This looks really interesting; are you accepting new players? If not, I hope you don't mind me reading along.
[OOC] World of Telduria [Reboot] Page 2
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Arvu Krakenbane
Age: 32
Race: Human
Training: No formal training to speak of. Born into the coastal Askan people, who are traditionally whalehunters, Arvu is well acquainted with the harpoon. His weapon of choice is a spear not unlike the Askani harpoons he's used since childhood. With a spear in his hand, Arvu is dangerous indeed, capable of dehorsing mounted foes and scoring lethal throws at short distance.
Equipment: Even when out on one of the Duke's errands, Arvu hardly looks like a knight in the service of the Northern Alliance. He dresses simply in a holey woolen tunic only covered with a cuirass of chainmail if he anticipates trouble. The only possession he regularly carries that would distinguish Arvu from a commoner is an unusual spear with a shaft fashioned from whalebone rather than wood. The whalebone spear is light enough to throw like a javelin, yet strong enough to unsaddle a charging horseman. The spearpoint is a relatively long blade of razor-sharp steel, effective for slashing motions, but not so broad as to lodge itself inside a skewered opponent. Arvu can therefore deliver a fast and lethal thrust to one foe, quickly withdraw, and be ready to face another enemy.
Spell skills: Arvu can scarcely read, let alone conjure magic.
Affiliation: Arvu is a knight in the service of Duke Vylgar Blacktooth, ruler of the Northern Alliance.
Personality: Born a commoner in a remote backwater of the northern realms, Arvu at first impression may seem somewhat simple. He lacks the eloquence of Duke Blacktooth's courtiers and retainers, and has difficulty reading words longer than a handful of runes. His uneducated demeanor belies a sharp wit, for stupid men do not survive long in the North. To foreigners visiting the Duke's court, Arvu may seem curt and distant. Such behavior is not evidence of any disdain, but rather an artifact of his upbringing in a harsh environment; friendliness and good manners are rather low in priority in a land where virtually every interaction is done out of pure necessity.
History: Arvu, Son of Ruk, was born in the frigid land of Askan, one of several client realms of the Northern Alliance. Askan is a snowy, rocky realm and poorly suited for grazing or farming. Sustenance in these northern reaches of Telduria most reliably comes from the sea. While the women collect clams and abelones from the rocky shore, the men take to the waves to fish or hunt. On boats carved from spruce trunks, the Askani ply the cold grey seas with harpoon in hand in search of whales, walrus, seals, and sharks. And so as soon as he could hold an oar, Arvu joined his father on the tempestuous Ice Sea on his a crude little boat.
When Arvu had seen 17 summers, the Duke's men arrived in Arvu's hamlet to conscript levies into the service of the Northern Alliance. The villages of Askan were so destitute that attempting to raise taxes from this land would be futile, and the Duke's men conscripted the men of fighting age into the Alliance's levies in lieu of a tax. Arvu was one of a dozen boys selected for a year of service, and so was taken by the Duke's men from Askan to Riddom, the Duke's seat of power and capital of the Northern Alliance.
In Riddom, Arvu was relegated to various odd jobs and guard duties around the ducal citadel of Summerset Keep. Near the end of his conscription tour, Arvu was assigned to serve as a deckhand aboard a vessel carrying the Duke from Riddom to one of the outlying settlements of the Northern Alliance. While crossing an open stretch of the Ice Sea, the Duke's flotilla was attacked by a sea monster. A dire whale, starving and ravenous, rammed into the Duke's escort cog and broke its hull. As the men aboard plunged into the frigid waters, the beast snapped them up one by one. The captain of the Duke's ship, not wanting to risk losing the ruler of the Northern Alliance, chose to make a break for coastal waters while the beast fed on the crew of the sinking ship behind them. The monster was not satisfied with dozen or so sailors cast into the waves and soon gave chase to the Duke's own ship. As the beast closed in on the Duke's vessel, Arvu broke from his post and tied a length of rigging around his waist. Without so much as a word of explanation, Arvu took a spear from the hands of one of the Duke's guards and rappelled off the side of the hull. As the hungry dire whale's head broke the surface and rose to snap up the dangling sailor, Arvu threw the spear with all of his strength into the monster's eye. Arvu's aim was true, and the spear burst the beast's right eye in a spray of blood. In agonized terror, the dire whale withdrew at once and slunk back into the depths.
Duke Blacktooth was thoroughly impressed by Arvu's bravery and decisive action. Knowing that he and all other hands aboard the ship would have died had it not been for the deckhand's heroic deed, the Duke showered the boy with gratitude and praise. Arvu, humble to a fault, dismissed the Duke's praises and stated that it was not the first time he had to fend off an angry sea beast. The Duke paid little attention to Arvu's humility, christening him with the surname Krakenbane in honor of his heroism. Upon their return to Summerset Keep, Arvu was knighted.
For the past fifteen summers, Arvu Krakenbane has remained in dutiful service of Duke Vylgar Blacktooth. The Duke recognized quickly that, due to his rude upbringing, Arvu is extremely resourceful and needed little assistance or direction in carrying out his quests. Many of Arvu's years of service have therefore been spent plying the vast wildernesses of the Northern Alliance in search of criminals on the lam; hunting them down that they may be apprehended and returned to the Duke's court to be brought to justice. As of late, however, the Duke has been less concerned with murderers and necromancers roaming the countryside and more vexed with the client lords of the alliance. Reaver clans within the Northern Alliance's borders have increasingly taken work as sellswords, traveling far and wide on their longships to foreign battlefields and undercutting the fighters of the Mercenary Guild. Wishing to avoid trouble with the mercenaries, Duke Blacktooth has passed along the Guild's official request to cease-and-desist to Lord Dagan, a recalcitrant vassal of the Duke with authority over the reaver clans. Lord Dagan has plainly refused to do any such thing, and it is now becoming increasingly likely that Arvu Krakenbane will soon be sent by the Duke to talk some sense into this rabblerouser.
Age: 32
Race: Human
Training: No formal training to speak of. Born into the coastal Askan people, who are traditionally whalehunters, Arvu is well acquainted with the harpoon. His weapon of choice is a spear not unlike the Askani harpoons he's used since childhood. With a spear in his hand, Arvu is dangerous indeed, capable of dehorsing mounted foes and scoring lethal throws at short distance.
Equipment: Even when out on one of the Duke's errands, Arvu hardly looks like a knight in the service of the Northern Alliance. He dresses simply in a holey woolen tunic only covered with a cuirass of chainmail if he anticipates trouble. The only possession he regularly carries that would distinguish Arvu from a commoner is an unusual spear with a shaft fashioned from whalebone rather than wood. The whalebone spear is light enough to throw like a javelin, yet strong enough to unsaddle a charging horseman. The spearpoint is a relatively long blade of razor-sharp steel, effective for slashing motions, but not so broad as to lodge itself inside a skewered opponent. Arvu can therefore deliver a fast and lethal thrust to one foe, quickly withdraw, and be ready to face another enemy.
Spell skills: Arvu can scarcely read, let alone conjure magic.
Affiliation: Arvu is a knight in the service of Duke Vylgar Blacktooth, ruler of the Northern Alliance.
Personality: Born a commoner in a remote backwater of the northern realms, Arvu at first impression may seem somewhat simple. He lacks the eloquence of Duke Blacktooth's courtiers and retainers, and has difficulty reading words longer than a handful of runes. His uneducated demeanor belies a sharp wit, for stupid men do not survive long in the North. To foreigners visiting the Duke's court, Arvu may seem curt and distant. Such behavior is not evidence of any disdain, but rather an artifact of his upbringing in a harsh environment; friendliness and good manners are rather low in priority in a land where virtually every interaction is done out of pure necessity.
History: Arvu, Son of Ruk, was born in the frigid land of Askan, one of several client realms of the Northern Alliance. Askan is a snowy, rocky realm and poorly suited for grazing or farming. Sustenance in these northern reaches of Telduria most reliably comes from the sea. While the women collect clams and abelones from the rocky shore, the men take to the waves to fish or hunt. On boats carved from spruce trunks, the Askani ply the cold grey seas with harpoon in hand in search of whales, walrus, seals, and sharks. And so as soon as he could hold an oar, Arvu joined his father on the tempestuous Ice Sea on his a crude little boat.
When Arvu had seen 17 summers, the Duke's men arrived in Arvu's hamlet to conscript levies into the service of the Northern Alliance. The villages of Askan were so destitute that attempting to raise taxes from this land would be futile, and the Duke's men conscripted the men of fighting age into the Alliance's levies in lieu of a tax. Arvu was one of a dozen boys selected for a year of service, and so was taken by the Duke's men from Askan to Riddom, the Duke's seat of power and capital of the Northern Alliance.
In Riddom, Arvu was relegated to various odd jobs and guard duties around the ducal citadel of Summerset Keep. Near the end of his conscription tour, Arvu was assigned to serve as a deckhand aboard a vessel carrying the Duke from Riddom to one of the outlying settlements of the Northern Alliance. While crossing an open stretch of the Ice Sea, the Duke's flotilla was attacked by a sea monster. A dire whale, starving and ravenous, rammed into the Duke's escort cog and broke its hull. As the men aboard plunged into the frigid waters, the beast snapped them up one by one. The captain of the Duke's ship, not wanting to risk losing the ruler of the Northern Alliance, chose to make a break for coastal waters while the beast fed on the crew of the sinking ship behind them. The monster was not satisfied with dozen or so sailors cast into the waves and soon gave chase to the Duke's own ship. As the beast closed in on the Duke's vessel, Arvu broke from his post and tied a length of rigging around his waist. Without so much as a word of explanation, Arvu took a spear from the hands of one of the Duke's guards and rappelled off the side of the hull. As the hungry dire whale's head broke the surface and rose to snap up the dangling sailor, Arvu threw the spear with all of his strength into the monster's eye. Arvu's aim was true, and the spear burst the beast's right eye in a spray of blood. In agonized terror, the dire whale withdrew at once and slunk back into the depths.
Duke Blacktooth was thoroughly impressed by Arvu's bravery and decisive action. Knowing that he and all other hands aboard the ship would have died had it not been for the deckhand's heroic deed, the Duke showered the boy with gratitude and praise. Arvu, humble to a fault, dismissed the Duke's praises and stated that it was not the first time he had to fend off an angry sea beast. The Duke paid little attention to Arvu's humility, christening him with the surname Krakenbane in honor of his heroism. Upon their return to Summerset Keep, Arvu was knighted.
For the past fifteen summers, Arvu Krakenbane has remained in dutiful service of Duke Vylgar Blacktooth. The Duke recognized quickly that, due to his rude upbringing, Arvu is extremely resourceful and needed little assistance or direction in carrying out his quests. Many of Arvu's years of service have therefore been spent plying the vast wildernesses of the Northern Alliance in search of criminals on the lam; hunting them down that they may be apprehended and returned to the Duke's court to be brought to justice. As of late, however, the Duke has been less concerned with murderers and necromancers roaming the countryside and more vexed with the client lords of the alliance. Reaver clans within the Northern Alliance's borders have increasingly taken work as sellswords, traveling far and wide on their longships to foreign battlefields and undercutting the fighters of the Mercenary Guild. Wishing to avoid trouble with the mercenaries, Duke Blacktooth has passed along the Guild's official request to cease-and-desist to Lord Dagan, a recalcitrant vassal of the Duke with authority over the reaver clans. Lord Dagan has plainly refused to do any such thing, and it is now becoming increasingly likely that Arvu Krakenbane will soon be sent by the Duke to talk some sense into this rabblerouser.
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Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
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Third profile is nearing completion. In other news, since we seem to have a developing roster and a lot of people coincidentally in Kron-Nesis already, are there any plans for an OP soon? @Zhaliora
GM
Zhaliora Fallen Angel
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5 yrs ago
@Terminal
Yeah, the plan is to start off soon.
Waiting to see if @Girlie1Bomba join in again as it changed the OP slightly if she does. :3
Yeah, the plan is to start off soon.
Waiting to see if @Girlie1Bomba join in again as it changed the OP slightly if she does. :3
Girlie1Bomba Now with new and improved tongue!
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
@Terminal
Yeah, the plan is to start off soon.
Waiting to see if @Girlie1Bomba join in again as it changed the OP slightly if she does. :3
Didn't realize OoC was up. Will submit my app during lunch break.
gorgenmast
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3 mos ago
Hour Error A Visitor of Strange Hours
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5 yrs ago
Posted the following post PM approval from GM (although knowing myself I'll probably do some stylistic editing after a nap).
"Ah, yes, Sister Cold Hands. Her faith is surpassed only by her martial skill. Mark my words, friend, she will go far, very far. If only she learns when to walk away from trouble. But such is the foolishness of youth, is it not?"
— Brother Alvar the Gray.
Name
Titles
Age
Race
Appearance
Training
Equipment
Spell skills
Other skills
Affiliation
Personality
History
Cold Hands
"Ah, yes, Sister Cold Hands. Her faith is surpassed only by her martial skill. Mark my words, friend, she will go far, very far. If only she learns when to walk away from trouble. But such is the foolishness of youth, is it not?"
— Brother Alvar the Gray.
Name
Cold Hands
Titles
Sister of Order of the Frozen Heart
Age
25
Race
Human
Appearance
Unremarkable in stature, Cold Hands is far from imposing. She has short white hair, the color of fresh bone, that almost never falls past her shoulders. Her skin is painted a shade of ivory, and bears the scars and marks, both large and small, of a martial profession. She has thoughtful eyes of blue so pale that they border on white, and thin lips that rest in a soft smile. Years of rigorous physical training and time spent as a wandering nun have afforded the young woman a lithe, athletic build. Cold Hands moves gracefully and effortlessly, somehow managing to exude an air of determined serenity no matter where she goes.
Training
Cloistered Upbringing - Taken in by Order of the Frozen Heart in her early childhood, Cold Hands has been steeped in the mysticism and religious ritual of her order for as long as she can remember. She has benefited from a monastic education and is literate in a number of languages, both common and obscure. She is knowledgeable about the history of the lands as written by the great masters and is familiar with the treatises of learned scholars. More importantly, the religious texts of the Order of the Frozen Heart are as familiar to her as her own heart, and she can accurately recite entire manuscripts from memory alone.
Eighteen Frost Dragon Subduing Palms - Cold Hands is a master of unarmed combat. She has mastered all seventeen legendary fighting styles of her order, combining them into an eighteenth hitherto lost style, that is uniquely her own. She is comfortable at all ranges of combat, cheerfully fighting foes armed, armored, and unarmed with little difficulty. In battle, Cold Hands wastes no time or movement, favoring direct and brutally efficient techniques.
Purity of Body and Soul - Through her rigorous training and study of the martial arts Cold Hands has strengthened and purified her body. She has become highly resistant to the many diseases and toxins that may assail the body of the true believer. Her movements are graceful and effortless, her strikes hit with explosive force, and she has transcended the mundane limitations of humanity.
Still Mind - Years of daily mediation and quiet contemplation have allowed Cold Hands to develop a mental stillness and focus that borders on the supernatural. She has carefully cultivated her willpower, forging it into a shield of cold iron. Attempts to affect her mind, meet only quiet, but unwavering resistance.
Blind Fight - Cold Hands has trained herself not to rely solely on her eyes, as the eyes can easily be deceived. Instead, she has focused on cultivating all her senses, and she possesses an uncanny sense of perception even in the thick of combat.
Frozen Heart - In order to come closer to true enlightenment, Cold Hands has sacrificed a core part of her humanity. Following the teaching of her order, she has frozen her heart and silenced her emotions through ancient religious ritual and powerful arcane magic. As a result, Cold Hands can no longer feels any emotion.
Eighteen Frost Dragon Subduing Palms - Cold Hands is a master of unarmed combat. She has mastered all seventeen legendary fighting styles of her order, combining them into an eighteenth hitherto lost style, that is uniquely her own. She is comfortable at all ranges of combat, cheerfully fighting foes armed, armored, and unarmed with little difficulty. In battle, Cold Hands wastes no time or movement, favoring direct and brutally efficient techniques.
Purity of Body and Soul - Through her rigorous training and study of the martial arts Cold Hands has strengthened and purified her body. She has become highly resistant to the many diseases and toxins that may assail the body of the true believer. Her movements are graceful and effortless, her strikes hit with explosive force, and she has transcended the mundane limitations of humanity.
Still Mind - Years of daily mediation and quiet contemplation have allowed Cold Hands to develop a mental stillness and focus that borders on the supernatural. She has carefully cultivated her willpower, forging it into a shield of cold iron. Attempts to affect her mind, meet only quiet, but unwavering resistance.
Blind Fight - Cold Hands has trained herself not to rely solely on her eyes, as the eyes can easily be deceived. Instead, she has focused on cultivating all her senses, and she possesses an uncanny sense of perception even in the thick of combat.
Frozen Heart - In order to come closer to true enlightenment, Cold Hands has sacrificed a core part of her humanity. Following the teaching of her order, she has frozen her heart and silenced her emotions through ancient religious ritual and powerful arcane magic. As a result, Cold Hands can no longer feels any emotion.
Equipment
Monastic Robe - Cold Hands wear a simple robe with a hood that is dyed a light shade of blue. The symbol of her order, although faded, is visible on the back of the robe.
Traveler's Clothes - Beneath her robe Cold Hands wears loose wool breeches, a form-fitting shirt, a sturdy leather belt, and a light jacket. She favors soft boots that allow acrobatics and specific movements of her feet.
Survivalist Pack - Slung on her back, Cold Hands carries a leather traveling pack that contains the preserved supplies, tools, and various items necessary for traversing the wilds.
Traveler's Clothes - Beneath her robe Cold Hands wears loose wool breeches, a form-fitting shirt, a sturdy leather belt, and a light jacket. She favors soft boots that allow acrobatics and specific movements of her feet.
Survivalist Pack - Slung on her back, Cold Hands carries a leather traveling pack that contains the preserved supplies, tools, and various items necessary for traversing the wilds.
Spell skills
Ice Magic - Cold Hands is a skilled practitioner of elemental magic centered on the element of ice. She can imbue her fists with arcane energy, stunning, freezing, and dealing additional damage to anything she strikes. Having spent years practicing, she is also capable of hurling spikes of ice at her foes, creating walls of frost, cloaking herself in snow, shaping ice into layers of night impenetrable armor, and if given enough time, she can summon deadly blizzards. Perhaps, as a result of her mastery of ice magic, Cold Hands appears impervious to the effects of extreme cold, and wears only a minimal amount of clothing in even the worst of weather.
Other skills
Acrobatics - Although, not performers in the classical sense, members of the martial orders often entertain travelers with seemingly inhuman feats of physical dexterity and strength. Cold Hands is no exception and has often performed to supplement the usually meager funds accorded to her by her order. She is capable of jumping to great heights and distances and falling from heights that would be fatal to other humans.
Survival - Unlike most other religious acolytes that spend their days in the safety of the monastery, all members of the Order of the Frozen Heart are expected to be able to survive and even thrive in the frozen wasteland of the far North.
Experienced Traveler - Cold Hands has spent much of her adult life traveling across the realms of Telduria in the service of her order and is a capable traveler.
Healing - While she is no expert healer, like many religious acolytes Cold Hands has been instructed in the art of healing. She can set bones, treat wounds, and is knowledgeable regarding the creation and use of a number of herbs and poultice.
Survival - Unlike most other religious acolytes that spend their days in the safety of the monastery, all members of the Order of the Frozen Heart are expected to be able to survive and even thrive in the frozen wasteland of the far North.
Experienced Traveler - Cold Hands has spent much of her adult life traveling across the realms of Telduria in the service of her order and is a capable traveler.
Healing - While she is no expert healer, like many religious acolytes Cold Hands has been instructed in the art of healing. She can set bones, treat wounds, and is knowledgeable regarding the creation and use of a number of herbs and poultice.
Affiliation
Cold Hands is a member of the Order of the Frozen Heart, an offshoot of the Order of the Radiant Sun that still maintains cordial, if strained relations, with the original order.
Personality
Warm and pleasant in her demeanor, Cold Hands exudes an air of calm and serenity. Guided by her faith, she believes in helping those in need, no matter the cost to herself. She is brave, but not foolish, and maintains a supernatural control of her emotions. In truth, as part of her path towards enlightenment, Cold Hands has suppressed her emotions through complex ritual and arcane means. While she possesses memories and understanding of what it means to feel, the young nun is no longer able to experience any emotions. Unburdened by her emotions, Cold Hands is nonetheless still keenly aware of what is right and wrong.
Surprisingly worldly for a nun, Cold Hands is as comfortable drinking in a rowdy tavern as she is meditating in a quiet monastery. She is fond of people, stories, and great adventures that permit her to travel across Telduria.
Surprisingly worldly for a nun, Cold Hands is as comfortable drinking in a rowdy tavern as she is meditating in a quiet monastery. She is fond of people, stories, and great adventures that permit her to travel across Telduria.
History
Concept: Cold Hands is a member of the Order of the Frozen Heart, she is a pilgrim traveling the lands in recognition of her faith, and a master of unarmed combat.
Cold Hands had traveled with the party of guild adventurers for the better part of a month, and as the autumn sun faded, she found herself resting on a bench in a quiet tavern, her back resting comfortably against the cloth covered wall, a mug of ale clasped between her hands, and the imposing walls of Tarantis less than a fortnight away.
"What about you, Cold Hands, why not tell us a bit about yourself? You know as much as there is to know about the rest of us," The leader of the party, a minor hedge knight from Kron-Nesis suggested with a friendly and honest smile as he drained most of his tankard of ale.
"Happily," Cold Hands agreed. "Where would you like me to begin?"
"Why do they call you, Cold Hands?" the elf ranger of the party teased.
Cold Hands smiled and moved closer to the young elf. With a playful nod, she softly brushed the side of elf's face, admiring the beauty of the woman. "My hands have always been very cold."
The elf's mouth opened with shock, before settling into a familiar impish grin. "Your hands are absolutely freezing."
"Yes," Cold Hands smirked.
"Is that really your name though, Cold Hands? Surely you must have a proper name?" The hedge knight inquired mid-drink.
"Names are power. A friend, Aumak taught me that once," Cold Hands replied with a heavy pause. Memories she thought that she had long since banished returned to her. But she welcomed them nonetheless. She no longer felt the feelings that she had once felt, and the memories no longer hurt her. Out of habit, she forced a smile to cross her lips. "I just prefer to just be known as Cold Hands. It's as good of name as any."
"Of course, it's a fine name, a fine name for a capable warrior," the half-orc fighter from the Fang Lands intoned jovially, slapping Cold Hands good-naturedly on a shoulder. "You said once that you'd joined the monastery at a young age, right?"
"Mmm, yes. I have been a servant of the Radiant Sun for as long as I can remember. My parents gave me to the order before I could even walk, much less speak."
"They gave you away?" Her companions burst out almost in unison. The elven ranger managed to almost choke on the sweet wine she drank and the half-orc looked personally offended on her account.
Cold Hands laughed, it seemed proper, "You misunderstand. In the lands of the North it is a great honor to give your child to the faith. And it is a great kindness for the monastery to take in a child. There is a heavy price for raising anything, much less a child, in the land of ice."
"So, you grew up in a monastery, then?"
"Yes, I was raised by the brothers and sisters of the Order of the Frozen Heart. It was a wonderful life. Not an easy life of course, but a good one. A simple life, a life of learning and faith. I spent my days with the other neophytes, children mostly, first learning the simplest rituals of my order, then how to read and write, and finally studying the ancient texts housed in our monastery. From our elders, we learned how to meditate, how to center ourselves, how to find peace. To master yourself, is to master the world as the Abbotess always said."
Cold Hands leaned in closer to the table, lowering her voice as if whispering a secret,"Although, I must confess, I enjoyed our physical lessons the most. Training with the warrior acolytes of the order was always my favorite part of the day. They were strict, unforgiving teachers, but it made us all the better, it made us strong. They taught us the many ways of armed and unarmed combat, how to fight, how to protect, and how to survive."
"Wait, they taught you and the other acolytes to fight?"
"Of course, attaining enlightenment requires not the betterment of not just the soul and mind, but the body as well."
"But fighting?"
"My order has always maintained a robust view of the duties of an acolyte. All members of the order are expected to be able defend themselves and those in need. The frozen wastelands does not ignore weakness based on the depth of faith or innocence, the land is harsh and unforgiving," Cold Hands offered with a shrug. She took a slow sip from her tankard of ale, a faraway look on her face. "I remember in my twelfth year our teachers sent us out into the the wild for several weeks with only a small knife and a couple of days worth of supplies. They had taught us well though, and only a few of us perished."
An awkward silence followed, and the adventurers exchanged quick glances that Cold Hands magnanimously chose to ignore. She did not expect those who had not faced the endless cold of a winter night to understand.
"So, those movements that you do every morning and evening? The twirly stuff...They're fighting techniques?" The dwarven barbarian of the group finally interjected, doubt clear in his deep voice.
"In a way, they are, yes," Cold Hands replied with a fond smile. "They were among the first forms I learned."
"Ah well, you can fight, I will give you that, Miss, but I don't put much stock in your fancy dancing," the dwarf huffed. "How did ye come to be an adventurer then? You're the first woman of the cloth I've ever met outside of a temple, not that I've met many robed ladies, of course.
"My order is a bit different from most," Cold Hands answered knowingly. "Like all acolytes of my order, when I came of age, I ventured forth into the world. Seeking to learn, to teach, and to do good. And I have continued my journey ever since. It has been a most interesting experience—"
"That's not all though, is it?" the elven ranger interrupted with a wry smile and a tone of conspiracy. "I've heard you asking questions in every city, town, or even outpost we've stopped at. Always the same name."
Cold Hands nodded, she did not make a practice of denying the truth if it could be helped, dishonesty was an unbecoming of a true believer, "It is true, I have a personal reason to travel as well. I am looking for the great wizard Aumak. We grew up together and he is dear to my heart. Our paths diverged some years ago, and I would like to speak with him again."
"When did you last see him?"
"Five years ago, and then nothing, until I heard rumors that he had passed through the great gate of Tarantis less than a year ago."
"Aha, so thats why you joined our party?"
"Partly," Cold Hands answered truthfully. "But you seemed like the right sort of people, perhaps a bit rough around the edges...but good people nonetheless." Laughter followed, and Cold Hands drained the remainder of her ale with a broad smile.
"What about you, Cold Hands, why not tell us a bit about yourself? You know as much as there is to know about the rest of us," The leader of the party, a minor hedge knight from Kron-Nesis suggested with a friendly and honest smile as he drained most of his tankard of ale.
"Happily," Cold Hands agreed. "Where would you like me to begin?"
"Why do they call you, Cold Hands?" the elf ranger of the party teased.
Cold Hands smiled and moved closer to the young elf. With a playful nod, she softly brushed the side of elf's face, admiring the beauty of the woman. "My hands have always been very cold."
The elf's mouth opened with shock, before settling into a familiar impish grin. "Your hands are absolutely freezing."
"Yes," Cold Hands smirked.
"Is that really your name though, Cold Hands? Surely you must have a proper name?" The hedge knight inquired mid-drink.
"Names are power. A friend, Aumak taught me that once," Cold Hands replied with a heavy pause. Memories she thought that she had long since banished returned to her. But she welcomed them nonetheless. She no longer felt the feelings that she had once felt, and the memories no longer hurt her. Out of habit, she forced a smile to cross her lips. "I just prefer to just be known as Cold Hands. It's as good of name as any."
"Of course, it's a fine name, a fine name for a capable warrior," the half-orc fighter from the Fang Lands intoned jovially, slapping Cold Hands good-naturedly on a shoulder. "You said once that you'd joined the monastery at a young age, right?"
"Mmm, yes. I have been a servant of the Radiant Sun for as long as I can remember. My parents gave me to the order before I could even walk, much less speak."
"They gave you away?" Her companions burst out almost in unison. The elven ranger managed to almost choke on the sweet wine she drank and the half-orc looked personally offended on her account.
Cold Hands laughed, it seemed proper, "You misunderstand. In the lands of the North it is a great honor to give your child to the faith. And it is a great kindness for the monastery to take in a child. There is a heavy price for raising anything, much less a child, in the land of ice."
"So, you grew up in a monastery, then?"
"Yes, I was raised by the brothers and sisters of the Order of the Frozen Heart. It was a wonderful life. Not an easy life of course, but a good one. A simple life, a life of learning and faith. I spent my days with the other neophytes, children mostly, first learning the simplest rituals of my order, then how to read and write, and finally studying the ancient texts housed in our monastery. From our elders, we learned how to meditate, how to center ourselves, how to find peace. To master yourself, is to master the world as the Abbotess always said."
Cold Hands leaned in closer to the table, lowering her voice as if whispering a secret,"Although, I must confess, I enjoyed our physical lessons the most. Training with the warrior acolytes of the order was always my favorite part of the day. They were strict, unforgiving teachers, but it made us all the better, it made us strong. They taught us the many ways of armed and unarmed combat, how to fight, how to protect, and how to survive."
"Wait, they taught you and the other acolytes to fight?"
"Of course, attaining enlightenment requires not the betterment of not just the soul and mind, but the body as well."
"But fighting?"
"My order has always maintained a robust view of the duties of an acolyte. All members of the order are expected to be able defend themselves and those in need. The frozen wastelands does not ignore weakness based on the depth of faith or innocence, the land is harsh and unforgiving," Cold Hands offered with a shrug. She took a slow sip from her tankard of ale, a faraway look on her face. "I remember in my twelfth year our teachers sent us out into the the wild for several weeks with only a small knife and a couple of days worth of supplies. They had taught us well though, and only a few of us perished."
An awkward silence followed, and the adventurers exchanged quick glances that Cold Hands magnanimously chose to ignore. She did not expect those who had not faced the endless cold of a winter night to understand.
"So, those movements that you do every morning and evening? The twirly stuff...They're fighting techniques?" The dwarven barbarian of the group finally interjected, doubt clear in his deep voice.
"In a way, they are, yes," Cold Hands replied with a fond smile. "They were among the first forms I learned."
"Ah well, you can fight, I will give you that, Miss, but I don't put much stock in your fancy dancing," the dwarf huffed. "How did ye come to be an adventurer then? You're the first woman of the cloth I've ever met outside of a temple, not that I've met many robed ladies, of course.
"My order is a bit different from most," Cold Hands answered knowingly. "Like all acolytes of my order, when I came of age, I ventured forth into the world. Seeking to learn, to teach, and to do good. And I have continued my journey ever since. It has been a most interesting experience—"
"That's not all though, is it?" the elven ranger interrupted with a wry smile and a tone of conspiracy. "I've heard you asking questions in every city, town, or even outpost we've stopped at. Always the same name."
Cold Hands nodded, she did not make a practice of denying the truth if it could be helped, dishonesty was an unbecoming of a true believer, "It is true, I have a personal reason to travel as well. I am looking for the great wizard Aumak. We grew up together and he is dear to my heart. Our paths diverged some years ago, and I would like to speak with him again."
"When did you last see him?"
"Five years ago, and then nothing, until I heard rumors that he had passed through the great gate of Tarantis less than a year ago."
"Aha, so thats why you joined our party?"
"Partly," Cold Hands answered truthfully. "But you seemed like the right sort of people, perhaps a bit rough around the edges...but good people nonetheless." Laughter followed, and Cold Hands drained the remainder of her ale with a broad smile.
"What's that? The Order of the Frozen Heart. Aye, of course I know of them, boy," the one-eyed hunter replied. "Crazy bunch of fellows in robes. No, not wizards, they ain't wizards, they're more like priests. Stark raving mad, the whole lot of them. Why else would they build a castle on a cursed mountain? Building a castle on any mountain is bad enough. But a cursed mountain, well, that's just asking for trouble, isn't it?"
"So you've met them?" The youth asked.
"Have I met them? Course' I've met them. One of them. What was her name...Cold Hands something or other. She was a strange one. Didn't seem like she was all there. Her smile, you know, it seemed like it was just there for show. Good fighter though, she could throw a mean punch. Bloody terrifying if you ask me, a woman that size shouldn't be able to decapitate an orc with her fist, it's just not right..."
"Wait," the scholar pleaded, scribbling in the journal he had opened in his lap. "Where did you run into this woman? And how?"
"Where was, I? Ah, how I met her?"
"Yes, please, but slowly."
"Well, you see, I was hunting hunting this dire wolf that been preying on the livestock and even a couple of villagers in the town of Sarmo. Wasn't supposed to be any different from any of the other jobs I'd taken to hunt down some marauding beast. Still, that old wolf was a mean one, he was old, and he was damned smart. He took a good chunk out of my leg, he did."
The hunter paused, and subtly nodded towards his now empty horn of mead. "Ah, all this talking is making my throat a bit parched...Perhaps, another drink would help to loosen—"
"Another drink! Of course! But please, continue!"
"And well, that was the problem. See if it's not the cold that gets you in the northern lands, then it's the beasts, and if it's not the beasts then it's your fellow man that tries to gut you," the grizzled hunter said, shaking his head disgustedly, finishing his fresh horn of mead, and gesturing to the barkeep in a fell motion. "So there I was, dragging that godforsaken lump of wolf behind me, when who do I run into but the bloody Red Banner."
"I'm sorry, the Bloody Red Banner? I don't have any notes on them," the young scholar interrupted apologetically.
"Who? Oh, the Bloody Red Banner, nobody important, just some cut-throats and thieves, scum. Suppose they're all dead by now, least I haven't heard of them in a long time."
"I see."
"I expected it was the end of me. Now sure, I wasn't going down without a fight, what would my ancestors say if I didn't bring one or two bandits with me into the grave. But, well, I was outnumbered, and slowly bleeding out."
"A precarious position to be in," the scribbling scholar agreed.
"I'd only just managed to mutter a prayer to the Sun, the Radiant Sun, when this wisp of a girl appeared, she couldn't have been more than seventeen. She introduced herself as Sister Cold Hands, much to the amusement of the bandits, and then she did the damnedest thing. She asked the bandits to leave. She didn't even have a weapon, at least not as far as I could tell. The bandits were of course less than convinced, although they did laugh mightily at the idea of surrendering to some lunatic."
"Do people often travel without weapons in the northern lands?"
"No, why would they do that? A man without a sword is a dead man, there same as anywhere else."
"But this girl didn't have any weapons?"
"Aye, like I said, she was unarmed."
"Hmm, I see."
The scarred hunter grinned, "She didn't seem to shook up about it,though. I figured she'd turn out to be a mage or something. You know, the fireball hurling kind? Only mages are dumb enough to let a band of bandits charge them. But she wasn't a mage. At least not any sort of mage I've known. She just danced between their attacks, jumping around like some damned snow leopard, before she struck the first bandit. I knew from the sound his skull made when she hit it that he wasn't getting up again, not in this life at least."
"She killed him?"
"Damn near took his head off," the hunter guffawed. "Now trust me, boy, I've seen a fight or two in my day but I've never seen anything like that. That girl fought like a proper warrior, like she'd been trained, you know? But it was different, she didn't fight like some drunken tavern brawler, knight, or pit fighter...no, it was different...like some, I don't know, it was like some dance, except she kept on sending bandits crashing into the frozen ground with broken limbs and cracked skulls."
"How horrible. Please continue."
"Horrible? More like justice. She managed to pummel five of the bandits before the rest of them lost their never and scurried off to wherever it is the damned Bloody Red Banner decide to hide when they catch a beating." The aged hunter laughed, the scholar could tell that it was not the first time he had run afould of the Bloody Red Banner. "And then, she practically carried me back to the monastery at Atan, except she called it a fortress of course, damn girl, it was a castle, but in the far north, a bloody castle is about as impressive as a fortress. How they got all that stone up that mountain, I could never figure out."
"Verryn," the scholar carefully began, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. He could feel how much lighter his coin purse felt on his belt. "I don't mean to be rude, but what was the point of this story again?"
"The point? Well, the point is lad, keep your hands to yourself if you see one of them robed ladies up here or you are going to find yourself with some broken fingers."
"So you've met them?" The youth asked.
"Have I met them? Course' I've met them. One of them. What was her name...Cold Hands something or other. She was a strange one. Didn't seem like she was all there. Her smile, you know, it seemed like it was just there for show. Good fighter though, she could throw a mean punch. Bloody terrifying if you ask me, a woman that size shouldn't be able to decapitate an orc with her fist, it's just not right..."
"Wait," the scholar pleaded, scribbling in the journal he had opened in his lap. "Where did you run into this woman? And how?"
"Where was, I? Ah, how I met her?"
"Yes, please, but slowly."
"Well, you see, I was hunting hunting this dire wolf that been preying on the livestock and even a couple of villagers in the town of Sarmo. Wasn't supposed to be any different from any of the other jobs I'd taken to hunt down some marauding beast. Still, that old wolf was a mean one, he was old, and he was damned smart. He took a good chunk out of my leg, he did."
The hunter paused, and subtly nodded towards his now empty horn of mead. "Ah, all this talking is making my throat a bit parched...Perhaps, another drink would help to loosen—"
"Another drink! Of course! But please, continue!"
"And well, that was the problem. See if it's not the cold that gets you in the northern lands, then it's the beasts, and if it's not the beasts then it's your fellow man that tries to gut you," the grizzled hunter said, shaking his head disgustedly, finishing his fresh horn of mead, and gesturing to the barkeep in a fell motion. "So there I was, dragging that godforsaken lump of wolf behind me, when who do I run into but the bloody Red Banner."
"I'm sorry, the Bloody Red Banner? I don't have any notes on them," the young scholar interrupted apologetically.
"Who? Oh, the Bloody Red Banner, nobody important, just some cut-throats and thieves, scum. Suppose they're all dead by now, least I haven't heard of them in a long time."
"I see."
"I expected it was the end of me. Now sure, I wasn't going down without a fight, what would my ancestors say if I didn't bring one or two bandits with me into the grave. But, well, I was outnumbered, and slowly bleeding out."
"A precarious position to be in," the scribbling scholar agreed.
"I'd only just managed to mutter a prayer to the Sun, the Radiant Sun, when this wisp of a girl appeared, she couldn't have been more than seventeen. She introduced herself as Sister Cold Hands, much to the amusement of the bandits, and then she did the damnedest thing. She asked the bandits to leave. She didn't even have a weapon, at least not as far as I could tell. The bandits were of course less than convinced, although they did laugh mightily at the idea of surrendering to some lunatic."
"Do people often travel without weapons in the northern lands?"
"No, why would they do that? A man without a sword is a dead man, there same as anywhere else."
"But this girl didn't have any weapons?"
"Aye, like I said, she was unarmed."
"Hmm, I see."
The scarred hunter grinned, "She didn't seem to shook up about it,though. I figured she'd turn out to be a mage or something. You know, the fireball hurling kind? Only mages are dumb enough to let a band of bandits charge them. But she wasn't a mage. At least not any sort of mage I've known. She just danced between their attacks, jumping around like some damned snow leopard, before she struck the first bandit. I knew from the sound his skull made when she hit it that he wasn't getting up again, not in this life at least."
"She killed him?"
"Damn near took his head off," the hunter guffawed. "Now trust me, boy, I've seen a fight or two in my day but I've never seen anything like that. That girl fought like a proper warrior, like she'd been trained, you know? But it was different, she didn't fight like some drunken tavern brawler, knight, or pit fighter...no, it was different...like some, I don't know, it was like some dance, except she kept on sending bandits crashing into the frozen ground with broken limbs and cracked skulls."
"How horrible. Please continue."
"Horrible? More like justice. She managed to pummel five of the bandits before the rest of them lost their never and scurried off to wherever it is the damned Bloody Red Banner decide to hide when they catch a beating." The aged hunter laughed, the scholar could tell that it was not the first time he had run afould of the Bloody Red Banner. "And then, she practically carried me back to the monastery at Atan, except she called it a fortress of course, damn girl, it was a castle, but in the far north, a bloody castle is about as impressive as a fortress. How they got all that stone up that mountain, I could never figure out."
"Verryn," the scholar carefully began, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. He could feel how much lighter his coin purse felt on his belt. "I don't mean to be rude, but what was the point of this story again?"
"The point? Well, the point is lad, keep your hands to yourself if you see one of them robed ladies up here or you are going to find yourself with some broken fingers."
The Order of the Frozen HeartIn my travels across the realm of Telduria I have encountered many of the religious orders and the servants of the great faiths that traverse this fascinating world. However, few are to my mind as interesting as the small community of warrior monks and nuns of the Order of the Frozen Heart.
The Order of the Frozen Heart is an enigmatic order of warrior ascetics that reside in the furthermost reaches of the Unknown North. Throughout the realms, the Order of are renowned for the peerless warriors that are trained within the walls of the fortress-monastery of Atan. The so-called Frozen Hearts possess a fierce fighting ability and adeptness at surviving in the harshest of natural conditions.
Founded several centuries ago by Erech the Wise, the Order of the Frozen Heart grew out of dissatisfaction with the weak spiritual teachings and relative inaction that plagued the established religious orders. Although it was once seen as a heretical movement, the Order of the Frozen Heart is now viewed as merely a particularly militant and eccentric offshoot of the Order of the Radiant Sun. According to my sources in the Court of Stars, relations between the two orders is polite, but frosty.
The Order of the Frozen Heart stands out from the other religious orders in the heavy focus that is placed on developing not just the soul, but the mind, and the body through rigorous physical training. Religious acolytes of the Order of the Frozen Heart are expected to be able to survive and thrive in the world outside of the monastery. I have heard stories of young acolytes of the order being cast out into the inhospitable tundra of the Unknown North in order to test their capacity for survival. Further, unlike many other religious acolytes, members of the Order of the Frozen Heart are strongly discouraged from relying on the charity of others and they are forbidden from secluding themselves from the secular world for too long.
The central dogma of the Order of the Frozen Heart is that enlightenment is only possible through complete mastery of the self and suppression of all emotions.
The Fortress-Monastery of AtanThe heart of the Order of the Frozen Heart is the fortress-monastery of Atan that stands on a crag overlooking the Cold Sea, north of Urland and the Court of Stars. Famed for its massive stone walls and towering keeps, Atan also houses the great library of the order and a small community of devoted religious acolytes. Although some have stated that Atan was originally the citadel of Erech the Wise, the keep actually predated the sage by several centuries, having been founded long before the creation of the order by a tribe of nomadic warriors. Those I have spoken with suggest that to gain entry to the hallowed halls of the Order of the Frozen Heart a visitor must gift the order with something of immense personal value.
The Monks and Nuns of AtanThe religious acolytes of the Order of the Frozen Heart are ascetics that live highly disciplined lives. Unfailing kind and helpful, the Frozen Hearts spend most of their days studying religious manuscripts, meditating, or practicing the beautiful form of unarmed fighting for which the order is famous. The monks and nuns of the order are known to spend years at a time away from the monastery, traveling across the realms and serving the order as required. They are highly respected for their unwavering willpower, talents for elemental magic, and fearsome abilities in battle.
During my all too brief time with one of the religious acolytes of the order, a young woman who I knew only as Cold Hands, I was fascinated by the lack of emotion that she displayed. According to Cold Hands, she had sacrificed her emotions in order to follow the path to enlightenment. A practice I have since learned is not uncommon among senior members of the order.
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Finally got a good idea. I'll try to get up my application tomorrow :)
Girlie1Bomba Now with new and improved tongue!
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Heya!
Here is Mercie. I left out her starting location till I could figure out with whom she would be allied
~Titles:
~Age:
~Race:
~Training:
~Equipment:
~Spell skills:
~Other skills:
~Affiliation:
~Personality
~History
Here is Mercie. I left out her starting location till I could figure out with whom she would be allied
~Titles:
Wicked One of the Underhanded (alter-ego), Dark Star as acrobat/actor, Ghost Watcher as scout.
~Age:
97
~Race:
Mixed blood: Dark Elf, Night Dwarf and human.
~Training:
- Mentored by Eldest sister Pashae as Scout: weather reader, climber, stealth, survival, flora/fauna recognition.
- Mentored by Eldest brother Daestimane as Soul: hunter, tracker, trapper, pathfinder
- Trained by ShamanMother Miir as Spiritualist: rituals, Communing, reading/sign recognition, seeing/soothesaying, Shadows and Mists.
- Mentored by Circus performer Volante the Wicked Serpent as acrobat/actor
- Trained by former Gladiator Noeflitos as swordfighter/dirty tactics
- Mentored by former GuildMother Ashalra as assassin/toxin crafter.
- Trained by Underhanded teammates as 'Guild' member: streetwise/blackmarket/negotiate contracts/appraise goods/craft weapons.
As Wicked One
~Equipment:
- Linferre-Atuol - The StarBlazer Bow – a most prized and powerful item. Once mastered, the user will never again have the need to purchase another arrow ever again. The power of the stars and suns above have been harnessed and a missile of energy will fire forth from the bow. Mercie only will ever use the power in dire situations. For not only is it fatiguing after prolonged use, but she does need anymore reason for others to chase her down, kill her and steal her stuff.
- Shadow Waker Cloak – This is an assassin's dream. The device is actually the upper part with the drawstrings; the flowing cloth can be of any material. Once activated, Mercie may 'fade' in to darkness. The shadows are like commanded waters of the abyss to her. Mercie may ‘swim’ through complete dark in any direction. Also she makes no sound in low light situations. But if activated for too long, ‘things’ from the other side of that liquid abyss notice her and will try to claim her for their own and she will be forever trapped in the dark. She may take up to two others with her… if they dare.
- ‘Wicked One’ light-weight armour – this is her signature look when she dons the persona of Wicked One, the Archer. Once activated, this enchanted armour sprouts like a fast growing flower, covering her entire body, including face. It increases her bulk and height to seem much larger yet weight increases but minimally. Mercie is still allowed quite a lot of motion for the armour is made with light-weight flexible mithril plates that are still strong enough to deflect weapon blows without breaking. And the truth of it is, is that she wears it all the time. It is actually hidden in her bodice. She will only use it when she needs the persona; she wants to protect her alter-ego afterall.
- Four ‘throw-weighted’ daggers
- Durable, utility serrated edged knife used as a off hand weapon.
- Short sword with hidden poison spike in pommel.
- Multiple arrow heads for specialty uses. i.e. Armour piercer, shattering, hollowed for toxin delivery, whistling etc.
- Skull, bone, claw, feather, hair 'trinkets' and other ritual casting devices in her kit.
- Black leather travelling/fighting ensemble: includes jacket, battle skirt, boots and archer gloves.
- Regular clothes, cloak and travelling shoes
~Spell skills:
Communing with spirits of Shadows and Mists. Shadow travel: See Shadow Waker Cloak
~Other skills:
See training above
~Affiliation:
Assassin’s Guild
~Personality
Quiet, Calm yet Intense - Time has burdened her with hard choices and hard living. Gone are the days of blind ambition and pride to prove others wrong. But then again, gone are the big smiles, hearty laughs and random acts of hugging. The mix-blood now rarely says much unless necessary. So jaded is she that she rarely jump scares or gives up a surprised face. A dragon could be roaring in her face and the ground sinking around her and the woman would still keep razor sharp attention upon what she does. Mercie has nerves of steel, a heart of stone, yet eyes of fire. There is a slow burning intensity for such a small thing that even a look from her may sear your soul. But such a look is actually part and parcel of her now; she seems to bore holes in anything she stares at because she is taking in as much info as possible.
Cynical and Clinical- Being used and getting burned so many times has made her never take things at surface level. She always looks for the ‘how’ and ‘why’ answers to things and always questions authority. That is not to say she will not try anything once. She is adventurous enough. In fact, she takes all her various forms of training seriously and has strict training and ritual regiments and each time she does something, she does it by the book: crisp, clean and complete. This tends to lead her to want get things done right; she will do it herself. But when it comes to team play she knows she must relent for she has learned first hand about strength in numbers and benefits of a reliable teammate. Oh, and do note, however, that it is never out of the question for Mercie to get down and dirty. In fact, you best be served to expect to deal with some of her changeups.
Sharp Mind and Keen Senses – Unless she is trancing or executing a ritual, one will rarely find Mercie daydreaming or spacing out. Aloof as she may seem, it does not mean she is ignoring you; undoubtedly, she caught what you said and is just contemplating your words. Again she pays attention to details and her mind is constantly thinking. Mix that In with keen senses and a quiet disposition and you have a trouble sensor. Be prepared for her to suddenly or violently burst into action. Word to the wise then; in those moments when she is absolutely still and in utter silence? Watch those amber eyes. If they are open, it means she is still processing what she has picked up on. If they are closed, it means something is about to happen but lightning fast.
~Quirks
Cynical and Clinical- Being used and getting burned so many times has made her never take things at surface level. She always looks for the ‘how’ and ‘why’ answers to things and always questions authority. That is not to say she will not try anything once. She is adventurous enough. In fact, she takes all her various forms of training seriously and has strict training and ritual regiments and each time she does something, she does it by the book: crisp, clean and complete. This tends to lead her to want get things done right; she will do it herself. But when it comes to team play she knows she must relent for she has learned first hand about strength in numbers and benefits of a reliable teammate. Oh, and do note, however, that it is never out of the question for Mercie to get down and dirty. In fact, you best be served to expect to deal with some of her changeups.
Sharp Mind and Keen Senses – Unless she is trancing or executing a ritual, one will rarely find Mercie daydreaming or spacing out. Aloof as she may seem, it does not mean she is ignoring you; undoubtedly, she caught what you said and is just contemplating your words. Again she pays attention to details and her mind is constantly thinking. Mix that In with keen senses and a quiet disposition and you have a trouble sensor. Be prepared for her to suddenly or violently burst into action. Word to the wise then; in those moments when she is absolutely still and in utter silence? Watch those amber eyes. If they are open, it means she is still processing what she has picked up on. If they are closed, it means something is about to happen but lightning fast.
~Quirks
Mercie is quiet and calm with that oh-so-edgelord-me appeal about her, but she also cannot help but sneak in a practical joke or two. Most likely these go undetected since none will expect this from the mix-blood but it is not unknown for her to leave precariously balanced buckets of water above slightly ajar doors. Oh and the sharp tongue-in-cheek comments she lays upon those of authority in the Church? Those spout up everyso often. And do watch out for the faces she makes behind their backs.
Mostly a night owl, if she has to be up early in the day, expect her to be rather gruff and grumpy. Coffee or the like will definitely put you on her good side. Speaking of good side… she can get a bit offput and even insulted by outright rude or disrespectful folk. Expect that mean streak to come rushing out at the offender with blood red rage. And speaking of blood… she is a killer through and through. Do know that if she says she will kill you, this is no joke nor idle threat. She will go out of her way to kill you. If her weapon is out, she means for it to drink before she sheaths it.
Mostly a night owl, if she has to be up early in the day, expect her to be rather gruff and grumpy. Coffee or the like will definitely put you on her good side. Speaking of good side… she can get a bit offput and even insulted by outright rude or disrespectful folk. Expect that mean streak to come rushing out at the offender with blood red rage. And speaking of blood… she is a killer through and through. Do know that if she says she will kill you, this is no joke nor idle threat. She will go out of her way to kill you. If her weapon is out, she means for it to drink before she sheaths it.
~History
She never knew her true birthparents, but the spirits of Mists, to whom she often spoke, hinted to her that her parents were an unlikely pair of halflings. One parent was an offspring of a suberranean Dark Elf and a human slave, and the other, an offspring of a Night Dwarf and a human priestess.
The Spirits had also shown her the youthful faces of human scouts that had found her. They had also shown her as a little screaming bundle of joy amidst a pair of broken and bloodied corpses. They had also shown her receiving judgement before the Shir-Lalancanne elders. The foundling was deemed to be an innocent being worthy to be 'absolved of the evils done by her fore-fathers.'
And so in the Great Valley of the mountain range that bordered Estorna and Vesh, the Shir-Lalancanne Clan named the absolved spawn: Mercaidi Kin’Myla which literally translated as 'The Saved Devil-girl.' Much disdain and contempt was given to such a mixed breed mongrel monster, but as it was, any foundling taken to camp before the Elders must be raised as their own. And so they did raise her, and very, very well one might say. For although Mercie did not have the towering height nor the musclebound body of her brown-skinned Sisters and Brothers that raised her, she had the nimbleness and body awareness of her underground ancestry. She was a natural hider, expert climber and but oh, was she ever deadly accurate with the bow.
The mongrel girl took to Miir, the MotherShaman, as Miir would soon take to the mongrel girl. This foundling was growing at a much slower rate than what the Shir-Lalacanne Clan was used to but Mercie's expertise in ‘Communing,’ the act of whispering to spirits, was eerily surpassing any that had gone before her at her youthful stage of life. Perhaps it was already in her blood to be attuned to spirits but the spirits of the Shadows and Mists took to her rather easily. Too easily in fact.
~~~
Much alarm was raised by the Shamans of the Clan. And so soon enough the MotherShaman decreed that Mercie receive no more Communing training, for further training would only end up in doom for the clan. And thusly, Miir cut herself off from Mercaidi.
Just when she thought they had finally accepted her, this dagger was thrust into her heart. Oh, but too much pride and ambition the youthful Mercie held in heart; that dagger could not kill such things. And so willfully, the mixed-blooded girl furthered her Communing upon a dangerous path; alone. And what she learned was all much too much for any youth. And as the years passed, she finally succumbed to the power she attempted to wield. Being a raw and non-properly attuned Lone Spiritualist, one day held her trance too long, and she was taken on a shadowy trip to ‘the other side.’
When that fateful journey ended, she found herself awakening at the Cave of Ol' Lady Wise Bear, No’Rilee. Mercie had no recollection of what had transpired, but oh, the bodies...
There were 7 in total. And two of them were her beloved brother Daestimane and her beloved sister Pashae. The blood of her clansfolk showered her in misery and shame. And to make matters worse, they had blamed her for such foul murder. Mercaidi did the only thing she could do; she fled her heart and home, never to return again.
~~~
Far from her families home she ran, far away and into the territory of Estorna. For almost 2 decades she laid low, living off the land and earning a mystique as the 'Ghost Watcher'; she who watched out for the weary traveller and protected them from bandit and beast alike. And then came the day that would forever change her life.
The wolves pressed in on the lost traveller and Mercaidi fought them off and shot the wolves dead. The Ghost Watcher had saved the man’s life, but she was badly injured and would no longer be able to fend for herself alone out here. But the man she had saved was none other than famous acrobat and performer Volante the Wicked Serpent. This man would not leave his saviour out here to die alone.
To reciprocate her heroic act, the acrobat took her back to the Circus and they nursed her back to health. And soon enough she took to this travelling life and found she had a knack for doing athletic acting. Mercie graciously allowed Volante to take her under his wing. She blossomed as a performer and so he made her officially part of the travelling Circus of Mirth and Wonder's acrobatic troupe by annointing her The Dark Star. She truly was happy to have a family that wanted her and loved her for who she was and did not judge her because of her bloodline.
~~~
But then came the day Missus Falionis, ‘The Blind Seer’ told her that it was coming. Puzzled and bewildered, Mercie merely shrugged it off. But the sounds of the drums… The beat and pattern was unmistakeable. At first she thought it was her mind playing tricks on her but more and more occurrences of that hypnotic rhythm found her. Most of the time she heard the drums when alone. And loudest when it was dark.
She should have Communed, but alas, that life was behind her and as such, speaking with the spirits was out of the question to her. Big mistake. It finally came calling and found Mercie. It was none other than Ol’ Lady Wise Bear herself, Ro’Nilee. The gigantic ursine beast tore through her dreams like a razor through a sleeping babe’s neck. When all was said and done, Mercie was alone in Shadows and Mist, standing nose to nose with the immense murder machine.
“You will continue to flee and flee and flee, foundling. But the past will not rest. It will still call to you, even if you will not listen. Family after family, run then. A façade for another façade you will see. You came to my dwelling for enlightenment. You did not listen. You did not want to hear my words. I warned you of the trade; you knew the cost of the bargain. And here it is in full. You can no longer run from our pact.
You asked for power greater than the MotherShaman. Well, then here it is in Names: Plaisire, Draevyni and Ki’Drahs. Power greater than your MotherShaman. You will learn who murdered your siblings. You will avenge them. Then you will come home to avenge your betrayals. I will be waiting for you when you are ready, foundling… you will be ready too.”
The slash from the great claws of Ol’ Lady Wise Bear tore off half her face and exposed fully her left eye. Such horrible trauma to her face, oh, yet no onlooker would be any the wiser. It was a spiritual attack, not a physical one. Only in reflection could Mercie see what Ro'Nilee had done to her face; only the mirrors to her soul could see such ugliness.
~~~
Over the next few weeks she mulled it over and finally came to a decision. It was spring when she began packing her things. Once more she would flee. But before she left, Volante, her rival, mentor and friend caught her as she was about to leave her Circus family behind. Only several words she needed to utter; “It’s time to go. Not a single arms length from you and yet I already feel tired of running.” He hugged her then and kissed her forehead. He had already seen the signs; so many had he seen upon the path of the tormented runaway. Volante actually thought she would stay but alas, he was wrong... as he always was. He let her go, but not before dropping a couple of names. She left for good and wandered the years till she found her way to a secluded and complete recluse couple on a homestead in the Vesh borders.
They took her in and for a year she earned her keep as a farmhand. Again, she was loved and well received. That was until the day she mentioned the three names that No’Rilee the Ol’ Wise Bear had said to her. All things changed right then and there. Of course, they knew of the names. But if Mercie wanted to know what those names meant, then she must trust the old couple and follow their every word. Then and only then would she be given the keys to unlock said names.
The training she received was gruelling and pushed her to her limits. Several times, she nearly died by accident or was nearly killed outright. The old couple were not the jolly homesteaders they seemed to be. No, instead the wife was finally revealed as former GuildMother, Arahlsha and the husband was former Gladiator, Noeflitos.
One name would lead to the next they said. And so now they were training her to deal with the first name; Plaisire. As soon as they deemed her ready, she was introduced to a secret membership of assassins known as The Underhanded. These were the masked group that took jobs from those in ‘positions of high prestige and power, yet wanted to keep their hands clean of dirty work.' And so over the years, she earned her keep as an accomplished assassin. So very pleased with her progress, her surrogate parents and patrons bestowed her powerful gifts in recognition of her mastery. From mother Arahlsha, Mercie was bestowed the bow; Linferre Atuoll and the Shadow Waker Cloak of Arahlsha. From father Noeflitos, she received his re-fit warrior armour made of Dwarven mithril. The set was re-fashioned to fit her new persona: The Wicked One, Archer of the Underhanded. These were gifts worthy of 'taking care of their old friend,' Plaisire.
Again the years passed until she finally knew that it was time to move on. She was Communing again, but it did not take speaking with spirits of Shadows and Mists to know that she was on the right path. A single glance Mercie cast into the mirror and she saw the ghostly image of her mauled face staring back at her. It was healing.
It was time to go.
The Spirits had also shown her the youthful faces of human scouts that had found her. They had also shown her as a little screaming bundle of joy amidst a pair of broken and bloodied corpses. They had also shown her receiving judgement before the Shir-Lalancanne elders. The foundling was deemed to be an innocent being worthy to be 'absolved of the evils done by her fore-fathers.'
And so in the Great Valley of the mountain range that bordered Estorna and Vesh, the Shir-Lalancanne Clan named the absolved spawn: Mercaidi Kin’Myla which literally translated as 'The Saved Devil-girl.' Much disdain and contempt was given to such a mixed breed mongrel monster, but as it was, any foundling taken to camp before the Elders must be raised as their own. And so they did raise her, and very, very well one might say. For although Mercie did not have the towering height nor the musclebound body of her brown-skinned Sisters and Brothers that raised her, she had the nimbleness and body awareness of her underground ancestry. She was a natural hider, expert climber and but oh, was she ever deadly accurate with the bow.
The mongrel girl took to Miir, the MotherShaman, as Miir would soon take to the mongrel girl. This foundling was growing at a much slower rate than what the Shir-Lalacanne Clan was used to but Mercie's expertise in ‘Communing,’ the act of whispering to spirits, was eerily surpassing any that had gone before her at her youthful stage of life. Perhaps it was already in her blood to be attuned to spirits but the spirits of the Shadows and Mists took to her rather easily. Too easily in fact.
~~~
Much alarm was raised by the Shamans of the Clan. And so soon enough the MotherShaman decreed that Mercie receive no more Communing training, for further training would only end up in doom for the clan. And thusly, Miir cut herself off from Mercaidi.
Just when she thought they had finally accepted her, this dagger was thrust into her heart. Oh, but too much pride and ambition the youthful Mercie held in heart; that dagger could not kill such things. And so willfully, the mixed-blooded girl furthered her Communing upon a dangerous path; alone. And what she learned was all much too much for any youth. And as the years passed, she finally succumbed to the power she attempted to wield. Being a raw and non-properly attuned Lone Spiritualist, one day held her trance too long, and she was taken on a shadowy trip to ‘the other side.’
When that fateful journey ended, she found herself awakening at the Cave of Ol' Lady Wise Bear, No’Rilee. Mercie had no recollection of what had transpired, but oh, the bodies...
There were 7 in total. And two of them were her beloved brother Daestimane and her beloved sister Pashae. The blood of her clansfolk showered her in misery and shame. And to make matters worse, they had blamed her for such foul murder. Mercaidi did the only thing she could do; she fled her heart and home, never to return again.
~~~
Far from her families home she ran, far away and into the territory of Estorna. For almost 2 decades she laid low, living off the land and earning a mystique as the 'Ghost Watcher'; she who watched out for the weary traveller and protected them from bandit and beast alike. And then came the day that would forever change her life.
The wolves pressed in on the lost traveller and Mercaidi fought them off and shot the wolves dead. The Ghost Watcher had saved the man’s life, but she was badly injured and would no longer be able to fend for herself alone out here. But the man she had saved was none other than famous acrobat and performer Volante the Wicked Serpent. This man would not leave his saviour out here to die alone.
To reciprocate her heroic act, the acrobat took her back to the Circus and they nursed her back to health. And soon enough she took to this travelling life and found she had a knack for doing athletic acting. Mercie graciously allowed Volante to take her under his wing. She blossomed as a performer and so he made her officially part of the travelling Circus of Mirth and Wonder's acrobatic troupe by annointing her The Dark Star. She truly was happy to have a family that wanted her and loved her for who she was and did not judge her because of her bloodline.
~~~
But then came the day Missus Falionis, ‘The Blind Seer’ told her that it was coming. Puzzled and bewildered, Mercie merely shrugged it off. But the sounds of the drums… The beat and pattern was unmistakeable. At first she thought it was her mind playing tricks on her but more and more occurrences of that hypnotic rhythm found her. Most of the time she heard the drums when alone. And loudest when it was dark.
She should have Communed, but alas, that life was behind her and as such, speaking with the spirits was out of the question to her. Big mistake. It finally came calling and found Mercie. It was none other than Ol’ Lady Wise Bear herself, Ro’Nilee. The gigantic ursine beast tore through her dreams like a razor through a sleeping babe’s neck. When all was said and done, Mercie was alone in Shadows and Mist, standing nose to nose with the immense murder machine.
“You will continue to flee and flee and flee, foundling. But the past will not rest. It will still call to you, even if you will not listen. Family after family, run then. A façade for another façade you will see. You came to my dwelling for enlightenment. You did not listen. You did not want to hear my words. I warned you of the trade; you knew the cost of the bargain. And here it is in full. You can no longer run from our pact.
You asked for power greater than the MotherShaman. Well, then here it is in Names: Plaisire, Draevyni and Ki’Drahs. Power greater than your MotherShaman. You will learn who murdered your siblings. You will avenge them. Then you will come home to avenge your betrayals. I will be waiting for you when you are ready, foundling… you will be ready too.”
The slash from the great claws of Ol’ Lady Wise Bear tore off half her face and exposed fully her left eye. Such horrible trauma to her face, oh, yet no onlooker would be any the wiser. It was a spiritual attack, not a physical one. Only in reflection could Mercie see what Ro'Nilee had done to her face; only the mirrors to her soul could see such ugliness.
~~~
Over the next few weeks she mulled it over and finally came to a decision. It was spring when she began packing her things. Once more she would flee. But before she left, Volante, her rival, mentor and friend caught her as she was about to leave her Circus family behind. Only several words she needed to utter; “It’s time to go. Not a single arms length from you and yet I already feel tired of running.” He hugged her then and kissed her forehead. He had already seen the signs; so many had he seen upon the path of the tormented runaway. Volante actually thought she would stay but alas, he was wrong... as he always was. He let her go, but not before dropping a couple of names. She left for good and wandered the years till she found her way to a secluded and complete recluse couple on a homestead in the Vesh borders.
They took her in and for a year she earned her keep as a farmhand. Again, she was loved and well received. That was until the day she mentioned the three names that No’Rilee the Ol’ Wise Bear had said to her. All things changed right then and there. Of course, they knew of the names. But if Mercie wanted to know what those names meant, then she must trust the old couple and follow their every word. Then and only then would she be given the keys to unlock said names.
The training she received was gruelling and pushed her to her limits. Several times, she nearly died by accident or was nearly killed outright. The old couple were not the jolly homesteaders they seemed to be. No, instead the wife was finally revealed as former GuildMother, Arahlsha and the husband was former Gladiator, Noeflitos.
One name would lead to the next they said. And so now they were training her to deal with the first name; Plaisire. As soon as they deemed her ready, she was introduced to a secret membership of assassins known as The Underhanded. These were the masked group that took jobs from those in ‘positions of high prestige and power, yet wanted to keep their hands clean of dirty work.' And so over the years, she earned her keep as an accomplished assassin. So very pleased with her progress, her surrogate parents and patrons bestowed her powerful gifts in recognition of her mastery. From mother Arahlsha, Mercie was bestowed the bow; Linferre Atuoll and the Shadow Waker Cloak of Arahlsha. From father Noeflitos, she received his re-fit warrior armour made of Dwarven mithril. The set was re-fashioned to fit her new persona: The Wicked One, Archer of the Underhanded. These were gifts worthy of 'taking care of their old friend,' Plaisire.
Again the years passed until she finally knew that it was time to move on. She was Communing again, but it did not take speaking with spirits of Shadows and Mists to know that she was on the right path. A single glance Mercie cast into the mirror and she saw the ghostly image of her mauled face staring back at her. It was healing.
It was time to go.
GM
Zhaliora Fallen Angel
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
Lovely. ^^
I'll get the OP up tomorrow after work.
I'll get the OP up tomorrow after work.
1x Thank
Girlie1Bomba Now with new and improved tongue!
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
Lovely. ^^
I'll get the OP up tomorrow after work.
Does that mean Mercie Approved to go into the Chara thread?
1x Like
Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
Member
Seen
3 days ago
Here is profile number 3. Also sent in via PM. @Zhaliora.
Species:
Age:
Nationality:
Loyalty:
Profession:
Hecuba Amaranth
Living EidolonSpecies:
- Human (Elvish Heritage.)
Age:
- Early twenties.
Nationality:
- Ithell
Loyalty:
- High Astronomer Ormoneric
Profession:
- Laboratory Assistant & Busybody
Hecuba stands approximately 1.67 meters in height, with a lithe, nubile build and ivory skin coloration. She has straight, silvery shoulder-length hair. Her face is somewhat rounded, with hints of fair, elvish features. Her eye coloration is golden, and the tips of her ears are slightly pronounced.
As a common-born apprentice at the Grand Observatory of Ithell, Hecuba has little in the way of a documented upbringing and childhood - though, fortunately, the number of records and firsthand accounts that describe her time at the Observatory itself are numerous.
"Hecuba? Let me think for a secon- oh! That girl with the silver hair? Quite easy on the eyes. If ever there was a poster-child for the hereditary benefits of interracial comingling between Humans and Elves, she's it. Er. You know what, forget I said that.
I'll admit I don't know her too well. She's been at the university for around four years I think? And I'm struggling over here, but I am blanking on what her exact area of expertise is...
Oh, well, for example, Astronomer Sorcelin is an expert in the field of Aeronomy, Astronomer Tinelt is an expert in the field of Interstitial Aether Physics, Astronomer Wvvnul is an expert in Celestial Meteorology - that sort of thing.
But like I was saying, I don't recall what her specialization is. I've not seen here in many of the seminars here, but from what I've heard from some of my friends she does lots of field work. Field and mountain surveys, leyline tracing, dowsing expeditions, that sort of thing. I've also personally seen her running errands for some of the Astronomers and Lecturers...
Now that I think about it, is she even an apprentice here? I've never actually spoken to her and she's pretty distant most of the time. Might be because most of the men here drool over her, assuming she's not some frigid shrew. Maybe she's an errand girl employed by the Grand Observatory? We have a few of those, you just don't notice them. It's just she is particularly hard to miss. Like I said, very easy on the eyes."
"That slattern? Oh yes, I know of her. She's a disgrace to the institution, let me tell you. No, she's not an Errand Girl - she's an actual apprentice, but what she has in looks obvious came in trade for intellect. She dropped out of what few seminars she attended, and the rest she got through on her back or on her knees, the little whore.
Yes, I imagine you did. Her diminished faculties are why she takes on so many field placements. Lots of running around getting your hands dirty, very little in the way of actual academics - I don't mean to belittle field placements! They are immensely practical and useful, assuming you have the education and talent to make the most of them. Which she definitely does not. The most cerebral thing she's ever done in those placements is fill out survey logs and charts, and quite frankly it amazes me she is even literate.
Her shameful conduct has only been getting worse over time - she's been the 'personal assistant' of quite a few of the Astronomers here. It would not surprise me if she's been spreading her legs to pay her way. I suppose as professions go that's not unreasonable for unlearned women, but really, the Astronomers here should know better. Then again, maybe they found her particularly hard to resist. She is quite comely, thanks to her filthy mongrel heritage.
It gets worse - just a few weeks ago, I saw her ducking out of the High Astronomer's personal laboratory! Just to make sure I was not going insane, I went out of my way to pass by that way whenever I could thereafter. I've seen her heading in and out frequently since then, so I am forced to conclude she has become the chatelaine of one of the High Astronomer's personal assistants.
High Astronomer Ormoneric...? Never! Such harlotry is beneath his dignity, it's simply out of the question...Although I have seen her speaking with him recently. He was laughing at something she said...Ugh, I'm nauseous even thinking of it. The scandal if she got to him...but no, I'm sure that's not it. Absolutely certain. Gods, please, let enough be enough as far as her licentiousness goes."
"As a matter of policy I am not really supposed to be discussing any of my apprentices with unaffiliated- Ah. Is that so? Hm. Very well.
To be frank, Miss Amaranth is an atrocious student. She has attended very few of my seminars and did quite poorly in those that she did. She tended to become very confused. Having spoken with her personally, I have to say she is somewhat dim when it comes to mathematics, physics, chemistry, and many other subjects taught here. Under normal circumstances she likely would have been expelled for deficiency, but there is, thankfully for her, an extenuating fact. Specifically, Miss Amaranth seems to have a peculiar native talent, if you will. Just a few days ago, during a field placement out up top in the mountains, Miss Amaranth managed to sharpen a dowsing gem on elemental starlight using obscura scintilla while she was conversing with my personal assistant about Nocturnal Ornithology.
Pardon me. Let me explain: What she did, off-hand and while distracted, exceeds the technical ability and proficiency of very nearly every single Astronomer employed here, including myself, if they devoted their utter focus and attention to it. That may be a faint exaggeration, I could definitely have done it when I was younger before the demons got to the joints in my hands, but trust me when I say the sophistication of the task is such that it is not something she could have done simply by chance. Many of the Astronomers here have to scout out talent, carefully discriminate and hand-pick, and then personally train younger Adepts for years in order to eventually help them do that sort of thing. And Miss Amaranth made it look as easy as knitting. Not only that, she does so regularly in most of her field placements, if I am to understand the wild stories I have heard from my peers.
Ah, yes, that is rather apt, I am surprised it did not occur to me before. Certainly, idiot savant describes Miss Amaranth almost perfectly. Simpleton would be a little too far, Her logical comprehension is more than adequate and she is a composed conversationalist. I would reckon she simply has some sort of canalized maladaptive cognit- ah. I mean, she may simply not be cut out for the more rigorous aspects of our sciences.
Nonetheless, her ability is far too useful to do without, especially in these times. So it is no surprise she is presently one of the High Astronomer's personal assistants now. He had me personally tutor her for a time. Teaching her was quite elementary; I did not have to impart anything of true substance to her. I essentially just taught her basic trade vocabulary and brushed her up on abstract theory; the essential and basic hows and whys of our studies without having to delve into the complex field equations and scientific rigor normally required in our profession. The former was necessary so she could understand more complex instructions as well as describe experimental results, the latter would have been well beyond her ability to comprehend. She can tell you how to achieve a state of limenflux transcience and what such a state entails, but she cannot incorporate any of the requisite field equations or render the circuitous patternings for it. Which makes her worthless for tutoring other students, regretfully.
Oh no, she'll never be a Magister I'm afraid. Native talent only gets you so far; altogether too many warlocks and demon summoners learn that the hard way. If you don't know the underlying science behind magic, one's magical abilities tend to plateau below the level of expertise afforded to Archmages and their ilk. No amount of gut reflex can let you measure out fractal infinitesimals of Platonic Enanfarar and the like, after all. But she will make a fine laboratory assistant to the High Astronomer. We will not see her like again for decades, perhaps centuries.
...Sexual misconduct? My word. I had no idea- Well, I had suspected with some of the apprentices perhaps, she is quite charming, but amongst the Astronomers?!?
With Me?!?!
I never! I cannot - you disgust me. How dare you presume to levy such an accusation at me? This is not the end of this, you hear me? The High Astronomer will be hearing about this! And my good associate the Duke of West Sul! You will rue this day you cur!
"Hm, last name Amaranth you say? Funny, it should be somewhere near the front of the filing but I don't see it here. Amaranth, Ama, Ama, Ama...not here. Where in the world...Hrr. Here it is - for some reason it was stuck all the way in the back along with poor Zzzyxas. I'll just move it back where it should be when we're done.
How curious. Miss Hecuba here is not listed as being a sponsored apprenticeship, but there are no records of any payments made to the Observatory on her behalf...and her file is marked with a notice of special dispensation. Quite curious. Special dispensation is usually only used for apprentices from Noble houses or else for the exceptionally talented, but her marks are some of the worst I have ever seen - and there is certainly no Noble House of Amaranth I am aware of.
Let's see...joined the Observatory four years ago...no family or next of kin on record...no listed birthplace or country of origin...Presently one of the High Astronomer's personal laboratory assistants? Well that can't be right, with marks like these. Something is very clearly wrong. Thank you for bringing this to my attention; we have to look into this matter immediately. I'm afraid security here at the records department is not what it could be; it would have been trivial for somebody to have broken in and made alterations or forgeries back when this document was issued. This young woman could be a foreign agent for all we know.
"Oh, Hecka? No, I don't think it would be wise to introduce you to her like that. She's had a lot of bad experiences with boys and men chasing after her or else giving her trouble for some reason or another, she'd probably be put on guard.
Well, she's not a lot of help when it comes to writing up formulations or protocols, but she's easily the best out of all of Master Ormoneric's assistant's in terms of magical technique. She can practically spin straw into gold if you give her a decent taproot, doesn't even need a catalyst most of the time. Which is kind of a double-edged sword, she runs through our rocks real fast. I get that she's not great with math, but come on girl, it's not that hard to-
Actually, you know what, who am I to judge? And I shouldn't be talking about her behind her back like this. Hecka is great, loads of help, fun and sweet when you get to know her.
Well, actually, the High Astronomer seems to deliberately distance himself from her whenever they're both around. He's usually a lot more personal with his assistants - calls most of us by our first names! But he's a lot more formal when she's around. There have been some really nasty rumors going around the Observatory about her - unfairly and for no reason might I add - hopefully he'll warm up a bit more to her once she's been around long enough. In fact, maybe sooner rather than later. I hear she got picked to go on visitation with him to the royal court of Kron-Nesis, so she'll be getting her own catalyst totem sooner than most of us did."
"Y, yeah, I know Hecuba. Uh. Well, know is a strong word, I've...I've seen here around? A lot. She's nice-
No, I don't believe the rumors. She's awfully suspicious of boys really. Won't even give me the time of day... But uh, I admit I have noticed some oddities about her routine. For one thing, I know from taking a peek at the High Astronomer's duty roster that Hecuba is supposed to be all the way in Estorna right now, on an extended field expedition - but she's obviously still here. And it's not the first time that sort of thing has happened. One time, I uh...I may have gone to the docks to see her off...without her knowing I was there...and I actually saw her leave on a carrack, yeah?
Thing is, she was still here at the Observatory the next day. There would be days where I couldn't find her, but she'd be around every once and a while. People would not even act as if anything was wrong; I guess because nobody else knew that she wasn't supposed to be there? Then, just to make sure I wasn't losing my mind to obsession or anything, I was at the docks the day her ship returned and saw her get off of it.
I'm sort of amazed there are no rumors about that going around! I mean, who cares about what she does in her own time? She can practically be in two places at once! That's epic magic right out of legend! I mean, I suppose it's probably just some kind of trick? Or maybe she has a secret sister or something? Gosh, if there were two of her that would be interesting...I mean, uh...
Anyway, I tried to tell some of the other runners about it, and- ergh, it's infuriating, they tried to report her to the Bursar's Office as some kind of foreign agent! And they just ignored the part about her being in two places at once, or else maybe don't really get what I meant? Why does everything have to be so complicated with them?"
"Getting in was easy, but this place is weird. Practically labyrinthine, I swear it has to be larger on the inside than it is on the outside. Not to mention all the security. Lots of wards and runes in place - and all the doors and locks in here are dwarven make. Lots of weird mechanical instruments lying around. I almost set off some kind of tripwire alarm prying open a case in the High Astronomer's chambers.
I also made a bit of a miscalculation. There's some kind of interference of dampening effect inside, all my glamours and charms wore off while I was still inside, hours before they should have. That was a nasty surprise, let me tell you! Getting them all set up cost me a king's ransom, I'm just fortunate I was able to duck into a cupboard so I could reapply everything.
Even that wasn't much of a waste of time. I witnessed some strange arcane ritual. There was an array of mirrors, some kind of giant, fancy tunnel lantern chamber, and an elvish girl with silver hair was manacled inside of it. The High Astronomer pulled some kind of latch, and the whole lantern filled with light! I could have sworn she died, because she seemed to burst up from it into dust and ashes! But a second later the High Astronomer pulled her up from...somewhere. I was sort of disoriented from the light so I must have missed something. And there was a picture of the girl on one of the mirrors, like a painting! Only it was upside down for some reason. There was something else in the mirror as well, but I didn't have the best view from where I was and the mirrors got bundled up and carted out by other assistants.
She didn't seem like she had been a willing participant when she was tied up with the manacles inside the lantern, but she seemed weirdly calm when he pulled her out of thin air. Was talking to him like nothing had happened. Downright weird really. It's not the strangest thing I've ever seen, but it was up there. Thinking of doubling my usual fee.
I still haven't found that spear I was hired to pinch, and I feel like I have a cold coming on for some reason. I'll need a couple days to study the mapping I got done anyway, I can use that time to recover."
Talents
- Abstraction Scholar:
Hecuba has received a wide amount of education and tutoring pertaining to abstract magical theory and natural philosophy. She is well informed as to the nuances of most realms of magic and natural sciences and can identify most magical effects on-sight.
- Peerless Adjuvant:
Hecuba has an impressive native talent for highly intricate and sophisticated spellweaving. She can eschew most or all requisite catalysts, as well as somatic and verbal components for most spells, and requires nearly zero stamina and endurance to cast any given magical effect. This impressive degree of talent does not extend itself to the need for both knowledge and power - Hecuba still requires sufficient magical energy for every spell she casts, and it goes without saying that she still must comprehend the functional aspects of a spell in order to cast it.
Detriments
- Idiot Savant:
Hecuba has an abysmal grasp of the more arduous and practical aspects of mathematics, physics, and chemistry - which drastically limit her competence as a mage.
- There Shall Come A Reckoning:
She shall be broken upon Kalpa. What returns will be terrible beyond imagining. Let the tally be marked, grieve upon her loss, and despair at her return.
As an apprentice of the Grand Observatory of Ithell, Hecuba wields a broad swath of utility-oriented light-based magics. These are not, however, garden variety magical light abilities - she does not weave illusion and does not bedazzle the senses. Her magic is of a kind that calls upon the sky and stars, evokes the sun and moon, that charts paths and shapes destiny - amongst other things.
Hecuba may call upon primordial, cosmic magic to reveal, discern, and unravel the nature of the world. In battle she may assist allies and hinder enemies, while out of it her powers lend themselves handily to a wide variety of tasks and purposes.
Hecuba may call upon primordial, cosmic magic to reveal, discern, and unravel the nature of the world. In battle she may assist allies and hinder enemies, while out of it her powers lend themselves handily to a wide variety of tasks and purposes.
- Heartmetal Tine & Rod:
A curious brass-colored mage's wand, at least at first glance. It has a short handle that splits into two long cylindrical prongs. Hecuba has indicated it is properly called a 'Resonance Fork' and that it is made of a material called Heartmetal. It does not seem dissimilar from steel; it is reasonably sturdy and has decent flex to it. It produces a very pronounced, ringing tone when struck by an accompanying rod. You have seen it catch and turn daggers and blades before, but the scratches and marks in its surface seem to fade over time, as though the metal healed. Hecuba appears to use it both for self-defense as well as a dowsing rod - rigid materials exposed to the tine's ringing tone seem to rapidly become more and more brittle until even light impacts can sunder them.
- A Mysterious Carboy:
A double-wax-sealed, brass cylindrical container about as tall as your head. You cannot see within, but from its weight and the way it handles it likely contains some kind of viscous fluid.
- A Hand-Mirror:
A small, hand-held flip-case hand-mirror made of brass with the emblem of the Grand Observatory on the back. It does not seem enchanted, but as it is actually connected by a thin chain to a metal band along Hecuba's wrist you get the impression it is more important than it looks.
- Scrapbook:
A cheap booklet filled with scrap parchment. From the looks of it, it has gotten some use and there is evidence of several dozen pages having been ripped out. You have seen Hecuba writing out observational logs and records, but those pages always seem to be missing the next time she opens the book.
- Writing & Rite Materials:
An ink quill and pot, charcoal, chalk, even a small lump of wax, all neatly bundled together. There are also several top-wrapped bowls with various salts, and small cigar-like leather wraps with numerous powders therein. Alchemical and magical materials, most likely.
- Dusken Marbles:
These look exactly like children's marbles that have been painted black. They sting your skin faintly when you hold them, and are heavier than they look. Hecuba has been tight-lipped about what they are for, as opposed to her usual coy demeanor when withholding information. She keeps most of them separated in groups of three, in individual hand-sized brass trays rather than heaping all of them together. They seem to attract and adhere to each other if you let them with a fairly powerful force. Hecuba looked like somebody had walked over her grave when she saw six of them from two of the trays all bunched up together.
- Silver Dagger:
A silver dagger, not altogether too different than the sort an apprentice with the mage's guild might carry. Hecuba assures you that silver daggers are staple tools of magecraft, and so of course you have never seen her use it.
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Witcher Future so bright...
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
Are you still accepting? I was reading the nation's info and came up with an idea for a character.
I am also interested even though I'm GMing a similar setting already lol.
coGM
Delta44 Back In The Game. / Mostly.
Member
Seen
6 mos ago
GM
Zhaliora Fallen Angel
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
All righty, we are go.
Also, fyi, Bradles Worth is a small town on the north eastern part of Kron-Nesis. Actually located in Eamonvale, southeast of the capital. It also borders the Kingdom of Vesh.
It's not on the main trade rout, more like its closer to the sea.
However if you've got a character on the way into Kron-Nesis but not yet there, that would be a good place to start.
I won't deny other starting positions though, but do note that it might get a bit lonely unless you/a few of you have a plan. XD
Also added the discord server in the 0 post
Also, fyi, Bradles Worth is a small town on the north eastern part of Kron-Nesis. Actually located in Eamonvale, southeast of the capital. It also borders the Kingdom of Vesh.
It's not on the main trade rout, more like its closer to the sea.
However if you've got a character on the way into Kron-Nesis but not yet there, that would be a good place to start.
I won't deny other starting positions though, but do note that it might get a bit lonely unless you/a few of you have a plan. XD
Also added the discord server in the 0 post
Witcher Future so bright...
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
Here's my app. I will likely add more about the tribe and its customs, but I figured this was good enough to get an idea about the character himself. I hope this okay.
Name: Jatari
Titles: Chief Battlemancer, Emissary of the Hifugao people
Age: 32
Race: Human
Training:
Jatari developed into a seasoned Battlemancer through a fine-tuned gamut of masters, tribal initiations, and ongoing mental/physical/spiritual tests called The Mirror's Shade.
The headhunters are disciplined executioners, expanding one's knowledge with the world's many different forms of combat and warfare. The Battlemancer imbues those same headhunter concepts, then elevates it with the forbidden arts of the tribe.
The road to becoming a Battlemancer is not for the faint of heart. You entrust your soul to a Highlord Shaman of Necromancy by committing to death, several times over, possessing sacrificed bodies of the unjust as you endure a gauntlet of violence and suffering. Should your spirit remain intact after this grueling process, and the Shaman succeeds by reuniting your soul with its original vessel, you will resurface to the world as a Battlemancer. Reinvigorated by the shamanistic alchemy used to maintain his original vessel, combined with a soul fully attuned to the paranormal and arcane realms, Jatari can see and do many things. However, if he is not mindful of his limitations, his soul will drown in The Mirror's Shade for eternity.
Equipment:
Battlemancer Garbs: Unlike the metal plated warriors of the mainlands, Jatari is a warrior exposed with a few enchanted accessories on his person.
Spear and Sword: A deadly combination in the hands of a headhunter. Forged from the ores of the fallen meteor that decimated the ancient empire of the now Shattered Isles. While trained in all weapons of combat, these are the preferred tools, as they can cover many ranges of combat.
Satchel: A durable satchel made from Naga scales. Its contents range from remedial ingredients, trading goods, and courier notes, to extra clothes, and very basic travel gear.
Spell skills:
Zoolingualism & Mediumship:
Communication with all things is a power all Battlemancers covet. It adds dimension, insight, and advantage, like asking the deer which path is the safest trek, or chatting with a dead master of the sword for enlightenment. However, much like regular people, the dead and even the animals themselves can be fickle beings.
Blood & Water:
Manipulation of blood and water by directional flow or engineering constructs, must be drawn from a source. Even then, the magnitude of such spell casting is limited compared to the Mages of the Arcane Arts. Stopping circulation of an opponent's sword hand, or dehydrating the body to slow an enemy down, are some of the many parlor tricks at the Battlemancer's disposal.
Low Tier Necromancy:
The most powerful spell Jatari can cast is considered a lightweight chore for a seasoned Necromancer. Summoning the dead and maintaining its presence requires a lot of energy and concentration. Not to mention that certain conditions must be met for the spell to be successful (vessel must be dead long enough for its soul to have left, but not long enough that only bones remain).
Other skills:
Demonology, Speech Craft, Sailing, Swimming, Hunting, Fishing, and Smithing.
Affiliation: The Hifugao Tribe of The Shattered Isles
Personality:
Jatari is a lively and sociable person. He's got an inquisitive mind that's always thinking paradoxically about the world around him. He takes great pride in his clan, its culture, and traditions, but is often reprimanded by the tribe elders for his liberal ideas. Compared to most Headhunters, Jatari is open minded and welcomes change, wanting more for his people other than hired mercenaries of the sea.
History:
Jatari was born in the Sea of Chaos. That is what the orators will proclaim when singing his legend. The truth is perhaps far more interesting than that. His mother Langa was a fierce warrior, fiercer than most men, including his own father, Udrati, because men did not have children in their bellies like Langa when they fought in battle. In the midst of a raging storm, she boarded a pirate vessel with four other warriors and proceeded to do what their tribe is known for. By the time the last pirate's head was cut clean from its body, and set on a pike like the rest, Langa went into labor. That night, Haliya would lose to Bakunawa, for the violent waves of the ocean capsized the ship, throwing her overboard. The other warriors in her charge were likely dead, swept away by the sea storm.
The tribe waited until the storm passed before they began their search. It was said that the rescuers were guided by the cries of her newborn child, who squirmed in Langa's free arm for hours as she held onto a floating driftwood from the wreckage.
That is how Jatari was born.
Like many youth of his ilk, Jatari's training started when he took his first steps. The braves that did not cry in the face of harshness were selected as headhunters, while the weaker caste were made into other professions within the tribe. Jatari was not like the children of the former group. He was a very temperamental child, cowering at any sign of confrontation. Despite Jatari's family rank, the counsel, further advised by the Highlord Shaman, deemed him unworthy. His parents insisted that the elders refit him into their headhunter ranks, but tradition always won. That isn't to say there weren't exceptions to this rule.
Many years later, the young Hifugao boy was given a second chance to prove himself. Bandits from the Arcadian Sea raided the fishing vessel he was assigned to. The ten year old aided his Sailmaster, Iuyi, by reclaiming their ship while capturing the raiding schooner in the process. The gracious Iuyi spoke to the counsel as Jatari's witness, putting in a good word for the boy. After much deliberation, they offered Jatari one chance to enlist into the headhunter ranks. Eager to prove himself, the young boy accepted the challenge without hesitation. He was not the crying babe tucked under his warrior mother, nor the cowering weakling that his people assumed him to be. Years spent under ridicule had toughened Jatari both mentally and physically, but in no way was he prepared for the trauma that awaited him.
Jatari underwent a brutal initiation by trial of combat. The idea was to break him, let him submit on his own volition, but the prideful son of Langa and Udrati did not waver. It took a powerful healer to bring his brutally injured body back to good health, and as soon as he was fully recuperated, Jatari was forced to begin his real training as a headhunter. Always on the move, both mind and body, honing learned skills and understanding the history, diplomacy, and geography of Telduria. They learned many ways of living and dying, in all types of environments and situations. Though Jatari's initiation started late, his maturity and dedication allowed him to advance, closing the learning gap between fellow Headhunters after every pivotal trial. By the time he was twenty-one, Jatari had completed over fifteen mercenary campaigns.
The tribal counsel relished in his potential and took note of his interest with the outside world. Under the designation of the Highlord Shaman, they offered him a special Rite of Battlemancy, a rare and taboo ritual reserved for the select few. In the history of the Hifugao people, only twenty Battlemancers existed. Its trials made the headhunters' initiation look infantile by comparison. That is why there is usually only one per generation, and it just so happens that the current Battlemancer was nearing the end of his life.
Jatari accepted the invitation, wholeheartedly. The years spent traveling abroad had crystallized his Hifugao pride. Experiencing the world emboldened him, not to just become a vanguard for his people, but to make better changes for them and their future. Obtaining such a title would grant many opportunities to enact such a change. After five unspeakable years of grueling preparation, he resurfaced to this realm as a Hifugao Battlemancer.
The cowardly child predestined to live a fisherman's life now stood as a warrior herald of his people. As Battlemancer, Jatari was tasked to more high profile contracts, many of which involved Hifugao trade and diplomacy. According to the tribe, his main goal was to maintain healthy relations with the kingdoms of Telduria, but Jatari has other ambitions for his people...
Name: Jatari
Titles: Chief Battlemancer, Emissary of the Hifugao people
Age: 32
Race: Human
Training:
Jatari developed into a seasoned Battlemancer through a fine-tuned gamut of masters, tribal initiations, and ongoing mental/physical/spiritual tests called The Mirror's Shade.
The headhunters are disciplined executioners, expanding one's knowledge with the world's many different forms of combat and warfare. The Battlemancer imbues those same headhunter concepts, then elevates it with the forbidden arts of the tribe.
The road to becoming a Battlemancer is not for the faint of heart. You entrust your soul to a Highlord Shaman of Necromancy by committing to death, several times over, possessing sacrificed bodies of the unjust as you endure a gauntlet of violence and suffering. Should your spirit remain intact after this grueling process, and the Shaman succeeds by reuniting your soul with its original vessel, you will resurface to the world as a Battlemancer. Reinvigorated by the shamanistic alchemy used to maintain his original vessel, combined with a soul fully attuned to the paranormal and arcane realms, Jatari can see and do many things. However, if he is not mindful of his limitations, his soul will drown in The Mirror's Shade for eternity.
Equipment:
Battlemancer Garbs: Unlike the metal plated warriors of the mainlands, Jatari is a warrior exposed with a few enchanted accessories on his person.
- The headdress and shoulder guards are accentuated by long feathers of an Ibalan Eagle, allowing him to be swift and agile on most terrain.
- The bones of a fallen warrior Lich called Oskiil, are worn around his neck. Oskiil's head was shrunken, giving it the appearance of a small creature's skull, a sign of humility and mutual respect between Lich and Battlemancer. Oskiil is very much his spirit guide, advising Jatari in his dreams or in meditation.
- The belt around his waist shows the mask of a Headhunter deity, Haliya, a goddess that protects the moon from a sea demon called the Bakunawa. It is the insignia of the the headhunter tribe.
- Finally, his tattoos. While they symbolize family heritage, rank, and position within the tribe, they are reinforced with arcane ink. They serve as protective wards from the elements, light attacks, and minor spells.
Spear and Sword: A deadly combination in the hands of a headhunter. Forged from the ores of the fallen meteor that decimated the ancient empire of the now Shattered Isles. While trained in all weapons of combat, these are the preferred tools, as they can cover many ranges of combat.
Satchel: A durable satchel made from Naga scales. Its contents range from remedial ingredients, trading goods, and courier notes, to extra clothes, and very basic travel gear.
Spell skills:
Zoolingualism & Mediumship:
Communication with all things is a power all Battlemancers covet. It adds dimension, insight, and advantage, like asking the deer which path is the safest trek, or chatting with a dead master of the sword for enlightenment. However, much like regular people, the dead and even the animals themselves can be fickle beings.
Blood & Water:
Manipulation of blood and water by directional flow or engineering constructs, must be drawn from a source. Even then, the magnitude of such spell casting is limited compared to the Mages of the Arcane Arts. Stopping circulation of an opponent's sword hand, or dehydrating the body to slow an enemy down, are some of the many parlor tricks at the Battlemancer's disposal.
Low Tier Necromancy:
The most powerful spell Jatari can cast is considered a lightweight chore for a seasoned Necromancer. Summoning the dead and maintaining its presence requires a lot of energy and concentration. Not to mention that certain conditions must be met for the spell to be successful (vessel must be dead long enough for its soul to have left, but not long enough that only bones remain).
Other skills:
Demonology, Speech Craft, Sailing, Swimming, Hunting, Fishing, and Smithing.
Affiliation: The Hifugao Tribe of The Shattered Isles
Personality:
Jatari is a lively and sociable person. He's got an inquisitive mind that's always thinking paradoxically about the world around him. He takes great pride in his clan, its culture, and traditions, but is often reprimanded by the tribe elders for his liberal ideas. Compared to most Headhunters, Jatari is open minded and welcomes change, wanting more for his people other than hired mercenaries of the sea.
History:
Jatari was born in the Sea of Chaos. That is what the orators will proclaim when singing his legend. The truth is perhaps far more interesting than that. His mother Langa was a fierce warrior, fiercer than most men, including his own father, Udrati, because men did not have children in their bellies like Langa when they fought in battle. In the midst of a raging storm, she boarded a pirate vessel with four other warriors and proceeded to do what their tribe is known for. By the time the last pirate's head was cut clean from its body, and set on a pike like the rest, Langa went into labor. That night, Haliya would lose to Bakunawa, for the violent waves of the ocean capsized the ship, throwing her overboard. The other warriors in her charge were likely dead, swept away by the sea storm.
The tribe waited until the storm passed before they began their search. It was said that the rescuers were guided by the cries of her newborn child, who squirmed in Langa's free arm for hours as she held onto a floating driftwood from the wreckage.
That is how Jatari was born.
Like many youth of his ilk, Jatari's training started when he took his first steps. The braves that did not cry in the face of harshness were selected as headhunters, while the weaker caste were made into other professions within the tribe. Jatari was not like the children of the former group. He was a very temperamental child, cowering at any sign of confrontation. Despite Jatari's family rank, the counsel, further advised by the Highlord Shaman, deemed him unworthy. His parents insisted that the elders refit him into their headhunter ranks, but tradition always won. That isn't to say there weren't exceptions to this rule.
Many years later, the young Hifugao boy was given a second chance to prove himself. Bandits from the Arcadian Sea raided the fishing vessel he was assigned to. The ten year old aided his Sailmaster, Iuyi, by reclaiming their ship while capturing the raiding schooner in the process. The gracious Iuyi spoke to the counsel as Jatari's witness, putting in a good word for the boy. After much deliberation, they offered Jatari one chance to enlist into the headhunter ranks. Eager to prove himself, the young boy accepted the challenge without hesitation. He was not the crying babe tucked under his warrior mother, nor the cowering weakling that his people assumed him to be. Years spent under ridicule had toughened Jatari both mentally and physically, but in no way was he prepared for the trauma that awaited him.
Jatari underwent a brutal initiation by trial of combat. The idea was to break him, let him submit on his own volition, but the prideful son of Langa and Udrati did not waver. It took a powerful healer to bring his brutally injured body back to good health, and as soon as he was fully recuperated, Jatari was forced to begin his real training as a headhunter. Always on the move, both mind and body, honing learned skills and understanding the history, diplomacy, and geography of Telduria. They learned many ways of living and dying, in all types of environments and situations. Though Jatari's initiation started late, his maturity and dedication allowed him to advance, closing the learning gap between fellow Headhunters after every pivotal trial. By the time he was twenty-one, Jatari had completed over fifteen mercenary campaigns.
The tribal counsel relished in his potential and took note of his interest with the outside world. Under the designation of the Highlord Shaman, they offered him a special Rite of Battlemancy, a rare and taboo ritual reserved for the select few. In the history of the Hifugao people, only twenty Battlemancers existed. Its trials made the headhunters' initiation look infantile by comparison. That is why there is usually only one per generation, and it just so happens that the current Battlemancer was nearing the end of his life.
Jatari accepted the invitation, wholeheartedly. The years spent traveling abroad had crystallized his Hifugao pride. Experiencing the world emboldened him, not to just become a vanguard for his people, but to make better changes for them and their future. Obtaining such a title would grant many opportunities to enact such a change. After five unspeakable years of grueling preparation, he resurfaced to this realm as a Hifugao Battlemancer.
The cowardly child predestined to live a fisherman's life now stood as a warrior herald of his people. As Battlemancer, Jatari was tasked to more high profile contracts, many of which involved Hifugao trade and diplomacy. According to the tribe, his main goal was to maintain healthy relations with the kingdoms of Telduria, but Jatari has other ambitions for his people...
Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy
Member
Seen
3 days ago
@Hour Error and @Zhaliora, I have lobbed a ball into your respective courts in my post.
@OppositionJ, given Ishtar's proximity to the Court Mage, she may or may not wish to attend/investigate the business between him and Hecuba. Just a suggestion.
Everyone else is also welcome to interject if they believe they have good reason to do so!
@OppositionJ, given Ishtar's proximity to the Court Mage, she may or may not wish to attend/investigate the business between him and Hecuba. Just a suggestion.
Everyone else is also welcome to interject if they believe they have good reason to do so!
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