@Drunken Conquistador That's a sweet opening post right there, I wouldn't have been able to guess English wasn't your first language without you saying. If I could make one suggestion it would be to go for gentler colours with your font. Just speaking for myself dark text on a dark grey background can be difficult to read so I had to zoom in to make out Hanir's thoughts.
<- He looks adorable.
Name: Marcus Vantiri | Age: 19 A youngin' eh?| Race: HumanA P P E R A N C E :A young lad who's still growing into his hand me down armour u? My not-american senses are tingling, though he'd deny it to the end. Marcus has already undergone something of a transformation since joining the legion. When he was brought before their quartermasters he was just some scraggly street rat. All skin, bone and sinew. Since then he's gotten three straight meals of bland tasting army rations and has been put through his paces on a regular basis by the training imposed by the sergeants, however rushed it may be. The end result was like watching a whippet being turned into a mastiff. In short he became a hunk. Nice.
His sallow complexion that plagued Marcus in his old life was slowly replaced by the sun kissed tones of someone spending all their time outdoors and on the march, although it's noticeably uneven as Marcus is usually in his armour, leaving parts of his face and torso to remain pale.worst farmer's tan ever? He's yet to find some free time to try sunbathing. As for the armour itself Marcus takes what he can get. The legion has fallen on hard times these days - as folks are constantly reminding him – so no two suites ever look the same. Marcus has managed to salvage himself some chainmail, a cleaner surcoat than most and some clothes with some padding still left in them to go underneath it all. yep you can tell how late somebody joined the party by how silly they look.
He still looks like he never gets enough sleep though, probably because he doesn't. You try getting rested sharing a tent and a barracks with a bunch of snoring, farting soldiers all night. Who needs sleep anyway?
Appearance looks good. Though suppose it's pretty hard to go wrong here.M I N D :”The boy should have tried being a jester, he runs his mouth enough.” <- I like dis Was what the old drill sergeant had to say about Marcus. They also said that his runaway mouth would get him killed some day, to which Marcus countered that it would probably be getting a sword rammed through his body that'd be what got him killed. Probably are both right.
Marcus is a sarcastic back-talker and it seemed even his training under the legion couldn't stamp that out of him, in fact it's more than likely that he stubbornly made sure to be more blatant with the attitude just to spite the stuck up veterans. Hope he likes getting whipped Legion don't talk kindly to that sort of thing. Marcus has been on the bottom rung of society all his life and spent his days being kicked and rubbed into the dirt for this sin of being born into the gutter, so he quickly learned it helped to have a gallows sense of humour if only to serve as a coping mechanism.
This little rebellious streak doesn't mean he's mad enough to sass the proper higher ups that is. The lad knows when it's time to get serious and when to shut your mouth and follow orders.That's better for his health. No he'll only stand up to his superiors when he thinks something's actually on the line, like when he called out a captain over some of the men not getting their due rations and stared the old git down... all while trying not to piss his britches for fear of the inevitable execution that would follow doing something so stupid. He's still got no idea how he didn't die over that.Because he needs to die later when it is most dramatic. Maybe they were right about his mouth getting him killed.
If there's one thing Marcus can't stand it's the kind of self obsessed folks that take themselves too seriously.I can relate. As if anyone in the legion's had themselves a lovely old life. Everyone here's had their own strokes with death or watched a friend die, but there's those that wallow in it, that wear their suffering like a medal or worse, they try to turn it into a competition. Ain't nobody had hardship like them, you just don't know, you could never understand. Marcus has nothing but contempt when it comes to that kind of person. Aww look at that kid, pup's got teeth.
As far as magic is concerned... well that's not something he's ever encountered. Not up close and personal anyway. Marcus feels that same unease and mistrust around it as all the ignorant feel around something powerful they don't understand but he can't say he has any strong feelings about it either.That's very believable It's always just been something that happened to other people, y'know. Marcus is fully aware he's a grunt, a nobody and fully expendable in the eyes of his superiors. He thanks his lucky stars his made it this far and is just trying to keep it together as he finds himself thrown in with the gods and monsters that make up the legion, usually by hiding his fear behind a stupid smirk.
I mean has the sarcastic one that hides behind his sarcasm been done before? Yes. Do you manage to make it sound believable especially since he is just a kid and we've all been there? Yes! Is Hex excited to watch him be broken down piece by piece into a bitter asshole like everybody else cause War is Hell? I mean of course. He's the rookie and in the best way possible.H I S T O R Y:Born a gutter rat Riff Raff Street Rat! in the imperial heartland, the bustling metropolis of Feroxi. The older of two siblings Marcus found himself thrust into the role of caring for his younger sister, Maggie. So he took work as a dogsbody I have a degree in Maths not English. I admit I had to look this one up. down by the docks whenever he could and usually got a kicking from the nearest drunken sailor for his troubles. What else was a lad in that position to do but turn to a life of crime? Not much. The gangs were always happy to bring kids on board, they went unnoticed by most guards and made light handed cutpurses and Marcus proved better at it than most. He made a good living out of it for the most part. Sure they were still living in poverty but Maggie didn't have to go hungry most nights and was kept warm enough to see through each winter.Under the Undying you have two seasons: winter and winter but wet. But it wasn't enough for Marcus. The streets were cruel to kids like them and men could prove worse than any wolf with their own plans for growing girls and boys. He had to aim big, to go for a real score... it went badly. Couldn't see that one coming In his foolishness he got himself kicked out the gang with a target on his back to boot.
There was only one way out from there. Once the army came to town and recruiters looked for folks willing to take an iron coin in Tarkus' name. The legion would offer him some protection and a good enough wage to send home to his family. No one mentioned anything about crossing the mourning sea to go on a fresh campaign when he joined up! And that is why you read the fine print. Marcus would always resent the legion for that, and even more once legionnaire life turned out to be more mud and blood than honour and glory. But hey the dental plan is great. It became impossible to send coin home once they got shipped out but his responsibilities back home always staid in the back of his mind.
So for now Marcus has tried to keep his head down and stay alive long enough to see home again. After the whole missing rations incident Marcus got made the unofficial cook among his brothers and sisters in arms and can usually be found tending a stew pot over a communal fire and throwing out crass jokes along with his portions. I like that he has a 'normal job'. For as much crap as he gives his fellow rank and file legionnaires he's proven that he cares about the poor sods in that soldiers bond sort of way, earning him some leeway from his more forgiving comrades.
Ah the good old urchin messing up and getting dragged into bigger things. A classic for a reason. I mean it's plausible as any of a reason to join the Legion these days with the lack of dudes to hold swords, or swords for that matter. Good kid getting in over his head and now stuck with the giant evil army taking over the world. I like that he is younger born after the Endless had already been firmly established so that it is just kind of normal life to him. Also mentioning a sister in your backstory and not explicitly mentioning what happens to her? I could do terrible things with that information and I just might. Cause I'm a bastard.M O D U S O P R E R A N D I:While there are plenty around with a lifetime of experience and training with their own family weapons and personalised tools of murder Marcus simply has his slapdash training to rely on and the standard issue gear. While the upper echelons of the army are made up of those that lead the charge and throw themselves into the enemy lines he'll be among the countless rank and file that make up the rest of the charge. To put it more personally if Hanir I like the reference's to other people can be seen leading the centre of the phalanx then you can probably see Marcus holding the third spear on the left.
He's been trained to use a spear and shield and is equipped with a legion shortsword if things get up close. He's competent with both of them but his skill's nothing to write home about as any form or grace usually gets lost amid the chaos of battle. What Marcus is good at is hiding behind his shield and stubbornly digging in to find that last dreg of stamina to keep himself on his feet as the battles wear on and the wounds pile up. Not that he'd call an aptitude for taking a beating a skill. If you can't win a fight in one punch, you might as well know how to take one.
One thing that does set him apart from his fellow grunts is his dextrously talented hands. This Marcus is ambidextrous, a word he'd never heard until he joined up, having always taken his comfort in switching his dominant hand for granted. Other folks always told him that it was a handy thing to have and a good way to throw off your opponent. Marcus figured if it could help keep him alive he'd try using it so he's started working on the straps of his shield so he could switch which hand he holds it in quick and easy while hind a dagger behind its rim. He still needs to practice it more before he can call it a proper technique.
Got potential but still green as grass. I like it!O P I N I O N S O N O T H E R SMagatha Toil: Marcus never got why so many folks in the second legion gave the horned lass such funny looks when they first met her. Was he the only one who'd seen a godling before? Growing up in a big city like Feroxi meant that Marcus had encountered folks of pretty much every species there was, the only reason he'd have to gawk at the horned woman was if he fancied her... which he does but that's besides the point! Either way it seemed he was one of the few around that didn't get spooked by Mags' demonic look. She's an alright kinda lass, good for a laugh around the fire, treats people right and somehow always manages to get her hands on something to drink. The two of them also share the philosophy that if you can't fight better than someone then fight dirty. She's a good one, a pal.
Hanir: See now this one is exactly what you expect when you picture a noble officer. All pomp and fancy talk and goin' around like he's got a riding crop shoved up his arse. When it comes to talking to Saga Marcus has to do his best not to roll his eyes and pass out from all the lad-di-da nonsense he goes on about. But Marcus has to admit the noble knows his business when it comes to busting heads. Always in the front and never asking folk to do something he wont... so yeah... he might tell folks to go easy on him when they talk about Saga behind his back. They can sass the blue blood to his face as much as they want though. Saying that though, Marcus has to admit he's pretty jealous of Hanir's fancy living. Hell if he had the money he'd do it too.
Myaenthar'Sul: Finally someone with as much reason to be terrified as Marcus is of the legion of monsters and murderers they're living among. The two of them first spoke after a bloody skirmish with the Ruby natives as the camp settled down for the night to lick their wounds. The kobold was sneaking onto the edge of the firelight, wary of the human soldiers. Goblin types were rare, even in Feroxi, and usually not to be trusted but Marcus was far too tired to care about that. He passed a bowl of brown Sul's way and said, "This whole soldering lark, eh? It's a bit shit ain't it?" On that they agreed.
Arthur Wick: I mean it's Arthur Wick, ain't it? Nothin' more to say after that. Even while Marcus was still in boot camp stories of the various champions of the legion made the rounds. Folks that the cockier in their batch hoped to ape and live up to. Arthur doesn't seem the type to take shit and Marcus is too intimidated by the man to give any. That said when Arthur is nearby on the battlefield then Marcus finds himself fighting harder and more confidently. The sight of that giant suit of armour wading into the fray gives Marcus a bit of hope that they might just make it through all this. He's too low in the pecking order to be noticed by someone of Arthur's rank and station to go noticed by the man but that doesn't matter none, grunts and knights weren't meant to mingle anyway.
Reika: So maybe Marcus is the only one in the second legion who lived in anywhere bigger than a barn. Seems like everyone round here is from some clan or tribe and none of them go on about it as proudly as Reika here. He might have been a fun fella to hang around with in any other place but around the legion he's someone that Marcus has no time for. He is literally sauntering around like a god among men with a magic sword that sends blood flying all around the place like knives, seemingly without any proper magic training or anything. How is that even fair? And then he wanders off in huffs and broods when someone talks too much about the bloody magic sword at his waist, oh woe is me! It must be so hard to wander onto a battlefield with all the confidence of a hurricane. Twat.
Aeudla Vesnat: "You alright, Love, you need some help finding your bunk? I ain't flirting with you, I'm just concerned." When Marcus first met the elf he was certain she was drunk and due a serious hangover the next morning. He still suspects it every other time he sees her. She makes him want to learn archery and get a pretty cushy time in the back lines. He's heard that she's a blood mage and she acts as weird as you hear those people are but so long as it's her blood she's using and she's not carrying slvaes around like others have then she can't be too bad... right? He might keep a cautious distance anyway. The elf may be a fitty but Marcus isn't sure it'd be worth the implied risk.
Andrea Albane: See that woman's a lioness. Kind that if a lamb crosses her path then he'll get eaten and not in the way he'd like. She strikes Marcus as the kind of person who likes seeing people be scared of her. So in his petulant pride he tends to crack wise at her expense on the rare times they've ever shared words, all while screaming at himself to stop and not to shame himself. He doesn't know what makes her a champion though. She doesn't seem to give any kind of a shit about honour and whatnot. Who hands out these titles anyway?
Verse: She struck Marcus as an uptight kinda lady with a chip stuck on her shoulder. Somehow he doubts that Verse has any interests outside of fighting or battles or anything. Honestly until someone told him she used to be Anthem Marcus would have believed she came from one of the proper military academies, the married to the army type. Then he learned she was tainted and he quickly decided to steer clear, preferring to go unnoticed by the living monster that was used as a story to scare him into obedience as a child. Smart lad
All in all. I like him. He once again adds something different to the group, a different dynamic for the others to play off of. But now I guess we have to figure out what kind of rookie he is going to be? Accepted!
Tristanya “Trist” Aurelain, The White Raven Everybody has titles. Cause titles are cool. | 24 | Human? Some are not so sure. That ain't foreboding at all.A P P E A R A N C E :At a first glance, Tristanya stands at an unimposing height perhaps a head and a half shorter than many of the large and battle-scarred soldiers of the legion. She consistently dresses in cloaks of midnight black and moon silver Does she also listen to My Chemical Romance? that emphasize her flawless, lightly tanned skin that strangely never pales or burns.
Tristanya exudes seductive temptation; wrapped within the shroud of mystery. The first thing that always draws a curious onlooker is her hair, hair like the falling winter. Much like her silver mane, it is her curiously colored eyes that capture intrigue and imagination. Alluring as she may be, her ice-white gaze cuts with biting frost. Double mysterious. hmm
She veils herself behind an expression of calm imperiousness that seems cold and unfriendly. Tristanya carries herself with feminine grace; not gaudy or overtly sexual, but reserved and elusive, like a whisper on the wind slipping between futilely grasping fingers.
Spooky Temptress is spooky.M I N D :When one man recalled his first experience with Tristanya he described it in two parts. First, it was like being lured by the smell of sweet perfume and the thrill of mystery circling down corridors haunted with yearning; one cannot help but follow the trail. Then in a sudden shifting of place, there was no foothold to keep still. It was like hanging, chained in the middle of a blizzard whose icy gales rent flesh with a numbing flurry. He said it was no ordinary storm. No, this storm had a mind of its own. All a man could do was ponder whether the cold would relinquish its grip, or chill his entire being from bones to the heart leaving him nothing more than a frozen husk of a soul. Bereft of hope; filled with naught but despair, eternally doomed to a cold and lonely existence where hope's sole appearance glimmered within the merciful freedom of death’s dagger. I like her already.
Her job is to serve, so serve she must. Yet, service does not compel her toward friendship or any form of bonding with fellow members of the legion. Really? Could've figured her for the sunshine and rainbows type. Tristanya holds a purposeful distance between herself and any member of the legion no matter their personality. She operates under practical efficiency and the simple matter-of-fact conditions binding her duty to the Endless.Probably a smart idea.
Despite being a blood mage, Tristanya's thoughts and philosophies of the magic are rarely, if ever shared. One of the stranger of her observed magical tendencies is that once she's nearly finished using the blood of a felled enemy, Tristanya refuses to burn it away to nothingness. Instead, the last of the blood alters in color from bright crimson to a radiant, ethereal silver, turning into a collection of glowing dust that looks much like falling snow. This dust floats to the sky and fades away, winking out of the mortal realm. Curious.
If asked about her aspirations, she keeps things simple and clean with a twofold plan: serve and survive.
There is something behind her eyes. Something more.
A riddle, wrapped in a fortune, stuck in a Chinese finger trap, inside of a puzzle, inside of Rubik's cube, inside of another puzzle. Mysterious and alluring in the best way possible. I mean sure maybe personality wise at first glance she doesn't really bring anything new to our grumpy band of consummate professionals and murders, but you've made me want to learn more. And hell that's a good thing.H I S T O R Y:A curious woman born of curiouser circumstances.
Two decades past, peculiar stirrings rippled around a mountainside keep; Ravenwood. An unusual presence concealed itself within the dark that settled over its iron-colored stone. Black clouds veiled starlight. A bone-chilling breath swam through the air, even on a midsummer's night. All that was warmth and light burned from torches hanging inside the keep's great hall. Men cheered, men drank, and men laughed.
It was a joyous evening. The Lord and Lady of House Raven hosted the closing celebrations of an annual festival belonging to the House's long held traditions. However, tradition was interrupted. Window shutters slammed closed, and torch light was extinguished. Lord and Lady, guests and soldiers, all of their voices joined together in fearful surprise. Absolute darkness cloaked them until the fires burned, glowing differently. A soft light, a cold light, a light of white-fire that kissed not with heat but with ice that stole even the bravest of men's hearts.Ghosts? Vampires? Ghost Vampires?!
On the long table, a figure shrouded in black robes walked steadily forward; slowly. The figure's face remained hidden beneath their hood, and that face has remained unknown. In the stranger's arms was a child with white hair and white eyes. This visitor, this outsider, this being of terrible power had but a simple request.
"Take this child as your own." A ghostly voice, barely but a whisper but a whisper that echoed a thousand times over against the walls. "Raise her, and love her, like a daughter of your blood. Eyes beyond you shall be watching... should you spurn this request."Hmmm
No one ever spoke of the incident outside the castle, and none dared defy the voice of the visitor. Lord and Lady Ravenwood raised the girl as their own, feathering her with love, respect, and no small amount of thinly-veiled fear. It was an odd childhood for the girl, being raised as the Young Lady Ravenwood. She learned matters of the court and manners befitting ladies. But, the girl refused the names they tried to give. She had no memory of her original home yet somehow understood that her name was Tristanya Aurelain.But my friends call me bob. Tristanya was wild; free of heart, and a wanderer. Motherly protests could not keep her from trying to scale the castle's walls, nor prevent her from traversing the mountain path.
One talent changed it all. Magic. Tristanya could do strange things, and strange events surrounded her early years. Lord Ravenwood had her trained in the arts of blood magic, changing his mind about marrying her off for political power. Instead, she could be a court advisor, a spy, a useful weapon. Blood magic creating healthy relationships with your adoptive-father since 500 TA
Plans change. Certain circumstances ended up binding Tristanya in service to the Endless. Part of me wonders what and the other part of me really doesn't need to know. Doesn't really change much does it? At some point, the wildly expressive child died and gave way to cold chill, the White Raven was born.
The mystery deepens. I appreciate the sudden dive into Gothic horror for a second up there. You've only added to the mystery above and well that's always fun. I'd love to hear your ideas about her heritage maybe at a latter time, definitely doesn't sound like something a good GM like myself would bring up later. You gave her a solid foundation, and plot threads to investigate in the future. I like it!M O D U S O P E R A N D I:A good father does not leave his daughter defenseless. Tristanya learned and practiced the basics of daggers, swords, and bows to a level she's adequate defending herself from a common criminal. Her greatest martial skill revolves around staff fighting. When Trist turned ten years old, a mysterious package addressed to her carried a wooden staff pale as the night's luminous guide. Vampire Ghost Alien Staff Makers. They are always the worst. With the staff, she's capable of fending off soldiers of greater skill for a short period of time and those valuable seconds are all she needs to cast a blood spell. An odd quality of her staff is that blades cannot cleave it.Useful indeed, but there are other ways to beat a staff than to break it.
Tristanya is an adept blood mage that shows signs of potentially prodigious skill. Many Ravenwood mage scholars wondered if her innate talents had to do with her blood linage. It was they that learned it unwise to try and examine her blood heritage. Three men tried to penetrate the mysteries of Tristanya and triggered a powerful spell of protection so strong it left them bereft of all emotion other than despair. The three strung themselves from a tree to escape their suffering.
One might believe Tristanya's conjuring would appear rigid in form and motion; calculated, efficient. But, this is a misunderstanding. When Tristanya moves with the flow of blood, Or more specifically the flow of the soul being channeled through said blood. it is purposeful but not without emotion. Not a dance or a fight, but a simplistic ethereal state of being that inexplicably, just is.
She's extremely valuable as an ally; able to heal would-be fatal wounds, a talented blood manipulator (though she never does this), and a lethal force who can suddenly immolate multiple men where they stand. Or, she could rob them of their feelings and leave numb, harmless husks behind. With enough blood, Tristanya can reign fiery devastation from the sky or cover a city in a day-long winter that sucks the fighting spirit out of an opposing army. But these kinds of incantations take great time (not to mention the battle of wills between an opposing powerful mage) and leave Tristanya utterly exhausted, almost to the point of death. Mostly, Trist transfers a spiritual boost of morale through blood to keep her allies calm and motivated.Wizards gotta wizard.
Trist can see visual manifestations of aura within those around her. She can see the state of someone's soul, and it is this ability that fuels her more secretive studies of magic.Nice. Verse must be really damn weird than since she wouldn't have an aura since she doesn't actually have a soul.
As a last resort, she equips herself with a hidden dagger.
Lastly, the reason for her nickname is the unusual ability to shape shift. Her shifted form is that of a raven with pale white feathers.
Wizards are cool. Honestly I'm surprised we don't have more magical peeps running about. Maybe people don't like ripping the souls out of their foes and friends to fuel their powers. Abilities seem fine. Though honestly with the whole magic thing I'm giving whoever uses it enough rope to hang themselves. You can do whatever you want with it in the realm of reason. Hell you can do things outside the realm of reason, you can pull one of the moons out of the sky if you want to, but to do so you probably need to commit mass genocide to get enough souls and would probably still die in the process of trying to control that much power. But you've already placed limiters in place, so I don't think we are going to have too much of a problem.O P I N I O N S O N O T H E R S This one I really don't have to look over. But hey!@Hexaflexagon Verse: Many noblewomen would look at Verse with contempt and hateful disgust for being what she was. Trist is not one of those women. Verse is who she is simply by the nature of a series of decisions outside the reach of her own will. There is nothing more, and nothing less to such a story; or, that’s what Trist likes to think. Be that as it may, Trist is no fool, and only fools harbor no fears for the things that can shred them to pieces. She has known thugs, thieves, spies, killers, and soldiers; their hardened ilk is often best left alone. What if the reason Verse is so mad is because she doesn't have anybody to give her hug? huh?
@Drunken Conquistador Saga-Hanir: Of all the curiously assorted members of their little legionary band, Hanir reminds Trist the most of the noblemen of Ravenwood and Ravenwood itself. He’s the only one who, thus far, has gotten anything closely resembling a friendly conversation. She can touch the surface of a refined discussion revolving around the finer arts: poetry, art, music, and more. Trist isn’t all that thrilled about his superior noble mentality, but at the same time finds it difficult to admit that Hanir’s out-of-place attitudes among the soldiers amuse her, and even make her crack the lightest of smiles.
@Iuniper Aeudla Vesnat: Like an unopened crate that shakes with life; it might be a cute puppy, or a ravenous blood sucking beast. A fractured soul divided in many places. There’s a beauty in Aeudla’s blood magic that Trist does not ignore, but the elf’s apparent addiction to her abilities are concerning. Unlike Aeudla, Trist does not connect herself to her blood magic and is quite capable of going days, weeks, and months without having to use it if it weren’t for the war she’d been fighting. Such raw and natural skill with blood cannot, however, go unnoticed. And, the elf is the only one among them who makes Trist feel unease so strong she forces herself to become impenetrable.
@neogreggory Arthur Wick: Arthur is like old stone. He stands tall and hard, proud in the face of weathering time. Few noblemen that Trist has known still hold to the ideals of honor Arthur binds himself to. For that, he has her silent respect. But, Trist recognizes his worn and ragged face to be an outward reflection of the his state of being; a stone, battered by the unceasing forces of time. How much longer before he breaks, or will he simply wither away into cold apathetic nothingness?
@Virgil Myaenthar’Sul: Not a single word has been uttered from her to the Kobold. Their single exchange was likely a cold glance, and nothing more. Most simply believe Trist gives him the usual unfriendly demeanor everyone else confronts. However, Trist does not look down upon him nor does she bully him around like many higher races are apt to do when goblins or kobolds are around. Sul should not worry about her icy disposition, after all the soldiers are positively immaculate in their scholarly founded assessment of her: “She’s a right proper cunt.”
@Tancuras Reika: Cursed warriors and their stupid honor. Must every man measure the size of their cock with another? It’s for men like Reika that Trist momentarily revels in the existence of Andrea to temper the extensive vices attached to male ego. Luckily, and hopefully, these opinionated outbursts remain within the white haired sorcerer’s mind. Though, perhaps Trist ought to tell Reika to his face that he is a dull brute with a brain the size of a single sand grain. Then, maybe her frustrations with his contrasting nature would burn out.
@Lexicon Magatha Toil: Mags’ skillful evasion of mages evokes Trist’s memories of a wandering magician entertaining the Ravenwood court with dazzling tricks. Poof, the bird disappears, and Mags was much like that bird; if Trist appeared, the Godling vanished. Trist should be offended, but she’s grown numb to the daunting list of names and insults the countless hurled her way for the severe crime of her appearance, and being a blood mage too. Even if she were to try and be friends with the girl, what would she say? “You kill mages wonderfully.” Nope, the ability to make female friends is ever elusive for Tristanya. Handling a man was quite simple, that’s why whorehouses existed (though Trist was far more refined than that), but dealing with a woman was akin to putting together a puzzle where at least five of the pieces do not fit but are actively screaming that they do.
@Athinar Andrea Albane: Above the neck, Andrea reminds Trist of the ladies at court. That thought amuses her, because Andrea seems more likely to decapitate a woman for stepping on her foot during a dance than actually try on a dress. This idea eliminates Andrea as a potential woman chosen to comb or cut her hair. Tristanya quite likes her throat to remain un-sheared. Other than Trist’s theoretical musings, she’s keenly aware of Andrea’s disdain for her being. It’s not new to her, and it’s better kept that way. Did Trist truly require a sword-swinging lunatic raving about “the good fight” hanging about everywhere she turns? By the Old Gods, she’d be ducking her head every five seconds.
@Dogematix Marcus Vantiri: Finally, a breath of originality amongst hardened killers. She suspects Marcus doesn’t like her very much, men like him often don’t. He’s more like the common man than high-handed knights of esteemed nobility, and for that she feels relief. It probably came as a great shock when he cracked a comment at her expense in front of the men, only for the supposedly indifferent, noble, haughty white witch to respond in kind.
I like her. She's mysterious and leaves me wanting to know more. Part of me feels like I only really only got the surface layer here and if that was intentional well bravo. I'm entranced. Besides more people with dark and mysterious pasts never hurt anyone!
I have a degree in Maths not English.
the elf is the only one among them who makes Trist feel unease so strong she forces herself to become impenetrable.
And here I thought Trist and Aeudla could be creepy blood sisters.
Hexaflexagon is too busy drawing shapes and describing smoke.
Today I shall start my post! I'll also try to get Mags' opinions on our two new characters up at some point as well. This is gonna be schweet!
<Snipped quote by Lexicon>
I'll be pulling your funding if you don't have results by the fourth quarter *^*)...
<Snipped quote by Virgil>
And, Sul gets a free ride on Magatha's horns.
