CollectorOfMyst

The Symphony - A Fated Quest

I suppose it might be too late to make a character at this point? If someone else has claimed the apparent last spot and the IC has started? XD

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

@Red Wizard Once again I forget to tag. Sorry, seems I'm very much a 'it's done! Click post!' kind of person

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

Desmond smoothed back his hair and fiddled with a crease in his shirt. In one hand, he held a single yellow rose - liberated from the garden of a more well-to-do household. He plastered on a nervous smile, before taking hold of the knocker and giving it three firm raps against the door.

He stood in wait, gently tearing off the thorns and leaves that still clung to the flower. Truthfully, he didn't know much about Old Widow Twain - he was happy with Ms. O'Hara - but hopefully, a woman like Miss Blake had, somewhere, encountered flower language. He wouldn't mind explaining that it was an offering of friendship and new beginnings, but its purpose was mostly to divert the widow - a gentleman caller was, perhaps, more normal than a rookie journalist, and certainly more palatable at this late hour. All Desmond himself needed to do was get his foot - quite literally - in the door.

And then there was his approach. He needed to know as much as possible before heading to the sewer, starting with Miss Blake's source - whether she had been there herself, or if it had been a tip, and from whom. Rumours didn't spring from nowhere, and the more he knew, the better. And if he needed an incentive... well. He had that in mind already. Desmond didn't need the story to be in his name, not just yet. Miss Blake could publish it in hers... an exclusive exposé. All the answers, available in the Caledonian Times. And it would get him access to more.

Speaking of, he could hear footsteps approaching. He held both his hands behind his back, waiting to see who he would need to speak to.

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

@Red Wizard Not on my end. I'm just a low-steam player 😅

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

Will get to work on my response 👍

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

@Red Wizard Post made, a bit later than intended, but it took me a while to finally decide which one I intended to post... and then of all things I forget to tag you in it. Sorry! 😅

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

Desmond had been lucky, really, to secure a place in the boarding house that he had. Not only was it in a central-enough location among Caledon's many districts, but Ms. O'Hara's services were impeccable, and her rooms were in high demand. The only reason he had gotten the room was because he and the previous tenant had become quite closely acquainted over a few drinks - the man, was celebrating the acquisition of a new job as a clerk for a prominent company in another city. They spent the night drinking and talking, and by the end of it, the man had proclaimed to Desmond that he was his very best friend, and that since he would no longer be in town, that he would vouch to the landlady for Desmond.

It was lucky, really, that the man had kept his promise.

It was also lucky that the lady of the house was the very picture of discretion - if her tenants wanted their privacy, or if they came and went at odd hours, she never asked questions, only reminded them that meals were served at seven, one and seven o'clock, and to be quiet after eleven. Desmond, whose current job prospects meant late nights and early mornings, following up on leads, well... he appreciated that.

Tonight, though, it was just him and Ms. O'Hara, and it was well past suppertime. The older woman - a 'loveable spinster', she liked to say - was packing leftovers up into tins, and Desmond, in a rare mood for company, was sat at the table, mostly scrawling nonsense into his notebook at the dining table. It was a comfortable silence, and one he was loathe to break, but, well. There were questions on his mind. He coughed politely, and waited. She kept at her work for a few moments, before glancing in his direction. Desmond took that as leave to speak.

"So where are my neighbours this evening, do you think?"

Ms. O'Hara considered for a moment. "Well, at least one or both of Tanner or Cooper has gone out for a drink. And I think young Leander has a new sweetheart she’s been seeing."

Desmond nodded - that all made sense, from what he knew of the other tenants. "And Marston?"

She sniffed, giving him a look. "I wouldn’t rightly know. He enjoys his privacy. Much like you enjoy yours."

He shrugged back. "I merely found myself curious. I don’t see them much, and I find myself perhaps in need of friends."

"What you need, Desmond," Ms. O’Hara chided gently, "Is a job. Jobs come with colleagues, and colleagues can become friends."

He laughed softly. "You have no idea what journalists are like, do you?"

She turned, waving a spoon in his direction. "I know that the one living in my house has been respectful and kind, and that he's got a mouth to him when he wants to. That's enough for me."

Again, Desmond laughed. "Well, if you can send him my way, it sounds like he and I would get along swell."

Ms. O'Hara shook her head, jokingly exasperated, then, seemingly struck by an idea, reached over and grabbed the newspaper from the stack of evening post, and then tossed it in Desmond’s direction. He stared at it for a few moments.

"The Caledon Times? I’ve already tried them."

She shook her head again, “No, look at the headline.”

He did, and then he read some of the article itself. Things happening in the sewers... orcish involvement... and the 'trusty constabulary', of course...

"You need a story, right?" She waved her spoon again. "There you go."

Desmond considered it for a moment. This did have potential... and if it was hot off the press...

He stood, folding the newspaper under his arm. "Best to strike while the iron's hot, then. You'll be alright on your own tonight?"

Ms. O'Hara blinked in surprise. "I'm hardly a fragile flower that wilts without company, but - Desmond, is now really the time? It's after dark!"

He flashed a grin. "If I wait, someone else could get the scoop before I do. And believe me, sometimes the night shows what daylight hides."

With that, he made a quick stop in his room to grab his coat and a few essentials - and then he was off, headed in the direction of his new quarry.

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

@Red Wizard Finishing up, sooner rather than later, but I'll post in the next day or two. Sorry for the wait 😅

The CharactersOfMyst

Oren

Name: Father Oren Kanus

Age: 20

Height/Weight: 5’9 / 151lbs

Race: Omestri

Appearance:
Oren has the golden eyes prevalent in all born of Omestris, but also his own unusual traits – a silvery hair colour and dark, angled eyebrows. About average height for his people, and paler than most, he has a thin, if not particularly muscled, frame that lends to his speed.

When not dressed in his Inquistorial garb, he wears quite casual clothing – mostly in red. He’s also chosen to augment his uniform with a black hood and cloth mask, so that only his eyes are visible. This helps to shield him from the elements, protect his face and his identity from enemies, and conceal his most distinguishable traits. He also wears a clawed right hand glove when he has time to prepare for battle.


(Sorry about the ears… this literally fit my image of Oren in all other aspects, though, - well, until I found out about the eye colour thing)

Personality:
Oren, on the outside, appears to be a quiet young man who rarely chooses to speak – he would just rather sit back and observe than interject. He does have things to say, if you ask him, and he often knows just a little more than he lets on. He is a guarded individual as well, so he will keep you at a distance unless you’ve been able to break down his walls, or were around before their ‘construction’. He cares, though, so never mistake his actions for lack of sociability or hostility. He’ll be there if you need him.

As for his views on the gods… he doesn’t know quite what he should believe. It is by Lord Varya’s grace he lives, but by Omestris’ will that he even exists… and, like all Omestri, the fire of the Fire Titan runs through him… but, with the Red Seminary he will stay.

Background:
Born in one of the many ghettos that are home to countless slaves, Oren has only the cloudiest of memories of his home and family. He never truly knew them, after all – because his etheric potential was found early. Taken from them when he was only five years old, and confined to a room for several days, he doesn’t quite know what happened during that time. All he knows is that, when that door opened, a tall woman with iron-coloured hair and sallow skin took him by the shoulder and introduced him to the Red Seminary.

For the next two years, he would be watched constantly – left to his own devices, except when the grey woman would come and speak with him about the Lord Varya, teaching the boy of His ways. But one day, when she came to him, and saw him waver around the edges – immediately, he was put into training with the others. He would be pushed relentlessly, not just by his teachers, but by his own wish to prove himself to the only ones he could ever remember showing him kindness. He wouldn’t allow himself to fail them. Not yet. As Oren grew, he would learn how to methodically and swiftly disable his opponents – and if that wasn’t possible, he would wear them down over time, striking at their legs, shoulders, arms, until they became too weak to carry on.

In his thirteenth year, he went through a crisis of faith. He had studied history, so he knew that Lord Varya had brought Oren’s people to ruin. He knew that, even now, hundreds of Omestris, even thousands, were forcibly parted from their ether, and that Oren himself was using that ether in order to further the god’s goals – to bring more people under his rule with shackles around their feet. The grey woman had taken him to see the Omestri ruins only once, during his soul-searching. He could see the beauty of their courtyards and gardens, the mastery of their artwork and architecture… but they were ruins all the same. Scarred. Broken. Destroyed. And never again would they stand. Lord Varya, however… he had not put the Omestri people to death. Enslaved them, true. But they were alive all the same… and Oren had been spared of a life of slavery. Perhaps… he should not be so ungrateful.

He was fourteen when the nightmares started. It always began the same. A woman, with soft hands and a gentle voice, murmuring words he couldn’t understand. Then, a loud crash – people shouting and screaming. The woman had stood, with her back to him – a deafening bang, and she fell with a sickening crack. Then another figure – a black shadow, with a great red eye in the centre of it. It turned to him, and with a clawed, five-fingered hand, it reached for him. After that, the dreams could take any number of turns – but all would fill him with dread.

Months of sleepless nights took their toll. He began to fall behind in his training, in his studies, turning up late to sessions, even missing them. Reprimands and punishments became everyday occurrences. Stress mounted high for him – but he wouldn’t admit to anyone the reasons behind it. Night after sleepless night, dream after damned dream.

It took him stumbling into unpleasant company for him to find a solution… a pair of deviant soldiers-in-training, hanging about behind the Red Seminary’s training hall. Oren confronted them initially, but neither really seemed to care – they were more preoccupied with their reasons for meeting there - Gantleaf. It had taken rise recently in the poorer parts of the city, mostly as an anaesthetic cream and healing agent held on with bandages. Today, it's a commonly used medicinal painkiller.

The two young soldiers talked to Oren about it, praising it – it gave them a relaxed feeling unlike any they’d managed to find in years. Though hesitant at first, Oren eventually gave in to curiosity, and they gave him a needle. It took a few minutes, but suddenly an intense wave of feeling washed over him… it would gradually recede over the next ten minutes, and even afterwards, he felt relaxed and… focused, somehow.

It was the first night in a while that he didn’t have a nightmare.

A second night followed, and then a third. He woke up believing they were gone… but the fourth night brought them back. And the fifth. And the sixth. So, in desperation, he crept away from the supervision of his peers and teachers, to find someone, somewhere, he could get the Gantleaf – in its secondary form. He was eventually able to find a seller – and it would spiral from there. He became dependent on the drug just to make it through the week – if he didn’t get a dose, he’d become disoriented, and get the most extreme of headaches. He has worked hard to keep this weakness a secret, and he knows it’s an addiction – but ever is there the fear of those nightmares, and worse, from not taking it.

Talents/Ethereal Abilities:

• Haze: – Drawing on his internal ether, Oren distorts the light around him – making it look like he is vibrating, almost. For as long as he does this, it isn’t quite possible to pinpoint where he is – you’ll be able to see where he is, for certain – but where he isn’t? Oh, that’s another story.
• Telekinetic: – Focusing his power, Oren reaches out with his mind to take hold of any item or person he so desires. Through this power, he can push, pull, bend, sever, and crack whatever he holds, though with varying degrees of ether needed. It may only take a fraction of the effort, but it still takes a toll on him when he needs to lift great weights. So, he focuses on using it for smaller projects instead - like snapping a man's neck instead of throwing him off a cliff.
• Long Knives: – Oren isn’t the fondest of heavy weapons, so instead he carries three of these. Perfectly balanced between melee combat and throwing, they can be held in both hands. He can even disarm his opponent with a single move; should his opponent make a cleave downwards, all Oren needs to do is make a cross section with the blades. Once the three hilts meet, he twists and wrenches their weapon away.
• Talon Hand: – Oren’s nightmares still have some grip on his mind – in particular, the claw that reached for him. Drawing on his own fear, he had a custom pair of steel gauntlets made – fitted with small metal blades. Not exactly equipped to kill, but still, if he has an empty hand, he is by no means unarmed. He can slash at someone’s unguarded skin and cause a long, thin and shallow set of lines – a distraction for most all fighters. While he rarely chooses to do so in case he nicks himself, they can be laced with poison for a more damaging effect. (image for comparison effects only)

Personal Seal:


Character Relationships:
Father Ilya: Oren's opinion of Ilya is overall a little... sour. His arrogance, his privileged birth, his great concern for what others think of him; all are black marks against his name. He acts amicably enough around Ilya, and by no means will let his view of the man interfere with their work, but, well... Oren isn't the best at hiding it, even in silence.
Initially, Oren did admire the man, because he works tirelessly to improve himself, his strategies are incredible, and he desires to help as many people as he can. Yet, as Oren observed him, he came to notice that things weren't quite all they appeared on the surface.

Mother Viveca: Oren feels a kind of kinship with Viveca, given that both she and he are descendants of the Omestri people. Despite their differing stories - he, being born a slave and she, born free - both of them have come to be here, be it through the divine will of Lord Varya, the lost Omestris, or some other higher being, or simply by chance.

Mother Indira Al-Sayed: Mother Indira… a harsh woman, to say the least. But fair. And even though her training was punishing, Oren relishes the lessons he learned from her. It was her teachings that kept him together when he was fraying at the seams… even though he eventually had to give in to other methods. Every lesson, every mark on his body and on his mind, he refuses to forget.
In short, he is both highly respectful and highly grateful to his teacher. He has not fully grasped all of the things he has learned, but he endeavours to.

Father Cillian: Cillian was interesting, to Oren. Quiet, like himself, but in a different way. Oren preferred to hang back and observe, but Cillian didn’t even do that; disappearing into his garden more often than not. His store of ether made him an ample Protector, and his exclusion from Mother Indira’s ‘additional lessons’ made him even more of an oddity. Eventually, though, Oren acknowledged that the man was just disinterested in the rest of the world beyond his own place in it; or at least, that was his own interpretation of it.

Mother Ziotea: Oren is unsure what prompted him to offer to take the woman with him to the ruins. A sense of kinship due to their shared Omestrian heritage? Duty, from the lessons that had been given to him? No, those weren’t right. Best not dwell on it.
From what little he knows of her, he knows that he and Ziotea have different outlooks on life; different methods and values. But, Oren isn’t fool enough to think that his way is the only one that brings success. He values the fact that they are different - it will make her a beneficial ally.

The Shadow over Old Caledon - Open for Applications

Stole my character sheet I see Glad to have you on board, @TRES!

Also @Golem, I'm working on a post but it's slow-going at the moment. I'm a little bit out of practice.