”What is an opera? And just how many like me are kept there?” It replied with a seemingly genuine curiosity. ” Right
Right again. We are getting close”
The sword seemingly grew lighter in Yvain’s hand. At the same time it fell into a contemplative silence. What gave Yvain the idea that the sword was thinking, and if she was right to assume so, was just another of its many mysteries. A moment later it spoke again before she could get a word in.
”We don’t need titles. You don’t need to address me when you want to communicate, I hear all your thoughts and words anyway, and well, I can’t speak to anyone else so if you hear my voice it is safe to assume I am talking to you.”
“But.... what we’re the names of these other magic blades kept at the operas?”
Vyrik comes off as quite a simple mind. He says what he’s thinking and does what he feels like. He is strongly driven by his emotions more than careful thought, or any thought. Despite his own hardships he holds a positive outlook on life, always pressing forward, moving on. Some might consider it avoidant or running away. He is friendly and kind hearted to nearly all. He grew up on the docks working on sailing ships, meeting people from all nations. He genuinely enjoys helping others. He holds little malice in his heart except towards Eskan nobility.
C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E
Vyrik likes to adorn himself with trinkets. He puts them in his long dark hair. Ties them to his many belts. Is always wearing loose flowing scarves and many other unnecessary accessories. Why pick one thing when you can wear them all? Not that ‘all’ was ever much for him. Like the sailors he admires his shirt is always open. He is slightly taller than average and of a lean build. There are muscles hidden beneath his loose clothing. His infectious care-free and daring attitude only adds to his well practiced charming roguish grin. But it’s the eyes that draw people in. Those piercing orbs containing an unusual red hue, the colours seemingly shifting or undulating within through shades or crimson and maroon on their own accord. He has a tattoo of a bird on his left shoulder/arm and often wears the feathers he has found.
L A N G U A G E S
His native tongue is Revidian, with a working knowledge of Eskandish and the lingua franca: Avincian. His reading and writing are passable, Avincian his strongest, Revidian not far behind but Eskandish is a slow struggle.
T H E G I F T
Vyrik barely got into the school. Beyond his natural gift for ‘slow-falling’, his magical talent doesn’t seem that great nor are his grasps on the basic concepts. His step mother tried to pass on a little of what she knew but it didn’t really stick. So far he has had most luck in drawing from sound or his own momentum. Right now only utility magic is available to him. He has managed to use kinetic energy to move slightly faster, change direction quicker or enhance a sound when absolutely needed. He is now currently focused on trying to learn how to ‘dull’ a sound in a controlled calm environment.
He knows a few little alchemical tricks spawned from his step mothers teachings that can only be obtained with assistance from correct and measured chemicals. He creates minor childish nuisances like smoking pipes, clapping stones or sun sticks.
His most proud trick, not just for its utility but its complication and execution, also his highest level of demonstratable skill involves a mix of magnetic and kinetic as he uses the two to unlock a door from the other side. He shows absolutely no aptitude for anything beyond those three schools. Kinetic, Chemical, Magnetic
B A C K G R O U N D
Vyrik grew up in the ports of Revidian but he is likely the first of his family to do so. Not that he knows much about his true family or the complicated matters that brought him to be. He is blissfully unaware of all the dark secrets that surround his past. All he knows, and all he cares about is that he was raised by an Eskandish woman who was always the mother to him that she claimed to be, that is until some Eskandish soldiers came and took her away. He knows he is a little different to others, and he believes his mother when she told him that it was because his father was a sailor from an exotic land and had to go back.
It was those lies that moulded Vyrik’s childhood. He developed an obsession with the sea, wanting to meet and talk to every sailor that came on by. Counter intuitive to the hiding his mother always did. They lived the simple life of peasantry. Never quite starved but always with room in their stomach for more. All their clothes were simple and none without tears or holes. Life was just what it was. Vyrik saw many less fortunate than himself.
Vyrik got up to much trouble and mischief, for a time he grew greedy and ran with some pickpockets and thieves, as did most kids in the slums. Only he was good at it, really good. But he had some close calls and saw how much it hurt his mother. It was always her expressed dream that he would one day go to Ersand'Enise. It was never his dream, and he couldn’t imagine how he would get in anyway. No amount of optimism saw an entry path. They hadn’t the money, fame and he definitely didn’t have the skill. Yet a week after his mother’s unruly abduction two letters came. One was passage and entry to the school, the other a note begging him to go saying that she would find him on his 21st name day.
It left Vyrik with many questions but knowing not what else to do, he obeyed.
M O T I V A T I O N
Vyrik lives in hopes of seeing his mother again. He wants to do well to make her proud, also if he gets kicked out of the school he has nowhere to go. Besides that he needs to get stronger so he can protect those important to him. He has to undo what he considers his greatest failure. If his mother does not come to him by his 21st birthday he will go and get her.
He likes to aid those who are different or grieven with misfortune. He also likes to indulge in new experiences and collect shiny things for trade and gamble.
I N V E N T O R Y
Tattered coin pouch possessing a menial amount of worthless coins. A filleting knife in a makeshift belt. A hidden small dagger strapped to his shin. A coil of fishing wire and a few hooks. A few lock-picking pins. A satchel of spare clothes. A flint and steel A sleeping bag Hooded cloak 2 items of jewellery One belonging to his step mother An Eskandish book on chemical magic and chemistry. 2 sun sticks (used to make a bright chemical flash) 1 smoking pipe (used to unleash a chemical reaction that produces a lot of smoke.)
-Vyrik is of really rare blood. Probably the first and only half Yasoi, sky walker mooncaster. -Vyrik was kidnapped at birth. -His real mother is a cruelly ambitious Eskandish high noble. -He has a twin sister that he doesn’t know about. -Vyriks Yasoi father was a prisoner of his real mother. -Vyriks step mother worked for but betrayed his real mother because she cared for his father, becoming wanted and hated by the Eskandish nobles. -Vyriks stepmother traded her freedom to get Vyrik into the school. Telling only only one person in the school of his true lineage and letting them claim the bounty on her head.
From east constantia Revidia Father Mycormi, Mother noble Escand
An Eskand woman, devoted and loyal to the dream that Eskand will rise once again was sent to Revidia to monitor and manage their trade. Her eyes, which had been trained to spot thieves an anomalies over her years of service, noticed such a thing one day where all others did not. A young Yasoi stowaway. She couldn’t believe it and instantly her ambitious mind went to ways in which she could benefit her station from it. All paths and conclusions fell to kidnap and interrogation. So at some expense and disappointment to others the ship was commandeered and became the Yasoi’s sea prison. The ambitious Eskand woman would travel out often to see and interrogate her prisoner with a small loyal coterie of mages. She had a growing obsession with what he might know. What he might offer. How he might save her. It was rooted in and grew from lost hope and desperation, one that he cruelly continued to feed. On many occasions it cost him much pain, even to the point of near death where he balanced upon that frail line, only unwillingly coming back by the force of a binder. Other time it offered pleasures as she tried to bribe or trick him.
After a year of this brutal game in isolation a twisted relationship formed along with an unplanned pregnancy. The now pregnant Eskand woman foolishly believed this child would undo all the cruelties she had bestowed upon her yasoi prisoner. They did not. There were a few things her keen senses missed due to the dulling caused by her obsession. 1 was the failing of her official duties 2 was the Yasoi’s utter disdain for her. 3 was the betrayal of her closest confidant who had a ‘real’ relationship with the yasoi. 4th and most prevalent to the upcoming story, was the fact she was pregnant with twins.
It was the Eskand woman’s (un)loyal confidant that delivered the children. One, a female, was born seemingly dead and needed reviving. The other was a tiny boy who was lighter than should be and was stolen away unnoticed in the commotion of the girl.
The Yasoi escaped that night. The girl was revived, her skin forever pale as is her hair. She went back to Eskand with her mother, summoned after her failings. The traitorous confidant fled with the baby, never again seeing the Yasoi and fearing she too was used. She raised the child on her own, hiding in the slums. Unable to defend herself, much blame fell to her for all failings at the docks and she became a wanted fugitive of Eskand.
The young girl, with much mentoring and strict coaching grew to be a powerful mage.
While the boy, beside his troublesome floating, showed little aptitude or hope of being a powerful mage. Except on nights of a full moon.
There was a sound in Yvaine’s head that could only be described as a sigh. Beyond that the sword fell silent. Clearly not a conversationalist. Simply offering no reply until the dark elf seeming hesitated at an intersection.
”Left...” It said with a cold flat certainty. ” Right
Right
Left...” It continued to guide her down the tunnels, apparently aware of or seeing something she could not.
”Keep going.” it ushered. ”But try to be a bit more silent... If you must talk to the voices in your head, then at least try to appear sane and keep the conversation in your head.”
There was a slither of light amusement in the swords final words. Yvaine could almost somehow sense it smirking.
”A good artisan... Never blames. Hisss... Sworrrd.”
A low whispered voice echoes in the drows head. The words long and drawn out, holding an almost defensive tone. The sword, although short felt heavier than it appeared and the eye, while possessing no eyebrow or muscles around it, somehow still gave a judgemental condescending glare. Or was it just in her head?
”So, you think you can do better than... he did?” The sword hesitated, seemingly already forgetting its previous owners name or simply deeming him to unimportant to mention. Then it continued, its soft slow whisper absent of any commitment or vigor.
”Please go ahead, find vengeance, slay the wrong doer... Use me as a tool to deliver death. As was his dying wish. That is only if you know how to do more than just stare at me? Or maybe all this one does is talk?”
The eye continued to stare, blinking twice in succession but then not again. Simply becoming unable to.
Upon the patrons chosen tables, right in the very centre, shadows began to dance and coalesce. A darkness suddenly forming right before their very eyes. It thrummed with life, forming quickly, growing so deep, so thick that it began to appear substantial. Then as suddenly as it appeared the now thick dark icor like substance condensed, pulling back into itself and shrinking away to almost nothing before violently shooting up into the air in a long dark stream. About 3 foot above the wooden table it exploded outward with a small pop as and left wake to a small cloud of shadowy smoke like vapour.
The whooshing of steady beating wings dispersed the cloud to nothingness, revealing a small wiry flying creature within. It had a large head housing two big empty white eyes. Pointy ears, smooth dark skin the colour of moonlit shadows, skinny muscular arms attached to claw like fingers and a long thin tail.
A soft glow came to its white eyes as it spoke, not verbally but in the customers heads.
@Gentlemanvaultboy ”Oh” The sword thought in a contemplative silence as the large eye in its hilt split open and rolled to gaze upon its dying wielder. It could hear his words but could not reply since they were no longer in contact. What would it say anyway. The fragile creature was expiring. As they often did. ”Perhaps I should have done something?” It mused, trying to understand why it hadn’t felt like doing more. Meanwhile it just watched as the dying drow’s life essence steadily escape him, a pool of blood growing larger around him ever slowly creeping closer and closer to the weapon.
Then a new figure emerged. The weapon had already been aware of her presence but could now physically see her form as she knelt over the dying dark elf. Curious. He found her actions to be of interest and continued to watch on intently. His wide yellow eye very occasionally blinking.
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