Frettzo
FetzenSo, I figured I would throw my hat into this ring. I tried to do a thing with my backstory. You'll either like it or hate it.
Gender: Female
Age: 30’s
Race: Human
Profession: Scholar
Detailed Appearance:
A woman with features vaguely reminiscent of the Taran southerners, with tan skin from a heritage by the deserts, and voluminous, coal-black, hair that nevertheless has been shortened to end as her neck does. Her face is well-defined and dominated by a sharp nose and strong cheekbones. Furthermore, the right side of her face has been permanently marked with an archaic tattoo, the meaning of which is lost to those who do not burrow themselves in books. It skids around the bottom of her eye, drawing attention to her vigilant brown iris. Likewise, a solid line has been permanently inked over the middle of her lips, running down under her chin.
She dresses primarily in traveler’s cloaks, thick articles to resist weather and sun, though the baggy sleeves of a considerably nicer undershirt can be observed. When she is not bogged down by cowls and cloaks, her clothes are strapped close to her body and fitted for mobility and breathability. She is by no means an imposing figure, barely a thumb taller than your average Baldock lady, but the robes belie the figure beneath all the same; certainly athletic for a purported scholar.
Bronze fittings embellish her arms and legs, clipping shut the baggy sleeves and pantaloons. She wears the shoes of a cobbler’s daughter; pragmatic, cheap, and without fanfare.
Detailed Backstory:
With a quiet rasp of flint, the paper sparks and catches a small flame. The woman lights the candle and blows the paper out, before stowing it back from whence it came. “So, you asked who I am? My story is a long and arduous one, my friend, but I can see in your eyes now that you are no man to back away from a tale to be heard.
Perhaps the honest truth is where we should begin? With a risk of boring you, friend, the simple truth is that I am no one special. My parents were simple people, living each day as the sun rose. For many years, we tended my father’s goats, my brother’s geese. That is the finest life, you see, to smile as it rains, laugh with your family, and wonder what lies beyond the horizon. Rarely will you see a man in the city full of glee for another day, a magistrate with time for his wife, or a scribe with wonder left in his eyes. But you need not ask the question, comrade, I know already what you wonder; why would I extol the virtues of a simple life far from this place, yet sit here before you?
Such is the fickleness of the simple life, it shall forever be unaware of what lurks beyond the dune, whether it be riches or war. With such a life, the ignorance of the simple man cannot be blamed when he becomes a victim of circumstance. Likewise can we no more blame the passion of the warrior, whose blood runs hot in his veins for glory, vengeance, or justice. Nor the commander, who sits in his tent, tired eyes focused on the pieces upon his map – a world where only the marked pawns matter. It must be a terrible life, to worry in that way. But the world does not care. Death, is death. Our blood looks the same as the goat’s blood, just as the geese. Under the sun, the simple man’s blood is no different from that of the soldier over the hill. Perhaps it is an easy mistake to make, with such in mind.
Do not give me that pity that now builds within you, my friend, decades have passed and the sun has seen much blood spilled since that fateful day. I am simply here because my mother hid me under all our linens as the men came down the hill. A random, panicked act, perhaps. Or perhaps the deal she made with the world, their lives for mine.
That is the second trouble of the simple life; it can be taken away, and like accidentally insulting the king to his face, the life you had can never be returned to. We are different from who we were yesterday. Indeed, you are different for simply listening to me now. You may deny it all you wish, but like all words, like all actions, this day will linger in the back of your mind. As that day did in mine, as I wandered the land. When you come from the simple life, you do what you can to cling to it. You know it is the best life that can be had. But as I said, life can not be returned to. I could no longer smile at the sun, reminded of a better time. I no longer had a family to laugh with. I could however, released from my bonds, find out what wonders lay beyond the horizon.
I see you looking at the insignia under my eye. Like my origins, it is not a riveting tale. At the sun’s first light at the end of the week, a restless soul found me defeated by heat and hunger. I had surrendered to the fickleness of nature even after my mother’s trade, such was my weakness. The traveler, perhaps understanding more of the world than I, denied me such a paltry surrender. Whisked me away to a land of musty tomes, star-maps and learned talk. I had no mind for it, I am after all from the simple life. To worry about the nature of water, the heat of fire or the span of a man’s life, these are not things that bring comfort. I had seen comfort, but it could never be returned.
So I worried about the nature of the stars. Pondered the significance of ancient texts. With my new family of worried scribes, I searched for the answers to all the wonders of the simple life. With each answer, as I knew, the life I longed for grew more and more distant. The simple life was unfulfilling. Tame. This is the curse of knowledge, my friend. To know is to worry. And I knew many things. I worried so much that this blemish on my face – yes, under my eye – was a necessity. Do not ask me why, even though I see you wish it. Knowing it will not help you.
Only the perils of the unnatural remained a true mystery. Like you, the curiosities of what I do not know catches my heart. That is our remnants from the simple life, the wonder from beyond the horizon. I came to this land, Baldock, for the prestigious school of the learned. The unnatural arts. You have heard of it? Good. Unfortunately, my disappointment was immeasurable.
Unlike my new family, there was no knowledge there. Only worrying. No debates, no true studies. Only the inevitable failure of arrogant men trying to stifle the curiosities of the simple life. But I had travelled too far. I had left a second family behind. Instead, I resolved I would learn the wonders of this new land. Perhaps find a third family to eventually leave for the answers on the far side of the hill. And that is what I have done, my friend. If you wished to know who I met along the way, it would be fair to say we would be here all the week. But there is a new mystery, for you, for me. That is why we are both here, is it not? I hope you understand a little better, now, that I am no one special.
What else can I hope to be, among the wonders of the world?”
Weapons: Arming knife
Armor: Quilted cloth
General Provisions: Enough talismans and trinkets to fill a year’s worth of stories. Rations for a few days.
Magical Items:
Magical Affinity: Javiyah has an innate understanding of the world and magic (or so it would seem) and appears to have a deep affinity for the unnatural arts, whether through symbology or innate ability is anyone’s guess.
Spells:
Wisdom of the Diamond Eye – After reproducing archaic symbols and chanting in a strange language, Javiyah’s tattoo glows and her eye appears to harden and gleam as though it were a diamond. Those unlucky enough to stare at her markings or eye find themselves rooted in place, unable to command their body. Staring for too long at the diamond eye invites maddening visions of a mirrored version of the world, where grass is crystallized and bleak, and the world’s features has been replaced by crystalline structures. Those foolish enough to maintain their gaze might find the landscape permanently changed. Likewise, using her eye in this manner strikes Javiyah with blindness both during and after the fact. Perhaps permanently, if she uses it with enough abandon.
Curse of Knowledge – Quite literally a curse, Javiyah chants a seemingly endless string of words that follow no modern conventions or reason, which by their very nature appear to catch the attention of listeners around her, no matter their race, creed or even species. The results are random, and dangerous. Those hearing enough of the words might be driven temporarily or permanently mad, enraged, fall into despair, or simply drop to the ground screaming. They partake in some fundamental truth of the universe, driven by Javiyah’s own need to know everything. Javiyah herself is entirely immobile during this experience and is by no means immune to outside influence. Furthermore, she is not immune to it’s effects, although it’s effect on her soul might not be so immediately apparent.
The Simple Life – Perhaps the easiest spell to stomach in Javiyah’s repertoire, this simple incantation requires that the woman physically touch her target while chanting her inane soliloquies. When struck in this manner, the unfortunate target of her attentions is gripped by a sudden stupor, forgetting what they were doing and dropping all previous matters to stare vacantly ahead of them. Interacting with them will jostle most people from this temporary curse, though the longer they are left alone, the harder it becomes to pull them from the day-dream. Whatever price Javiyah pays for using this strange spell, it is not readily apparent from watching her.
J A V I Y A H
Gender: Female
Age: 30’s
Race: Human
Profession: Scholar
DETAILS
Detailed Appearance:
A woman with features vaguely reminiscent of the Taran southerners, with tan skin from a heritage by the deserts, and voluminous, coal-black, hair that nevertheless has been shortened to end as her neck does. Her face is well-defined and dominated by a sharp nose and strong cheekbones. Furthermore, the right side of her face has been permanently marked with an archaic tattoo, the meaning of which is lost to those who do not burrow themselves in books. It skids around the bottom of her eye, drawing attention to her vigilant brown iris. Likewise, a solid line has been permanently inked over the middle of her lips, running down under her chin.
She dresses primarily in traveler’s cloaks, thick articles to resist weather and sun, though the baggy sleeves of a considerably nicer undershirt can be observed. When she is not bogged down by cowls and cloaks, her clothes are strapped close to her body and fitted for mobility and breathability. She is by no means an imposing figure, barely a thumb taller than your average Baldock lady, but the robes belie the figure beneath all the same; certainly athletic for a purported scholar.
Bronze fittings embellish her arms and legs, clipping shut the baggy sleeves and pantaloons. She wears the shoes of a cobbler’s daughter; pragmatic, cheap, and without fanfare.
Detailed Backstory:
With a quiet rasp of flint, the paper sparks and catches a small flame. The woman lights the candle and blows the paper out, before stowing it back from whence it came. “So, you asked who I am? My story is a long and arduous one, my friend, but I can see in your eyes now that you are no man to back away from a tale to be heard.
Perhaps the honest truth is where we should begin? With a risk of boring you, friend, the simple truth is that I am no one special. My parents were simple people, living each day as the sun rose. For many years, we tended my father’s goats, my brother’s geese. That is the finest life, you see, to smile as it rains, laugh with your family, and wonder what lies beyond the horizon. Rarely will you see a man in the city full of glee for another day, a magistrate with time for his wife, or a scribe with wonder left in his eyes. But you need not ask the question, comrade, I know already what you wonder; why would I extol the virtues of a simple life far from this place, yet sit here before you?
Such is the fickleness of the simple life, it shall forever be unaware of what lurks beyond the dune, whether it be riches or war. With such a life, the ignorance of the simple man cannot be blamed when he becomes a victim of circumstance. Likewise can we no more blame the passion of the warrior, whose blood runs hot in his veins for glory, vengeance, or justice. Nor the commander, who sits in his tent, tired eyes focused on the pieces upon his map – a world where only the marked pawns matter. It must be a terrible life, to worry in that way. But the world does not care. Death, is death. Our blood looks the same as the goat’s blood, just as the geese. Under the sun, the simple man’s blood is no different from that of the soldier over the hill. Perhaps it is an easy mistake to make, with such in mind.
Do not give me that pity that now builds within you, my friend, decades have passed and the sun has seen much blood spilled since that fateful day. I am simply here because my mother hid me under all our linens as the men came down the hill. A random, panicked act, perhaps. Or perhaps the deal she made with the world, their lives for mine.
That is the second trouble of the simple life; it can be taken away, and like accidentally insulting the king to his face, the life you had can never be returned to. We are different from who we were yesterday. Indeed, you are different for simply listening to me now. You may deny it all you wish, but like all words, like all actions, this day will linger in the back of your mind. As that day did in mine, as I wandered the land. When you come from the simple life, you do what you can to cling to it. You know it is the best life that can be had. But as I said, life can not be returned to. I could no longer smile at the sun, reminded of a better time. I no longer had a family to laugh with. I could however, released from my bonds, find out what wonders lay beyond the horizon.
I see you looking at the insignia under my eye. Like my origins, it is not a riveting tale. At the sun’s first light at the end of the week, a restless soul found me defeated by heat and hunger. I had surrendered to the fickleness of nature even after my mother’s trade, such was my weakness. The traveler, perhaps understanding more of the world than I, denied me such a paltry surrender. Whisked me away to a land of musty tomes, star-maps and learned talk. I had no mind for it, I am after all from the simple life. To worry about the nature of water, the heat of fire or the span of a man’s life, these are not things that bring comfort. I had seen comfort, but it could never be returned.
So I worried about the nature of the stars. Pondered the significance of ancient texts. With my new family of worried scribes, I searched for the answers to all the wonders of the simple life. With each answer, as I knew, the life I longed for grew more and more distant. The simple life was unfulfilling. Tame. This is the curse of knowledge, my friend. To know is to worry. And I knew many things. I worried so much that this blemish on my face – yes, under my eye – was a necessity. Do not ask me why, even though I see you wish it. Knowing it will not help you.
Only the perils of the unnatural remained a true mystery. Like you, the curiosities of what I do not know catches my heart. That is our remnants from the simple life, the wonder from beyond the horizon. I came to this land, Baldock, for the prestigious school of the learned. The unnatural arts. You have heard of it? Good. Unfortunately, my disappointment was immeasurable.
Unlike my new family, there was no knowledge there. Only worrying. No debates, no true studies. Only the inevitable failure of arrogant men trying to stifle the curiosities of the simple life. But I had travelled too far. I had left a second family behind. Instead, I resolved I would learn the wonders of this new land. Perhaps find a third family to eventually leave for the answers on the far side of the hill. And that is what I have done, my friend. If you wished to know who I met along the way, it would be fair to say we would be here all the week. But there is a new mystery, for you, for me. That is why we are both here, is it not? I hope you understand a little better, now, that I am no one special.
What else can I hope to be, among the wonders of the world?”
Equipment
Weapons: Arming knife
Armor: Quilted cloth
General Provisions: Enough talismans and trinkets to fill a year’s worth of stories. Rations for a few days.
Magical Items:
Magic
Magical Affinity: Javiyah has an innate understanding of the world and magic (or so it would seem) and appears to have a deep affinity for the unnatural arts, whether through symbology or innate ability is anyone’s guess.
Spells:
Wisdom of the Diamond Eye – After reproducing archaic symbols and chanting in a strange language, Javiyah’s tattoo glows and her eye appears to harden and gleam as though it were a diamond. Those unlucky enough to stare at her markings or eye find themselves rooted in place, unable to command their body. Staring for too long at the diamond eye invites maddening visions of a mirrored version of the world, where grass is crystallized and bleak, and the world’s features has been replaced by crystalline structures. Those foolish enough to maintain their gaze might find the landscape permanently changed. Likewise, using her eye in this manner strikes Javiyah with blindness both during and after the fact. Perhaps permanently, if she uses it with enough abandon.
Curse of Knowledge – Quite literally a curse, Javiyah chants a seemingly endless string of words that follow no modern conventions or reason, which by their very nature appear to catch the attention of listeners around her, no matter their race, creed or even species. The results are random, and dangerous. Those hearing enough of the words might be driven temporarily or permanently mad, enraged, fall into despair, or simply drop to the ground screaming. They partake in some fundamental truth of the universe, driven by Javiyah’s own need to know everything. Javiyah herself is entirely immobile during this experience and is by no means immune to outside influence. Furthermore, she is not immune to it’s effects, although it’s effect on her soul might not be so immediately apparent.
The Simple Life – Perhaps the easiest spell to stomach in Javiyah’s repertoire, this simple incantation requires that the woman physically touch her target while chanting her inane soliloquies. When struck in this manner, the unfortunate target of her attentions is gripped by a sudden stupor, forgetting what they were doing and dropping all previous matters to stare vacantly ahead of them. Interacting with them will jostle most people from this temporary curse, though the longer they are left alone, the harder it becomes to pull them from the day-dream. Whatever price Javiyah pays for using this strange spell, it is not readily apparent from watching her.