help them.
Starting Classes: Mercenary
Starting Equipment: Iron sword and Vulenary.
Bio:
Artyom was born in the nation of Rjaskav in a rather poor, downtrodden village who's glory days were long passed with when the local silver mine ran dry. Opportunities to eat a steady meal were few and far between and as soon as Artyom was old enough to be considered a man when he turned thirteen he was given what his family could spare before being booted at the door to fend for himself so that his younger brothers and sisters could have more to eat.
With no future in his birth village, Artyom traveled towards the nearest city and by chance signed up with a mercenary band that was recruiting there. For over a decade he happily served with the Sunset Axe Company, occasionally fighting a battle with Solvnir but more often then not being employed to handle... more local disputes.
The onset of the Abyss was something of a short boon for the Sunset Axe company; They were able to make a killing protecting the wealthy from the onset of nightmarish horrors that came from the darkness at first, but after one battle went horribly wrong most of the company died and it was quickly decided that now was a good as time as any to retire with as much of their loot as they could. Fleeing towards New Capita, Artyom found himself without... well, anything to do. Granted he still had enough money to keep himself going for a while before that became a problem, but sooner or later he was going to have to address that. |
48,981 | 1,323 | 11 | 111 | 54 | Cael Augire
Cael Augire's day had been a strange one. Normally there were merchants in need of quick and reliable protection - or at least someone looking to off one of said merchants on a trade route - all over the city. Today it seemed as if no one was leaving. It's just as good. Maybe I can do some research about all of these refugees. The refugees had come in a singular swarm, flooding the town and overpopulating it within a short while. Most of the people coming in seemed to be distraught, crazed even. This 'Darkness' that a man had talked to him about, it didn't sound metaphorical. The way that old man had described it, they'd been running from physical manifestations of evil.
Suddenly, Cael heard people rushing behind him. Placing a hand on his sword's hilt and pulling it out of the sheathe a little bit, he spun quickly, just to see that people were running by him to get to the town square. "We've gotta get there so we can actually hear the announcement!" One of them said to the other in a hurry. The other responded, but Cael couldn't make it out as they were already turning down another road. Maybe this announcement will help clarify things. I'm sure the royal family would at least try to explain this influx of people to the people.
Taking his hand off of his sword, he slid it right into the sheathe at his right side while jogging towards the town square. He stood a couple inches higher than the average man, so seeing the announcer wouldn't be hard, but he wanted to make sure he could actually hear the man if it was going to be crowded.
After the announcement had been made, Cael's interest was piqued. A reward for something I already was trying to do. Hell yes. Not only could he help his home, he'd be paid better than most jobs for it as well. Instead of thinking about it any more than necessary, Cael began to look around the crowd for anyone else looking to take part in a mission. The first group he could see was made up of what looked like a bunch of inexperienced kids. Shaking his head, he kept looking around until he heard someone announce, "Alright everyone listen up! To answer what questions that have been asked so far, yes this group is going to be heading South in relation to the bounty just offered and anyone who asked if we could use whatever talents or skill set you just said welcome aboard!"
Cael turned to look at the group, much more satisfied with at least the appearance of experience there. Stepping over to the group, he caught onto the butt end of what the man - Artyom - was saying about the creatures. He's faced the creatures? So they are real, and you can fight them. Stopping his thoughts before they could get out of hand, Cael steeled himself and put on the metaphorical mask.
"I'd be more than grateful to join your party, sir." He called out to Artyom after he'd finished talking to a young man carrying a ladle. "Cael Augire, Myrmidon. One of the best swords for hire in the city." While he said that and appeared confident, he wasn't actually sure of its validity. Sure, he wasn't one of the worst, but there were Swordsmasters in the city as well. "And if you've need of supplies, I have some contacts that can help us get food and wagons quickly, though someone else will have to find your beasts." | Name: Markus Grey
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Markus Grey considers himself a smart man, who has an thirst for knowledge. He is a charming individual who loves learning, and socializing with other people, to make up for lost time. He also loves to cook and predict the future with his tarot cards he stole from a corpse. He treats most people he meets with respect, however that is quickly lost upon a slight. He isn't very lucky and when he isn't with his wyvern, he's not very strong or happy.
Starting Class: Wyvern Rider
Starting Equipment: Iron Axe, Vulenary, Ladle
Bio: Markus Grey grew up on Airi Island, born into one of the many criminal groups dotted among the landmass. He wasn't very strong, and he wasn't determined to hurt others for a living. As such, he was shunned, and beat. Eventually he was thrown into a prison, where he stayed for several years, with minimal human contact, except the woman who brought him his meager rations. A rival group invaded the camp, and slew many of the members of Markus' clan. When they stumbled upon Markus, they welcomed him into their arms, and Markus was given a much more happy living. However, still not being strong, and suffering from muscle atrophy from being locked in a cell, they gave him a wyvern. He bonded with the wyvern, and she served as a vessel for his will, where his body couldn't take him. Eventually, the leader of the clan was murdered, and the group went their own separate ways. Markus stumbled around on the Island for a few more years, trying to find a purpose for his life, straying from group to group with his wyvern. Eventually he decided to go New Capita with his wyvern. After hijacking a ship with his wyvern, he demanded transport to the island to find a purpose for his life, finding a job as a chef, and a side job as a fortune teller for people with too much time on their hands. This worked even better for his wyvern, who got to eat all of the scraps. But eventually Markus' mind strayed again, and he found himself often staring into the distance searching for the thrill of combat. |
48,982 | 1,323 | 12 | 544 | 1,477 | Kieran Hishamie
Kieran had watched and listened to the announcement from the rooftop of the building across from the front of the Castles gates. He hung off the front of the roof, dangling his feet and supporting himself with his elbows. While he was suprised their worthless king was willing to part from his precious gold, he was not suprised that this new threat was scaring so many people already. He was not afraid to admit, to himself not to other people, that this upcoming threat scared him as well. Nothing in recent history has been capable of engulfing whole islands. He had done his research before hearing this announcement, it was the whole reason he had come back to New Capita in the first place, and if he was going to have to face this threat he wanted to face it on his home turf where he had the most advantage. He gripped his hand carved bow, a light silver color type of wood not found in New Capita, in his right hand and hung it over his shoulder. He checked his quiver that hung behind him on his waist, then his pouch on his side. He had his guts, his brains, and his equipment. Kieran smiled, ready for another adventure.
Kieran left New Capita for adventure in the first place, never truly expecting to come home. He had spent years away, thinking he was never going to come home. He has never fought the foreign fighters before, but he had seen them. Quite a little while ago, he had been adventuring in the kingdom of Solvnir when the first of the invaders had appeared. Kieran thought on it, trying to remember what he had been doing exactly.........he vaguely remembered trying to find a missing pet or something for a rather striking noblewomen when he first spotted the invaders. The sound is what attracted his attention first. The inhumanly in sync sound of hundreds upon hundreds of feet shuffling together, moving as if they were even breathing at the same time. Kieran had thought how odd that was, that such a huge army could act as one in such a way. It was very.......inhuman. Kieran had then planned on just leaving, not truly caring one way or another. Kingdoms rose and kingdoms fell, if this one fell from this army then oh well. His home of homes was New Capita anyways. Then it was more than the sound. The army had run into a pack of wolves. Kieran expected....well he had not really expected anything. He became curious how they would handle the wolves, if a single skilled warrior would pop out of the front and slay the wild beasts or would they act as one and strike all foes down at once?
What they did will stay in Kierans mind. The front of the army swarmed the pack of wolves faster than he could blink, almost literally shredding them to pieces. The wild animals stood no chance, and did not live long enough to regret it. The front of the army moved as one in a single breath, some with swords and some with spears, and hacked and slashed the small pack of wolves in an almost instant.
Kieran was brought back to reality as a group seemed to be forming. He cocked his head to the side, wanting to know what was happening. No one else who looked interesting seemed to be grouping up at the moment, and he felt inclined to make himself known. Kieran stood himself up and brushed himself off, looking at his white short sleeved white shirt with his propped up collar, his black pants and boots, and his black cloth bracers on his wrists. His equipment was good, and he felt good. Kieran took a single step forward falling down slightly but catching himself on the ledge of the roof. Kieran took small to medium drops down the side of the building, scaling down it in a manner of seconds. Kieran landed on his feet and rolled away.
Walking up to the main group, Kieran showed a cocky attitude and a hearty smile. "Whats going on? Looks like you guyd are a colorful bunch, you wouldnt happen to be wanting to group up for the bounty right? If so, want a skilled archer? Name is Kieran." Kieran gave everyone a small and quick two finger salute. | Name: Kieran Hishamie
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Kieran is very sarcastic and loves to make light of serious situations. His quick wit and sharp tongue often land him in more trouble than not.
Starting Classes: Archer
Bio: Kieran was born to moderately average family, neither known nor unknown. They never had more than enough but never less than what was needed. It was an average life, no danger, and a secure future......and Kieran hated it. Kieran yearned for adventure, and his heart and mind always told him to venture out into places he has never been. He was born and raised in the South of New Capita, on a small farm not too far away from a settlement. At age thirteen Kieran packed up a few belongings, picked up a small wooden bow, and after saying goodbye to his parents. He then travelled to the other nearby islands, going on many adventures and experiencing life. He developed his archery skills as the years went on, as well as his hunting abilites. When the Abyss let out creatures, Kieran decided to quit adventuring so far away from home and stay in New Capita. |
48,983 | 1,323 | 13 | 995 | 1,712 | Troe Revinah
In the span of maybe a minute or two nine people (Or eight and a fox if you'd prefer) had gathered. It wasn't clear if all of them planned to go or not, but it certainly seemed likely. Perhaps fate had corralled them for some purpose, or perhaps it was merely coincidental. It mattered not in the end, as the destination would likely be the same.
One thing some of the others didn't seem to understand however, was that directly engaging these strange beings wouldn't be the mission. It was a simple recon that, barring anything going wrong, would only involve a small skirmish or two.
Troe looked at everyone who had gathered and allowed the slightest of smiles to appear. He was actually going to travel with a bunch of strangers at what was essentially the drop of a hat.
This is far from what I thought I would be doing a week ago. Troe thought to himself vacantly. "You all can split the bounty if we survive, I don't want anything to do with it. I just need to get home and...see things for myself." He said. "And unless you think we can swim a four day long voyage, we'll need a boat as well. I'll leave that bit of planning to you all, I've got a few things to pack." Troe said backing away from the group to head towards the library. He had most of the basics that he would need (his spell tome, some snacks, and some money for the trip), but after mentioning how long the trip would be he realized that he would need a few books to pass the time as well.
(jeez this is a lot of people to mention) | Name: Troe Revinah
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Troe can be an incredibly cold sort, but if one were to observe carefully, they would likely notice how protective he is of his allies. On the outside he seems to be studious, though more often than not he reads for pleasure instead by hiding stories inside his text books and tomes.
Class: Mage
Starting equipment: Wind Tome, Vulenary
Bio: Troe was born to a high family in Rjaskav which, for better or worse, exempted him from the war. Instead he took a path that was rare for inhabitants of Irinoth, magic. Most aristocrats were either knights or lazy good for nothings that considered the battles that took place as a spectator sport. After a few years of practice he learned that he had a knack for it despite his home's general distaste for magic. Eventually he decided that instead of using his parents' wealth to order books from New Capita, he'd just go to where the books were. Of course, this complicated things with his family as they didn't approve of their youngest embarking to a foreign land. This eventually led to Troe taking a bag filled with money and stowing away on a trader's ship to the northernmost island.
A few years in New Capita saw Troe working at a library in order to have easy access to the study materials as well as a few books for leisure reading. While he had plenty of money and a number of invitations to noble houses because of his lineage. All of that pomp and circumstance would have simply distracted him from his stories...and to a lesser extent his studies.
The news of his kingdom's fall may not have reached him just yet, but on some level he already knows. Perhaps that is why he has evaded people for some time, as though an outside source confirming the news would make it real. |
48,984 | 1,323 | 14 | 729 | 2,152 | Ansgar Staudinger
Well, color him impressed if a large party hadn't gathered already! Seemed to have just about every area covered, from cavalry style folks, judging by the one woman's armor even if it was aerial in nature, to hardy close range fighters. And with the archer approaching, that covered range. The mage could work at a distance too, so it seemed they had their bases covered. A well rounded group could adapt better than a focused one, even if that focused one was more effective in one or two given situations. The one fellow, one of the ones from his homeland, just from the opposing nation, spoke at length about having faced the things before and seemed to be taking a leadership role of some sort or another. Fine by him, really, Ansgar thought. He wasn't one for leading anymore, hadn't been for years. The questions about supplies drug an idle shrug from the soldier, he wasn't one for keeping up with supplies. Scrounge up some food, get a drink down his throat, and he was set for the evening. But he made a remark on the matter though, as the group gathered up rather nicely. "Unless we need to pack copious amounts of drink, I'm not much good for scrounging supplies. Not in a city, at any rate."
If they were back on Airi island, finding supplies would not be nearly as hard. Bandits stockpiled for some reason, when they routinely raided and wiped each other out when they weren't turning on anyone foreign to the island at all. That was his experience with the place, at any rate, being one such outsider that refused to bend the knee to the first bandits he stumbled across. He'd earned quite a few scars while on Airi, and he regretted none of them. But he did not readily pick out others that made it brazenly clear that they hailed from Airi, so he was not readily concerned. Besides, not like he had any valuables beyond his lance and the clothes on his back. The one kid who had introduced himself mentioned packing supplies and the idea about swimming, alongside a choice bit about getting back home. Seems quite a few of them were from the south, that might complicate things if any of them had been high up enough to hear reports about what happened during his flight. "Way I see it, home is where the heart is, sappy and poetic as it might be. And long as my heart isn't gouged out and mounted on a pike somewhere, that'll be a bit south of wherever I lay my head. Asides that, most folk call me Ans, short for Ansgar. Certainly a pleasure. Already got my worldly belongings on me, so I ain't in a rush." | Name:
Ansgar Staudinger
Age:
28
Gender:
Male
Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual
Personality:
For being an accused deserter and on the run soldier, Ansgar refuses to succumb to the easier methods of a petty bandit or rogue. He is, first and foremost, a career soldier, and one can usually expect the normal professional, focused discipline that would be required of one who would serve in an organized army. Yet, he often, outside of combat, is known for being a heavy drinker and overtly lack luster in regards to his training or continued betterment, seemingly careless towards such things in favor of relaxing and enjoying his time on the world. As such, he tends to take offense at those that would threaten it or judge him without knowing the whole story, since they tend to be needlessly harsh and think they know it all, regardless of whether they really do or not. Beyond this, he tries to be amiable and able to work with anyone, but bring up the charges of desertion and he tends to get rather angry, to put it mildly.
Starting Classes:
Soldier
Starting Equipment:
Iron Lance
Vulnerary
Bio:
Ansgar used to be a standing soldier with one of the armies of Solvnir, raised to be wield the lance against the armies of Rjaskav as well. However, while his upbringing was fairly typical of one expected to be a soldier of any sort, he routinely clashed with the youngest of the general's children, an annoyingly entitled lady who seemed to think that birthright alone warranted superior command. Despite her losing their training duels more often than not, she seemed insistent on trying to assert her dominance over Ansgar. This would continue until his twentieth birthday, when they came to blows again, not just in training. Ansgar had withdrawn a unit under his command from a suicidal charge, not one for wasting resources for no gain. However, this slighted the woman who, technically, was superior to Ansgar in rank and demanded that he return to the field with the men. Ansgar refused the order, pointing out its blatantly suicidal nature and pointlessness. She drew her sword on him, and he defended himself from her attack. The fight ended in a short exchange, the reach and punch of the lance overpowering the swordswoman easily. Yet, she refused to surrender this time, and Ansgar was forced to run her through, spilling her life blood onto the ground. He waited not for the inevitable arrest, execution, and so on, rather, fleeing the island for Airi Island, a land of lawlessness that would make tracking him rather impossible. He would spend the next eight years honing his craft, focusing solely on advancing his skill in combat, and with the lance. Yet, when word reached him that his home had been consumed by this Void, an empty pain echoed in his gut. He chose to finally leave his self imposed exile on Airi Island, finding himself drifting towards New Capita instead, though the why eluded him. Perhaps, since he had no home, he might find a new one there? And perhaps, of course, he might avenge his lost home somehow if this Abyss arrived to try and claim New Capita while he was there. |
48,985 | 1,323 | 15 | 1,448 | 3,924 | In short order the group that Nick tried to talk to ballooned in size and diversity, there was even one human holding some weird stick claiming to be a cleric, as well as one holding a spoon-looking thing riding a dragon... even if the dragon seemed smaller than he was used to, and lacked two of its legs. Wow... so many people... what to say to them? Are they expecting me to say anything? Nick thought as his eyes moved to look at every one of the group's members. Nick tried to say something for the longest time, but just couldn't find the words... and even if he did, surely they'd be lost in such a crowd. Apparently, the one on the strange dragon could cook, which just made Nick wonder if humans didn't eat their meat raw, and a few others started asking about food for their journey. I could hunt... but it sounds like we'll be on one of those wooden things, a ship, they called it? Anyways, it seems like we'll be on one of those for a while... and I don't know if I could follow one of those in the water... sure, I could swim, and maybe even catch a few fish, but I don't think I can get back up once I had to. Nick considered before he spoke, the consideration made his words die in his throat, again, leaving him speechless, once more. Nick then noticed that everyone save for himself, the 'cleric', and two others had a weapon... the two others seemed to hold books, instead, which just had Nick question "Wait... shouldn't you guys have weapons? I'm not sure if books would work too well in a fight,"
So many people in one place was almost too much for Nick, but somehow, he managed to stay there, and look as if he was having a good time, when, if this were any other situation, he surely would have fled, by now. Food seemed to become the topic once more, and Nick accidentally blurted out "Once we're on land, I could hunt for the group," this... was probably a mistake on his part, as he was almost certain that he would have to find something bigger than a racoon to hunt... and he had to somehow get a dragon food. Nick didn't know what a dragon could or would eat, and add to the fact that he wasn't sure which kinds of meat tasted better 'cooked', or what the humans would even want to eat. Now that he said it, he couldn't really take that back... perhaps he would find out what the humans hunted on their own, and just mimic them. If they hunted deer, he would try to do the same. Either way, Nick knew that he wouldn't be the one to try to get a boat for the group, since he assumed that they knew he had at least some sort of issue with talking to humans, and given that this was a human area... he could only assume that the salesman would be human, as well. Nick then recalled someone saying something about not wanting the money, and he responded to that with "I don't think I would need any of the gold, either. Um, I'm sure it looks nice, but I don't know what I'd do with it," of course, it had already been a while since they said that, so it all probably sounded disjointed and random to everyone else.
, , , , , , , ,
(I'm not actually sure who I should and shouldn't tag with this... too many posts between my posts.) | Name: Nicholas "Nick" (this character lacks a last name)
Appearance: While he's usually in his fox form, when he's actually in his human form (which he hasn't actually done, yet), he looks like a rather scrawny, pale, somewhat tall man. His orange hair seems to match his fox form's fur, and he has brown eyes. He typically wears whatever happens to be convenient at the time, often wearing dull-colored peasant clothes when forced into his human form. Like others of his kind, he still has his ears and tail while in human form.
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Personality: Nick is usually friendly, curious about things, and more than eager to try new things. He's also a bit too talkative for something that's supposed to be good at hiding. Ever since a certain event (detailed in the Bio section), he's had a hatred of horses, and ever since another event, he's harbored a strong disliking of wolves, not to mention people who turn into them. Nick also despises almost all vegetables, though he doesn't mind most fruit for some reason... he will, however, eat any meat, no matter how raw, even if he's in his human form, which can be dangerous for him.
Starting Class: Kitsune
Starting equipment: Beaststone, Vulnerary, Bamboo Pole
Bio: Nick was born into a rather isolated den, with few members outside of his immediate family, and fewer still interaction with humans. In fact, he's only heard them in name, and passed them off as a sort of fairy tale, something that's not real, like magic, or forest fairies. Regardless of this, he and the rest of his kin still learned what they called the 'language of humans', which Nick had to laugh at, since, again, he thought they weren't real. Once, after his lessons, and during play time, he and his sister Hannah were throwing around a bamboo pole, and, after a few rounds, Nick caught it, and a strange, armored thing riding on a horse ran by. He thought nothing of it, at first, and at first, he was more disappointed that he couldn't catch up to the thing to eat it... but then he tried to throw the stick to his sister... and she didn't catch it, ever. Nick walked over to her, only to see her dead, her pelt taken, and some sort of weird, pointy stick through her head.
He returned home with the bamboo pole, which they were using as a stick, as well as some mental scars... he thought horses were cowards, always running away whenever they saw a snake, or a moving bush, or even a kitsune, but that one... that one was out for blood, his sister's blood. He almost couldn't believe it, and the shock of his sister dying made him silent for the next five years. His parents and other siblings tried their best to cheer him up, to get Nick to speak, once more, but for five years, their attempts failed. He even refused to stray from his den, even during playtime. A few of his siblings, his mother, and his father all gave up long before he said his first words after that, and those words were "The horses will pay," this was bittersweet to his family, on one hand, Nick was speaking, again, but on the other, he just swore vengeance against an entire species.
From that day forward, he vowed to take revenge by killing any horses he saw, and, just his luck, it seemed like he had a knack for knowing where to attack them, and he's had quite a bit of success in hunting the cowardly things, though, he never saw one with another armored... thing on it, ever again. After finally speaking again, he tried to describe it to his mother and father, but they seemed to call that thing a 'human'... but that didn't make sense, those things were only in stories, like dragons and flying horses, right? A few years passed, and misfortune struck his family once more, as wolves, or something that looked somewhat like a wolf, at least to Nick found their den, and destroyed everything in sight, managing to kill Nick's big brother, and poor Nick wasn't fast or strong enough to stop the strange almost wolflike creatures, so he and the rest of his family did the only thing they could... they ran, like cowards. At first, it almost seemed like Nick was going to do the same thing he did with the horse and the thing, that is, fall silent for years, and then declare that he would make the species extinct, but, once he got far enough away from them, he simply asked "Those things are our enemy right?" to which, his family nodded, and he responded to their nod with a simple "Good,"
Nick has been wandering around in New Capita ever since that incident, and, even after having explored a decent chunk of the place, things still manage to surprise him... such as these strange, giant wooden things in the water, and dens for unknown creatures made of stone and wood. He didn't know what to call a place that had that many dens, but, he just had to get closer, right? Whatever these things held had to be interesting, just based on the design... and worst come to worst, he'd just face off against one of those weird wolf things, again, and have to run away if they're too strong, right? Nothing bad could possibly happen if he tried to enter one of these dens... right? |
48,986 | 1,323 | 16 | 2,325 | 2,409 | Fie Testarossa
"I am in a similar boat to Ansgar I got all my belongings I would need plus I got enough personal rations to last a few weeks." Fie said as she pointed out to the large back with her its color was a dark blue similar to her outfit and was obviously made for abuse with how thick and well made the material was. The provisions was of the dried kind things like jerky and the like things that can last awhile. "Also you vulpine creature worry not all I need is this elder magic is something that shouldn't be trifled with after all" Fie said her voice proud with the mentions of elder magic after all it was a frowned upon and difficult branch of magic compared to the more common anima magic and the magic the clerics used. Sure it wasn't as are as the supposed "holy magic" that appeared only literally a few times in history.
"To be specific unlike Troe who is a mage I am as many would call a dark mage. A dark mage is someone who practices elder magic otherwise known as dark magic. The main thing to be careful is that elder magic is often a largely debated subject some say that it draws on dark power others say it channels raw magic and its the user who in turn affects the magic. This isn't to say that its not dangerous as there was a spell tomb called loptyr that is rumored to exist that is able to transfer its will to overcome and control its wielder. While there is another one called apocalypse that is said to erase your very personality in return for power. With that said I feel the need to remind that despite the fact dark is often associated with evil it is in fact often the wielder that is evil and not the magic itself." Fie continued on going on a bit of a long spiel on elder magic it was a subject she was personally well versed in and was personally researching in. | Name:Fie Testarossa
Appearance:
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Personality: Fie can come across as very odd speaking and often flitting between subjects as they come to mind this makes her seem a bit airheaded but its far from the truth as due to her singular drive causes her to change her focus from one subject to the next if it means getting closer to what she seeks.
Starting Classes: Dark Mage
Starting Equipment: Flux, Fire, Vulenary
Bio: Fie was born to a family of scholars or so she liked to believe. She doesn’t know the true answer as she was orphaned from the time she was four years of age. With that said she has always been curious about things and how they worked magic was something that called to her something that she couldn’t explain readily. This curiosity is what drew her to studying magic as a whole. Thankfully growing up in New Capita was a blessing for this as her drive and study quickly netted her a small job at the library allowing her all the time to study the inner workings of magic. Elder magic came easy to her knowledge being the key factor in it something she thought fit her perfectly. Despite being shunned majority of the time for practicing “dark magic” and as such considered “evil” or “not right”. She was always eager to correct and or educate those seeking knowledge on the esoteric branch of magic. |
48,987 | 1,323 | 17 | 995 | 1,712 | Troe Revinah
Troe shrugged at his mention during Fie's explanation. Certainly some mages like to equate dark mages to evil, but he certainly wasn't one of them. His lack of formal education resulted in a lack of bias against dark mages. That being said he did understand the danger that some of them carried in those tomes.
"I may be a bit more boring, all I carry is simple wind magic." He said, more concerned with getting out of the conversation to go pick up his books. "It was hard enough to get tomes sent to Rjaskav as things were, dark magic tomes would have raised too many eyebrows. I'll meet you all back here in a few, I wouldn't be much help in getting anything we need so I'll have to leave it to all of you."
With that he left the group and strolled back to the library to gather a few of the books that he had set aside to read a while back. Upon arrival, he looked from side to side taking in the sight of the place he had spent the majority of his time over the past few times. He wasn't particularly sentimental, but given the recent turn of events it was funny to think of the fact that he wouldn't be coming in for a while...or the possibility that he never would again. | Name: Troe Revinah
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Troe can be an incredibly cold sort, but if one were to observe carefully, they would likely notice how protective he is of his allies. On the outside he seems to be studious, though more often than not he reads for pleasure instead by hiding stories inside his text books and tomes.
Class: Mage
Starting equipment: Wind Tome, Vulenary
Bio: Troe was born to a high family in Rjaskav which, for better or worse, exempted him from the war. Instead he took a path that was rare for inhabitants of Irinoth, magic. Most aristocrats were either knights or lazy good for nothings that considered the battles that took place as a spectator sport. After a few years of practice he learned that he had a knack for it despite his home's general distaste for magic. Eventually he decided that instead of using his parents' wealth to order books from New Capita, he'd just go to where the books were. Of course, this complicated things with his family as they didn't approve of their youngest embarking to a foreign land. This eventually led to Troe taking a bag filled with money and stowing away on a trader's ship to the northernmost island.
A few years in New Capita saw Troe working at a library in order to have easy access to the study materials as well as a few books for leisure reading. While he had plenty of money and a number of invitations to noble houses because of his lineage. All of that pomp and circumstance would have simply distracted him from his stories...and to a lesser extent his studies.
The news of his kingdom's fall may not have reached him just yet, but on some level he already knows. Perhaps that is why he has evaded people for some time, as though an outside source confirming the news would make it real. |
48,988 | 1,323 | 18 | 439 | 32 | Rosalia Flos
Truthfully, her choice to approach the growing group had been fueled by curiosity rather than any sort of desire to join them. When the offer to travel together was extended to everyone present, however, Rosalia found herself rather surprised by the apparent openness of everyone present. Despite the fact each individual seemed to hail from a different place and classes, the animosity that she had seen among some of the other milling about seemed absent here. Then again, she thought it silly to hold country-based grudges during a time like this. She wasn't so sure that she could even call herself a knight of Solvnir anymore; the fact that her country didn't exactly exist anymore kind of put a wrench in that.
Although she wasn't completely committed to joining this ragtag band on their quest, Rosalia thought that it wouldn't hurt to introduce herself as many others had. She remained silent as the others gave their names, her gaze politely traveling from one person to the other as she made an effort to commit their names and faces to memory. One of them--Ansgar, he had introduced himself as--gave her pause, but when nothing came up beyond a strange, nagging sensation from somewhere within her mind, she forced herself to move on.
She inclined her head in Troe's direction when he took leave of their group before turning to the others. "Belated though my introduction is, my name is Rosalia Flos. I am--was, I suppose--in service to the Solvnir army." It was better to put that out now than to risk someone finding out and potentially becoming upset later on, she figured.
Rosalia folded her arms behind her back and restlessly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze jumping between each person present. Again, while not completely set on joining them, she could not deny that the thought of milling about doing nothing about this disaster did not sit well with her. What else would she do with her time if not find a way to discover more about this mysterious threat? The trail she had been following for Anise had gone cold long ago, but perhaps meeting and traveling with new people would somehow lead to a spark. "I am not sure if my services as a pegasus knight will be helpful, but should the extra assistance be desired, I would be willing to lend you all my support." | Name: Cael Augire
He is about 5'11" and his eyes are yellow-golden in hue.
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Personality: When around people that he doesn't trust or know, Cael channels a confident facade. It's a mask designed after years on the road, designed to keep him from appearing weak. It's also part of preventing people from knowing of his humble origin. When around people that he trusts though, he shows a more relaxed side of himself, not as tensely held together as he is around strangers. He's also quite mischievous with his closest friends.
In battle, he's all about teasing opponents into mistakes, when they allow him. He fancies himself a strategist and has barked off orders to people even when he had no right or position to do so. The one time that he was furious whilst fighting, one of his fellow mercenaries told him that he exuded killing intent. He always tries to keep his own emotions under control so that he can take advantage of his enemies that don't do the same.
Starting Class: Myrmidon
Starting Equipment: Iron Sword, Vulenary
Bio: Cael didn't know his mother, but his father was around long enough to teach him how to survive the world. He was taught that letting people get to him was a sure way to fail, and that he shouldn't let anyone in. It didn't take him long after his father left for one war or another to understand what he meant by that. His father never returned, but by the point that Cael knew that he wouldn't be seeing the man again, he'd already figured out how to make peace with it. He'd been left in the care of a former mercenary, someone that had survived fight after fight. That man, Durzo, taught Cael how to fight properly with a blade. Cael considers Durzo more of a father than his ever was. He tends to send the man money from the jobs he's taken, at least prior to this Abyss incident taking place. Now that he's convinced the man to get away from New Capita, he's looking for a way to help stop the Abyss from taking over his home. He'd grown fond of his own personal house on the island, a dozen miles outside of the capital. |
48,989 | 1,323 | 19 | 1,358 | 1,312 | Li Renverick
The day was going well for Li, she had managed to secure a very fine bottle of Wolfsennger ale that she had been eyeing up for a while now, she had followed a merchant back to his house and waited for at least 3 days before she could finely get inside and wrap her fingers around it -after she pestered a mage she knew enough to use magic to make it ice cold she sat on her favourite window ledge in the market place.
It was two storeys high and was well situated so that she could both hear the musicians below play the music above the hustle and bustle of the crowd, and get a refreshing view of the city - that coupled with her new favourite drink - she was very happy.
Of course though, happiness is fleeting and it was mere moments into her bottle that the mass of refugees first made their way into the Capital - the news did not take long to hit the market place and before long the music stopped and peoples business became a secondary concern, this was a long feared scenario since the eerie silence that fell upon the south lands, but one that people thought could never actually occur.
Li was not one to care much for the goings on in the country - so long as she could get by and do what she did best; she was happy - but this, this made her brow furrow with concern.
---
That was a couple of days ago now, since then things have just gotten worse, the number of refugees that have came since then seems almost endless; there were a lot of survivors but the stories they told would make you think that very few could survive such an event, the tales of the southerners strength was not exaggerated, had they been weak - its doubtful any would have survived the onslaught.
Li was waiting today, with a fair bit of anticipation for a royal decree by the king - it would dictate something of great import to do with the threat in the south - she sat on a wall nearby the castle gates awaiting the address.
It felt like an eternity, there's very few things that go slowly for Li when she waits for something; typically its mid robbery that she must wait, or when shes tracing a mark, but that time flies by- this
Was a drag, she was passing the time by juggling one of her daggers before the address finally arrived.
It ordained pretty much what she and many others here in this courtyard had thought would occur, those whom were brave; or stupid enough could offer their arms to discover more about this entity that ravaged the south.
Li was the least likely here to offer anything to this, she was a thief, what could she possibly offer that anyone else here could not? But still….
She’d rather have a long life full of happiness rather than a short one with a gruesome end, if she joined some of these people, maybe she could help stop what was happening, and then, then she could start stealing stuff again.
She gave wry smile to herself at that reasoning, flawed as flawed comes, but still it was better than nothing.
She jumped off the wall and sheathed the dagger she was playing with, looking for a nice group of people she could go with; it didn’t take her long to spot quite a large group of varied people that were chatting with one another, seemed as good as any to go with.
As she stepped up to them she gave a small wave and stated her buisness ”Umm, Hi, my name is Li Renverick, this seems like a pretty important mission that has been given out, I can’t just sit by and let others do the saving without helping as much as I can…. My… erm”
She gave a nervous scratch behind her head before continuing Occupation, yeah, means that I’m pretty good at staying unseen when I want to be, I’d make for a pretty decent scout I thought…” She finished with a nervous chuckle, hopefully no one here knew what she really was; it’d be kinda awkward; better yet she hoped she hasn’t actually stolen from anyone here. | Name: Li Ranverick
Li stands at around 5'4 and has an athletic build, despite her somewhat small she remains quite strong, no where near the strngeth of a knight of any one who swings battleaxes on a daily basis, but still somewhat strong, mainly in her upper arms and back, from all that time pulling herself up to high places and shifting loot.
She dons this wear for agility more than anything else, however she does shift to darker clothing thats tighter to the skin and made from high quality leather if she knows that she will be going somewhere dangerous, or typically at night.
Equipment: Two Steel daggers, one Iron shortsword, various trinkets and a bit of gold as well as a number of lockpicks.
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Personality: A very outward going person, odd given her "occupation", but nevertheless it's something that merely makes her a little less inconspicuous as she never gives off the appearance of being shady or someone who practices anything out of the realm of of the law.
Li steals from others for a number of reasons, the primary one is that she would make better of use of it than the previous owner ever could, like a rare brand of whiskey, she could definitely put that to great use over the space of a couple of nights.
Other than that she steals because it helps her survive, its good for money and she's good at it.
Locks undress for her when she looks at them in a certain way, a small blade or a shortsword feel right at home in her nimble fingers and the feeling of leaping from one rooftop into the open window of an opposite building makes her immensely happy.
Everything it takes to be to a good thief is something shes both proficient at and something she happily and gleefully performs; she cant think of another way of life.
Other than her joy for her work shes a sociable minx, someone who enjoys to get others into trouble, but of course nothing too major.
Shes loves music, she spends many a day in the rafters of local theatres and windows on streets that have musicians playing, she can quickly get entranced by a melody and just daydream.
At times it can be easy to mistake Li for a man, if based on mannerisms and actions alone, although she takes great offence to anyone who says something along of the lines of "you're not very ladylike" she regards herself as a woman, and she will be quick to remind you of that fact if your tongue slips.
Bio: Li didn't really have an exciting childhood, she was forced to study and go to school like most middle class children, she had to uphold certain values and do things in a very particular way or face scorn from her peers and elders, this cookie cutter way of life was a dreadful bore, and above all extremely limiting.
She liked to climb, to explore to go places wheres hes not allowed to go, to do things she was not allowed to do.
She enjoyed the thrill of it, when she was scolded for climbing a 2 story house she had to dig her nails deep into her palm just to stop herself from smiling.
This is what makes Li, this sense of adventure and thrill of the chase; completely estranged from her family and the best thief in New Capita (self-given title).
She left her family home after an ultimatum was given to her to stop her deviant ways, and start acting like her age - she replied with that she was acting like her age, said Good bye and left - she wasn't completely kicked out however she returned from time to time to check up on them and to let them know that she still breathed and was living happily, her father could never really stomach it, but was always happy to see that she was indeed still alive, her mother couldn't care less what she did, so long as as she was safe and well.
Of course the day came when the cataclysm happened, the events that shook the entire island with their gravity and scope - one would not think that a thief would have any interest in it, but they would be wrong.
How can someone steal things if there's nothing left to steal?
Simple motivation, but enough for her to answer the call; as unlikely as it may seem. |
48,990 | 1,323 | 20 | 544 | 1,477 | Kieran Hishamie
Kieran's gaze turned to the newest member of the their little group, at least he assumed it was their group now meaning he was included. and a smile formed on his face. He actually recognized her, from a little squabble he was in a slightly long time ago. Years and years ago in fact. Kieran cocked his head to the side, unsure what he should do next. He could out her right here, right now, just to add a little ore excitement but that would be super lame of him even in his mind. He could just let it slide, and not say anything. But.......that would be so boring as well. Kieran wrestled with many different opinions in his head that would help him decide what to do. Kieran ended up choosing his favorite option though......sly, witty, bullshit.
"Hi Li," Kieran with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes ",Nice to meet you. I know your...occupation....will help us greatly especially since we will be doing lots of recon. You know, I have actually had to work in a similar occupation before. Let me tell you I remember this one time I was hired for a quest, something dumb like retrieving a stolen amulet or something, and I failed. Horribly. Mainly because by the time I arrived at the location, someone else had already stolen it. When I questioned the guards they said all the remember was talking to someone who was dressed like a man. When they made the comment of the persons gender it turned out she was quite the fighter. Anyways, funny story right?"
Kieran winked and looked at the rest of the group. When he spoke he spoke to everyone. "Man what a group. We have mages, soldiers, rogues, oh my!" Kieran laughed slightly. "All I have is some money, my quiver, my bow, and a couple of little things I can use to make traps out of. So I am prepared, but we can head out whenever I am fine to move at everyone else's pace."
"All in all though, I think everyone here is pretty cool. Definetely not boring to say the least!""
Kieran inwardly hoped that they would be able to do recon decently. He did not have much hope. He had a sneaking suspicion that a group this size and filled with so much power would no doubt attract all kinds of trouble and in no doubt attract the attention of the.......strange demons that now plagued their lands. The last time he saw they, the tore to shreds anything that gave off ill intent. Hopefully they can do better. | Name: Kieran Hishamie
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Kieran is very sarcastic and loves to make light of serious situations. His quick wit and sharp tongue often land him in more trouble than not.
Starting Classes: Archer
Bio: Kieran was born to moderately average family, neither known nor unknown. They never had more than enough but never less than what was needed. It was an average life, no danger, and a secure future......and Kieran hated it. Kieran yearned for adventure, and his heart and mind always told him to venture out into places he has never been. He was born and raised in the South of New Capita, on a small farm not too far away from a settlement. At age thirteen Kieran packed up a few belongings, picked up a small wooden bow, and after saying goodbye to his parents. He then travelled to the other nearby islands, going on many adventures and experiencing life. He developed his archery skills as the years went on, as well as his hunting abilites. When the Abyss let out creatures, Kieran decided to quit adventuring so far away from home and stay in New Capita. |
48,991 | 1,323 | 21 | 729 | 2,152 | Ansgar Staudinger
The woman who introduced herself, before the one that looked suspiciously like a rogue, thief type, had that familiar knot of foreboding forming in Ansgar's gut. A Solvnir pegasus warrior, eh? That would make evading her should she get her panties in a bunch rather tricky, those flying cavaliers, as most Solvnir Soldiers mockingly referred to them as, had a major mobility advantage over, well, just about anyone else that wasn't on some flying mount or could fly themselves. Get in the woods, though, and he could manage. Same with a dense enough city, moving from building to building worked against, well, anyone mounted but against the flying pegasus riders doubly so. Gods knows he had to apply that when being hounded by the Solvnir Army during his own escape of the island. No one ever got a solid bead on him, thankfully, but it was still cutting it rather close a few times. He hardly had any interest in spilling more blood of his former countrymen after all, and that applied to now as well as then. Thankfully, at least right now, either they had the sense to not bring it up, or hadn't recognized only his first name. Now it was a waiting game, though, until they realized it or proved they had no idea who he was. And that wouldn't be until their first fight, he suspected, unless she somehow identified him based on manner of speech. Which, well, was a possibility, but not like he could just back out and run now because of one person arriving.
"Flying cavalier, eh Miss Flos? Wonder if this shadow army has archers or not, might be a fairly glaring weakness if they don't..." Nothing in Ansgar's statement was malicious or hostile, rather, he was poking fun at a common problem that plagued any aerial cavalry, and at those that didn't usually track the differences between different cavalry groups, flight being barred as obvious of course. Archers, for varying reasons, perhaps due to the whole getting shot out of the sky being fatal thing, tended to cause them more than their fair share of grief. Then again, archers caused most people grief, right up until you got a lance into their throat. Not so good then, he mentally smirked at the thought, glancing at the iron lance resting on his shoulder. It lacked ornamentation, and was solely a working tool that had survived with him for this long. Of course, part of his mind questioned engaging her at all in any sort of interaction, but if he actively avoided her at all costs, it might seem a tad bit more suspicious than simply talking to her every now and again. He might be able to keep this from blowing up in his face yet, if the Gods were willing to be a bit more merciful than usual, at any rate. Since, as he said though, he had all of his belongings already on him, well, he had no reason to wander off yet, not until it was time to depart for the southern territories, to see what had specifically gone wrong back home. Home, strange, that he'd be going back at all, let alone under these circumstances... | Name:
Ansgar Staudinger
Age:
28
Gender:
Male
Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual
Personality:
For being an accused deserter and on the run soldier, Ansgar refuses to succumb to the easier methods of a petty bandit or rogue. He is, first and foremost, a career soldier, and one can usually expect the normal professional, focused discipline that would be required of one who would serve in an organized army. Yet, he often, outside of combat, is known for being a heavy drinker and overtly lack luster in regards to his training or continued betterment, seemingly careless towards such things in favor of relaxing and enjoying his time on the world. As such, he tends to take offense at those that would threaten it or judge him without knowing the whole story, since they tend to be needlessly harsh and think they know it all, regardless of whether they really do or not. Beyond this, he tries to be amiable and able to work with anyone, but bring up the charges of desertion and he tends to get rather angry, to put it mildly.
Starting Classes:
Soldier
Starting Equipment:
Iron Lance
Vulnerary
Bio:
Ansgar used to be a standing soldier with one of the armies of Solvnir, raised to be wield the lance against the armies of Rjaskav as well. However, while his upbringing was fairly typical of one expected to be a soldier of any sort, he routinely clashed with the youngest of the general's children, an annoyingly entitled lady who seemed to think that birthright alone warranted superior command. Despite her losing their training duels more often than not, she seemed insistent on trying to assert her dominance over Ansgar. This would continue until his twentieth birthday, when they came to blows again, not just in training. Ansgar had withdrawn a unit under his command from a suicidal charge, not one for wasting resources for no gain. However, this slighted the woman who, technically, was superior to Ansgar in rank and demanded that he return to the field with the men. Ansgar refused the order, pointing out its blatantly suicidal nature and pointlessness. She drew her sword on him, and he defended himself from her attack. The fight ended in a short exchange, the reach and punch of the lance overpowering the swordswoman easily. Yet, she refused to surrender this time, and Ansgar was forced to run her through, spilling her life blood onto the ground. He waited not for the inevitable arrest, execution, and so on, rather, fleeing the island for Airi Island, a land of lawlessness that would make tracking him rather impossible. He would spend the next eight years honing his craft, focusing solely on advancing his skill in combat, and with the lance. Yet, when word reached him that his home had been consumed by this Void, an empty pain echoed in his gut. He chose to finally leave his self imposed exile on Airi Island, finding himself drifting towards New Capita instead, though the why eluded him. Perhaps, since he had no home, he might find a new one there? And perhaps, of course, he might avenge his lost home somehow if this Abyss arrived to try and claim New Capita while he was there. |
48,992 | 1,323 | 22 | 439 | 32 | Rosalia Flos
Rosalia had not expected to be directly addressed, especially not by the man who had prompted some sort of hazy recollection in the depths of her memories. With little else to go by than the fact his name rang a bell, which she acknowledged could easily be because one of the many soldiers she had met in the passing may have shared a name, she saw little reason to be anything besides pleasant.
The corners of her lips pulled upwards in a smile as a short, polite laugh escaped her. "I suppose it would be naive to believe that the opposing army would have such a hole in their defenses, but as an aerial combatant, I can at least dream that they would be so careless." She couldn't deny that even after all of these years, the very sight of a bow and arrow, even when off the battlefield, was enough to cause the muscles in her arms and shoulders to tense instinctively. Enemy fire wasn't particularly pleasant to deal with in the first place, nevermind when there was the threat of plummeting to the ground at heights where broken bones were among the best case scenarios.
Her voice took on a slightly more light-hearted as she continued, her arms coming u to fold across her chest. "I fear that I will simply have to impose on you to deal with the archers then, Mr...Ansgar," she said, momentarily faltering on his name. There was a beat of pause, and then she cocked her head to the side as her gaze drifted up to focus on the weapon he carried. Perhaps it was the apparent ease and comfort in which he carried the lance, but it led Rosalia to think that he likely had some familiarity with wielding the thing. "Though I have yet to see you in action, I somehow feel that you must be quite capable with your weapon. Have you had any formal training?" | Name: Cael Augire
He is about 5'11" and his eyes are yellow-golden in hue.
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Personality: When around people that he doesn't trust or know, Cael channels a confident facade. It's a mask designed after years on the road, designed to keep him from appearing weak. It's also part of preventing people from knowing of his humble origin. When around people that he trusts though, he shows a more relaxed side of himself, not as tensely held together as he is around strangers. He's also quite mischievous with his closest friends.
In battle, he's all about teasing opponents into mistakes, when they allow him. He fancies himself a strategist and has barked off orders to people even when he had no right or position to do so. The one time that he was furious whilst fighting, one of his fellow mercenaries told him that he exuded killing intent. He always tries to keep his own emotions under control so that he can take advantage of his enemies that don't do the same.
Starting Class: Myrmidon
Starting Equipment: Iron Sword, Vulenary
Bio: Cael didn't know his mother, but his father was around long enough to teach him how to survive the world. He was taught that letting people get to him was a sure way to fail, and that he shouldn't let anyone in. It didn't take him long after his father left for one war or another to understand what he meant by that. His father never returned, but by the point that Cael knew that he wouldn't be seeing the man again, he'd already figured out how to make peace with it. He'd been left in the care of a former mercenary, someone that had survived fight after fight. That man, Durzo, taught Cael how to fight properly with a blade. Cael considers Durzo more of a father than his ever was. He tends to send the man money from the jobs he's taken, at least prior to this Abyss incident taking place. Now that he's convinced the man to get away from New Capita, he's looking for a way to help stop the Abyss from taking over his home. He'd grown fond of his own personal house on the island, a dozen miles outside of the capital. |
48,993 | 1,323 | 23 | 111 | 54 | Markus Grey
Markus smiled at the group that had formed. This was perfect, but were they rushing into this a bit fast? His hair got caught on his nose, and he moved it out of the way. Like Kieran had mentioned, they had people from all backgrounds and skills, and they seemed to already have a leader, which Markus had no quarrels about. Being a leader put you in a rather precarious position. Not only would you be the face of the group, but if there were any would be assassins, you would more than likely be the target. Markus reflected on his time at Airi. He would try with all his might to keep this group safe, and if possible, keep it together long past when their adventure was over. After all, why let an evil primal army get in the way of some friendships and fun?
Ansgar had brought up a good point, the army they would be facing would probably have archers, which would definitely be something to watch out for. Markus certainly didn't pride himself on his agility in the air, not compared with a pegasus knight, but he might be able to dodge a few. The only problem in Markus' mind is the though of how powerful the monsters would be. "Well, while you two bicker about archers, be sure to tell me what you would like to have for food, or you won't get any. I'll be assuming role as chef from now on." He motioned across the whole group as he said this. "I'll be back in around twenty minutes, with supplies, and a wyvern. Til' then!"
Markus departed from the group, with a mental laundry list in his head. First, he'd gather the few remnants of his stuff from Airi, then he'd take some of the meats and vegetables from the kitchen. They wouldn't mind, right? Finally, last but not least would be the humongous task of getting his wyvern next to the group without causing too much of a panic. As he walked back into the shop, he found himself pocketing the old tarot cards he kept with him for practicing fortunes. It had been a while since he had started. He was taught by the leader of his last clan, about the meanings of the various arcana, and how to interpret them. He rolled out the deck and quickly shuffled it, placing six cards in the form of a cross. The Fool, Magician, Fortune, Death, Strength, and The World.
Markus took a deep breath and bit his lip, and put the major arcana back into his deck. He had to get ready to move his best friend out of the den she had been nesting in, for what seemed like ages. | Name: Markus Grey
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Markus Grey considers himself a smart man, who has an thirst for knowledge. He is a charming individual who loves learning, and socializing with other people, to make up for lost time. He also loves to cook and predict the future with his tarot cards he stole from a corpse. He treats most people he meets with respect, however that is quickly lost upon a slight. He isn't very lucky and when he isn't with his wyvern, he's not very strong or happy.
Starting Class: Wyvern Rider
Starting Equipment: Iron Axe, Vulenary, Ladle
Bio: Markus Grey grew up on Airi Island, born into one of the many criminal groups dotted among the landmass. He wasn't very strong, and he wasn't determined to hurt others for a living. As such, he was shunned, and beat. Eventually he was thrown into a prison, where he stayed for several years, with minimal human contact, except the woman who brought him his meager rations. A rival group invaded the camp, and slew many of the members of Markus' clan. When they stumbled upon Markus, they welcomed him into their arms, and Markus was given a much more happy living. However, still not being strong, and suffering from muscle atrophy from being locked in a cell, they gave him a wyvern. He bonded with the wyvern, and she served as a vessel for his will, where his body couldn't take him. Eventually, the leader of the clan was murdered, and the group went their own separate ways. Markus stumbled around on the Island for a few more years, trying to find a purpose for his life, straying from group to group with his wyvern. Eventually he decided to go New Capita with his wyvern. After hijacking a ship with his wyvern, he demanded transport to the island to find a purpose for his life, finding a job as a chef, and a side job as a fortune teller for people with too much time on their hands. This worked even better for his wyvern, who got to eat all of the scraps. But eventually Markus' mind strayed again, and he found himself often staring into the distance searching for the thrill of combat. |
48,994 | 1,323 | 24 | 351 | 2,364 | Artyom Barkov
Artyom's eyes seemed to glaze over a little bit as one of the magic users of the party started to go into... technical details of the craft. Some spiel about different types of magic, good and evil, yadda yadda yadda. He didn't really take in a word of it until the discussion was thankfully over, at which point he blinked as he refocused on the present where he didn't need to he swallowed up with magical know how or debates. Seeing as he seemed to be the center point upon which this group was forming, he decided to make his feelings on the matter known. "Let me put it this way. You could carry around a sack of cute, adorable puppies everywhere you go. Every time you cast a spell, you could reach into that sack and pull out one of the puppies before breaking its neck... and as long as you did your job right, I wouldn't care."
Turning to look at the man who claimed to have contacts, he grinned as he pointed to Cael. "Cael, you just became one of my favorite people here. Do what you can."
As the question of gaining a ship was raised, he grinned a little knowingly to himself. "Oh don't worry about it. Commandeering a vessel will be easy enough. After all, the ports are currently filled with more ships then they should strictly have and there are plenty of people who came on those ships who left everything back home to get to safety. I can sort out those arrangements easily enough while everyone else is getting things together." | Name: Artyom Barkov
Appearance:
Age:25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual
Personality: Brash, somewhat arrogant and (if he believes himself to be right) rather headstrong, Artyom is not a man who backs down easily. His career as a professional mercenary as also left him as something of a 'Moral Void', having committed several jobs over the years that others might considered horrible without feeling a twinge of guilt; He manages to do this because he views himself as little more then a tool akin to an axe. After all, an axe doesn't care if it is chopping into wood, the skull of a wolf or the ribcage of a enemy, only that its wielder cleans it and ensures that it is in good condition.
He also believes that actions taken to help others should be done in as discrete a fashion as possible, both for the sake of the pride of those that are being helped and because if someone is making a big deal out of being charitable to others, they aren't doing it to actually help them.
Starting Classes: Mercenary
Starting Equipment: Iron sword and Vulenary.
Bio:
Artyom was born in the nation of Rjaskav in a rather poor, downtrodden village who's glory days were long passed with when the local silver mine ran dry. Opportunities to eat a steady meal were few and far between and as soon as Artyom was old enough to be considered a man when he turned thirteen he was given what his family could spare before being booted at the door to fend for himself so that his younger brothers and sisters could have more to eat.
With no future in his birth village, Artyom traveled towards the nearest city and by chance signed up with a mercenary band that was recruiting there. For over a decade he happily served with the Sunset Axe Company, occasionally fighting a battle with Solvnir but more often then not being employed to handle... more local disputes.
The onset of the Abyss was something of a short boon for the Sunset Axe company; They were able to make a killing protecting the wealthy from the onset of nightmarish horrors that came from the darkness at first, but after one battle went horribly wrong most of the company died and it was quickly decided that now was a good as time as any to retire with as much of their loot as they could. Fleeing towards New Capita, Artyom found himself without... well, anything to do. Granted he still had enough money to keep himself going for a while before that became a problem, but sooner or later he was going to have to address that. |
48,995 | 1,323 | 25 | 544 | 1,477 | Cael Augire
Cael grinned back at Artyom. "Alright then. I'll meet you in the port within a few hours, I'm trusting that you'll deliver on that promise of a ship." Cael's words came out as soon as Artyom had finished speaking. He knew they'd have to move fast in order to make sure that another group hadn't beaten them. This wasn't a race until they tied money into it. The young man chuckled, heading off towards a more prominent part of the capital, the mercantile district. A small portion of the arrogant merchants here owed Grey a pretty penny - he'd saved their lives. "And I think that it is high time I collect on that debt." He spoke to himself, smirking as he stepped up to the first building, knocking twice as he entered.
It took him only an hour to secure two large wagons and more than enough supplies, including a handful of extra weapons, all of which were to be delivered to the docks in another hour or so. Until then, Cael wanted to take care of some other business in the area. Patting up and down his person, he found his bag of coins, preparing to deliver them to the blacksmith that had fixed his blade. "Great work as usual, sir. Keep it up." He'd said politely to the burly man, before heading off towards the docks - there wasn't anything else he needed to take care of.
The group that had gathered had him curious, especially seeing how some of them seemed to have connections from the past. The archer had openly claimed to be on illegitimate business, not that Cael was on the good side of the law, but also seemed to reference that their 'scout' was involved as well.
Hopefully we don't run into any of my old 'friends'. Cael chuckled at the thought. He'd been a part of a mercenary band that had devolved into simple brigands. While he wasn't worried about most of them, the leader had been quite strong, at least a couple years prior.
Shaking his head, he finished getting to the port, taking back alleys and staying out of the bustling streets. Once at the port, he sat on one of the empty crates, waiting on the supplies and the party to get there. | Name: Kieran Hishamie
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Kieran is very sarcastic and loves to make light of serious situations. His quick wit and sharp tongue often land him in more trouble than not.
Starting Classes: Archer
Bio: Kieran was born to moderately average family, neither known nor unknown. They never had more than enough but never less than what was needed. It was an average life, no danger, and a secure future......and Kieran hated it. Kieran yearned for adventure, and his heart and mind always told him to venture out into places he has never been. He was born and raised in the South of New Capita, on a small farm not too far away from a settlement. At age thirteen Kieran packed up a few belongings, picked up a small wooden bow, and after saying goodbye to his parents. He then travelled to the other nearby islands, going on many adventures and experiencing life. He developed his archery skills as the years went on, as well as his hunting abilites. When the Abyss let out creatures, Kieran decided to quit adventuring so far away from home and stay in New Capita. |
48,996 | 1,323 | 26 | 995 | 1,712 | Troe Revinah
Over the next four days and four nights, our adventurers grew closer together as comrades, drinking together, singing songs of merriment, and learning more about each other. Some grew closer, while others realized that maybe possibly they hated another.
Yeah, no. While some of the others may have bonded over their four days, Troe didn't sing or anything like that. Most of his interactions were when he actually decided to go above deck for the better lighting the sun provided. During that time he of course finished getting introductions out of the way, though he was surprised to meet Rosalia Flos. Truthfully if he had noticed the dignity that she carried herself with, he would have probably realized that she was a noble from the start.
Despite both being from opposing kingdoms' nobility, neither of them harbored any ill will toward the other. On the question of Rosalia's sister however, Troe had no answers. Though he did have one idea, he could check the records of the refugees from Rjaskav when they returned to New Capita. As a member of a noble family, he would be able to look into those that came from Rjaskav to check for prisoners, slaves, and others that may have been brought along. There was no guarantee, but at the very least he would try. Given the massive influx from both kingdoms, many wouldn't be on record, but it wouldn't hurt to try.
Obviously, he couldn't do anything now. They had just arrived in Santorini to resupply, so of course Troe opted to stay on the ship. The place was essentially an island wide resort, and he had no interest in that. He was already relaxing just fine without a hot spring. With a sigh, he leaned back against the wooden railing of the ship with his book. It was a simple anthology of New Capitan legends, one that he had been eyeing since he had first walked into the library years ago. Unfortunately, back then so many other books had stolen his attention...of course he had also put work into studying. Back then, magic seemed more like a hobby than a skill. Now, however, it would be is tool to fight for his home. He only hoped that his inconsistent studying would still suffice. | Name: Troe Revinah
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Troe can be an incredibly cold sort, but if one were to observe carefully, they would likely notice how protective he is of his allies. On the outside he seems to be studious, though more often than not he reads for pleasure instead by hiding stories inside his text books and tomes.
Class: Mage
Starting equipment: Wind Tome, Vulenary
Bio: Troe was born to a high family in Rjaskav which, for better or worse, exempted him from the war. Instead he took a path that was rare for inhabitants of Irinoth, magic. Most aristocrats were either knights or lazy good for nothings that considered the battles that took place as a spectator sport. After a few years of practice he learned that he had a knack for it despite his home's general distaste for magic. Eventually he decided that instead of using his parents' wealth to order books from New Capita, he'd just go to where the books were. Of course, this complicated things with his family as they didn't approve of their youngest embarking to a foreign land. This eventually led to Troe taking a bag filled with money and stowing away on a trader's ship to the northernmost island.
A few years in New Capita saw Troe working at a library in order to have easy access to the study materials as well as a few books for leisure reading. While he had plenty of money and a number of invitations to noble houses because of his lineage. All of that pomp and circumstance would have simply distracted him from his stories...and to a lesser extent his studies.
The news of his kingdom's fall may not have reached him just yet, but on some level he already knows. Perhaps that is why he has evaded people for some time, as though an outside source confirming the news would make it real. |
48,997 | 1,323 | 27 | 92 | 2,185 | Ade Daybreak
Interacting with : Anyone who wants
Being in the capital had been such a blur. She knew she was put in a place along with other refugees, but that was all she could really remember. At some point she recalled hearing that their would be some decree from the king. She wasn't sure why but she ended up in the area where the decree was being given. Truthfully she was disgusted at what some of the people around were saying in regards to what the king was asking. When the messenger finished Ade resolved to find her way back. She had to find out what happened to her sister.
She walked around trying to see if there was anyone that might help her get there. She even asked a few but each time she asked they laughed in her face. Eventually she stopped asking and decided she'd just have to follow some group. She walked over towards the docks and waited for an opportunity to sneak onto one of the ships going south. When no one was looking she bolted for a boat that no one was watching. Not long after she had gotten aboard did the adventurers that were going to be using the vessel got on. There were a lot of people in this group. If she counted right there were ten if one didn't add in the animals or crew of the ship. It was odd to her that it seemed as if these adventurers didn't really know one another.
Over the next four days and nights she hid in the supply room concealing herself anytime someone walked in. She felt bad that she was technically stealing, but these people were going to be getting a lot of money so it would be fine. When the ship stopped she was jolted awake. She could hear a few members of the crew coming to the room so she quickly sneaked out before they arrived. She slowly made her way to the upper deck being sure not to alert anyone of her presence. However, before she could get off the boat she tripped over a small wooden pail bringing attention directly to her. | Name:
Adelinde Daybreak
Age:
19
Gender:
Female
Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual
Personality:
A very timid but passionate person. Ade is strong willed when it comes to certain things. She is stubborn and it seems as if no one can get her to change her mind without her fighting back. She is also a very caring individual that desires to help save as many people in whatever way she can. Not a very good liar, but her secrets are not easy to crack open.
Starting Classes:
Villager
Bio:
Ade's life is one full of heartbreak and sorrow not by any real fault of her own. In her family she was the fifth child and only had one younger than her. At first the peasant family lived peacefully in the kingdom of Solvnir until a group of bandits descended upon the small village.
The bandits killed every man that stood up to them and even killed a few of the women and children just to break the spirits of the people. The bandits had decided they were going to kill Ade's mother and eldest sister to prove a point to the somewhat large family. Her father and two oldest brothers wouldn't stay down and accept their fate deciding for a last ditch effort to take out the bandits and run. Sadly though the men didn't even take a single bandit down. All five were then killed leaving Ade, her older sister, and her younger sister alive.
The bandits chose to make the villagers left become workers for them. The next few years were spent cleaning clothes, cooking meals, and other similar tasks. A year before the Abyss came nearly half of the camp became ill of some disease that they were unable to identify. Among that number was Ade's older sister. Any attempt to heal the sick was a miserable failure, and they all soon realized that there was only one option left. Each ill, even the sick bandits, gave up their lives so that they wouldn't cause harm to the remaining people.
After this things became somewhat easier. The bandits were now being run by someone different due to the previous leader dying among the ill. This new leader decided that they would treat their servants better seeing as they were basically the backbone of the camp. (It most certainly had nothing to do with the fact that they outnumbered the bandits 3 to 1) Before all they ever got to eat tended to be scraps, but now they had the same nourishment as some of the youngest fighters. They were given new clothes so that they weren't stuck in rags. The bandits even got them beds and rooms of their own. The slaves turned into serfs. Not that much better, but at least they had a way to survive easier.
Somehow though it seemed as if the universe didn't want Ade to have a happy life. When the Abyss came everyone in the bandit camp panicked and ran. No one even bothered to attempt fighting which caused the weaker among the camp to be brutally slaughtered like wolves had caught their prey. As soon as Ade realized what was going on she grabbed her sister and began running. They were only lucky because the two were some of the quickest in the camp from having to run back and forth between different areas of the camp during the day. Ade saw a horse tied to a post going crazy. She ran over to it and forced her sister to get on. She untied the horse, but before she could get on the horse took off.
She started to run after it but to no avail. By the time she stopped running the camp was no where in sight. She fell to her knees weeping loudly that she lost her final family member. If one were to ask her and she actually tried to answer she wouldn't have any clue how long she actually sat there. As night started to fall she could hear the noises of those monsters from behind, but she couldn't bring herself to look. Suddenly though a small group of soldiers stumbled upon her. They asked her so many questions, but she couldn't even bring herself to speak. They sat her on one of the horses and took her to the closest port sending her to the capital. |
48,998 | 1,323 | 28 | 544 | 1,477 | Kieran Hishamie
]
Kieran was happily sitting on the side of the boat, his legs swinging off the side as he pretended to arch and arrow in his bow making like he was shooting an arrow, when he heard that fateful sound of someone tripping. He turned his head and widened his eyes when he saw a young women whom was not part of their group simply on the ground. Kieran became slightly excited at this, thinking about how they had a stow away! He thought this was really exciting for some reason, not expecting this. But this is why he wanted to do this, go away on this little adventure. To experience new things and have fun, go on adventures and be suprised. Kieran was definetly suprised.
Kieran swung his legs over the edge of the boat and landed back on the boat with a solid thud. He walked over to the fallen young lass and crouched down in front of her. He cocked his head sideways, and looked at her with immense curiosity. How was he going to handle this. "Hi! your new, you werent with us when we set sail.....or wait", Kieran said and scratched his head, "Well I mean you would have had to, not unless you snuck on board after swimming out to sea. That would have sucked."
Kieran eyed the women, realizing that she literally hid and could only eat and sleep and....other at precious few moments. Kieran reached over into his pouch and pulled out a wrapped up loaf of bread. He then offered it to the lady as he sat down in front of her. "My name is Kieran, whats yours. Oh and how come you snuck on to our boat? You could have asked." | Name: Kieran Hishamie
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Kieran is very sarcastic and loves to make light of serious situations. His quick wit and sharp tongue often land him in more trouble than not.
Starting Classes: Archer
Bio: Kieran was born to moderately average family, neither known nor unknown. They never had more than enough but never less than what was needed. It was an average life, no danger, and a secure future......and Kieran hated it. Kieran yearned for adventure, and his heart and mind always told him to venture out into places he has never been. He was born and raised in the South of New Capita, on a small farm not too far away from a settlement. At age thirteen Kieran packed up a few belongings, picked up a small wooden bow, and after saying goodbye to his parents. He then travelled to the other nearby islands, going on many adventures and experiencing life. He developed his archery skills as the years went on, as well as his hunting abilites. When the Abyss let out creatures, Kieran decided to quit adventuring so far away from home and stay in New Capita. |
48,999 | 1,323 | 29 | 351 | 2,364 | Artyom Barkov
It turned out to be surprisingly easy to commandeer a ship... the key word of course being the word 'Commandeer'. While the Captain might have been a little grumpy at the fact that the King was giving him a mission that he couldn't refuse, the promise of compensation for a successful return with useful information helped lower tensions before they had a chance to raise to high. It wasn't even a lie either; Artyom fully did intend to pay the man for his time and efforts from the money they received from the bounty that the King offered, so in practice the King was in fact paying to send a team into dangerous terrain on a mission that he gave... The fact that the paycheck was also reliant of the ground team coming back mostly alive would also ensure that the boat didn't just abandon them after dropping them off.
The trip to Santorini was long and uneventful; While others might have taken the time to get to know each other, Artyom was content with simply learning what skills people had and making notes on how best to use them to their advantage once they arrived in truly dangerous turf. While names were given, he hadn't really bothered to remember all but a few, instead making use of nicknames for people more related to their abilities or some other noticeable feature then anything else.
As the ship took on more supplies after docking at Santorini, Artyom remained on the ship. While a part of it had to do with the island not having much he wished to indulge in, most of it was because he wanted to keep an eye on the ship... and make bets with himself to see how many of the people they started out with would disappear on the island and fail to continue the trip onwards.
Quietly, he took the time to enjoy a nap while there were relatively few people on the ship and it was nice and quiet. | Name: Artyom Barkov
Appearance:
Age:25
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual
Personality: Brash, somewhat arrogant and (if he believes himself to be right) rather headstrong, Artyom is not a man who backs down easily. His career as a professional mercenary as also left him as something of a 'Moral Void', having committed several jobs over the years that others might considered horrible without feeling a twinge of guilt; He manages to do this because he views himself as little more then a tool akin to an axe. After all, an axe doesn't care if it is chopping into wood, the skull of a wolf or the ribcage of a enemy, only that its wielder cleans it and ensures that it is in good condition.
He also believes that actions taken to help others should be done in as discrete a fashion as possible, both for the sake of the pride of those that are being helped and because if someone is making a big deal out of being charitable to others, they aren't doing it to actually help them.
Starting Classes: Mercenary
Starting Equipment: Iron sword and Vulenary.
Bio:
Artyom was born in the nation of Rjaskav in a rather poor, downtrodden village who's glory days were long passed with when the local silver mine ran dry. Opportunities to eat a steady meal were few and far between and as soon as Artyom was old enough to be considered a man when he turned thirteen he was given what his family could spare before being booted at the door to fend for himself so that his younger brothers and sisters could have more to eat.
With no future in his birth village, Artyom traveled towards the nearest city and by chance signed up with a mercenary band that was recruiting there. For over a decade he happily served with the Sunset Axe Company, occasionally fighting a battle with Solvnir but more often then not being employed to handle... more local disputes.
The onset of the Abyss was something of a short boon for the Sunset Axe company; They were able to make a killing protecting the wealthy from the onset of nightmarish horrors that came from the darkness at first, but after one battle went horribly wrong most of the company died and it was quickly decided that now was a good as time as any to retire with as much of their loot as they could. Fleeing towards New Capita, Artyom found himself without... well, anything to do. Granted he still had enough money to keep himself going for a while before that became a problem, but sooner or later he was going to have to address that. |
49,000 | 1,323 | 30 | 2,325 | 2,409 | Fie Testarossa
It was somewhat of a bonding experience though unlike most she decided to keep to her room majority of the time unless it was a meal than she may have ventured out for a bit but beyond that she was often in her room. Experiments after all was not going to stop just because she was away. Sure it was minor things mainly testing out the limits of what she could and could not do. Beyond that it was often reading books she took along most of them legends of the outrealms among others such as legends about dark magic and other such titles. Deciding to stay on the ship she had little reason to head out after all. On the deck of the ship though she spotted Troe reading deciding to walk up she spoke up "Not heading out with the others?" She asked she wasnt sure on most people but he was a mage perhaps he would have some insight on where to start for looking about the history or legends of dark magic. | Name:Fie Testarossa
Appearance:
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Personality: Fie can come across as very odd speaking and often flitting between subjects as they come to mind this makes her seem a bit airheaded but its far from the truth as due to her singular drive causes her to change her focus from one subject to the next if it means getting closer to what she seeks.
Starting Classes: Dark Mage
Starting Equipment: Flux, Fire, Vulenary
Bio: Fie was born to a family of scholars or so she liked to believe. She doesn’t know the true answer as she was orphaned from the time she was four years of age. With that said she has always been curious about things and how they worked magic was something that called to her something that she couldn’t explain readily. This curiosity is what drew her to studying magic as a whole. Thankfully growing up in New Capita was a blessing for this as her drive and study quickly netted her a small job at the library allowing her all the time to study the inner workings of magic. Elder magic came easy to her knowledge being the key factor in it something she thought fit her perfectly. Despite being shunned majority of the time for practicing “dark magic” and as such considered “evil” or “not right”. She was always eager to correct and or educate those seeking knowledge on the esoteric branch of magic. |
49,001 | 1,323 | 31 | 995 | 1,712 | Troe Revinah
"I don't see any reason to." Troe said as he marked his spot in his book and set it down. "It's not our destination and I doubt we'd really have time for anything worthwhile. Besides, the closest library is way too far inland so I don't really have anything of interest here."
He looked out to the bright sunny beaches and elegant buildings that dotted the area. It was certainly a nice place, but without his sisters to coerce him he wouldn't even consider venturing into any of the bathhouses or spas. It was entirely possible that the library held many books he had never seen, but they were likely about massage techniques or some other information that didn't mean anything to Troe.
"So, how are you holding up?" He asked. Truthfully he had no idea if Fie had even traveled by ship before, and given that she had been even more reclusive than he had, it was entirely possible that she hadn't enjoyed it. They weren't friends or anything, they were barely even acquaintances, but Fie was the only person he had known among them before setting off. | Name: Troe Revinah
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Personality: Troe can be an incredibly cold sort, but if one were to observe carefully, they would likely notice how protective he is of his allies. On the outside he seems to be studious, though more often than not he reads for pleasure instead by hiding stories inside his text books and tomes.
Class: Mage
Starting equipment: Wind Tome, Vulenary
Bio: Troe was born to a high family in Rjaskav which, for better or worse, exempted him from the war. Instead he took a path that was rare for inhabitants of Irinoth, magic. Most aristocrats were either knights or lazy good for nothings that considered the battles that took place as a spectator sport. After a few years of practice he learned that he had a knack for it despite his home's general distaste for magic. Eventually he decided that instead of using his parents' wealth to order books from New Capita, he'd just go to where the books were. Of course, this complicated things with his family as they didn't approve of their youngest embarking to a foreign land. This eventually led to Troe taking a bag filled with money and stowing away on a trader's ship to the northernmost island.
A few years in New Capita saw Troe working at a library in order to have easy access to the study materials as well as a few books for leisure reading. While he had plenty of money and a number of invitations to noble houses because of his lineage. All of that pomp and circumstance would have simply distracted him from his stories...and to a lesser extent his studies.
The news of his kingdom's fall may not have reached him just yet, but on some level he already knows. Perhaps that is why he has evaded people for some time, as though an outside source confirming the news would make it real. |
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