Abstract Proxy — Roleplayer Guild

Forgot my text locally at home, but will toss up a wizard's wizard later this evening.

What I have so far (so WIP):

Excuse me Madame, might you be one of the heroes from legend? Good turn to you, I have traveled, WAIT WAIT WAIT! Don't walk away! Please great hero might you lend me your ear? I have traveled far and wide to hear tale, my only wish is to tell your story. True, I suppose if I wanted to know of various deeds I could just visit my local tavern or library, but to get it from the horse's mouth, now that would be a treat, far better than any old watered down story you hear on the streets, wouldn't you agree? Oh you will? Joyous occasion! You shant regret this my friend, I promise you 

"Hmmm, a strange request, but I will answer your questions. I have a fondness for scribes, you see. Once, in fact, I was a scribe myself, but those days are long past. However, in gratitude for  the I spent time scouring through ancient tomes and writing I will help you. It would be most unkind of me to withhold my services concerning the proper preservation of the historical record." 

"You may have you answers, ask away."

Now then, What is your name?

"I am Naivara Amakiir."

"I am certain you know this, especially since you freely approached me. I do not make a habit of hiding my identity, but few that do not know me personally are brave enough to ask me such pointed questions. Wizards are not yet free of suspicions, particularly wizards noted for their mastery of destructive magic. I possess few names, but many titles, and strangers often call by the positions that I hold.

"How many times have I not heard the same patterns of repeated words?"

"Respectfully Court Wizard...My apologies Court Wizard...Beg your pardon Court Wizard..."

"Before you ask, let me express my unabashed distaste for what they called me once and still whisper when they believe themselves to be beyond my hearing. I did not choose the moniker they unkindly bestowed on me. I have no interest in sowing fear in others concerning my person. I never wanted to be a weapon, a tool intended only for destruction, drawing forth energy in order to destroy. I would have chosen something more proper...and more accurate."

"Naivara of the Hellish Rebuke, they say in hushed tones. It is a nickname I abhor. And it is an epithet that fills me with great despair. It is a name befitting a merciless killer, not a scribe, not a wizard, and not a battle mage forced to act."

Splendid, and your age?

"I have seen forty-five winters, but among my people, I am still considered quite young. Time moves slower for elves and our perspective reaches beyond the centuries."

Fantastic, and your gender good hero

"I am a woman."

Excellent and of I know what you look like but for the sake of our readers?

"Another strange request, but why not?"

"No one, save the unashamedly ignorant and isolated, would confuse me for a human. I am an elf, through and through. I have the touch of the ethereal woven into my very being and my appearance is certainly quite distinct. In the common tongue, my people are called Moon Elves. I am a close cousin of my bright brethren the Sun Elves and like all of my relations, however distant, I have pointed ears. My skin is pale, shaded with a cold blue hue. Dedicated to pragmatism, I have turquoise hair that I rarely let grow past my shoulders. Many bards, attempting to earn more coin no doubt, have complimented me on by blue-green eyes that match well my other features, and shine brightly with sharp intelligence. Unmistakable flattery can hold some limited charm I have often thought at such times, but there is some truth to such claims."

"Many have said that for an an elf I am modestly tall, standing a hairs length above six feet. I am no warrior or paladin, strapped with bands of thick muscle, carrying deadly arms, and wearing heavy armor. On the contrary, I posses the slender build expected of a scribe and wizard. Time at the court of Baron Darvin Morbrand has been kind to me and I have recovered from many of the lingering reminders of my more perilous adventures. And yet, some scars never fade, and I cannot hide all the faded wounds that mark countless battles. I would not want to. I have no interest in forgetting."

"Unlike many of my colleagues, arcane masters of all sorts, I do not wrap myself in innumerable layers of expensive fabric. I do not wear robes dyed in rainbows of brilliant colors. I prefer loose garments of elven silk in private and tasteful clothes, usually formal dresses, when circumstances demand it."

"When traveling I dress for the season and weather. I own a pair of thick leather boots, a sturdy belt, a shirt woven from soft wool, and an ample cloak with a hood. I favor hues of gray, bright colors are seldom appropriate for the long road and jaunts through the untamed wilds."

"I carry no sketch of myself, no portrait, and no painting. However, should you so desire, I am sure you could find one somewhere."

Excellent Excellent, and how do you act on most days, you know, your mannerisms, your quarks and such. What makes you you

"Wizards are supposed to be haughty, are we not? Prideful and full of unmatchable ambition. Ah, yes! Obsessive beyond all compare when it comes to magic. And cruel, we are supposed to be cruel, I have heard. Cold and without concern for the poor souls bereft of magic, lengthy academic educations, or collections of rare books."

"Once, once I was perhaps like that. However, I learned much during my travels and more from my adventures with the most honorable company of sells words commanded by Octavia Ravenwood. I am no wizard sequestered in her ivory tower. I was not always kind, and indeed, an offended noble or two, might still say that I am not. I have tried to change. I like to think I did. Octavia always said we had to help. She said we could be better. She said we could do more."

"And so I try. I am kinder. I am social. I talk. I share meals. I make friends. I dance and I sing. In public even! When I have been long in my glass. It is strange, perhaps, for an elf to be so slow to learn such things."

"We lost much. Too much. Too much to stand still. Too much to hide. Too much to not live. Too much to forget."

"I warn you and your readers, however do not mistake my most generous efforts. I am still a wizard. Anger, grave anger, especially when faced with incompetence or stupidity, is not as far away from my person as others might like. My dedication to magic has not waned, even if my patience for more mundane matters has grown. I am still a wizard. A court appointment does not change this. I may advise and my office is political in nature, but I remain a wizard and no mere courtly servant. Change what you will about me and I shall unerringly remain a wizard."

"Magic is power. Magic is knowledge. Magic requires careful study. Magic requires unwavering discipline. These lessons I have not forgotten. These rules I still remember. I have not forgotten my teachers. I have not forgotten their advice and many warnings. I have seen with my own eyes what magic uncaringly and unsparingly unleashed can do. I have seen a city burn with eldritch fires. And I do not wish to see such a horrible sight ever again. I will not allow it. I cannot. Not if there is anything I can do to prevent it."

Mhm, and your abilities magical or otherwise? If you use magic, what is your discipline? do you use it for battle, defense, healing?

"I am a scribe. I am a scholar of the arcane. I am a spellcaster. I am a wizard."

"Evocation is the sword I wield. Abjuration is the shield I carry. Only a fool attempts to fight without mastering both attack and defense. I had never intended to become a battle mage. Abjuration came naturally to me. Magic to block, to banish, and to protect. Some wizards deride such magic, seeing it as a reactionary denial. However, to end harmful effects, to banish dangerous influences, and to protect others is far from a mere rejection. Such magic, as I see it, it is a wonderful tool and a most kind vocation."

"As I said, I had never sought out the battlefield, and I certainly had little interest in warfare. Needs make must and in the end I had little choice. It is not enough merely to be able to act defensively, even as a wizard. One must be able to go on the offensive, to strike first and to strike back. Driven by desperate necessity, I studied evocation magic. I learned to channel the elements. Bitter cold, searing flame, rolling thunder, crackling lightening, and burning acid...these are the tools of the evoker. As a result, I have fought using my magic . I have harmed others using magic. I have killed others using magic. Never without cause, never lightly, and never without good reason. Up close or from afar, it is never pleasant to observe the results of blasting a living being with deadly magic. Killing, in my limited experience, places a heavy weight on the soul, caging the mind as well as the heart."

"Still, I learned to wield the elements, I learned to fight using magic, and to sculpt my spells, to weave my magic around rather than through my allies or uninvolved innocents. Magic can be a spectacularly violent force when commanded by a powerful spellcaster. People speak of physical power, skill with arms and armor. Here, in this realm, I would instead suggest that magical power is the future."

"They call me a battle mage and speak of spells cast in the heat of battle. Some call me a killer and regard me with great fear. Some call me a unacceptable danger. I have heard the stories. They say I consort with demons. They say I am quite mad. They say I am damned. I assure you and your readers, with all the honesty a person can hold, that such rumors are mere stories, conjured by fearful minds. I am a no power hungry demagogue seeking to enslave others with magic. I am no debased spellcaster seeking to usurp the natural order of life and death. No, my desires have never been thus inclined. Instead, my colleagues call me an Abjurer, most knowing well my reluctance to accept the mantle of an Evoker. To destroy is easy. And I have seen enough destruction for several lifetimes. These days I prefer to create. It is a much more rewarding line of work."

Yes Yes, and before everything that transpired, what was your life like? who were you?

"I was a cloistered scholar. Steeped in my books. Buried in all manner of arcane tomes. And concerned almost exclusively with my studies. It was a peaceful life. It was a predictable life."

"However, that was later. Let me start at the beginning. I was born several leagues from Braderna, in the heart of the great elven forest of Emethalas. My mother, Jhanandra, was a respected wizard. My father, Vulred, was in his own words, an equally respected but far less talented wizard. I have seven siblings, four sisters and three brothers, I will not trouble you with all their names, but they are kind and wonderful siblings."

"We lived in the great library-fortress of Kioth. It was a wondrous place of learning and within the towering walls of the keep were housed a magnificent collection of books and scrolls of lore. At a young age I showed a remarkable aptitude for magic, even for an elf, and in short order I found myself the student of the great wizard, Evendur Dundragon.

"His first student in several centuries, I knew him many years before he left this plane on his great travels. He was an old wizard then, full of much wisdom and mischief. I learned well and I learned quickly. Evendur was a patient teacher. Kindhearted and thoughtful despite is many eccentricities and endless knowledge of the arcane. Why, I can still remember the day he force me to cast my spells only in the classic elven poetic pentameter while wearing a blindfold, balancing precariously on one leg on a small block of wood."

"As my studies progressed, I ventured out in the world. Usually to complete errands and tasks assigned to be by my mirthful mentor. There were dangers on the road, that is true. But even as a neophyte, I was as gifted spellcaster. My parents had taught me well. My siblings had taught me more. And my teacher was not remiss in his teachings. No wizard should be unable to defend themselves he always said. However, it had never been my intention to adventure. I was no hero. I was a simple scholar, prepared to spend a lifetime quietly buried in my books. For all the good such naïve hopes did me. Despite my best efforts I was unable to avoid the terrible conflict that enveloped the realm, bringing great death and destruction."

"At first I did not realize I had joined the fighting. I was a full wizard when I began to hear the rumors. When I saw the spreading violence. And when I felt a strange shifting in the conduits of magical energy that traverse all known corners of creation. Leylines do not easily shift. They do not move without reason. I could sense trouble on the horizon...even if I could not name it."

"It was in Bradena that my life changed, truly changed. There I was, a ridiculously attired wizard. Dressed in fine clothes. Wearing a magnificent hat. And carrying an ornate spellbook worth several lifetimes of coin. All with the sole goal of acquiring a rare arcane grimoire, a dangerous one at that, the work of some long since destroyed lich. To leave such books unattended and unaccounted for is always a great danger. It was during this time that I first met Octavia Ravenwood. I required a party, individuals skilled in matters of violence, to aid me. I paid fairly, a modest amount for a wizard, but Octavia saw my desperate need and for whatever reasons offered to help despite the obvious danger. I am not sure I would have survived without her and her companions. As it turned out the author of the tome I sought, a dreadful lich, was less smashed to atoms and more resting in wait for the right time to lead an undead army to slaughter the whole city in the darkness of the night. Fighting a battalion of skeletons in underground ossuariess, catacombs as you call them, knee deep in sewage water is an experience I cannot recommend. Nevertheless we prevailed, although it was not without cause. We lost two brave fighters, Fram and Jonirvor, may their names be remembered eternally for their great sacrifice. Seldom I have felt so relieved as when we emerged with the lich's shattered phylactery and his cursed book. Forgive me, I ramble..."

"With my task completed, I had intended to return to Kioth. I had work to do. Books to read. And research to conduct. Once again, things did not go as planned. I had intended to say goodbye. To thank Octavia and to offer gifts of bereavement the families of her two slain fighters. Instead, I found myself joining her group of sellswords. They had no evoker you see, no abjurer, and no wizard to sling spells in battle. It was early in her storied adventures. Before her name was wildly known.  Still, she commanded a noble company of adventurers quite unlike the other rag tag groups of mercenaries that I had the misfortune of encountering in my earlier travels."

"We did much good. We traveled far and wide. We fought many battles. We rooted out evil where we found it. We faced hordes of monsters and what seemed to be an endless tide of mad cultists. I found myself committed to Octavia. I found myself believing in her cause. And I began to share her dream."

"You know what comes next, no? I do not have the heart to speak in great detail. Octavia Ravenwood died in the ancient city of Pherora, in the country Trai Spia. She sacrificed her life so that we could stop an eldritch beast that had consumed the city. Gorged on the flesh and souls of the poor citizens of Pherora, the foul creature was preparing to devour the country whole...and thereafter I would surmise the world entire. The Eldritch Dragon was slain. But the cost! Oh, the cost was too much to endure! Octavia died...but her dream did not. Or so I choose to believe."

"With the eldritch threat ended I bade my surviving comrades farewell. I was done with adventuring. I was over heroics. I wished only to forget. And so I returned to Kioth. I thought I would find peace surrounded by old books. I thought I would feel welcome tranquility resting behind the towering walls. I found no joy. And I found no peace. I was well received...excellently received by my colleagues and kin. I was a hero. I was a savior of the realm. Admired. Celebrated...but feared. I could hear it in the voices of even those I loved most. I had returned a stranger. Such realizations filled me with great sorrow and I wept with bitter regret. What value is there in victory when you find you have lost everything?"

"I did not long nurse such self-serving and bitter thoughts. In truth, the Kioth had changed little. The Great Library was as it had always been. My family love me as they always had. My colleagues...scribes, wizards, and all manner of spellscasters alike remained dedicated to the preservation of knowledge and study of magic. No...It was I that had changed. I no longer belonged. I could not longer spend my days pouring over books while the world burned. Octavia had shown be better. She had taught me to care."

I would have never guessed, and what were your relationships with your comrades, are you still friends? Maybe lovers? Bitter rivals? How do you see them in your eyes

"We were friends once. Close friends. Comrades in arms. I trusted no others. I loved no one as I loved these friends. We faced horrors. We fought monsters. And we risked our lives together. There was pain. There was suffering...but there was also great joy. We shared common cause. We shared food. We shared private moments which I cannot begin to share. It is hard to describe. One had to have been there to understand, completely that is."

"For all our bonds. For all our shared experiences. It was sorrow...incomparable sorrow that drove us apart. Our grief was too much to bear."

"It pains me to say, but it has been some time since I have seen my friends. Many seasons have passed since I parted ways with the others. We did much together. We achieved great things. But I remember too much. Each word is a remainder. Each gesture an unspoken thought. I needed space...I needed time to think. And I needed to find my way." 
OOC: Happy and interested in expanding on this section as the cast of characters develops.

So that's how you worked with each other, and how was your relationship with Madame Ravenwood? Nothing but good I hope.

"Octavia Ravenwood was my friend. She taught me much about the world. She showed me what life was like beyond the walls of the Kioth. She opened my eyes. She demanded I act. She wanted me to be better. She wanted me to care. And she wanted me to do the right thing. No matter the cost. No matter the price to be paid. That was always what she was like. Even to the end."

"I respected her. I loved her. She was like a sister to me."

Interested in expanding this based on GM ideas.

I see, and.....did you know?

"I'm sorry, know what? I know many things, perhaps you could be more specific?"

Did you even guess, did you even have the slightest idea?

"Why would I guess? We are not playing a game of riddles?", Naivara replied her lips pursed in a small frown.

Do you even realize the amount of shit you heroes are in?

I beg your pardon? Naivara asked, taking a step backward.

What made you think you could defeat him so easily? WHAT MADE YOU THINK YOU COULD DEFEAT US SO EASILY?

"Please, do not do anything hasty. I have no desire to harm you. We can talk about this," Naivara  entreated, her hands shifting in a warding sign. She felt a pang of sadness, not fear. She had though the price paid. She had thought the horror banished.

We almost did it, almost, but then you heroes and that bitch! well no matter, you and your comrades will get yours soon enough!

"Your cause was doomed then. And it is doomed now. Please, I beg you, do not throw your life away."

YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT HIM, DEFEAT US! NEVER!
Before the cultist could complete her fell incantation, blue flame enveloped her. Wreathed in flames the poor creature stumbled and then fell to her knees screaming in pain. Naivara heard no desperate shrieks and no more threats as the cultist collapsed onto the flour, crumbling into nothing more than a pile of ashes. 

Wrapping herself in her traveling cloak, Naivara left the library through a secret door. There was no time to waste. She had to find the others. She had to warn them. She had to act!

Edit: Updated

Imare

Inside of the The Dancing Donkey Inn, Anvil

The screams sounded so far away. Imare knew she had to move. She knew she had to act. But she could not. She was trapped in a slowly unfolding nightmare. She felt weary, frozen to her core, and the sinister fog seemed to be everywhere. The cold grave approached, threatening to swallow her whole and pull her beneath the earth. But she was so tired. What could she do? What hope did she have? Around her people were dying. Painfully. Hopelessly. No matter their skill with arms and no matter their strengths. Fangs, sharp fangs that seemed to beckon despite the bloody end they promised and red eyes that glowed in the darkness.

She could try to escape. She could try to run. Unfamiliar despair weighed heavily down on her, filling her blood with ice. Perhaps the creature that stood in front of her was right. The situation was hopeless. Surrender offered more moments. A chance to be spared. Suffering was tolerable if it meant living, if it meant seeing another sunrise. Imare shivered as gloom overtook her. It would be so easy to give up. She almost wanted to. She was tired. Tired of running. Tired of trying to forget.

The flames Uriel had breathed to life with candle and spouted spirits brought Imare out of her daze. Her mind raced with freshly kindled embers of willpower and she reached into her traveling satchel, drawing her sharpened shears. A sad weapon, but far more likely to cut than the small knife she carried on her hip.

Imare did not have to be a Vigilant of Stendarr to know that it was a vampire smoldering in front of her. She had come across mentions of vampires in her studies at the Arcane University, but she was no necromancer. She did her best to avoid the undead. She recalled little. Cryptic mentions in the ancient tomes of learned masters. Scattered papers on vampirism and the alchemical uses of vampire dust. Half-mad ramblings scribbled in diaries. She wished she had a flask of alchemist's fire with her. The sticky, adhesive fluid would ignite when the exposed to air, such as when a bottle shattered. The undead feared fire, mindless loathed it instinctively, and recoiled from it. Silver and fire, the two great weaknesses of the undead, Imare recalled in between panicked breathes.

None of this was supposed to be happening. She wasn't even supposed to be there. She should have been deep in the woods, gathering herbs, enjoying the quiet of the forest. Strange dreams had drawn her to Anvil. Dark dreams had invaded her resting hours, shadowy nightmares that filled her with uncertain dread. Far worse was the binds she had felt tightening around her, pulling her unwaveringly towards Anvil. They were just dreams, she had told herself. She did not believe in prophecy. She did not listen to the whispers of the Daedra or the dead. She was no hero. No great paladin sworn to defend the weak from horrors beyond the grave. She wasn't supposed to be facing monsters leaping out of the dark night to claim her blood...and likely worse.

"Outside, away from the fire!" Imare said, grabbing hold of Andel's hand and pulling him towards the door . There was no time to talk. No time to plan. They had to move. They had to get out of the burning building. Gesturing towards the Imperial that had protected her, Imare felt the panic growing in her voice. "We can't stay here! The fire will only draw more of these creatures, even if it doesn't burn down the inn."

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