Voi Narum
Human | 25 | Male | 6'0 | 160lbs
0th Circle | Souls

Voi had a different childhood growing up than most other children, instead of living somewhere sedentary, like in a village or a town. He grew up in a caravan, his parents being its leaders after the previous leader retired to a quiet town. Voi and his parents stood out since they were foreigners who came from another land before Voi was born. They were initially hired as guards to protect the caravan and eventually learned to be a merchant after spending years with the caravan. But Voi never felt like a foreigner while living in the caravan since everyone in it felt like family to him, and they treated him well.

Growing up, Voi traveled to various places and met many people while with the caravan. He was always curious about the lands and people that the caravan visited, and his parents satisfied this by buying him books to read while on the road. One curiosity Voi had was an interest in the afterlife. What happens after someone dies, and what happens to their soul? That question his parents could not answer, but one of the caravanners, an old merchant/mystic, started mentoring him on the subject and other related topics, learning much about it. Still, Voi was content with things, and things seemed good.

But, one day, they were camping in a forest for the night. When bandits attacked them, despite the best efforts of the guards and his parents, Voi was told to run by his parents with some of the other caravanners and reluctantly ran with the caravanners into the night. Voi would survive, as would a few of the caravanners. By the time they ventured back to the caravan, everyone there, including the pack animals, was dead. Voi found his parent's bodies and cried over them. The surviving caravanners and later Voi would notice that, curiously, none of the wares were touched, and a message was written on one of the carts. You two would never escape us, Death to Betrayers.

No one knew what that meant, and the survivors took what they could carry and walked to the nearest town. Voi was still saddened over their parents and the rest of the caravan's deaths and was perplexed by the message. What did it mean, and who in the caravan were they after? But it did not matter to him as most of the people he considered family were dead. It was clear that the bandits were more than mere bandits.

So after reaching the nearest town and recovering there, one of the caravanners adopted Voi. A middle-aged merchant by the name of Garth and moved to the merchant's hometown, where Voi would spend years with the merchant's family. But he could never forget that message on the cart and started training over the years to defend himself.

One day, while he was training, he started to feel weird, and as he hit the training dummy. Voi had a sudden vision of himself staring at an unknown figure, was hit by something, and exploded into a blast of unimaginable colors and intensities. As the colors blasted past him and he stared in awe. One of them, some kind of blue light, hit him square in the chest. He then snapped back to reality and stumbled down to the floor. Like something just hit him in the chest. Voi felt different and started to sense things near him. He soon discovered it was the people around him.

Now realizing that the vision was something important, he decided to figure out what the vision meant and before he left town. He was given money by Garth to support himself in his travels. He ended up in Oratorio after feeling naturally drawn to it and wanting to see what awaited him there.

Oratorio is a three-layered city where social stratification is incredibly visible.

The Outer Layer (denoted with 'O') comprise of those misfortunate souls who've just entered Oratorio and found themselves with little left except for their bodies, their labour. In featureless, blocky buildings with hardly any concern for health or personal space, the people here make do with what little they can get. The most needy of them all live in the Underpass, taking shelter in the covered route that newer Adventurers take to go from the Outer Layer into the Adventurers' District.

The Royal Road (denoted with 'G'), of course, is an elevated cityscape where the houses are spacious and beautiful, the wares are luxurious, and the people beautiful. There are guarded pathways heading uphill that'll bring you up to the Royal Road, and the guardsmen present, under the directive of the Guilds who employ them, regularly filter out anyone simply doesn't look like they belong. The elevated nature of the Royal Road is why the Underpass exists to begin with: recognizing that there is a need for movement between the Outer Layer and the Adventurer's District, civil engineers built covered pathways for people to travel through, and those same pathways became the last place where the desperate and unhoused can rest.

The Adventurer's District (denoted with 'A') feeds, supplies, and occasionally is home to those who seek to make their fortune within the Abyss. Plenty of options for entertainment exist there, as well as merchants who will happily exchange coin for materials. There is a bawdiness present, of course, an atmosphere that makes people hopeful and excited. But there are churches present too, who perform funeral rites at a discount if you bring in multiple people. There are couriers too, who specialize in delivering the last words of the fallen to family and friends. There are clinics, perpetually understaffed and overcapacity.

Cantor Amentha, formerly known as Cant, was an orphan adopted by the Monasteries of His Weeping Saints during his childhood years. Formed during the fall of the Thousands-Faced God, the monastery's original function was to perform rites for those deceased during the Fall. In modern times, however, the Monastery function is more interconnected with the layman, working as priests, embalmers, and 'securities' in exchange for gold. They aren't rich by any means, but the monastery did provide a modicum of normalcy in this chaotic time.

This means that for those early years, Cantor's daily activities would be composed of praying, doing the field, and learning the sacred texts. A bit older, and he learned how to hold the sword and embalming bodies. Cantor, as an acolyte, excelled at dressing up the body, masquerading the face under the aura of "at peace." He does not hold the disgust nor the sheepiness against a corpse but provides the tenderness of a tailor and a dresser at work. And his work brought solace to the grieving family, allowing them to cherish their final moments together.

He still remembers the day he became ichor-blessed. It was a cold winter last year. Snow reached knee-deep. The monastery would usually try to house the unfortunate and bury those who passed away to avoid outbreaks during spring. This was Cantor's third time. He found a beggar on the street. From the look of it, the man must have succumbed to the frost before starvation overtook him. He must be an alien too, never see him from the locals. Still, Cantor washed his frostbitten body, put him in the white shroud, and buried him in the monastery cemetery. That night, they prayed for the unfortunate that they had buried. And they prayed that their help would be enough for those who need it.

For this is the purpose of the Church in this modern time. "Traditions persist, and history is important" his Head Priest once told him. They sing the hymn of God, not to pretend that he is alive, but because he has transcended the mortal definition of death. They prayed for the dead so that their suffering might stop and their existence continued beyond the mortal coil. Like their god, they will live on.

For the Head Priest once argued: "No one is truly dead. They only died when we forget them." This is what Cantor Amentha chose to believe in.

By the next morning, he was ichor-blessed.

The Spark, however, also has its demand. For some reason Cantor was particular drawn toward Oratorio. So, he ask the Head Priest to be transferred there. The Head Priest complied, transferring him to Ordo Benevolence should he be able to make the arduous journey. There, he would be tasked to help them with ceremonies and healing if need be. After a few months on the road, he reached his destination.

0th Circle Ichor-Blessed

Ichor: 0
Wealth: 0
Followers: 0
Resources: 0
Artifacts: None
Property: None.

Domain of Preservation
Paint and Brush for the Mortal Coil - No matter the cause of death, the body would look at ease when applying paint.

Starting Benefit
Property: A small stall inside the building of Ordo Benevolence. Used to house the order's members and patients as well as providing service. Located at A7.

A remnant of the lost, civilized era before the fall of the Thousand Faced God. An arrogant princess, tempered by time and the loss of an entire civilization, and one of the few to survive that historic calamity to live in the current day.

In those painful months following the death of God and the monstrous scourge that followed, the elven kingdom was one of the many that fell to anarchy and being overrun by creatures. Whisked away by her guards, Meisa was one of the few that retreated to the mountains where although besieged, an enclave of survivors formed to create a new society. Hidden away from the greater world, these survivors slowly grew to form the last city of a once great civilization. It was, and would always be, however, an existence in limbo.

Although the kings and queens were long gone, as the last royal, Meisa had a comfortable existence in exile. But to her, it was an unbearable one. Impotent. As the years passed, it was obvious to her that merely existing was not a way to live. A poor remnant, a shade of the past, a stagnant unaging population that could never move on—what was left was not a civilization, but a walking corpse, and a pitiable continuance. There was no motivation, no greater goal, and no progress to be made among those that were left.

The connections that could be made from outside were no less reassuring.

Once upon a time, she might have been an arrogant, vain young girl. In many respects, she still was. But the memories of proper civilization, and the horrors brought upon the land upon its fall that slowly seared themself to her very soul.

It could be recreated. She could do it herself and bring back what once was. She just had to shake off the coat of her own complacency. Among familiar lands was not the place to be, but instead she was drawn towards a distant city. Oratorio was far grander than what she knew now, but still a shade of what she remembered. Especially the slums.

But it was still a place to start.



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