@MooiEen If the parentage stuff is correct, then Eryx and Lucille are siblings. Would she act any differently towards Eryx?
@Zeroth I don't really have an idea for the NPC he tries to save, but they don't need much story depth. I intended for him to try to save a random person from the beginning, so I'm fine with any random NPC.
This should be my final touch-up. I added some of his relationships to his backstory, swapped out the light spell for something a little more crafty, and changed his theme.
Age: 17 [27] | Height: 6' 0" | Voice: Tenor
Eryx had always been invisible.
Born into a sea of siblings, he was neither the heir nor the prodigy, nor the troublemaker worth scolding. Any ordinary child might have buckled under the loneliness, the isolation. But Eryx wasn’t ordinary. He twisted that neglect into a license to drift through life without consequence. If no one expected anything from him, then there was no need to try. No risk of failure. No pain of disappointment.
Home was a quiet place for him—not because it lacked noise, but because he chose not to be part of it. He spent his days watching. Watching the servants go about their duties. Watching his siblings train, argue, cry, be praised or punished. He never envied them. He never pitied them either. They were players on a stage he had no interest in joining. As long as he kept his silence and stayed out of sight, no one demanded anything of him. And that, to Eryx, was enough.
At the Collegem Yllustre, he was just as invisible. He made a few friends, some cousins whom he offered companionship, but he kept to himself otherwise. When others were harassed or picked on, he remained on the sidelines. To intervene would be to risk failure, something he had grown to avoid. He spoke freely with those few he trusted, but around everyone else, he kept silent.
He picked up the spear—not out of passion or strategy, but out of convenience. Too dangerous to wield a sword. Too precise to master a bow. A spear was simple. Especially the light ones, which didn’t strain his arms or demand real endurance. He studied magic when spear fighting required too much, hoping it would be easier. It wasn’t. If anything, higher-level casting required even more discipline than spearwork. So he circled back to the spear, the least demanding of all his choices.
He never graduated. He never awakened an Aura. He never distinguished himself in any way. War broke out, and he fought as a faceless footsoldier. He told himself he didn’t care. That he didn’t need status or praise. But on the front lines, something changed. People gravitated towards him.
Unlike the Collegem, the battlefield didn’t care about bloodlines or family politics. The soldiers beside him were raw and real—laughing over stolen rations one day, sobbing over their dead the next. Eryx found a camaraderie he’d never experienced before. It broke something in him. Softened him. And then it hardened him, again and again, every time another friend fell.
Each death left behind a mission, a final wish. And he accepted them all.
He told himself he would fulfill them. Not out of pride, but desperation. He had to prove that he mattered. That he could do something. That he could carve a legacy from his previous apathy.
But for every friend he buried, three more fell. He began to ask himself why he was surviving.He wasn’t the strongest. He wasn’t the smartest. He wasn’t brave. He survived by striking once, then vanishing.
He threw himself into battle, driven not by honor, but by guilt. Self-hatred was his only fuel. He fought harder. He trained belatedly, feverishly, and pointlessly. He was a man chasing redemption he didn't deserve.
He made more friends. He made more promises. And he watched them all die.
In the end, his final act was the only one that ever came from real effort.
He died trying to save someone.
And he failed.
The Shield Spell flickered and shattered. The spear was too slow. All his broken promises, all his wasted years, all his could-have-beens collapsed into that one moment.
Regret was the only emotion he could find as the world faded to black.
Until he woke up.
@Zeroth I don't really have an idea for the NPC he tries to save, but they don't need much story depth. I intended for him to try to save a random person from the beginning, so I'm fine with any random NPC.
This should be my final touch-up. I added some of his relationships to his backstory, swapped out the light spell for something a little more crafty, and changed his theme.
His build is slightly above average. He has blue eyes instead of gold and purple eyes. His outfit is different to fit the time period, but it's the same color palette.
"I'm done making promises."
Eryx Noctar Kaides
Age: 17 [27] | Height: 6' 0" | Voice: Tenor
First Life
Eryx had always been invisible.
Born into a sea of siblings, he was neither the heir nor the prodigy, nor the troublemaker worth scolding. Any ordinary child might have buckled under the loneliness, the isolation. But Eryx wasn’t ordinary. He twisted that neglect into a license to drift through life without consequence. If no one expected anything from him, then there was no need to try. No risk of failure. No pain of disappointment.
Home was a quiet place for him—not because it lacked noise, but because he chose not to be part of it. He spent his days watching. Watching the servants go about their duties. Watching his siblings train, argue, cry, be praised or punished. He never envied them. He never pitied them either. They were players on a stage he had no interest in joining. As long as he kept his silence and stayed out of sight, no one demanded anything of him. And that, to Eryx, was enough.
At the Collegem Yllustre, he was just as invisible. He made a few friends, some cousins whom he offered companionship, but he kept to himself otherwise. When others were harassed or picked on, he remained on the sidelines. To intervene would be to risk failure, something he had grown to avoid. He spoke freely with those few he trusted, but around everyone else, he kept silent.
He picked up the spear—not out of passion or strategy, but out of convenience. Too dangerous to wield a sword. Too precise to master a bow. A spear was simple. Especially the light ones, which didn’t strain his arms or demand real endurance. He studied magic when spear fighting required too much, hoping it would be easier. It wasn’t. If anything, higher-level casting required even more discipline than spearwork. So he circled back to the spear, the least demanding of all his choices.
He never graduated. He never awakened an Aura. He never distinguished himself in any way. War broke out, and he fought as a faceless footsoldier. He told himself he didn’t care. That he didn’t need status or praise. But on the front lines, something changed. People gravitated towards him.
Unlike the Collegem, the battlefield didn’t care about bloodlines or family politics. The soldiers beside him were raw and real—laughing over stolen rations one day, sobbing over their dead the next. Eryx found a camaraderie he’d never experienced before. It broke something in him. Softened him. And then it hardened him, again and again, every time another friend fell.
Each death left behind a mission, a final wish. And he accepted them all.
He told himself he would fulfill them. Not out of pride, but desperation. He had to prove that he mattered. That he could do something. That he could carve a legacy from his previous apathy.
But for every friend he buried, three more fell. He began to ask himself why he was surviving.He wasn’t the strongest. He wasn’t the smartest. He wasn’t brave. He survived by striking once, then vanishing.
He threw himself into battle, driven not by honor, but by guilt. Self-hatred was his only fuel. He fought harder. He trained belatedly, feverishly, and pointlessly. He was a man chasing redemption he didn't deserve.
He made more friends. He made more promises. And he watched them all die.
In the end, his final act was the only one that ever came from real effort.
He died trying to save someone.
And he failed.
The Shield Spell flickered and shattered. The spear was too slow. All his broken promises, all his wasted years, all his could-have-beens collapsed into that one moment.
Regret was the only emotion he could find as the world faded to black.
Until he woke up.
- Biggest failure: Allowing his comrades to die, when he could've saved them if he just trained harder.
- Biggest regret: Living his life by following the wishes of the dead, instead of following his own ideals.
- Biggest obstacle: His lack of motivation.
- Greatest achievement: Every battle where he survived was an achievement. Even if his comrades died, he was alive. And that was a triumph in its own right. He didn't view it that way though.
- Driving hope: Fulfilling the wishes of his dead comrades.
Equipment
- A light-weight, golden spear
- Simple leather armor
Abilities
- Physical Strength: 2nd Rate
- Aura: 2nd Rate
- Magic: 2nd Circle
- Shield Spell - Creates a visible barrier in front of the user, blocking a single attack.
- Minor Illusion - Allows the user to create any noise, or a still picture. The origin can be anywhere within thirty feet.
1x Like
