[center] [h1][b][u]Carn[/u][/b][/h1] [i]Twenty-three years after Antiquity…[/i] [/center] [hr] Carn was in a foul mood. For weeks after Aurielle’s departure, he lingered in the area, finding what work he could, as he waited for her to return. She never did. Then, the work dried up, and he had to move on. He had wanted to track her down, but he had no way of doing so. She had not told him where she was going. He had heard no stories which might lead him to her. For all intents and purposes, she had vanished. Which made him realize… maybe she had wanted to? If she truly intended to see him again, then she would have told him where she was going, or she wouldn’t have disappeared for so long…. Had the siege been harder on her than she let on? Had she simply grown tired of him? Or had something happened to her? He did not know. It filled him with a mixture of frustration, worry, and even longing. He wanted to see her again, if only to find out the truth. But he couldn’t. His only friend, and possibly something more - he didn’t know any more - was gone. [hr] He went back east. They had wanted to explore. To see new lands. But Carn could not wander without direction. By the time he arrived at Evenstar, he had already been beginning to grow tired of such a life. Aurielle had livened it up. Her laugh, her smile, her banter, her carefree attitude. Now all that was left was the mercenary company he had built. He was proud of them, of course, but he knew they only followed him out of profit or their own wanderlust, and would desert him or betray him the moment he ceased to serve their interests. He found work along the way, of course. Escorting caravans. Clearing out trolls. Skirmishing with hostile warbands. But without Aurielle’s magic, which had been such a major linchpin to his tactics, he took casualties. By the time he crossed the Neiyar River, he had gone from thirty men to twenty. They whispered that he had lost his touch, and many soon deserted - the two mages Aurielle had recruited being the first to leave. Only a dozen remained - those who had been with him the longest, and followed him more out of loyalty than anything else. He had been wrong. But that brought little comfort. With most of his company gone, he felt numb. He no longer had the ambition or the motivation to lead the Redspears. Nor did he believe he even had the ability. And so he appointed one of their number the new leader, and left the Redspears behind. [hr] Years passed, and Carn drifted. He had wanted to be something more than a wanderer. For a time, he had become that. But then he wanted something more. But before he could acquire it, Aurielle had left, and with her went his motivation. Then he had left the Redspears, and losing them only made him hate himself even more. Now here he was, a wanderer again, passing his days in drink, misery, and violence… back where he started, the self-loathing resumed. [hr] [center][i]Twenty-seven years after Antiquity.[/i][/center] Carn found himself visiting a place he had not been to in eleven years. Home. Thyma was not as he remembered it. It had been rebuilt. Its mines were too valuable to simply be allowed to remain a ruin. New huts had been built, as villagers from surrounding lands moved in, in pursuit of new opportunities. Strange faces in a familiar setting. But in truth, it wasn’t that familiar. The new Thyma was smaller than the original, and all wreckage from the old village had been cleared away. He approached the wooden gate, where a single guard waited. “Name?” the guard asked. “Edgar,” Carn lied. He was a wreck. His hair was long and unkempt, and he had allowed himself to grow a dishevelled beard. His face had a light coating of dirt, and the white hair made him look far older than he actually was. “What brings you here?” the guard asked, squinting at his unusual features. “Just wandering,” Carn said, “I need a place to stay.” “Hm. Well, go on in, then.” Carn took a step forward, but the guard suddenly raised a hand to stop him. “The Ketrefans are here,” he said in a low voice. “So mind yourself.” ... This was not his home. The people were different. The buildings were different. Ketrefan soldiers roamed about the place in small groups, looking upon him with suspicion. He looked around, vainly hoping to see some sort of familiar sight, but when none were to be found he felt a dull pang of grief. Then he saw the village temple, and stepped inside. It was a small, cramped thing, with a series of crude wooden idols set up to represent the various gods. He fell to his knees, kneeling in solitude. “The Gods…” he whispered. Aurielle had always said the gods didn’t care. Carn himself had felt inclined to agree, but he had always carried some level of hope that he was wrong. “Oraelia,” he spoke aloud, looking at the statue meant to represent the Sun Goddess. “I suppose you’re no friend of mine. Not after all I’ve done.” “Evandra,” he said, looking to the Goddess of Fire. “I’ve lost my passion. My drive. I suppose you’ve given up on me too.” “Tekret…” he whispered. “I’ve broken laws. Killed leaders. Usually out of necessity, but not always. Besides that, somehow I managed to see everything I was born with destroyed, and everything I built I abandoned. I’d be a fool if I expected you to answer me now.” “Neiya,” he said next. “I’m a failure in love as well. I don’t even know what love is. Where is Aurielle, could you tell me that?” he shook his head. “No, I don’t see why you should.” “And you,” his gaze finally settled on Cadien’s carving. “They said many things about my father. He was your champion, your herald, your avatar. In the end it didn’t do him any good, did it? You turned your back on him.” Tears had begun to form in his eyes, and he let out a resentful shudder. “On his children, too. Evette, Alys, Brundt. They’re all dead, aren’t they? Dead or worse. Then there’s me. Nothing left. Talking to a statue. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” He sighed, and cast his gaze to the ground. “No wonder none of you answer my prayers…” “You should know,” a voice spoke behind him. “The gods don’t just speak to their favoured. They also speak to their worst offenders.” “Is that supposed to be a comfort?” Carn asked, turning his head. Standing behind was a bald-headed man in old worn robes, with a series of tribal tattooes on his face. There was something familiar about him, but Carn couldn’t quite place it. “Yes,” the man nodded. “I’ve heard gods speak to me in anger, and there is nothing more terrifying. Catching a god’s eye is not always a good thing.” “You a priest?” Carn asked. “That I am. My name is Lothar. No need to introduce yourself, Carn, for I already know who you are.” “Do you?” Carn asked in a dry tone. “If you did, I doubt you’d welcome me here.” “You murdered the chieftain of Morganstead in a fit of anger,” Lothar said in a neutral tone. Carn’s hand immediately went for his sword, but the priest continued speaking. “You spent years as a thief and an outlaw. Wandering, begging, stealing, sometimes killing to survive. You became a wandering mercenary, offering your blade and your muscle for hire. You defended a kingdom from destruction, but left while it was still vulnerable. You abandoned those who trusted your leadership, because you yourself were abandoned by another.” The priest shook his head. “I do not judge you, Carn. I’ve done worse myself.” “How do you know all that?” Carn asked. “As I said, I’ve heard gods speak to me. I have committed offenses against both Evandra and Cadien. They did not strike me down, however; they only threatened to do so if the offenses continued. At the time, I felt it was mercy, and soon came to think it was far more mercy than I deserved.” He shook his head. “Years later, I realized it had been a punishment after all. I was burdened by regret. I craved atonement, but had no way of finding it. I settled down here as a priest, hoping to prevent people from making the same mistakes as I, but my hopes were in vain, for none of the people here are the sort who would do such terrible things in the first place. I could not share my sins with them, for they would drive me away in disgust.” “You didn’t answer my question, old man.” “Then, a few weeks ago, I received my chance of atonement,” Lothar went on. “While I knelt here, praying for forgiveness, a purple light filled the room, and Cadien spoke to me. He foretold your arrival, your destiny, and my place in it.” Carn sighed. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested. I’ve heard this before.” “You did,” Lothar nodded. “And you ignored it. That was your mistake. You wanted something more than a village, but as with all grand ambitions, one must start small. That village would have led to something far greater.” “And what makes you think I still care about something greater?” Carn sighed. “These days I can barely bring myself to care about my next meal.” “What of your brother, then?” Lothar asked. Carn leapt to his feet and rounded on the priest. “My brother?” he demanded. “Your brother still lives, Carn. He remains in Ketrefa.” Carn’s jaw dropped, and for a few moments his lips twitched, trying and failing to form words. At last, he found his voice. “Even if my brother still lives, he’ll be a slave. One among thousands. I’ll never find him, and even if I do, he might not recognize me.” “You will find him,” Lothar insisted. “Cadien has assured me of this.” “How am I to do that, then?” Carn demanded. “Walk up to Ketrefa’s walls and ask to see him?” “Yes,” Lothar nodded. “With an army at your back.” Carn frowned, and looked away. “For a moment, I thought you were serious. But it seems you’re just deluded.” “I am not,” there was a rasp of metal, and Carn turned to see the old man had pulled out a strange sword, of a shining silvery metal. The hilt was made of gold and wrapped in fine leather, with an amethyst set in the crossguard. Before he could react, the old man knelt, and presented the weapon to him. “Take up this blade,” the old man whispered. “Lead us. Unite the Highlands. Attack Ketrefa. Do this, and you will eventually be reunited with your family.” There was an almost pleading note in his voice. Carn stared at him for several long, tense moments. “No,” he whispered. His gaze darted to Cadien’s statue, and when he spoke there was a fury in his eye and a venom in his voice that took the old priest aback. “Stop speaking to me through prophecies and messengers,” he said defiantly. “If you want me as your champion, if you want me to carry out your will, then at least do the decency of speaking to me yourself. I’ll not lead hundreds to their deaths and kill thousands more simply on the word of an old man in a hut.” [color=violet][i]Very well,[/i][/color] a deep voice spoke within his mind. [color=violet][i]Lothar speaks the truth. Your destiny is to raise an army against Ketrefa, and attack the city. Do so, and you shall reunite with your brother. And your sisters, in time. Other greater awards await as well, if you have the taste for them.[/i][/color] Carn staggered, and suddenly found it hard to maintain his footing. A god… an actual god… had spoken to him. “I… where would I even begin?” he asked. [color=violet][i]Begin here,[/i][/color] the voice commanded. [color=violet][i]Ketrefa is already here. Take up the sword and drive them out.[/i][/color] The Firstborn of Mekellos hesitated. He glanced down at the blade, which the priest still held out to him. Then, slowly, his hand closed around the hilt. [hr] Outside in the village square, a woman screamed. The lord of the Ketrefan warband had taken notice of her, and he liked what he saw. He seized her by the wrist, and dragged her from the crowd. A child screamed and ran after her, but one of his men backhanded the boy to the ground. The woman screamed louder, and began thrashing and clawing at the officer’s face. He fended off her attempts with ease. Elsewhere, one of his men shouted in alarm. The lord’s head turned. Approaching was a strange silver-haired man, his armour battered and his cloak tattered. There was a fierce look of a defiance in his eye, and in his hand was a peculiar sword, its silvery blade glimmering in the sunlight. Behind him, the village priest followed, a staff in hand. “Throw down that weapon!” one of the soldiers ordered. Carn did not reply, and instead changed course, striding toward the one who spoke. The soldier’s eyes widened upon realizing he intended to fight, and drew a blade in response. Carn closed the distance, and the soldier swung for his head. Carn ducked, spun, and then suddenly there was a dagger in his offhand, which he ran across the soldier’s throat in one fluid motion. Carn carried on toward the commander, not once breaking stride, even as the body slumped to the ground behind him. More shouts of alarm rang out. Five guards approached now. Carn slid the small knife into his belt and gripped his blade with two hands, as he continued his advance. Then Lothar spoke an incantation, and suddenly the ground before the soldiers turned into mud. All five slipped, with three sprawling to the ground and only two managing to retain their footing. Carn was on them in a flash. He swung his blade at one soldier’s midsection, cutting halfway through his body with ease before pulling it free. The other soldier brought a spear up in a clumsy attempt to block, but Carn’s blade cut clean through the metal. The soldier only had half a second to process this before the sword stilled his heart next. With a smile, Carn turned his attention on the three who were still getting back up. The crowd screamed and parted, fleeing for the safety of their homes. The Ketrefans made no move to stop them, for they had now all set their sights on the sole goal of murdering Carn. Nearly two dozen men charged toward him in unison as he finished off the last of the second wave. Once again, Carn resumed his advance, crossing the mud by using the bodies he had slain as a human bridge. There was an expression of complete tranquility on his face, and his calm measured approach after casually slaying six of their number gave his foes pause. Some slowed their pace, and a few stopped entirely. Once more Lothar turned the ground to mud, and several more men stumbled, but at least half were able to safely maneuver around it. The priest began launching firebolts into their number, setting a few of them ablaze. Then Carn came to a stop, as they were finally upon him. He became a whirlwind, batting spears and swords aside with unnatural reflexes, severing them at the tips, shafts, and hilts; wherever he could strike them. His blade cleaved shields in two, and severed limbs with ease. Blood rained, but somehow none of it landed on him. One or two strikes found their mark, but they were glancing blows only. He came face to face with the enemy commander, who stared back at him with fearful eyes. Carn cleaved his blade in two, then brought his fist up into his foes face, breaking the highborn’s nose. Then new cries entered the symphony of violence, as the village militia joined the fight. They did not stand with the Ketrefans, however, and instead drove their spears into the backs of those who attempted to overwhelm Carn. Just like that, the will of Carn’s foes quickly evaporated. They scattered in all directions, though most wound up being cut down. Only a few made it out. The Ketrefan commander attempted to stand, only for Carn to kick him back to the ground. Carn pressed the sword against his neck. “Ignorant savage,” the highborn spat. “I’m the Lord Captain’s son! The commander of Ketrefa’s armies! If you kill me, he’ll come back with legions!” Carn smiled, a cruel and cold thing. “And if I spare you, [i]you’ll[/i] come back with legions instead, I presume?” The highborn’s face paled, and he began to stutter, beginning a desperate plea for his life. Carn pressed the point downward, piercing his throat. Blood bubbled and frothed from the noble’s lips. The chieftain of the village was a burly man only a few years older than Carn. “That was not wise,” he chastised Carn, who was already wiping off his blade. The chieftain’s own axe was bloodied as well. “Then why’d you help me?” Carn asked. “Because I wanted those bastards dead,” the chieftain growled. “That was my sister they tried to take. But that fop of a boy was right. They’ll be back with more.” The other warriors in the square nodded grimly. Carn spared one glance back at Lothar, and then looked to the rest of the crowd. “Then we’ll kill them too!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the courtyard and into the homes of the inhabitants. “And the next one after that! The other villagers will see our victories and flock to our banner, so Ketrefa will send even more men. But we’ll kill them again and again until they have nobody left to send. And when that’s done, we’ll advance right up to their walls, break down their gates, free our kin, and [i]take vengeance upon their King!”[/i] Most of the men nodded at his words, and there were a few cheers… but also a few helpless nods. Lothar spoke next. “You stand before a Champion of Cadien,” the priest declared. “He bears our Lord’s visage and His blade. He has given you a divine mission. Will you answer!?” “Aye!” one man shouted. “Aye” declared another. “Aye!” the rest soon followed; even those who had been reluctant. “My name is Carnelian,” Carn proclaimed, and rose his sword high. “I will lead you to freedom and glory!” “Freedom and glory!” one man shouted. “Freedom and glory!” another took up the cry. “FREEDOM AND GLORY!” [hr] [hider=Post Summary] Carn waits for Aurielle to comes back. She doesn’t. He thinks she’s gone for good so he falls into a depression. He heads back east, tries to find work, but winds up taking heavier losses than usual - partly because he can no longer rely on aurielle’s magic, and partly because his own instincts as a commander are failing him. Eventually he decides to leave the Red Spears behind and become a drifter. Three years later, he finds himself back in a rebuilt Thyma, which is in the process of being ransacked by Ketrefans. Carn pays this no mind and heads to the shrine. He prays to the gods, reflecting on what a failure he is, when a familiar-looking priest approaches him. The priest tells him of a prophecy: how he is destined to attack Ketrefa, and if he does so, he will be reunited with Brundt, who is still alive and in the city. He then tries to hand Carn a magic sword. Carn doesn’t believe this, so he turns to a statue of Cadien and demands that Cadien speak to him directly if he wants something done. Cadien does, and Carn realizes the priest is telling the truth. Carn and Lothar go outside and kill the Ketrefans (Lothar is a mage), including the son of Ketrefa’s current Lord-Captain. The village militia eventually decides to help him. He then gives a speech about how they’re going to overthrow Ketrefa, because it’s their divine mission. He changes his name to Carnelian, and takes up the battlecry “FREEDOM AND GLORY!” [/hider] [hider=Might Summary] [u]Cadien[/u] [b]Beginning MP:[/b] 5 [b]Beginning DP:[/b] Create the Sword of Carn: -1MP to give it the title Unbreaking I. This sword is nearly indestructible. +1 to Weapons portfolio. -1MP to give it the title Sharpness I. This sword may cut through nearly any mundane metal. Copper becomes like paper, bronze and iron like exceptionally thick cardboard, and steel might as well be wood. -1MP (discounted to 0 via glamour portfolio) to give it the title Regal General I. This blade gives the wielder a more regal appearance. They cut a dashing and imposing figure on the battlefield, and will remain mostly unstained by blood or grime. [b]Ending MP:[/b] 3 [b]Ending DP:[/b] 5 [/hider] [hider=Prestige Summary] [u]Carnelian[/u] [b]Beginning Prestige:[/b] 19 +5 for more than 10k characters. -10 to claim the title “Blademaster II.” Carn is a legendary swordsman, capable of taking on over a dozen foes at once. [b]Ending Prestige:[/b] 14 [/hider]