STATUS:
I will not celebrate mediocrity. I will not worship empty shells. I will not listen to worthless noises. I will not subject myself to selected predictable choices. I will not be bought or sold.
5 yrs ago
Current
I will not celebrate mediocrity. I will not worship empty shells. I will not listen to worthless noises. I will not subject myself to selected predictable choices. I will not be bought or sold.
6 yrs ago
I've seen a person change his face like other's change their clothes.
2
likes
7 yrs ago
... The struggle between modeling, painting, writing, and creating... Oh what is a failure to do.
9
likes
7 yrs ago
Well... I think it might be time to start painting again...
7 yrs ago
Did you ever have so many hobbies you can't figure out what to do? Feeling uninspired...
It was still relatively early in the evening. The bar had not begun to wind down for the evening. Mugs of ale chimed against the wooden table tops as they were emptied. Spoons clattered against bowls. Boisterous laughter reverberated through the rafters. Various noises common to this type of establishment echoed off the walls. They were cheerful, amicable at worst but even those who struggled to handle their alcohol were enjoying a joyous occasion.
But then the room fell silent, or so it would seem. As Xander’s thoughts coalesced into words, he felt as though all eyes had fallen upon him. He felt as though everyone was looking to him for the answer to a question that scholars had been pondering for centuries. It was a question that he did not have the answer to, only a passing fancy taken from an excerpt in a book written in a language known only to a few all across the Midlands, north or south. But he would not give it to them willingly.
Xander took a mouthful of ale, puffing his cheeks outs like a rodent before forcing the liquid down his throat in one painful gulp. It was a gulp too big for his adolescent throat. The pain was apparent in his clenched eyes that blinked furiously as he wavered his head from one side to the other.
“You’re not from around here, are you? North Midlands, the Glandrather… it doesn’t matter", Xander began as he scanned the room to be sure his delusions were just that. "I have - a plan.”
He was just shy of being a teenager. He was alone. He had only one reason to go back to Pyre and only one reason to continue forward. Which was bigger? Spend what little time she may have had in this world and watch his sister die or struggle with the fear of losing her while trying to save her with the only lead he had.
“I’m going to the Capital.” Xander began, as that is where his plan would either end or continue. “My sister is sick. She got it from those things that creep around the wood, carrying the darkness.” Xander took another drink before setting his empty mug down on the table between them. He leaned in closer to the new acquaintance, “Before I left Pyre, Maestra Luna showed m a book. It was old. Put together in a way I’ve never seen before.” Xander turned away for only a second to ensure that no one had wandered to close. “Her translation said with a potion, the darkness can be stopped.”
With his free hand, his right hand the boy reached into his belt and pulled out a piece of parchment. On either side were multiple drawings related to two separate plants. Each side depicted representations of their leaves, roots, flowers, and last known locations at least according to the translation now written in the common tongue. Xander offered it to Rio with no inclination or concern as to whether or not he would be able to make heads or tails of it.
“The Maestra thought the Great Athenaeum in Orthreloth would have more information. It was the only direction she could give me.”
Orthreloth, the capital of the Kingdom of Duringham and home to the seat of King Marcurio Thadon the twelth. A thriving metropolis that provides a prime example of a thriving economy and military might in the Midlands. While it is not the earliest constructed settlement in the Midlands it was one of the first. The city was constructed in a strategic location that exists between where the Eachine River splits from the Glomma River and where the Glomma River splits from the Massenmarch River. It is because of this particular location that the city has thrived.
Racially integrated, the city of Orthreloth is certainly a melting pot of cultural convergence. There is no specific observation of Yggdrasil although they do favor the most appealing in a positive light. It is better to have good neighbors than evil. But who is to say that more diabolical sects do not exist in the darker corners of the city. There are only two holidays that the city celebrates as a hole. These are the Royal Ascension, or the yearly anniversary of the current king’s reign. And the Festival of the Hunt, a contest in which the island is barricaded at either bridge and participants must hunt down ferocious beasts released on the island. Otherwise, celebrations are held based on personal belief.
There is little to say about the city for it is quite typical. The western edge of the river, while technically not in the assumed territory of the Kingdom is inhabited more greatly than the east. The eastern side of the river is densely populated with what would be considered a middle class socioeconomic status. The island is the residence of many upper class citizens, as the festival of the hunt is provided mostly for their entertainment. The western half of the city is a menagerie of socioeconomic status. The Castle and seat of King Thadon resides upon the hill the homes beneath it get progressively less lavish as the distance grows until the poor district is reached closest to the wall.
The river in most all locations has some jetti or dock, of course there is an official port on the south side of the wester edge of the river where the larger ships dock. The shipping industry is paramount to the settlements survival. Most of the city’s goods and migrants come in on ship as traversing great distances over Errandil can prove quite dangerous. Of course, the King levies a certain tax on goods that come into and leave the city; which can sometimes cause quite an uproar. But it is all for the greater good of the Kingdom.
Mixed within the city are a few particularly notably organizations that hold a particular sort of influence over the city’s lot whether authorized or otherwise. The Iron Veil is a guild of mercenaries or sell-swords that has a strong host in the city. At least one inn is entirely devoted to serving their cause acting as a haphazardly placed headquarters. Then is the group that calls themselves the “Men in Cloaks,” a guild of rogues and thieves that often police the poorer districts of the city as the guard is more heavily focused on the richer sides of town. Finally is Yggdrasil’s Watchful Eyes, which is the largest religious sect and denomination of Yggdrasil in the city. They command a large following as they work well throughout the city to provide religious guidance and healing through physical and sometimes arcane practices. They also maintain a vast knowledge of various schools of information, as both extremely literate and extremely pious in keeping the written word.
There are multiple points of access constructed within the twenty foot high stone walls that surround the city, with guard towers built at similar intervals. This wall is lined with archers, murder holes, and rock piles should a siege be brought upon them. But while this is the primary line of defense it is not the initial. More than a country mile beyond the walls, strategically placed to ensure line of sight are watch towers on both the western and eastern edge. In times of trouble, they are equipped with mighty brazzers that can be seen for miles in every direction. These will alert the men on the wall who will call upon the collective force of the guard and if need be an order of conscription within the city walls.
It is important to say a few things about King Marcurio Thadon, the twelfth of this name and the twelfth of his station. The crown eminents with an archaic resonance of the King’s of the past, as if they guide the current wearer from beyond the grave. The armor and accoutrements never change. Only the face. Even the name does not change. Yet, people do not question. His demeanor, attitude, and plans never change and still people do not question. It is as if the King’s spirit was lead by Yggdrasil himself, divinely inspired or communicated with every new crowned King. Of course, those who are arcanely alert may take notice of the crown specifically as it does radiat a magical presence, but if anyone has ever found anything off kilter they’ve made the decision to keep their mouth shut. Of course, regardless of why the King is now the twelfth of his name despite the physical appearance changing (sometimes drastically), the King has never shown any signs of evil intentions towards his people. In short, the King is a continual beacon of hope for his people.
The Hamlet of Pyre was built near the southern border of the Kingdom of Duringham. As it is told, a group of nomadic people were attacked by those inflicted with the darkness while traveling north to seek protection within the Kingdom. Suffering severe casualties, the tribe scattered in all directions. However, those who remained in the area to fight off the darkness and survived constructed a massive funeral pyre of the dead that was said to have burned to see the light of seven new days. The light shone so brightly against the night time sky that it gained the attention of those who had fled and drew them back together to honor the dead in their ascension.
That same pyre is still the center of the hamlet to this day. Encased in stones found on the banks of the river the surrounding land, the people of that time held the pyre in high regard as a shrine to the people who sacrificed their lives so that they may live. The Pyre grows with every death as funeral rights include the cremation of the body, a collection of the ashes which are then spread amongst the stones of the pyre before a new stone is added.
The hamlet is quiet, even on the not so typical day. It expands haphazardly from the pyre at the center where one would find establishments such as the blacksmith, the tailor, and the inn. These buildings function as both businesses and homes for their proprietors. There are other homes in this hamlet proper, but they are relatively few. As one moves further out from the hamlet proper, they will find the homes clustered together in small groups of two or three each with their own family but collectively maintaining a portion of farmland in a sort of commune.
At any given time there are only two guards on duty and they maintain the hamlet proper. Rarely do they patrol the farthest reaches of the hamlet’s jurisdiction, typically only when requested by those who live beyond the hamlet proper. Because of its small size, the guard also very rarely patrols by night doing so only upon request of the ruling lord. However, upon an order of conscription by that same lord and army of around one or two hundred can be gathered to fight on varying levels. They are responsible for maintaining their own weapons and what little armor they can afford as well as training to a competent and combat ready level.
The ruling Lord, Sir Orsin Daremyth was a knight in the King’s royal regiment, charged with protecting the King when outside of the castle beyond the responsibility of the King’s Guard. After the death of the last Lord, he was gifted the position for his bravery, loyalty, and responsibility in his duties. For him, it is mainly a retirement position. A place for him to pass. His modest manner is present amongst the buildings of the hamlet proper, distinguishable only by the size in comparison to those buildings around it. He is charged with making the important decisions of the hamlet, which are few and far between. He is kind-hearted, just, and fair with a penchant for second chances.
Enathrae could not hide his immense pleasure, a wide mouthed grin split from ear to ear. A spectacular performance at the expense of the lady-knight and the floating, nose-offending corpse. At first it was only a chuckle that had escaped his lips but as the lady-knight stormed off passed his position near the stairs his body curled into boisterous laughter. The lich, arrogant enough to believe people would see beyond the wretched, wrinkled body of kindling and the lady-knight so hot under the collar as to stupidly initiate a negative conversation with a lich. A lich? What the hell was Havfyg up to? A lich, a were-croc, and a lady-knight walk into a tavern… that is it. There was no punchline. That was the joke. The dunmer was smart enough to keep his dark skinned ass in the alley to await the potential fall out of this leaking powdered keg. He was not about to be the fire to ignite this potential conflagration in these surroundings.
“I suppose it’s about time we should be hitting that dusty trail,” the Dunmer swooned as he turned towards the ascending staircase with his hands in his pockets.
“Foolish enough to piss off a lich…ha, a woman after my own heart.” Enathrae laughed jumping up the stairs two at a time.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
With an attitude that made a mockery of determination, Enathrae meandered through the castle uninhibited. A few golden septims would not be missed, nor an apple or, “Aw...let me guess, someone stole your sweetroll?” the Dunmer mocked to himself. He ran his tongue over his sticky lips, destroying any trace of evidence before moving on. Tossing the apple in the air, he contemplated his upcoming journey.
Such a ragtag group of particularly pugnacious rapscallions on a journey to a place enshrouded in secrecy. The fools actively seek out the daedra, summoning their council as if it were merely a passing fancy. But why? Such a cryptic message from the college delivered by the King, a King that failed to provide any real answers. Some King eh? Perhaps it should be -king-...a wise man once contemplated that a man who must say he is the King is no true King. One might extrapolate that into including that a true King would have knowledge of his Kingdom and advisers in place that could appropriately deal with such matters. Perhaps this king is not so secure in his position.
”What is it that has you so frightened that you cannot send your own loyalist?”
Before him stood such grandiose wooden doors, it was disgusting. So much larger than any man, or mer. Perhaps a giant would be better suited to room such an obvious and ostentatious overcompensation. The massive doors at least four men high and three men wide standing abreast was bound by iron. The exposed wood in between the iron straps intricately carved in depictions of fowl beasts and brave warriors. Despite the rudimentary pictograph’s overall appearance they were skillfully crafted with a level of respect for the trade rarely seen in this day and age.
Enathrae stood for but a moment in admiration, not so much of the size but the artistic skill of the elementary artwork. With a wave of his hand, a servant was kind enough to force the door free of the proticulos. The city quickly opened before him, flooding the room with a torrent of scents that offended the nose and a cacophony of noises that were nothing less than ear shattering. It was a time of celebration. It was a time that Enathrae had hated, with the noted exception that it provided an adequate distraction for death. He took a bite of his burrowed apple, one hand in a pocket and made his way into the city.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was disgusting. Never had his nose been assaulted so savagely. Simmering meat of an unknown nature in one direction, warm piss poor ale wafting over from another, and what had been the worst were the influence of that piss poor ale that had been discarded in every back alley and side street that he had the displeasure of walking by. It was a celebration alright. However, very few people enjoyed the jubilation with any couth.
Such dirty things men were. So numerous that in most provinces of Tamriel they overtook the more civilized mer and brought them down to their level through fear of ostracization. It was more readily apparent in a place like Windhelm’s Grey Quarter. It was a perfect place to make an example of as they all soon learned. But despite Enathrae’s attempts, it was a lesson they soon forgot. But what are a few dead nords between mer?
Enathrae found himself in the Talos District, which happened to be noticeably dangerous. There happened to be a very obvious separation. Those who followed king Havfyg and those who did not. As the sun moved lower into a sky that would soon be evening, tensions were rising. The altercations had not be physical as of yet, but he could sense something could easily go awry. Such things would make it difficult for him to move swiftly through the streets.
Should he avoid such catastrophe? No, it would be against his nature to willing meander through a battle field and not take advantage. Killing of the innocent, even of the not so innocent was legitimate if it was done to advance himself or promote order. But it would be the order of king Havfyg and that was an order that was slowly beginning to grow sour in the pit of his stomach. Speaks the words to allow for the personal freedom to ensure self preservation, then determine the appropriate course of action. Could he kill Havfyg? There was not enough information available to him to tell. Too much power was at stake to make assumptions.
The mer went to consume a bit more of his apple only to lay eyes upon that god awful mundane golden ring gifted to him by this mighty king. A mighty king who apparently could not afford anything of actual visual attraction. Could it read thoughts? It was provided that the ring would eliminate any potential threat to the king directly. But would it prevent any actions that were openly against the king? Questions perhaps for another time, another day - when there were not so many questions to consider in how to have this curse removed.
“What’s this?” Enathrae croaked under his breath, cocking his head in confusion.
Who was this brazen woman so roughly manhandling the common nobility? What was she searching for. Such a fine grip upon the man’s arm. Of course, his mistake was allowing one to subdue him in the first place. But knowledge if the half of the battle most forget while they are wildly swinging their weapons this way and that. Quickly Enathrae found himself an inconspicuous locale from which to view the woman, following her movements to better understand what may be transpiring here.
His adolescent eyes opened wide, unblinking and staring at the floor. In his mind things had been different. Xander had been calm and collected, brazen even as he stood up to those who came before him with gusto demanding a fellowship be assembled to assist him on his personal journey. His heartbeat quickened. Breathe came in short, sharp waves. This wasn’t like the stories he had heard growing up. Stories of people coming together to assist in the cause of the greater good, to combat the growing darkness before it sweeps across the kingdom. Now, he was nervous, afraid even.
Pyre was a well sized hamlet, but by settlement standards it was still quite small. It was a well populated hamlet, around three hundred people all together. Unfortunately, outside of the hamlet proper most gathered in small collectives only rarely seeing other people. Leaving Pyre on his own was a step that most people didn’t take lightly, let alone a child. But Xander had decided that his cause was just and teachings be damned, with Yggdrasil’s blessing or not he was going to save his sister. But he did not have much to go on.
“I’m looking for Abyssal Shade, Atrestrianna, and a way to cure the darkness…” Xander blurted out, sweat beading across his forehead dripping down his face.
His face grew pale. An exasperated look swept over his rough visage. His mouth hung open, jaw slack with disbelief at his folly. So foriegn had interactions with individuals outside of his own family, or even the few people he encountered in the hamlet proper been that he truly could not comprehend how to initiate an actual conversation with another person. What would his sister have told him?
“I...I’m sorry,” Xander sighed, more disappointed in himself at this point than nervous. “I’ve come from Pyre. My name is Xander. What’s yours?”
Nestled beside the Cherafir River across from the Grandrather Forest, the Thirsty Lute a traveler’s haven for those meandering around the southern portion of the midlands. What’s even more impressive is that it rarely finds itself a target of trouble or infamy. It is a wholesome place where Yggdrasil is public praised every evening and only the most rowdy of fellows are provided free airfare through the buildings double doors. It is never directly spoken of, more out of unfamiliarity than any threat of danger. But it is quite a popular stopping point for many regulars that travel the region or find themselves need a place to rest for the evening or the entire night.
It is a large establishment while hosting a basement level that double both as a common sleeping room for those unable to afford something more private, as well as a food cellar - separated by a common wall of course. The main level provides ample room for eating alone at smaller tables that seat four or for participating in the “Stranger Table” whereas many as sixteen people may sit comfortably around a large rectangular table. It is encouraged by the proprietors, to ensure an amicable atmosphere that this table always be filled first. It allows strangers to sit side by side with the intention of becoming fast friends. With the darkness spreading, a few friends would never hurt. More importantly, the Thirsty Lute is built around a massive hearth that helps keep the entire building warm on those cool spring nights and allows in an ample downdraft when left empty on those particular sweltering summer days. Above that room is a strange split level built sleeping quarter with a variety of rooms, and comfort levels for people who come in droves or all by themselves. Even the attic has a few rooms available for renting at a much lower cost, if the stairs aren’t any bother nor the dust or smell.
The Thirsty Lute boasts two particularly unique delicacies that help maintain a regular customer base. Midlands Ale, known quite well around the southern Midlands and produced in the capital is distributed far across the land from the smallest taverns to the largest ale houses in the biggest cities. The Thirsty Lute provides a sweetened version of this ale that pulls at the palette with the bitter taste of a typical ale, and the added sweetness of vanilla. It is quite a beverage for the weary traveler. The second is a hearty stew favoring featuring a delicious conglomerate of vegetables, spices, and meats considered a jealously guarded family recipe. A light meal it is not; however, a bowl before bed and a good night’s sleep that lasts well into the next morning is guaranteed.
Rarely will you see Ignatius Hogworth in the common room during the regular hours when the common room is the most occupied. The current proprietor of the Thirsty Lute, Ignatius is a pious man that keeps Yggdrasil in a positive light. He is also the establishments main chef. A salty old man he has a good heart and a rough exterior honed by years of life upon Errandil that eventually forced him to move beyond his place of birth and into a more solitary life. The most personal information ever milked from this dried up cow is that he is not a native of the Kingdom of Duringham or the lands of the southern midlands that make up its territory. His daughter Rebecca is the tavern’s main waitress and housekeeper (the latter being a role that everyone participates in). She is a grown woman but as with most girls clings to her father’s presence. Humble and proper, this young woman is pleasant to be around and maintains a great amount of the daily dealings with the clientele. Finally, is Malcom who was a local from the western isles that came across the Thirsty Lute and earned Ignatius’ favor. He has worked for the man for many years. It is quite apparent that he is smitten with his daughter and works constantly to prove himself worthy of her hand. While they are not actively involved, the flirtation is present to Ignatius disapproval.
(Author’s Note) If one might be interested, there may be room on board the staff of the tavern all one would merely have to do is inquire with Ignatius. Of course, what sort of person would hide out in such a roundabout place unless they came from an even lesser known locality.
The afternoon hours were oppressive. Summer had cast spring aside and it had done so with a vengeance. The sun began its descent just after high noon as it had always done but still the temperature had risen to an unreasonable high for an early summer day. Combining the temperature with the humidity in the air that was so thick it hurt to breathe made for a deadly combination if one was not careful. Even the grass hung low with exhaustion as the sun beat down on every blade that silently wept for the humidity to coalesce into the much desired precipitation that had not blessed the land in a few weeks.
Even the animals were struggling to cope with the heat. The prey of the midlands struggled to rest easy in what little shade they could find, even though a predator was nigh to be seen. Those that could be found were seen lazing around the grassy plains or lapping up water as if the rivers would soon run dry. Perhaps there had been some sort of unspoken truce for such an occurrence when the weather was the dominating factor controlling the lives of every beings across land. What any of them would do for a nice ocean breeze, unfortunately an ocean could not be seen for leagues in any direction.
Xander had learned early on, that if he was going to travel along the main road across the midlands north of his hometown of Pyre, it was best to do so in the shade when at all possible. On this particular day, before the sun had reached its peak the young man had waded across the Cherafir River to exploit the shade of the Glandrather Forest. Yes it was dangerous, that much was well known to those of the area. But it would not matter compared to the potentially slow death of heat exhaustion. The shade provided by the forest’s tall and ancient trees provided a level of protection far outweighed the potential risk.
More importantly, Xander had made great time. The comfort from the penetrating rays of the sun that the shadows of the trees had provided allowed him to move swiftly along the river’s banks, whereas others had to approach the day’s travels in a more reserved manner. The young man had reached the first checkpoint in his journey before he had previously thought possible. It would seem determination and a little planning would go a long way on this journey.
Xander had reached the Thirsty Lute well before the evening had begun to set, as the establishment was still quiet. The fire had burned low in the hearth. The tables were clean. The common room was quiet. The growing scent of roasting stew and baking bread hung heavily in the air. The barkeep spent more time in the kitchen then behind the bar, lackadaisical ensuring that the preparations for decent night had been made. Xander was not sure what to expect, but he learned quickly and would certainly pick up on the common comings and goings of the local establishment as time had carried on.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Soon evening had set in. The Thirsty Lute was full of life. Although the inn was not overcome by patrons it appeared densely packed. The plethora of tables that had once been clean were now slathered in crumbs soaked with spilled ale. The floor decorated with the footprints of muddy boots that had long since moved on. Chairs were askew and people moved among the common room sharing in the fine atmosphere. A newly feed fire blazed in the hearth, illuminating the room far better than the menagerie of table lamps and sconces positioned throughout.
Xander found a suitable if slightly uncomfortable wooden chair near the hearth. There were six chairs all together, each couple split by a smaller table more suitable for decoration than for eating. It allowed him to keep his back to the wall and a grand view of the door, even if it were obscured by the growing crowd. He was not yet a teenager but no one had questioned his choice of beverage, a mug of Midlands Ale brought down from the capital, and made the Thirsty Lute’s own by adding a spoonful of sugar and a crush bean of vanilla. It was considered the inn’s delicacy, but the boy nursed it with caution nonetheless.
He had been lucky to arrive early. He had his pick of the beds upon arrival save for a few that were on reserve. He found a small room on the second floor with nothing more than a bed and a small end table. But it had a window that opened and a door that locked. Perhaps he was being over cautious, It was not often that news spread from the central regions of the Midlands that the darkness meandered about unchecked. Xander felt he had to maintain a certain level of control over his situation as he would not be able to control those around him. He was on a mission, and the first stop was this inn.
“Another mug kid,” the Innkeeper inquired just before Xander had tried to wave him off. “We don’t get a lot of young’ns here, best mind yourself on these roads. Not entirely safe by ‘urself.”
Xander took the opportunity to peruse the room. He used the innkeeps position to camoflauge his blatantly obvious investigation. A few more men had entered the place. A number of shorter fellows in the corner had started off on a wonderful game of the drink. A few at the group table in the center had become boisterous taking up cards and offering slanderous jests in their attempts to gain an upper hand.
“Who’s that fellow over there,” Xander asked the Innkeeper, motioning to a corner table with a tip of his head.
“Not too sure about that one there. Came in with the rest of the crowd. Not a regular though…” The innkeep said before turning away from the young man. “Yggdrasil be kind to you boy, he always keeps the little ones.”
“Until they actually need ‘em,” Xander replied thinking of the sister that the Innkeeper could not possibly know.
He turned his head to eye the stranger in the corner more directly. He examined his garb, trying to ascertain any level of threat but could obtain nothing of any use. A normal individual by all accounts. He swiftly shifted away. Did he see Xander staring? He couldn’t help but contemplate the implications of a perceived interest. Was he being nosey, paranoid, overcompensating for his lack of understanding or presence? Initiating the conversation was half the battle. But with so many people it was a battle that could go very wrong very quickly.
Xander Hsine was born in the small hamlet of Pyre, in the southern region of the Midlands between the Cherafir River and the Glandrather Forest. He was just shy of thirteen years old, an age some might still consider tender. Further introduction in Xander’s history would suggest otherwise. At such a young age, love was never a consideration but there had been talk of a marriage amongst his parents - perhaps to the carpenter’s daughter or maybe even the blacksmith’s. His father was a member of the hamlet’s small dedicated guard leaving himself alongside his mother and sister to maintain the small farm used to assist in feeding the small population of the hamlet. Xander Hsine is a medium sized human male that stands just shy of sixteen hands and weighs in at about ten stones.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Xander often times acts as his conscience directs him with little regard for what others expect of him. He makes his own way, but he is kind and benevolent. He believes in goodness and right but has little use for laws and regulations. Xander hates it when people try to intimidate others and tell them what to do. He follows his own moral compass, which, although good, may not agree with that of society. He may be young, but his actions combine a good heart with a free spirit.
While Xander could only be considered loosely pious, he does believe in the same deity that everyone else in Errandil follows. It goes by many titles; the Uncaring, the Protector and Preserver of Life, Dweller on the Horizon, the Watchful Protector, the Scourge of Battle, the Soul Forger, the Bringer of Darkness, the Shining One, and the Whispered One. Depending on which part of the world one encounters its clergy, they may be good or evil. Regardless of titles or alignments, one name is prevalent in the common tongue across the land - Yggdrasil. As Xander was raised, Yggdrasil represented all that was good in their lives as the Protector and Preserver of Life. In times of sowing, they would make offerings to Yggdrasil praying for a great harvest. In times of travel they would pray for a watchful eye to keep them safe on their journey. And on the occasions swords were drawn, they asked that Yggdrasil be righteous and just. However, after the atrocities that befell Pyre Xander now believes otherwise. Yggdrasil is the darkness that plagues the lands of Errandil. It is Yggdrasil’s emanating darkness that plagues the land and its influence that corrupts the living into terrible beasts that afflict the land. Xander is not a pious individual. He would rather rely on himself and others than pray to Yggdrasil for assistance in any form.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Author’s Notes: Please be kind enough to omit his floating appearance as well as the dragon’s eye amulet dangling from his neck. These aspects will play no part in the character’s portrayal.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Before Xander began his journey, the boy lived in the small hamlet of Pyre. It was a rural community under the protection of Orthreloth with very little to offer the Kingdom outside of bodies if the horns of war ever rang across the fields of the Midlands. It was but a few bodies at that. He lives with his parents and his older sister in a small farmhouse that was quite suitable for their needs but would certainly leave a city dweller with something very much so to desire. Like his parents, Xander spent his days either tending to the fields or training with his short sword to become a member of the Guard upon coming of age. While his mother and sister would train to act in times of emergency fighting when they needed to, he as his father did would fight to protect the hamlet whenever danger threatened. A mediocre farm at best, Xander did as he had too while growing up to escape the punishment of his father for not tending to his homestead duties. However, he felt his true calling was that of the blade and subsequently devoted as much time as possible to swordplay and athletic activity to ensure his ability to protect the people of Pyre would never be questioned. While he was quite average in stature for his age, Xander proved to do exceptionally well with his short sword.
His familial background was quite typical as well. His grandparents, even his great grandparents were buried in the same hamlet that he grew up in. Xander came from a line of farmers and hamlet guardsmen. His uncle was a skilled craftsmen, trained as a cobbler but was drawn to the fabulous life of big city living. Xander was never lucky enough to learn from him. An old family tale tells of his maternal great grandfather participating in a march through the Massif during an expedition to destroy Gilgondorin, but the truth of that story only Yggdrasil knows. Overall, the young man has a rather mundane family line.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Most importantly to Xander, quite frankly the thing he values most is his older sister. She is the reason he ran away from home. Fallen ill from poison of the darkness acquired when the dark forces of Yggdrasil invaded from the forest, the hamlet clergy who doubled as physicians deemed her unable to be cured. They deemed their only form of action would be to make her comfortable through the terrible ordeal she was bound to endure for an amount of time that no one could possibly determine. However, a book found in the Lords home told of a way that may save his sister from the darkness and perhaps himself from the affliction already suffered as well. While both herbal and arcane in nature it is the only route visible to Xander. He values this knowledge and he values his sister enough to disobey his father, flee his home and journey to acquire the things he needs to save her. On the same note, his greatest fear is returning empty handed knowing that while his motives were pure he wasted what little precious time he had left with his sister on a fool’s errand. Learning that his entire trip was all for naught would be devastating to his fragile psyche. It is something he rarely thinks about directly, but that potential sense of failure slowly naws at the back of his mind.
Overall, his attitude and approach to life are quite simple. How could a young adolescent boy overcomplicate such a simple thing. Life is an adventure. A dangerous, life threatening adventure where you have to make tough decisions on a whim, sometimes at the tip of a sword. Xander has to trust his instincts. Making friends and enemies as he sees fit. He will journey to the ends of the planet to achieve his goal, using his own moral compass to determine his way. He is willing to accept help, but not at the expense of his mission. And he is willing to help based on that same understanding.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
While young, Xander still possess valuable strengths that a party may find explicitly useful. His stature is quite typical for his age but his ability with a short sword (used in his left hand) is quite formidable though it does not necessarily offset the lack of physical strength when compared to a seasoned warrior of greater age and experience. His agile defenses and evasive maneuvers may be able to offset his lack of strength but once again that quick foot movement can only work as long as he can move. Physical strength is his most difficult weakness to overcome. It is only seconded by the lack of experience that makes Xander a viable victim for any who cross his path. He is just almost thirteen and still has very much to learn. Quite frankly, common sense can only take him so far. He can improve his fighting skills by training every day. He can grow in strength by doing the same. But learning things like reading people in daily interactions, combat, or shady situations is not something that can be learned by training but only experience. It will be a task that cannot be overcome overnight.
Finally, one of his most potent yet miserable strengths is his very own touch of darkness. It is visible on his face, a small patch of chromatically black scales with a metallic sheen. But it is most notable on his left arm, from the tip of his middle finger to his left pectoral, the same chromatically black scales with a metallic sheen. However, his arm is certainly more pronounced with thick plates and spikes of what appears to be some sort of exoskeleton or daemonic armor. It resonates with the subtle hue of glowing red embers in various places simulating what might be considered some sort of biological material. In onlookers at the very least it generates apprehension but at the very worst, it can provide a reason for the mob mentality to take over with murderous intent. For what better option is there than death for what cannot be easily understood? The piece is tougher than iron, defending against the edge of a blade or the flat of hammer like a shield. There is some arcane resonance within as it can resist Yggdrasil’s might with a certain ward like power. Truthfully, little is known about this appendage. The clerics of his town were unable to ascertain any legitimate knowledge from books or observation, let alone any concept of treatment. Of course, the world of Errandil is quite large. Someone has to know something.
Member
Carlyle
Vampiretwilight
Single Malt
Noctis
AlteredTundra
