Deathmaker

The Weaver, the Bard, and the Oracle

The Introduction of the conceited, bratty Oracle!

Deathmaker's Book: Slices of Life

*OC refers to your character :D

A Cup of Hot Chocolate on a Rainy Day

Yale Talen

"Here, have a drink. It's been a while, right? It's been a decade since we last talked... well, when we were back at the orphanage, that is."

Plot

St. Teresa's Home for the Orphans. It was a small and old building that lay at the outskirts of the town of Bohnburg. Here, the Solare de Poverelle or the Sisters of the Poor house the infants that are left at its doorstep, nursing these abandoned children until they were able to stand on their own. By itself, the orphanage lived on through donations and fundraisers that they do every month. Through these methods, selected children were given the chance for education and other privileges throughout their childhood. On one particular rainy day, a female infant was left on its doorstep, prompting the nuns to immediately take the child in. Soon, the child grew with much talent and skill, being labelled as one of the most brilliant orphans to ever step foot in their abode. Her name was OC. Though OC was a talented girl, she lacked the social skills needed to befriend much less talk with others who were not wearing a habit and a veil. Thus, no matter how brilliant OC was, she never had a single friend.

Due to her background, the other orphans kept their distance as they uttered whispers and murmurs of what a cold-hearted person OC was, an ice queen if placed bluntly; apparently, they began to compare her as the legacy of Dumb Eye. Surely, it seemed that OC would be doomed to a life of solitude and confinement regardless of her skills until a certain chestnut haired boy her age approached her. From the very start, it was obvious that the boy had deficiencies of his own. His right eye, which was as white as the sky, rolled around freely, not really staring or, much less, seeing. And, to top it off, he garnered the lowest grade given by the nuns. A bodily deficiency, a not so strong physique, and an intelligence as dull as a blunted blade, OC would come to realize that this boy was the so-called Dumb Eye-- Yale Talen. While OC was apprehensive of being friends with such a weird persona, it would seem that kindred souls would inevitably find friendship in one another. For the first time, OC found a friend; a friend that gave her the avenue to show her skills, to let OC become the best that she could be. Due to this, OC promised Yale that once she was going to be adopted, OC would make sure that Yale would be adopted alongside her and, of course, vice-versa. All was well.

Soon, the other orphans saw that OC wasn't as bad as she was rumoured to be and began to flock to her side. As the number of friends grew, sometimes, old friends tend to be forgotten. Unfortunately, the same fate befell upon the dyad. As they passed by adolescence, connections were severed and, once more, the Eye stared into nothingness again. At the very least, the Ice Queen had finally found a kingdom of her own. On October twenty-first, groups of parents came to St. Teresa's, ready to adopt a child into their home. Of course, the most talented of children were adopted first until the numbers of orphans, fortunately, began to dwindle. They had found their families!

100...

50...

25...

10...

1...

Fast forward into the future, OC had lived the dream! A good family, a good future! However, a few mishaps and bad decisions later, the once talented woman found herself on a busy street, tiny needles of rain falling in incessant cascades upon her figure. Homeless, jobless, hopeless. She shivered, feeling the icy bite of night descend upon Bohnburg, the town she returned to after all these years. It would seem that she would be spending the night on the road, literally. However, before the thought could become a plan, a wooden cart stopped in front of her. OC looked up at the cart, slowly tracing the contrivance to its owner-- a chestnut haired man whose right eye rolled around freely with an umbrella hoisted in his hand. The lad slowly walked towards her, the assault of rain halted by the wall of warmth that suddenly took place.

"OC... would you like a cup of hot chocolate?"

---

Hi! Thanks for clicking and reading up to this point! If you find the plot interesting, shoot me a PM and we'll talk about the details. I'll only be accepting ONE person per plot, though.

Note, that this is my attempt to furnish my 'slice of life' writing skills since my main inclination is towards fantasy settings XD I do need to improve badly. Thus, I hope you'll be able to bear with me as I learn the ropes to realistic settings :D

As a college student and part-time teacher, I do become busy from time to time. I'll let you know about any posting problems, don't worry. While I am not the best in grammar, I do want to understand your posts, so please, decent grammar from time to time! As for my posting, I can typically post around 2-5 (even more) paragraphs depending on my mood. I'd also want a partner who can move the plot with me! After all, it takes two to tango.

Romance is welcome but it doesn't have to be the main revolving plot or theme! Let's work around romance from time to time. As for limits, I typically have little, so feel free to ask me :D

So, without further delay, my PM box is open!

The Weaver, the Bard, and the Oracle

Plot has been taken!

The Weaver, the Bard, and the Oracle

Plot has been taken!

The Weaver, the Bard, and the Oracle

Emech Szar Mosol, the Weaver (Taken)

"The greatest mysteries of the world, the most repugnant stains of history, the most tantalizing answers to every question... all found within the frailest threads of the tapestry-- so ignited and defiled by the hands of tyrants."

"Your will are my hands." Emech smiled as he approached you, his black robes glistening under the plethora of lights that emanated from the moon. The hut behind the young lad was dilapidated; its hinges, walls and gutters were slowly rotting every second. Although, the house was poor in design, the environment around it was magnificent. The blades of grass waltzed to the wind's relaxing orchestra, the titters and patters of the trees that ringed the locale in a soothing staccato. Emech knelt in front of you, his lavender irises seemingly seeing more than just the scars and gashes you sustained as a mercenary-- no, he saw something deeper: potential. "The tapestry of fate has been defiled, as you already know. The Paragon had tainted it with weavers who they paid heftily to tamper the whole tapestry, then, they killed all the weavers who helped them... as well as those who didn't. That way, the Paragon wouldn't have to worry about the tapestry being messed with again. Thus, our world is desolated and scarred." Emech shook his head, his voice striking just above a whisper. "But don't lose hope, friend." the lad smiled to the wind's whistle, his scarlet locks entranced in a lazy dance. "For there is one weaver still remaining: me."

Emech revealed his identity as the weaver raised his arm towards your face. You couldn't help but notice that where there should be writhing fingers; where there should be a hand-- there was none. Emech, the weaver, raised his arms to your face, softly caressing your cheeks with the stump that had replaced his once talented hand. "I just need to get back my hands." Emech pleaded, the twinkle of hope tiptoeing between the thin leyline of hope and destruction. For the last weaver to trust in this complete stranger was not only insane and illogical, it was also a sign of pure desperation. The fate of Alamar was in the 'hands' of this stranger who Emech had revealed himself to.

"Friend... will you help me?" Emech croaked, the ghost of every pained torment echoing and lacing every letter of his cries.

---

Qure Altanar, the Bard (Taken)

"A tongue without restraint can wound deeper, crueller, and deadlier than any blade in existence. For the incisions of words sever more than just veins and bones; it severs the soul."

He stared at you with a gaze much more piercing than the sharpest of spears and arrows. Those cerulean orbs, hidden behind locks of golden hair, observed every muscle, every nerve that twitched beneath your skin; those same eyes that had seen every despicable and revolting pain ever dealt upon in this forsaken world. You knew what he was: the battered lyre being strummed between his nimble fingers signified his profession as a wandering musician-- a bard. Bards were known for the sweetest of voices, the most alluring of tones that would put the muses of heaven and earth to shame. Yet, the bard in front of you uttered not a wisp of a whisper; his throat procured not a needle of a moan. The voices of rocks, the waffles of grass, and the litanies of the dead could sing better, could speak better than the lonely wanderer who took your hand in his.

Suddenly, the world around you shattered into a legion of innumerable fragments that waltzed across the cosmos and quasars that illuminated the starry heavens above. The riven fragments spoke tales of how a perilous and dark miasma had began to claim their nation; an unstoppable evil was encroaching upon the land of Estrucia. The land withered and shrivelled beneath the blight of the miasma, causing all life to be sundered without exception. At this point, a new set of shards told a new story-- of how the bard had tried to convince the people of this miasma, his voice growing hoarse as the days went by. The wanderer had a made a pledge never to be silent until the people would believe him. His unending and haunting songs reverberated through his throat, carrying with it the solemn message of the impending doom. Although the vow was heroic, it was for naught. None believed him and, to top it off, he had lost his voice. The fragments disintegrated before quickly reforming, showing another tale-- a crossroad. One road showed the choice of finding the origins of the miasma and putting a stop to it. The other road showed a ship; the ship that would carry them off to a distant land. Simply put, it was a choice between ending the problem or escaping from it.

Suddenly, a rich voice pierced through the veil of silence, the bard's words echoing clearly without pause. "My name is Qure and I am here to offer you a choice: would you join me to expel the miasma or would you rather I offer you a ticket out of this land that is marked for death? The gods have abandoned us; we are on our own. Whatever you choose... your will is my voice."

---

Tevel Ryx Sylphas, the Oracle

"I do not need your help, but I suppose peasants need a role model to look up to. Thus, behold, commoner, for I, Tevel Ryx Sylphas, will grace your request and allow you to join my army composed of... you and... me."

You are a mercenary, whether you're a veteran or a fledgling to the trade, who is trying to find a contract. After all, without a contract, there is no gold that would ever fall into your hands. Thus, as you roamed the busy streets of Akelach, the mercenary capital of Vtolli, you tried in vain to find someone to lend your services to. But, for some reason, none out of the legions of lords and ladies ever accepted your offer. As the sun finished its journey across the sapphire sky, you slumped down unto one of the stone benches, tired and fatigued from a fruitless search. Perhaps, you just weren't cut out for a life of a mercenary? Thoughts of surrender and throwing in the towel ran rampant across your mind as, suddenly, a gloved hand tapped your shoulder.

As you snapped your head backward, there was a young lad, dressed in a traditional prince uniform; his crimson locks were combed backwards, allowing a clear view of his light and clean complexion. His olive-green eyes glanced and danced over you as he... quickly retracted his hand, tore off the glove, and threw it to a nearby lighted torch. "By the gods, I must have been mad to have ever touched you!" he said in total revulsion. However, he quickly regained his composure as he straightened his coat, and did a quick bow before offering a faint smile. "Greetings, commoner, I am Tevel Ryx Sylphas, Distinguished scholar of Vtolli, Slayer of Shadows, and a lot more titles that you would never even remember with your level of intellect. I have heard that you are lending your services to a contractor, and as I can see, you haven't have much luck, have you? That is to be expected of a mercenary of your caliber. But, fear not, even if I do not need your skills, I suppose peasants need a role model to look up to. Thus, behold, commoner, for I, Tevel Ryx Sylphas, will grace your request and allow you to join my grand army."

You looked at this incredulous man who was clearly not in the best state of mind. "My army, the Warriors of Tilda, will rise like no other army has and will. Be grateful, for you will be a part of my army. We might be few in number now, but we will flow like water in the near future. I can already see it."

You tilted your head in skepticism. Your tongue let loose a question: how many were they in the army? To that, the lad beat his chest and smiled proudly.

"A very good question But, no matter, be glad for you will be the very first soldier in my ranks! Yes, we might be only two as of the moment, but know that all armies started with one.. and then two... and then..." Thus, as the night waned, Tevel blabbered on and on and on.

The question remains, though... Will you gamble your services to this lunatic or will you take the safer path, and serve someone who was clearly sane?

---

Hi! Thanks for clicking and reading up to this point! If you find the plot interesting, shoot me a PM and we'll talk about the details. I'll only be accepting ONE person per plot, though.

As a college student and part-time teacher, I do become busy from time to time. I'll let you know about any posting problems, don't worry. While I am not the best in grammar, I do want to understand your posts, so please, decent grammar from time to time! As for my posting, I can typically post around 3-5 (even more) paragraphs depending on my mood. I'd also want a partner who can move the plot with me! After all, it takes two to tango.

Romance is welcome but it doesn't have to be the main revolving plot or theme! Let's work around romance from time to time. As for limits, I typically have little, so feel free to ask me :D

So, without further delay, my PM box is open!

I'm Back... After a freaking typhoon! Deathmaker :c

So yeah, many might not know me XD But I'm just posting this for those who do :3

Putting it shortly, a typhoon struck home in our town which caused some electrical and property damage. I vanished from the guild without a trace, and I really left quite a number of RPs that I was in.

I would just like to apologize (not that any of my characters made a difference in the story) for the RPs I randomly dropped out of. However, I'm now back, and ready for some stories! Of course, with college comes thesis, and with thesis comes a retreating hairline so I might not be as active as before.

Soooo yeaahh, that's pretty much it XD It's good to be back :3

Neko no Koi/A Cat's Love

Zakir raised his brows as he examined the woman who had returned his grim and dull demeanor with a wishy-washy, happy-go-lucky character. Zakir received the signed clipboard as he sighed.

"Oh, I do enjoy doing stuff. Particularly, getting away from people, and getting away from this hellhole." Zakir rolled his eyes as he stuffed the clipboard into his courier bag before hoisting the leather crap on his shoulder and raised the face mask he forgot to wear. Zakir tried to listen to the woman who was babbling on, and on about things that mattered less than a bug getting stomped.

"Yeah sure... Name's Zakir. We leave it at that." Zakir smirked as he yawned. "If I still have any crap to drown after this one hell of a job, I'll come back." the lad shook his head as he particularly observed the black cat which was staring at him... Not a normal stare... it was as if the feline was boring right through his soul... That cold stare. Stare. Back in the tomb. Zakir's eye twitched as he suppressed the memories that tried to surface. He felt the jewel become heavier as he pulled it out from his tunic, and raised it away from the girl. It only took a few seconds for the jewel to shake before it released a small cloud of sand which fell slowly to the floor, and was blown away by the wind in an instant.

"نكاح!" Zakir cursed as he sighed deeply. "It happens so randomly... I hope you don't mind the sand... I clearly have no idea what this is in the first place, but instincts told me to keep it safe... It was as if my life was tied to this thing. Tell you what, if you tell me what this crap is... I promise to come back once I'm done." Zakir eyed the woman as he held up the jewel to give the neko a clearer view.

Neko no Koi/A Cat's Love

Sand. Sand. Sand. Meaning in every grain; sorrow, and hate in every grain of that cursed sand. Memories, revenge, agony, and despair were all contained in every bit of it. The heavy feeling on his chest could not be controlled anymore. With a jolt, the lad sat up awake. Zakir felt his chest lighten as he reached for something within his tunic. In his hand was a brown jewel which was quivering. Zakir already knew what was going to happen. The lad set the jewel near the garbage bin as the brown treasure began to expel sand from its core. Zakir shook his head as he disposed of all the sand, sighing in the process. It was always like this every morning... The memories haunted him from his sleep to his life; never giving him a chance to rest.

The lad exhaled as he decided to just start the day. Zakir cleaned, and bathed himself, and after wearing his usual white clothes, the lad went outside. He was already a few minutes late for his mail courier employment, and he was sure the boss wasn't going to be pleased... not like he cared in the first place. After a few minutes, Zakir had arrived at the Post Office, his eyes dull, and lifeless. The boss gave him some sort of evil glare, but Zakir just ignored it. Heaving his assigned bag of mail, the lad decided to just end it. He trudged along the busy paths of this cat village... Literally, cats. The anthropomorphic cat-like beings here were apparently known as nekos, and Zakir had to find out the hard way since his arrival.

Zakir looked at the first mail... It was some bills for a certain brewery. Zakir recognized this place, it was the only sake producing facility in this goddamned village. The lad grunted as he took off, and headed for the brewery.

Even though he was just a few kilometers away from the brewery, Zakir could already smell some distinct aromas. They were not exactly tantalizing or intoxicating, but they were strong, and alluring. The lad shook his head as he finally arrived at the entrance of the brewery, spotting a neko, who was apparently eating breakfast. Zakir rolled his eyes; he didn't even eat breakfast yet. The price he had to pay for even helping that bastard of a father.

Zakir was now getting nearer to the entrance as he called out.

"Good morning. I'm from the post office. A bill has been delivered to you." Zakir said in a dull tone as he observed the girl. "Sorry for disturbing your meal, but I'd like to get a signature so I can be on my way."

Zakir IS rude... but he had no time for this nonsense. All he had to do was finish his bag of mail, and get his paycheck.

Neko no Koi/A Cat's Love

Will be posting my intro post prolly tomorrow :D

Neko no Koi/A Cat's Love

Name: Imar Barashari Zakir; prefers to be called as Zakir

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Appearance:

"Image"

Heart:

"Heart"

-The heart is brownish in color, and is almost as light as sand. Often times, the heart would spawn small amounts of sand at any random time. The heart is a representation of Zakir's hardships in the desert; that no matter how much he tries to forget the pain, it would always leak out.

Partner’s Magic: Jihad- The user is freed from all limitations of the body; including physical, emotional, and psychological limits. Meaning, the body can exert more than 200% of the capacity; even increasing regeneration. With this, a fragile creature can lift an object many times the weight. The obvious downside would be the body itself. The person can exert more effort but it doesn't mean that the body can actually manage it; the body is practically forcing itself to do something it couldn't have done. Common side effects such as soreness, extreme fatigue, and extreme pain can be felt once Jihad wears off.

Active Abilities:
Hajj- Zakir can create sand portals anywhere; assuming he has seen that place. He can create up to two portals that are connected to one another. This means that he can create a sand portal at point A, and a sand portal at Point B. He can then go inside portal A to reach Point B.
Zakat- Zakir can transfer his own life force to heal minor injuries, and to an extent, major injuries to another person in the form of sand particles. It should be noted that this ability only works from Zakir's mouth which means he can only transfer it orally.

Passive Ability: Sawm- Zakir's regeneration increases when bathed in sand.

Romantic Preference: Exploration Needed

Personality: Zakir has been raised in a harsh situation; causing his true self to be masked by a mixture of scorn, doubt, and hostility. Zakir often bickers with other people, and rarely offers his trust. In addition, he doesn't like commitment or promises, and therefore, he hates having friends or relationships. He is not seclusive, but he isn't an open book either.

Bio:

"Bio"

Born in a fatal sandstorm, Zakir could only remember a life of difficulty. It seemed that his parents had left him by the time he had been spawned into the world. The young lad worked his bones off in mediocre jobs from smithing to butchery. However, times were hard once more. Another sand storm came, and with that, opportunities declined. There was no work to support Zakir anymore... however, with every problem was a blessing. In his desperation, Zakir awakened a hidden ability within himself. He was able to conjure portals of sand that eased transportation, and went times went by, he discovered another ability of healing.

Soon, Zakir took up more dangerous tasks. He worked as a Tomb Raider for a certain band of brigands. This band raided tombs, and ancient structures in search for treasures... and with Zakir's abilities, getting in, and out was easier than praying. For a time, the group got big... acquiring exquisite gems of gold, and lapis-lazuli. They were rich, but they wanted more. The group decided to raid a legendary tomb by a supposed magical person. It was said that any powers were subdued inside the deathly tombs. Zakir was against this raid, but when he was adamant in hesitation.... the head of the group revealed who he was: Zakir's father. Mixed emotions flowed inside Zakir as his father comforted him... The lad was desperate for love, and all reason flew out the window. Zakir... agreed to the dangerous raid.

They dug a hard tunnel, just enough for Zakir to see inside, and create a portal. The boy did as he was instructed, and once they were all inside... it was apparent that the myth was indeed true. Zakir's ability was greatly reduced by the dampening auras... The group raided quickly, and when they were ready... a fool tried to steal an emerald; built with a trap.

The tomb shook around them... They were about to be buried as much as they had lived... without a fighting chance. Zakir mustered all his energies, creating a trembling portal for the group. One by one, they all attempted to escape, and when it was Zakir's father's turn... the man hesitated, and went back to obtain the emerald. Such greed caused much agony to Zakir as the boy gritted his teeth in pain brought by the magic man's remnants of powers. The father finally reached the portal as the man looked at Zakir who was now trying to escape...

The father was threatened by Zakir's abilities... If Zakir was alive... then the lad would undoubtedly be the next leader. The man didn't want that. With a swift kick, Zakir was sent flying back into the crumbling ruins, and the portal vanished.

Zakir was left inside; breathless, and hopeless. When all hoped began to fail, Zakir swore vengeance should he live, and as if an answer to his prayers, a vivid vision came into his mind; he could see it. With a gamble, Zakir tried to create a portal on that place shown by the vision. A portal appeared before him, and with a last-ditch effort at life, Zakir lunged at the portal, and the last thing he saw... was the light of day.

Zakir awakened; taking in the strange place he had warped to. Zakir tried to use his powers again; attempting to teleport to his homeland... but it didn't work... It was as if, his homeland never existed; he was isolated. Zakir shook his head; trying to adjust to this new life. However, in the back of Zakir's mind, he has his final wish: To go back to his land, and enact vendetta on his father. A vendetta that would be similar to where his father had left him: In a sand storm.

Job: Mail Courier

Family/Friends/Relationships:
-Achmed Mufasa Zakir: Father
<Updates upon development>

Other: Ruly #4