Cache of Revised Plots and Ideas
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Cache of Revised Plots and Ideas
OP
Name/Alias:
Andrea "Etch" Williams
Age:
Thirty-six
Gender:
Female
Occupation:
Loadmaster and Equipment Specialist
Origin:
Titan Colony of Saturn
Characteristics:
Three Strengths
Three Weaknesses
- Confidently proficient with most modern technologies; a savant of sorts.
- Intimate relationship with gunplay and warfare
- Minor cybernetic enhancement primarily for purposes of vitality resulting from a deathly close-encounter. Side-effects has improved cerebral processing and heightened conditioning of body tissue and motor functions by extension.
Three Weaknesses
- Ailed with chronic Nanitical Hemolysis; a disease common amongst recipients of the class-Algrade cybernetic implants and characterized by pallor, frequent and severe fatigue, heart failure, delirium, and prolific sanguination. Algrade cybernesis, pioneered by martian medical-technician Monte Algrade, is a technique of outfitting cybernetics with the employment of nanites as a techno-neurological adhesive. The use of this technology is still a largely young tradition; most widely employed in conjunction with prosthesis for minor replacements and rarely ever used in the capacity seen with Andrea as a life-sustaining technology. Medication for her condition does exist though not at large and due to the mandate of excessive dosaging proves to, in mostly all cases, be more expensive than death.
- Social recluse, unsympathetic, disloyal, self-driven, motivated only by finances.
- Reckless, haphazard, exploits her mortal condition as a means to avoid ordinance.
OP
Captain- Master of the Ship
First Mate, Executive Officer - Responsible for safety and security of the entire ship and crew, leads the first watchshift.
Second Mate, Operations Officer - Chief Officer of the Deck Department, responsible for general day-to-day operations of the ship as well as managing cargo. Leads the second watchshift.
Third Mate, Flight Officer - Chief Officer of the Flight Department, responsible for navigation, guidance, FTL jumps, piloting & course corrections, atmospheric entries and flight planning. Leads the third watchshift.
First Helmsman - Certified Flight Crew, Lead Pilot - Flight Department
Second Helmsman - Certified Flight Crew, Assistant Pilot - Flight Department
Navigator - Certified Flight Crew. Responsible for plotting jumps, astrography, spatial positioning. - Flight Department
First Engineer - Chief Officer of the Engineering Department. Responsible for structural & mechanical frames. EVA specialist.
Second Engineer - Responsible for Propulsion & FTL drives. - Engineering Department
Third Engineer - Responsible for Power Generation, Storage & Distribution - Engineering Department
Sensors Calibration & Flight Command Systems Technician - Does all the avionics work and manages the sensors. - Flight Department
Information Systems Technician - Manages all the computer systems. - Engineering Department
Communications Systems Technician - Runs the communications systems. - Engineering Department
Environmental Control & Life Support Systems Technician - Does waste, water, air, gravity, heating, ventilation & cooling systems. - Engineering Department
Data Collection & Management Technician - Controls all the data gathering systems and databases. - Engineering Department
Ship's Purser - Chief Officer of the Steward Department
Loadmaster - In charge of the cargo loading/unloading operations. Also keeps track of the ship's stores.
First Mate, Executive Officer - Responsible for safety and security of the entire ship and crew, leads the first watchshift.
Second Mate, Operations Officer - Chief Officer of the Deck Department, responsible for general day-to-day operations of the ship as well as managing cargo. Leads the second watchshift.
Third Mate, Flight Officer - Chief Officer of the Flight Department, responsible for navigation, guidance, FTL jumps, piloting & course corrections, atmospheric entries and flight planning. Leads the third watchshift.
First Helmsman - Certified Flight Crew, Lead Pilot - Flight Department
Second Helmsman - Certified Flight Crew, Assistant Pilot - Flight Department
Navigator - Certified Flight Crew. Responsible for plotting jumps, astrography, spatial positioning. - Flight Department
First Engineer - Chief Officer of the Engineering Department. Responsible for structural & mechanical frames. EVA specialist.
Second Engineer - Responsible for Propulsion & FTL drives. - Engineering Department
Third Engineer - Responsible for Power Generation, Storage & Distribution - Engineering Department
Sensors Calibration & Flight Command Systems Technician - Does all the avionics work and manages the sensors. - Flight Department
Information Systems Technician - Manages all the computer systems. - Engineering Department
Communications Systems Technician - Runs the communications systems. - Engineering Department
Environmental Control & Life Support Systems Technician - Does waste, water, air, gravity, heating, ventilation & cooling systems. - Engineering Department
Data Collection & Management Technician - Controls all the data gathering systems and databases. - Engineering Department
Ship's Purser - Chief Officer of the Steward Department
Loadmaster - In charge of the cargo loading/unloading operations. Also keeps track of the ship's stores.
OP
Name:
Aelana vos'nar Hagrovische
Age:
Twenty-seven.
Gender:
Female
Transformation:
cuol' Balfur
Origin of the cuol' Balfur: The incarnate of a wrathful spirit once thought to have been tempered by an ancient magic. Quelled, though only momentarily, by self-induced respite after being beckoned by a warlock who's vengeful aspirations consumed him though not before lying waste to an entire providence. The warlock's gnarled, decomposing flesh never was incinerated and as such the vessel this wraith took to not wholly deconstructed. Upon the lapse of many decades and the accompanying bloodshed of many creatures, both mythical and not, the wraith nourished by the passionate slaughter manifested itself into an undying beast with horrific fortitude. For centuries to come, it ravaged the lands and engorged itself in the wars initiated by humans; appearing in the trenches, shadows, and fallen foe at equally opportune moments. Relentless and indomitable it finally met its demise at the hands of a cadre of Fae and their whispered employments whereupon it was suppressed and its magics sequestered. Being that no one found themselves capable or willing to handle the primordial magic it was disbanded and confined in the strongest bloodlines throughout the land. cuol' Balfur, a name carried by the bitter arctic winds throughout Byrn, is the visage of the wraith among the Yagdravir tribesman.
The Elder Fae were especially keen on using the Yagdravir tribe of the north to embody the greatest brunt of the wraith's energy; the land's ecological hostility and harsh climate birthed a heartiness in the indigenity and honed their faculties of survival to formidable repute. The first lineages who harbored the demon lived in constant degradation of the wrath that surged from within; their spirits tormented and their convictions abolished. They had neither friend nor adversary; attacking only in berserk and only ever for the purpose of bloodshed; beasts who were ultimately confronted with the option of lifelong confinement or euthanization conducted by the eigal himself. After years of hunting and murdering their own, morally exhausted and embittered, the Yagdravir approached the last of the northern Fae and in exchange for their eternal safeguard were granted a means to suppress the wraith's power by way of the Fae imbuing themselves into bodies of the afflicted. The symbiosis of these two spirits, both that of the Fae and the mortal man, existed as the only means to subdue cuol' Balfur's untempered promptings.
The Elder Fae were especially keen on using the Yagdravir tribe of the north to embody the greatest brunt of the wraith's energy; the land's ecological hostility and harsh climate birthed a heartiness in the indigenity and honed their faculties of survival to formidable repute. The first lineages who harbored the demon lived in constant degradation of the wrath that surged from within; their spirits tormented and their convictions abolished. They had neither friend nor adversary; attacking only in berserk and only ever for the purpose of bloodshed; beasts who were ultimately confronted with the option of lifelong confinement or euthanization conducted by the eigal himself. After years of hunting and murdering their own, morally exhausted and embittered, the Yagdravir approached the last of the northern Fae and in exchange for their eternal safeguard were granted a means to suppress the wraith's power by way of the Fae imbuing themselves into bodies of the afflicted. The symbiosis of these two spirits, both that of the Fae and the mortal man, existed as the only means to subdue cuol' Balfur's untempered promptings.
[b][u]Personality:[/b][/u]
Years of behavioral rectification and affected social assimilation have created a woman who, with her most practiced manageability, constantly finds herself at odds with those she comes across. While perfectly capable of competence; it's a challenge for her to grasp the niceties of being socially conscious and considerate and more times than not people mistake her general indifference as pretension or condescension. Aelana conducts herself in constant recognition of the wrath that emanates from within and in spite of this has grown complacent and tempered in her ways. Often times she resigns herself to the role of an observant, never getting ahead of herself and only offering her word when it is resourceful or needed. Her play in politics is as unyielding as she a tactician; with her true martial application being on the battlefield where the wrath from within is sanctioned to come forth. In the heat of battle, where the wake of death and bloodshed drowns all and the paranoia of warfare grips men at their throats, she finds herself bolstered and her purpose assured.
[b][u]Characteristics:[/b][/u]
Three Strengths
Three Weaknesses
- Years of experience have bred an invaluable fighter proficient in open-warfare and espionage.[/*]
- Capable of incredible feats of strength entirely incongruent with her stature and incomparable to any man she's ever met.[/*]
- While scholars would shun her for sheer lack of academic training, strategists would exploit her cleverness and pragmatism eagerly. She may not be able to cite the geometric relation of the stars but she can prosper greatly from limited resources and has a heightened understanding of mortal motivations and capabilities.[/*]
Three Weaknesses
- The same magics that govern and permit the symbiosis within Aleana also work to prohibit her from a complete transformation. Though to some extent the barriers in place are permeable and from them the powers of Balfur do resonate resulting in a small permission of his manifested influence. Under instances of duress and exhaustion, she will assume certain physical traits that are not at all her own: eyes completely devoid of colour, claws and fangs, and an increase in the girth of her muscles but retain her overall human form. [/*]
- Social recluse, unsympathetic, disloyal, self-driven, guided largely by the promise of coin.[/*]
- Exploits her mortal condition as a means to avoid ordinance.[/*]
[b][u]History:[/b][/u]
At birth it was already suspected that Aelana was to be the Harboress. The current one, prior to her conception, had lived long past the expectancy for their kind and relinquished her life for fear of meeting the same fate as those before her. The only way to be certain whom the next afflicted would be, was the occurrence of maternal mortality: it was believed that the soul of two was consumed in the forging of one and always resulted in the mother of the child losing her life. Plagued with a sudden and dire onset of malaise, her mother became exceedingly fearful that she was fated to birth a child who would only know pain and abhorrence. For fear of her daughter living a life of persecution and paranoia, Aelana's mother and kin fled from their village with hopes that she would find more promise for her and her offspring.
Idealistically, Aelana's mother would've managed to carve out a nondescript existence in some remote pocket of the land where the inhabitants were too removed from her own culture to understand the danger her daughter presented. But never fortunate are the optimists of the world; Aelana was either fortunate or burdened to discover this truth early on in her life. Moments into her birth, Aelana's mother found herself overcame by an all-consuming bout of exhaustion; her eyes closed and she slipped into the lifeless void almost pleading that the gods favored her enough to take her child with her. From her corpse, Gvad --Aelana's eldest brother-- carved the babe out of his mother's womb, and within the guts of the Great Forests of the North the bloodied and morally distraught children managed to elude their pursuers.
For some time thereafter, Gvad and his kin managed to endure by employing his very rudimentary understanding of survival and even at that they barely managed to sustain themselves. Rather fortuitously -- circumstances and conditions considered -- they were ambushed by a cadre of mage-slayers bearing the golden crests of the Whitewood Stronghold who had mistaken them initially as hybrids they were tracking. The Templars of Whitewood, while infamous for a number of things, weren't particularly known for their unprovoked generosity; however Ghandall, their leader, did sense something ineffably moving in Aelana and because of it convinced himself of a need to apprehend her.
Thereupon the children were forcibly relocated to the the city of Whitewood; a forbidding construction of stately steel and stone sustained by the blood and ingenuity of its denizens and their primogenitors. Gvad, a young man by every standard save for his own and his standing more or less usurped by the state, was enlisted into the Wards of Whitewood guided by the promise that he and his sister would be Ghandall's sponsored. Ghandall was an illustriously draconian individual, though not unjustly so. He had quelled more tides of war than any man could claim and with the political backing of the king himself had engineered a state of soldiers that could combat the magical creatures of the land by employing their own magics against them. His fondness of Aelana was infinitely perplexing to his peers and a sentiment that Gvad found incredibly vexing; though he saw purpose in the girl and passionately sought to validify his faith in her by stirring the forces that lie in dormancy within her.
Aelana's upbringing was distinguished by rigorous martial applications and measures of training that flirted dangerously close to iniquity. As a girl she worked tiredly as a servant-hand in the militia's barracks; Ghandall's intention clear and simple: premature exposure to the lifestyle she would soon undertake. At the age of twelve she was enlisted into an institution of war and dedicated herself to the academia of war-waging, magic nullification, and battlefield stratagems. She had a natural propensity for the art of war but no considerable knack for applying magic in combat and while few questioned Ghandall's regard for her, the prowess she displayed and manner of fierceness she conducted herself in was irrefutably domineering. At the age of twenty-three she became the second-youngest Whitewood Templar, preceded only by Ghandall himself, and had established a remarkable reputation amongst her peers and those of noble stations.
OP
Corgula Bexley
Approx. 3 days from Afron's Capital
Aelana spent three days in soaked misery; perhaps not the worst of times, but certainly not the best. By the end of the second day, her horse was looking at her as if to say, "You daft bastard." She was a particularly keen horse.
Bexley didn't seem like much of a sanctuary, either, not to hear the tales of it; if she had her druthers, she would have rather tented down in the muck and bore the weather rather than sleep among the rogues and opportunists that wanted to knife you in the back -- they might not mean much in a standup fight, but only a fool slept among a hostile countryside; a smart individual got his arse in a castle or encamped only with alert guards. Though with the current attrition of magical creatures and the paranoia it propagated in everything with some exclusive claim to humanity, there really wasn't much asylum throughout the land. The fact that Aelana chose to travel without companion spoke of either morbid stupidity or arrogance.
As to which it was exactly was anyone’s guess. It was better this way. She was infinitely more effective when commanded to conduct on her own; she felt considerably more in tune with the nature of herself and that of the land when free of the burden of having to command a detail of men and cater to their mortal misguiding.
The White Tankard was not her sort of place, nor were the other inns scattered throughout the city; too many people, the stench itself was overwhelmingly stifling. It also didn’t help that Bexley had a particularly uncompromising intolerance of outsiders, be them human or otherwise, and the black cloak adorned on her head, worn to mask the obvious indications of her heritage was anything but nondescript. Usually such concealment wouldn't be necessary but she was without the boarders of her city and without the safeguard her station provided. She would need to find some manner of lodging but every inn possessed a certain level of obvious peril for her and she certainly wasn't going to finance a room to be murdered in whilst she slept. After hours of nonchalantly eliminating every establishment of respite, she deduced that comfort and security couldn't be granted inclusively and focused on securing the latter. Instead, she rode somewhat toward the outskirts of town until finding exactly what she was looking for: the town's agriculture district.
The farmer was wary at the approach of a stranger and Aelana figured she had the right sort of place; the price of a stay at the inn was what he offered in return for bedding for the night...in the barn, with the animals. More was offered for the farmer to occasionally wake from bed and watch the surrounding area for any approaching unit of people. The farmer didn’t seem at all obliged to do so, but she knew he’d be doing so anyways as a means of checking up on the stranger and ensuring that his neck wouldn't be slit as well.
"Alright," the farmer, grizzled and aged before his time, told her with his sons in formation, practically, behind him, menacing enough with wood-cutters axes and shovels, looking unpleasant and standoffish. The man took the coins and bit 'em, "Ye bed in the stables then, and mind ye yer eyes an' yer hands round me livelihood, unnerstand me then?" He looked wearily at Aelana as she finally undid the coat from around her head, but took the money all the same. It probably wasn’t the first time he had lodged a transient; and the coin offered was enough to make any human turn a blind eye.
"Of course," Aelana nodded in the direction of the farmer, whose sons helped her get her horse into the barn, along with many other beasts: clucking chickens, mooing cows, a couple plow mules. But there was room.
"So, why a barn? Fer that price, ye could 'uf had a room at an inn." the eldest son seemed a squinty sort, and was half in the bag for the evening, being that farmers found solace in their drink, but he wasn't a fool.
"A man can get killed at an inn, traveling alone, you know." she told the farmer, who accompanied Aelana with a dog at the leash; slighter than some of the shepherd dogs she had seen, but with a pointed nose and a black muzzle, and gold fur otherwise; long jaws and a bushy tail. The dog sniffed at her curiously, and licked the hand; she didn't stick it out under the dog's snout, because that was an invitation to be bitten; instead, she'd let the dog come to her.The farmer grunted, "Hungh. This one don't usually like folk much. But he's yer companion fer the night, we leave him out in the barn."
"Perfect," the Templar told him, and meant it; a dog was the best security available. She liked animals, as a rule, they weren't duplicitous beings like humans were. A good animal was faithful to the feeder, their most intricate scheme being feed and care. A human...well, he could figure out the need for long term care, independence and other troublesome notions. You couldn't keep a person like an animal, the person knew better. He tossed a piece of jerky from her rations to the animal, who snatched it out of the air and gobbled it. Good intentions established.
Inns had men in and out all the time, strangers passing through, folk used to it. And drunkards, all of whom could see the comings and goings of a stranger. A farm, ah, by contrast, was a lovely place to stay if one needed to stay hidden. Farmers tended to mind their business at the farm and it was lethal to approach one by night; the guard was up, because farms had one thing that bandits and other fellows wanted; food and drink. The farmer, by contrast of a normal citizen, had his own animals to worry about, and that meant that the farm wasn't about to go unwatched either -- farmers were used to having people try and steal their things. A farm had dogs, birds, animals that made noise when things tried to sneak through like a predator. Farmers tended to be light sleepers, always worrying that others would steal the fruits of their labor; he wouldn't be surprised if one of those sons were awake at any given hour, making sure foxes stayed out of the henhouse, that wolves didn't come for the milk cows or the sheep. There would be shepherding dogs out and about; much like the one he was going to wind up sharing the barn with.
"We catch ya near the house, lookin' to rob us, we'll string ye up."
Aelana took that as encouraging news, because it meant they were watching, even as she nodded somberly and the farmer left, feeling that the threat was sufficient.
Once left to herself, she started to bed down her animal; she started by checking hooves, currying coats and checking feed and water to make sure that they weren't tainted; but it was a healthy looking farm, and the animals were well kept. These fellows, they hadn't even given their names, seemed like they were an honest crew; Aelana had nothing against honest men, and didn't take their suspicion as terribly amiss. With her horse settled, she took out a shovel off the packsaddle and started digging a bit; the dog looked at him as if she were daft, but she just explained it to the dog, as if explaining it to an equal -- talking to animals was considered daft, but daft was not a bad defense in these parts; anything to keep a torch-wielding mob at a respectful distance.
"A fire, la,'" she told the shepherding dog, "Covered, to keep commoners from thinking some fool is bedding down in the barn. You never known when trouble's caught your spoor, and it's always good to think like it has, eh? Keeps a dagger out your ribs, that’s for sure."
Or so she hoped, as she built a hidden fire, sheltered so that the glow would not light up the barn in the night like a beacon. She used charcoal, which would stay warm, burn a while and not put off too much light, or even much smoke.
The dog sneezed at her in response and turned to find more interesting amusement. Following suit, she dug into the confines of her own pocket and withdrew the letter that contained the specifics of her proceedings.
Bexley didn't seem like much of a sanctuary, either, not to hear the tales of it; if she had her druthers, she would have rather tented down in the muck and bore the weather rather than sleep among the rogues and opportunists that wanted to knife you in the back -- they might not mean much in a standup fight, but only a fool slept among a hostile countryside; a smart individual got his arse in a castle or encamped only with alert guards. Though with the current attrition of magical creatures and the paranoia it propagated in everything with some exclusive claim to humanity, there really wasn't much asylum throughout the land. The fact that Aelana chose to travel without companion spoke of either morbid stupidity or arrogance.
As to which it was exactly was anyone’s guess. It was better this way. She was infinitely more effective when commanded to conduct on her own; she felt considerably more in tune with the nature of herself and that of the land when free of the burden of having to command a detail of men and cater to their mortal misguiding.
The White Tankard was not her sort of place, nor were the other inns scattered throughout the city; too many people, the stench itself was overwhelmingly stifling. It also didn’t help that Bexley had a particularly uncompromising intolerance of outsiders, be them human or otherwise, and the black cloak adorned on her head, worn to mask the obvious indications of her heritage was anything but nondescript. Usually such concealment wouldn't be necessary but she was without the boarders of her city and without the safeguard her station provided. She would need to find some manner of lodging but every inn possessed a certain level of obvious peril for her and she certainly wasn't going to finance a room to be murdered in whilst she slept. After hours of nonchalantly eliminating every establishment of respite, she deduced that comfort and security couldn't be granted inclusively and focused on securing the latter. Instead, she rode somewhat toward the outskirts of town until finding exactly what she was looking for: the town's agriculture district.
The farmer was wary at the approach of a stranger and Aelana figured she had the right sort of place; the price of a stay at the inn was what he offered in return for bedding for the night...in the barn, with the animals. More was offered for the farmer to occasionally wake from bed and watch the surrounding area for any approaching unit of people. The farmer didn’t seem at all obliged to do so, but she knew he’d be doing so anyways as a means of checking up on the stranger and ensuring that his neck wouldn't be slit as well.
"Alright," the farmer, grizzled and aged before his time, told her with his sons in formation, practically, behind him, menacing enough with wood-cutters axes and shovels, looking unpleasant and standoffish. The man took the coins and bit 'em, "Ye bed in the stables then, and mind ye yer eyes an' yer hands round me livelihood, unnerstand me then?" He looked wearily at Aelana as she finally undid the coat from around her head, but took the money all the same. It probably wasn’t the first time he had lodged a transient; and the coin offered was enough to make any human turn a blind eye.
"Of course," Aelana nodded in the direction of the farmer, whose sons helped her get her horse into the barn, along with many other beasts: clucking chickens, mooing cows, a couple plow mules. But there was room.
"So, why a barn? Fer that price, ye could 'uf had a room at an inn." the eldest son seemed a squinty sort, and was half in the bag for the evening, being that farmers found solace in their drink, but he wasn't a fool.
"A man can get killed at an inn, traveling alone, you know." she told the farmer, who accompanied Aelana with a dog at the leash; slighter than some of the shepherd dogs she had seen, but with a pointed nose and a black muzzle, and gold fur otherwise; long jaws and a bushy tail. The dog sniffed at her curiously, and licked the hand; she didn't stick it out under the dog's snout, because that was an invitation to be bitten; instead, she'd let the dog come to her.The farmer grunted, "Hungh. This one don't usually like folk much. But he's yer companion fer the night, we leave him out in the barn."
"Perfect," the Templar told him, and meant it; a dog was the best security available. She liked animals, as a rule, they weren't duplicitous beings like humans were. A good animal was faithful to the feeder, their most intricate scheme being feed and care. A human...well, he could figure out the need for long term care, independence and other troublesome notions. You couldn't keep a person like an animal, the person knew better. He tossed a piece of jerky from her rations to the animal, who snatched it out of the air and gobbled it. Good intentions established.
Inns had men in and out all the time, strangers passing through, folk used to it. And drunkards, all of whom could see the comings and goings of a stranger. A farm, ah, by contrast, was a lovely place to stay if one needed to stay hidden. Farmers tended to mind their business at the farm and it was lethal to approach one by night; the guard was up, because farms had one thing that bandits and other fellows wanted; food and drink. The farmer, by contrast of a normal citizen, had his own animals to worry about, and that meant that the farm wasn't about to go unwatched either -- farmers were used to having people try and steal their things. A farm had dogs, birds, animals that made noise when things tried to sneak through like a predator. Farmers tended to be light sleepers, always worrying that others would steal the fruits of their labor; he wouldn't be surprised if one of those sons were awake at any given hour, making sure foxes stayed out of the henhouse, that wolves didn't come for the milk cows or the sheep. There would be shepherding dogs out and about; much like the one he was going to wind up sharing the barn with.
"We catch ya near the house, lookin' to rob us, we'll string ye up."
Aelana took that as encouraging news, because it meant they were watching, even as she nodded somberly and the farmer left, feeling that the threat was sufficient.
Once left to herself, she started to bed down her animal; she started by checking hooves, currying coats and checking feed and water to make sure that they weren't tainted; but it was a healthy looking farm, and the animals were well kept. These fellows, they hadn't even given their names, seemed like they were an honest crew; Aelana had nothing against honest men, and didn't take their suspicion as terribly amiss. With her horse settled, she took out a shovel off the packsaddle and started digging a bit; the dog looked at him as if she were daft, but she just explained it to the dog, as if explaining it to an equal -- talking to animals was considered daft, but daft was not a bad defense in these parts; anything to keep a torch-wielding mob at a respectful distance.
"A fire, la,'" she told the shepherding dog, "Covered, to keep commoners from thinking some fool is bedding down in the barn. You never known when trouble's caught your spoor, and it's always good to think like it has, eh? Keeps a dagger out your ribs, that’s for sure."
Or so she hoped, as she built a hidden fire, sheltered so that the glow would not light up the barn in the night like a beacon. She used charcoal, which would stay warm, burn a while and not put off too much light, or even much smoke.
The dog sneezed at her in response and turned to find more interesting amusement. Following suit, she dug into the confines of her own pocket and withdrew the letter that contained the specifics of her proceedings.
With address to Aelana,
This letter is sent to you now, in the bitter hollowness of the morn, because in it is the collected information detailing the plight that nigh approaches us. With a firm ear in the Rift, I have discerned the contrivance of a being of incomprehensible malevolence. A being embellished by the collective vengeful promptings of those slaughtered at the hands of man in his attrition on magical beings. The darkness stirs restlessly, it has tainted the land's verse and threatens to purge the Rift of magic; it will consume those who are sensitive to the calling of nature and with their soul, I fear, even I, cannot fathom what will befell them.
OP
Hayden Peak
The Territory of Byrn
There's something inconceivably cryptic of the arctic embrace. To the unacclimated it proved to be a force of egregious debilitation; it assaulted the senses and vitiated the spirit. It was treacherous and thorough; nothing assayed the conviction of a man with similar surety like time spent in the tundras of Byrn. Though for those with an enduring quality, a tranquility, lost to most, could be found on the snow-capped palisades and powdered dunes. A stillness undetectable to civilized consideration lie just beyond the bitter winds that howled with deafening audibility. Aelana smiled, because to her nothing could be heard but a symphony of life and complacency.
Indeed, she was a woman of station; something of a known figure among the ranks of the many militias who assumed the Whitewood banner as either their own or the protectorate it afforded them. At birth she was the indigenity of the wild and despite an entire lifetime of cultivation, there was a discernible beckoning felt from the spirit of the land. She always felt removed from the societal strata of Whitewood and the political intrigue that governed its very inner workings; unable to become as intimately involved as Ghandall. Tthen again, juxtaposed to his distinguishments and indomitable fervor, she was vapidly saturnine. Not to be dreaded however, there was a place for everyone and a demand for those as ancillary as her.
The winds were uncharacteristically reposeful on this morning; a young sun rose lazily in the horizon illuminating the land below with an arrangement of soft oranges and reds. It was still, almost picturesque. Came to the eye as intentionally gentle as if designed by some Afonian artisan. Aelana sharply inhaled as she hoisted herself up and away from the fire she was tending. "Commendable," she offered flatly, freeing her gear from the storm that had usurped her camp from the night before. "I was aware that men from your land were particularly lively and sturdy but even I must admit myself surprised by your standing." She collected some snow into a handful and threw it at him mindlessly. "I thought surely she would seize you, if you hadn't bled out by now. Though honestly, that might've been a more favorable fate for you."
Some distance away, bound at the extremities and neck by rope to the hearty trunks of three oaks, remained the assassin who had unsuccessfully attempted to impede Aelana's excursion. While effective in slowing her down the current predicament he haplessly initiated was met with dire regret and proved to be little more than an annoyance for the Templar. By some stroke of luck the elements had preserved his life; the lacerations to his chest and the twisted flesh of his neck separated by the serrated edge of an arrow had ceased issuing blood. His rugged brown eyes had abandoned the tone of naked confusion they fostered in the early night and now had frozen over into a cold, deceitfully blank gaze that, to some extent, betrayed the death that lingered just behind them. He was slowly losing his lease on life but a certain residual defiance could be observed.
Distressed and enervated, he followed Aelana spitefully wish his vision. "You've no idea, do you? Oh, you unfortunate girl; your naivety will surely bring you peril."
Aelana turned and walked purposefully closer to the man regarding him inquisitively. He had held his silence for nearly two days, warding off every single attempt at conversation with a dismissive nod of his head. The seared blades she applied to his chest and hours of concussive coercion were surprisingly ineffective. Shamefully so. "A cryptic tongue is as good as no tongue at all," she snapped. "Choose your words wisely assassin."
A harsh and ineffectual laugh broke the silence. "I'm on the verge of death woman, do you think I fear what fate awaits me on the other side. This instance, while uncomfortable, offers nothing more than the reassurance in knowing our cause is just. You humans have grown demented with power; your attrition on our kind is an assault on the very Rift itself."
"Incredible," she turned around and resumed collecting her belongings. Even she found herself at odds with the current ambitions of the Nightshade; a fervidity that lacked any justification and supported reasoning as misguided and unsubstantiated as the religion they clung to. The Templars were regarded with similar scrutiny but had gained faint favor for distinguishing themselves as a safeguard for humanity against the atrocities magical creatures committed and not some unjust prosecutors. However, not all shared that observation and many dismissed any notion that painted them as any less treacherous than the Nightshade.
"You must be hopelessly witless if you thought yourself merited enough to attempt the life of a Templar for nothing more than a sentiment of misplaced retribution. You're affront has rewarded you with nothing but misfortune and self-wrought peril," she remarked callously. "Ask yourself with your remaining breath if it was really worth it."
"I suppose not," his head slumped down to the ground and issued a defeated sigh.
Aelana wasn't nearly as barbarous as her appeal designated. Sure, she might not have operated on the nearly noble pretension of being a sentinel for humans that most other Templars assumed; but she wasn't entirely without benign inclinations. She possessed a constructed apathy that owed itself to years of necessary adaptation; reactions to a life of disadvantage and expectation and bereft of the graces of mercy most were privy to. There wasn't much room for compassion as a Templar, even more so, for any individual who found themselves in the precarious position of being Ghandall's most invested prize-dog.
"I'll leave you to your fate, whatever that might be. Hopefully the winds will take you before the carrion rob you of your flesh," she said coldly speaking of the birds-of-prey encircling the ill-fated man from above.
The land in it's complacency was suddenly perturbed by Aelana's shrill whistle. It was oddly melodious and carried itself on the currents of wind for a number of leagues. Her mare was a sprightly creature; incapable of remaining by the camp and stricken with such a profound sense of wanderlust than even she knew how to manage. When in Whitewood, he would vanish for days on end yet sure enough when she beckoned him he would come. Faithful. Far off in the distance, the tree line broke and from it a black mare galloped forth; it's sinewy body rippling as it cut through the snow in ragged procession. It's movements weren't exactly laborious but certainly not as sure-footed as a creature acclimated to the frothy dunes of this terrain. Aelana suddenly released her grip on her belongings and grabbed the hilt of her long sword with murderous intent. Her horse didn't move like that; he was young and his gait resoundingly sure. His legs would have pressed through the snow, unhindered, in fluid strides. As if to reaffirm her acknowledgement; at random points in the distant woods the trees seemed to separate themselves and sanction a number of other horses to pass through. The leading horse wasn't just galloping towards her, he was mounting an assault.
"Tell me," came the voice of the man, surprisingly hearty and reassured, "how privy are you really to the matter of fate." Aelana spun around and stared in utter disbelief. The man, now liberated of his bonds, stood with purpose and a particularly dreadful confidence. Leering at her from behind him was some beastly creature; it's horned crest bobbed with each one of its jagged breaths. It stepped out from behind him and snarled with contempt; there was an unmistakable human quality to its regard for her, perhaps a little too intelligent to be a product of a natural disposition. 'I'd wager not too privy," the man retorted with malicious content.
OP
Name
Nicholas Harper
Age
Twenty-nine
Nicholas Harper is a name of much repute throughout the Northeastern Territories; maybe not in its entirety but certainly in likeness. Having spent the better part of a decade earning his keep by smuggling illicit goods for those who would rather keep their hands clean, he conducts himself cautiously and intentionally. He displays the characteristic paranoia of someone who believes himself, however unjustifiably, to always possess the attention of those who he'd rather not and consequently operates to an aim of utter elusiveness. His line of work has afforded him the court of some rather morally questionable individuals though ironically enough he still retains notions of "appropriateness". The only person he ever invested any degree of trust into drowned his son after receiving divine providence that his soul could still be saved. For years, Nick had forced himself to believe that the psychotic delusions his wife suffered from were merely figments of an exhausted woman's imagination finding herself unable to accept the world as it was. Even after eleven years, the anger, depression, and self-blame have retained their vitality in his heart.
OP
Name:
Alphonse vün'Damascus
Age:
Twenty-three
House of Order:
Damascus
Biography:
Alphonse's upbringing was distinguished by rigorous martial applications and measures of training that flirted dangerously close to iniquity. A source of profound vexation for those in the noble stratum he was born into; for what reason would a noble fate his son to the life of a solider. Most speculated that Alphonse was the product of their lord's illustrious and hardly concealed fondness for unmarried women. Lady Siggurd (the Lord's wife, however, saw much of her lineage in the boy and denied such accusations diligently. Out of paranoia, if nothing else, his father was determined that the boy would mature as far removed from politics as possible. His eldest brothers were stout and competent enough to assume rule should the unforeseen claim Lord Damascus himself and more than anything he wanted someone among his progeny to be a closer relative of warfare than legislature.
Upon the age of boyhood, Alphonse left the comforts of nobility at his own father's behest and was given to the Whitewood Templars under the charge of Ghandall Tvargunn. Ghandall was illustriously draconian in character, though not unjustly so. He had quelled more tides of war than any man could claim and with the political backing of the king himself had engineered a state of soldiers that could combat even the northern Great Houses. Alphonse worked tirelessly as a servant-hand in the militia's barracks; Ghandall's intention clear and simple: premature exposure to the lifestyle he would soon undertake. At the age of twelve he was enlisted into the institution of war and dedicated himself to the academia of martial politics, weaponology, and battlefield stratagems.
In the decade preceding the story's start Alphonse participated in a number of regional wars and skirmishes; most notably was the battle he participated in that quelled the conflict between Asperos and Tvitlar. A battle that saw his ranks slaughtered and nearly beaten though because of the strategies he employed was ultimately spared from an untimely demise. He had matured into quite the capable battle tactician: ranking from the page who fumbled around haphazardly into a young man possessive of favor from Ghandall himself.
Upon the age of boyhood, Alphonse left the comforts of nobility at his own father's behest and was given to the Whitewood Templars under the charge of Ghandall Tvargunn. Ghandall was illustriously draconian in character, though not unjustly so. He had quelled more tides of war than any man could claim and with the political backing of the king himself had engineered a state of soldiers that could combat even the northern Great Houses. Alphonse worked tirelessly as a servant-hand in the militia's barracks; Ghandall's intention clear and simple: premature exposure to the lifestyle he would soon undertake. At the age of twelve he was enlisted into the institution of war and dedicated himself to the academia of martial politics, weaponology, and battlefield stratagems.
In the decade preceding the story's start Alphonse participated in a number of regional wars and skirmishes; most notably was the battle he participated in that quelled the conflict between Asperos and Tvitlar. A battle that saw his ranks slaughtered and nearly beaten though because of the strategies he employed was ultimately spared from an untimely demise. He had matured into quite the capable battle tactician: ranking from the page who fumbled around haphazardly into a young man possessive of favor from Ghandall himself.
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