Wasn't the Black Knight "None shall pass," though?
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2 yrs ago
You ever realize that you haven't changed your status in months, go back to change it, and then wonder what the *fuck* your previous status was even talking about?
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2 yrs ago
No, no, they clearly are referring to Ohio -- which Georgia is geographically south of, so the theory is still sound.
It's finally up! Sorry for my silence all day today. Ended up going on a deep lore-writing dive to kind of flesh out the setting a bit, since I felt guilty about having such a barebones concept. XD Looking forward to running this!
Grayle: a beautiful, vibrant country whose proud palace stands astride the Viridian River, overlooking the Barrier Falls and the Wildlands beyond. It is a realm known by many names -- the Land at World's End, the White Tower, and the River Kingdom, to list a few. However, its most famous name outshines all the rest, and for good reason. On account of its mythic history, Grayle is hailed far and wide as the Kingdom of Knights. Its ivory walls have stood against all threats, human and otherwise, for almost 500 years; a testament to the prowess of its vigilant Knight Sentinels.
This renowned order continues a venerable tradition of service as the first line of defense for not only Grayle itself, but for all the lands of Grandor. Even now, in the present era of peace, they hold themselves to the same principles that guided them in their founding days -- the Age of Darkness, when mankind's most hated scourge and its most beloved hero crossed blades for the fate of the world. And, just as they once pledged their allegiance to the Knight-King Arbert Grayle, who founded their nation and bestowed it with his own noble name, so too do their modern successors loyally serve his descendants in the Age of Light which he helped to usher in.
This history is perhaps the first and dearest story learned by every man, woman, and child who calls Grayle home. It begins with the tale of the evil sorcerer Fendel, who was once regarded as a hero in his own right -- until his burning ambition drove him to subjugate the entire world with a horde of terrifying primordial monsters, conjured up by his unholy powers over Darkness. His temptation and descent into villainy has been played out again and again upon stages the country over, becoming a cautionary tale against the evils of exceeding pride. Yet against this seemingly unstoppable horde, an unlikely band of heroes arose.
Fendel's apprentice Alexander, The Reader of the Stars, rose in rebellion against his teacher, teaching the secret arts of magic to the people that they might break free from their chains and resist the Dark Lord's all-consuming might. Yet this alone was not enough, and so he sought the guidance of the heavens, which led him to the boy favored by providence -- he who would ever walk in the Light, who would become known as the greatest knight in history: Arbert Grayle. Together, they journeyed to the Dark Lord's palace at the edge of the earth, upon the very horizon of the night sky itself, overcoming many trials and winning many companions along the way. Seire, the King of Thieves, at first tried to deceive and rob the heroes of their sacred treasures, but was defeated and spared by the Knight-King Grayle, to whom he pledged his life in atonement. Maria, the Ice Witch, envied Alexander for the favor shown him by their mutual teacher, and tried to thwart them again and again in order to earn Fendel's approval -- but Alexander's love for her ultimately redeemed her, and she, too, joined their side. The chieftain of the northern lands, the dragon lord of the southern wastes, and countless other legendary heroes rallied one by one to their cause, won over by Alexander's wisdom and King Grayle's kindness.
Together, the heroes confronted Fendel, and at last, King Grayle's blessed light scattered his darkness to the far reaches of the world, killing him for all time. Yet, with his dying breath, he spat forth foul curses upon the world, corrupting the lands and the people to sow ruin upon those who had slain him, and promising that one day, a successor would come to claim his power -- an unsurpassed wielder of the dark arts who would surely avenge him. In order to defend against this final blasphemy, King Grayle took up his peerless sword one final time -- and with it, cut a vast chasm in the earth, raising up the lands of Grandor upon a vast plateau, with an impassible cliff to keep the accursed creatures of the Western Wildlands and the demon servants of Fendel from ever desecrating the lands of men again.
Or so the story goes. What is known is that when Grayle returned to his homeland, he did so not solely as a triumphant king. He erected his castle, and his kingdom, atop the very brink of the newly formed highlands, setting his throne astride the very edge of the civilized world, such that he and his knights would stand forever ready, should the demons and Fendel's curse ever return.
The other heroes, too, went on to found their own nations. The eastern Empire of Alexandria, founded by the wise Alexander and the penitent Witch Maria, continues to this day to produce the finest wizards in all of Grandor, while the southern Principality of Valefor -- created by the King of Thieves and the Dragon Lord -- produces metalwork and trade goods unlike anything seen in the markets of any other nation.
For a time, these, and the other nations, were bonded together with ties of loyalty still fresh from the war against the Dark Lord. However, as the years passed, and generations faded into history, the lessons and loyalties of the past were forgotten -- and several minor wars have broken out since as various monarchs squabble for dominance. With Alexandria now eyeing the bountiful lands of Grayle, and Valefor remaining stubbornly neutral in their sporadic border conflicts, tensions are on the rise. As such, although the Curse of Fendel and his monsters have not been seen for at least a hundred years, the Knights of Grayle, as ever, must keep their swords sharp and their wits sharper...
But this is not the story of the heroes of the ancient past, or even of the Knights of today. Rather, this is the story of the young knights of tomorrow, and of their quests yet unknown -- of their lives, their loves, their dreams, and how their fates will unfold. No, rather, how they shall make their fates for themselves... no matter how tangled or how unsightly they may be.
At times awkwardly, at times doubtful, and at times full of fire -- the curtain rises upon a new legend never before seen, and on their story!
The Lore Codex
With the basic history of the world now established, this section will contain several small folders with other bits of worldbuilding and lore to use as inspiration for bios -- such as the basic fundamentals of magic within the setting, the structure and hierarchy of the aristocracy, and, of course, some more information about the Knights of Grayle themselves, and their inner workings. This section will likely be rather scatterbrained and meandering to begin with, and is mostly optional stuff meant to just give more detailed pictures of specific bits of the lore that I didn't really get into too deeply during the introduction, so don't feel pressured to read through all of it if it doesn't concern you or give you any ideas. It will potentially be expanded going forward as new lore and worldbuilding is revealed.
Magic is a complex discipline that exists in two primary forms. While almost everyone in Grandor utilizes magic in some way in their daily lives, the gap between the average person and a true mage is astronomical. This is not only due to the fact that one's abilities with magic are, to some degree, born of their nature -- thus limiting true proficiency with magic primarily to the ranks of the aristocracy, most of whom still claim direct ancestry to the heroes of old -- but also due to the level of study and discipline required to properly utilize those latent talents.
The first type of magic is known as Incantation. This takes the form of spoken or drawn spells meant to serve a specific function -- a fireball spell, for example, creates a ball of fire and launches it at something. It's something that works the same way, or at least almost exactly the same way, every time it's used. For example, one could create a fireball and hide it around a corner, detonating it manually as a makeshift proximity mine rather than ever launching it as a projectile; however, even in this case, the basic principle of the spell is still the same.
The reason for this is that the spells are sort of like "shortcuts," copying and mimicking the feats of other magi -- usually ancient heroes from the distant past, in the case of combat magic. Rather than manually shaping one's own energy into a desired form and actively controlling it every step of the way, spells offer a way to cut corners by just replicating an experience drawn from collective memory. The Sages' Tower in Alexandria keeps compiled a list of almost all known spells, distributing this knowledge as much as possible to expand this collective experience, since the more wizards cast a given spell, the more efficient and streamlined that spell becomes, and the more variations upon its template become possible.
Because of this, Incantations are much more accessible to the average magician, since they can just learn the formula and then use it when needed. Even commoners with little-to-no magic power usually know a few Incantations, though these are mostly parlor tricks and common bits of housekeeping magic -- a small gust of wind that gathers up dust for cleaning, a spell to start a small fire in lieu of a match, a spell to create ice or cool the air, and other such conveniences. Dedicated magicians, on the other hand, may have a library of dozens, if not hundreds of spells at their disposal, with an option readily available for almost any situation -- the reward of years of intense training and study to commit such a vast repository of knowledge to memory.
As mentioned before, Incantations are normally chanted aloud to activate them -- however, they can also be drawn out in the form of runes and magic circles, allowing even those not versed in the particular spell to activate them just by pouring their own energy into the glyph. However, such written Incantations -- sometimes called separately as Enchantments -- are very expensive and difficult to create, as they must be either engraved manually by an experienced wizard, or drawn in costly magic ink, all with the utmost level of precision so as to ensure there aren't any errors in the spell. For this reason, while things like magic swords and armor do exist, they're seen almost exclusively in the hands of high aristocrats and members of royalty.
There is, however, one other type of magic that falls outside the governance of the Sages' Tower. Unlike Incantations, which were developed by the archmage Alexander during and in the wake of the Age of Darkness as a means of quickly spreading the knowledge and ability to utilize magic to the people at large, Aura is a much older art -- of the sort that the heroes themselves used in their ancient battles, and that the evil sorcerer Fendel himself wielded against them.
It functions on a much more direct principle than Incantations. All creatures have some degree of internal energy inside them, which they can expel into their surroundings in the form of magic. With Incantations, that energy is effectively automated and programmed to perform a single, specific task. With Aura, however, that energy is instead continuously released, forming a sort of "field" around the user's body that can then be freely manipulated. At its rudimentary level, Aura serves as spiritual armor, protecting the user from harm and amplifying their own strength and speed to superhuman levels in turn. On top of this, it can even be shaped and imbued with elemental natures, allowing Aura users to even freely create and shape magic in their surroundings -- something which not even the most complex Incantation could do.
Needless to say, however, Aura's incredible power comes at a steep price. Since one has to constantly control the Aura, complete focus is key to its use, and the farther away from the user it gets, the more difficult it becomes to control, giving it a hard and fast range limit that restricts it primarily to close quarters. Furthermore, it's also vastly inefficient compared to Incantations, requiring a truly incredible reserve of energy to even manifest briefly, and risking draining the user's vitality and life force if they can't provide that level of power.
In the Age of Darkness, when heroes and legends walked the earth, Aura was commonplace. However, today, those with the power to use Aura at all are few and far between, even among the oldest houses of the nobility, and are thus regarded as prodigies the likes of which may only appear once in a generation, their births heralded by falling stars and other portents great and terrible.
Oddly enough, as the power of Incantations rises and the power of Aura wanes, however, some of the most recent users of Aura in the past 100 years have been found not just among royalty and other prestigious bloodlines, but rather among lower nobility and even the commonfolk. This anomaly has led to some confusion and concern, as these low-born geniuses may threaten the dignity of those great old families whose prestige and magical power are directly intertwined. At any rate, it's something that almost any boy growing up in Grayle has dreamed of at least once -- awakening the power of Aura and becoming a hero overnight, following in the footsteps of the Knight-King himself. Who wouldn't want to see a dream like that come true?
But if heroes are starting to appear again, then what, exactly, are they meant to use their strength to fight?
One's ability to use magic isn't just tied to one's studies of Incantations or self-discipline and training to cultivate the power of Aura. It's also linked intrinsically to one's disposition and natural affinities with magic. While it is possible to use an element one doesn't have a natural knack for, only the weakest and most basic of spells can be performed without an utterly disproportionate exertion on the part of an incapable caster.
These affinities are roughly categorized into four fundamental elements, with several rarer secondary elements derived from combinations of the primary four. They are, respectively...
Fire: Associated with passion, drive, energy, and courage -- but also with anger, self-destruction, foolishness, and ambition. Someone with strong desires and the power to make them a reality, be they good or ill. Negated by Water, but it combines with Earth to create Metal and with Wind to create Lightning.
Wind: Associated with freedom, cheerfulness, curiosity, and hope -- but also with a lack of willpower, selfishness, and a fear of commitment. Someone impulsive, unbound by rules, who follows their emotions moreso than a thought-out ideal or purpose. Negated by Earth, but it combines with Fire to create Lightning and Water to create Snow.
Water: Associated with gentleness, empathy, wisdom, and temperance -- but also with madness, an inability to express one's self, shyness, and cowardice. Someone who cares a great deal about the feelings of others, and perhaps an excessive tendency towards self-sacrifice. Negated by Fire, but it combines with Wind to create Snow and Earth to create Wood.
Earth: Associated with stability, conviction, determination, and diligence -- but also with stubbornness, inflexibility, laziness, and a lack of creativity. Someone who lives and dies by their routine, and stubbornly resists changes to it.
The combined elements are a bit harder to categorize, as they often represent a mix of specific traits from multiple fields that can vary greatly from user to user. A Lightning user, for example, might mix the best parts of Wind and Fire to create someone who strongly values personal independence and tries to lead by example, driving those around them to be their best selves. But, conversely, they might just as easily be a tyrant who seeks to have their own way above all else, mixing the ambition of Fire with the chaos of Wind. The same sort of principles hold true for Metal, Wood, and Snow as well.
While most people have only one elemental affinity derived from their strongest personality traits, it's not all that uncommon for members of the nobility to have two elements at their disposal instead. More rare are those who are gifted with the flexibility to utilize three elements, and rarest of all are those gifted with the power of the Absolute -- to use all four major elements with equal skill, a talent as rare as the ability to utilize Aura -- though, not since Alexander himself has an Aura user also manifested the Absolute, a combination which is considered the ultimate pinnacle of magic.
In addition to these elements, however, there are also two aberrant elements that fall entirely outside of normal classification, due to their bizarre interactions with other forms of magic. These are, naturally, Light and Darkness. Both derive their power from the same source -- the primal essence of life itself -- which they then shape into a variety of forms and effects. However, they hold the unique distinction of universal interactions, which cause them to react the same way when exposed to any other elements, regardless of affinity.
Light, universally, interacts with other elements through negation, taking on principles similar to their opposite elements in order to neutralize their power and restore balance. Fire is extinguished, Earth is eroded, Wind is calmed, and Water is evaporated. Because of this, Light magic is regarded as the ultimate defensive ability, capable of neutralizing almost anything. It was through this potent ability that King Arbert was able to weather the unspeakable powers of the Dark Lord, and cut him down.
In the intervening centuries, a few more Light users have also appeared, and have demonstrated several other powers, such as supernatural healing abilities that could even cure mortal wounds, agelessness, the ability to influence the minds of other living creatures, and, of course, the power to purify curses and destroy demonic beasts impervious to normal magic. Regardless of their unique manifestations of the power of Light, however, all of these figures share one thing in common: they are all descendants of the Grayle royal family, directly inheriting the powers of their famous ancestor.
Darkness is just the opposite, in almost every way imaginable. Rather than negating other elements, it is capable of combining universally with any other element, creating amalgams with strange and anomalous properties that are not fully understood. For this reason, it's considered the ultimate offensive power, since it can absorb and circumvent almost any magical defense, wrecking unspeakable destruction by warping creatures into new forms, and turning other mages' own power against them. For this reason, and, of course, because it was the power wielded by Fendel, it is the most feared of all magics -- though its exact details, abilities, and limitations remain largely unknown due to a lack of formal study.
That's not to say that there haven't been Darkness users other than Fendel, however. Once every few generations, someone may develop the power -- but, more often than not, they are quickly identified, and shackled by special "sealing stones" created by the Sages' Tower and a member of the Grayle family working in concert, inscribed with the subject's name and nature, and allowing anyone who holds the stone to freely restrict the use of their powers. Through this means, the power of darkness has been effectively banned from practice, and its users sequestered to prevent a repeat of the Age of Darkness. But even so, that hasn't stopped rumors from circulating that anyone, anywhere, could be Fendel's prophesied successor, hiding their nature and waiting until the time is ripe to come and bring destruction upon the world once more...
Grayle is, in essence, a stratified society, with a mix between western feudalism and something slightly resembling a caste system (Translation: it's a bunch of stuff that sounds incredibly organized and cool but actually probably makes no sense if you stop to think about it, which I won't do because I'm not a political science major :P).
At the lowest rung, there are serfs and peasants whose families are tied to a specific patch of land granted to them by a local noble. They have little upward mobility, and seldom leave their own lands due to the contracts that bind them to tend to it in exchange for protection. Above them, there is a broader caste of commoners, tradesmen, merchants, and artisans, who either own their own small plots of land, or do not settle down in any one place, but rather travel the span of the kingdom in search of work. Above these are the Guildmasters -- wealthy leaders of organized conglomerates of other artisans and tradesmen, whose influence over what goods get produced and shipped where gives them some measure of leverage even among the nobles.
This is where the waters get somewhat muddied. Those granted titles of Knighthood are, effectively, honorary nobles. However, as they do not necessarily possess land or estates of their own, while they may hold positions of military or sometimes even political power by obtaining other ranks or titles, they may also just be glorified commoners with no non-military duties, and thus rank below wealthy commoners on the social totem pole.
Proper nobles, however, possess at least some duties in the governance of the land, and thus claim a firmer position above both landless Knights and the commoner gentry. There are five ranks of nobility in Grayle, each corresponding to a larger territory and a greater role in the governance of the kingdom. At the lowest rung are the Barons, who are granted authority on a local level, managing individual townships and cities, usually on the frontiers of the kingdom. Above them are Viscounts and Earls, who manage many such townships within their respective counties. Next, there are the four Marquess houses, who not only exert authority over all the lesser nobility within their fiefdoms, but also form a Council of Lords that is second only in both legislative and judicial authority to the King himself. This council, then, is headed by the Grand Duke, who, while only technically holding a small fief close to the capital, serves as an overseer and intermediary for all the other, lower rungs of the nobility. The Grand Duke is traditionally the member of the royal family who is second in line to the throne at the time of appointment, should they be of age to adequately perform their duties. As such, the position is often held by the king's brother, or by the Crown Prince at any given time -- although in the latter case, the position is forfeit upon ascending the throne himself, and a new Grand Duke is appointed.
The precise identities of the holders of these positions will be left deliberately vague for now, so as to allow players interested in noble roles to make whatever lore they want for their characters and their family background.
The political landscape of the country is far too complex to easily summarize, but to boil it down for simplicity's sake, there are currently two factions that dominate the nobility. First, there is a moderate faction that wishes to simply defend Grayle as it is, without waging what they see as pointless wars that might jeopardize their own holdings. Secondly, there is a more radical War Hawk faction that sees Alexandrian border conflicts either as an unpardonable slight against the pride of Grayle, or as an opportunity to earn fame, glory, and power by conquering new territory and protecting Grayle from the threat of foreign incursions. The current King, Albus II, and many members of the Council of Lords belong to the former faction. However, several of the candidates for the position of Crown Prince hold conflicting views, wanting to start a war which they could use as an opportunity to rally followers under their own banner, securing the throne for themselves. Their desire for conflict is further supported by many houses of the frontier nobility, who either view the war as inevitable and want to ensure their own territories are protected by starting it on their own terms, or want to claim more land and more power for themselves in the ensuing conflict.
Inheritance, as you might have guessed, tends to default to male-dominated primogeniture, with the firstborn son usually only losing out on the bulk of the inheritance if he proves himself to be notably debauched, idiotic, or otherwise unfit. The only notable exception to this trend lies in the royal family itself, which promotes a strong belief of meritocracy. Anyone who claims the crown of Grayle should be a worthy successor to its founder -- or so it is said. As such, the crown prince is often decided solely based on merits rather than order of birth, and the competition is often fierce between prospective heirs to distinguish themselves in any way possible, giving rise to the glory hounds of the present day. However, should a family bear no male heirs, rather than adopting a ward to fill the role, it's also not unheard of for succession to be decided matrilineally, with the firstborn daughter taking the role of family head until she should marry or otherwise pass the role on.
Despite their usual inability to inherit, women are also expected to bear some responsibility for managing family affairs, such as tending to the management of a fief while their husband is away. Given that Grayle's founders were primarily knights and soldiers, it should come as no surprise that their society is well adapted to keep things running smoothly, even while the men are at war.
But, even so, there are bound to be those dissatisfied with such unequal arrangements... some of whom may even entertain the ambition to take up the sword themselves. After all, boys are far from the only ones raised on tales of the Knight King, tales which might easily lead even a sheltered young girl to admire the life of a hero...
Grayle's knighthood stands in an unusual place within the politics of the kingdom. Those bearing the title of Knight are technically honorary nobility, regardless of their background, but possess no formal power. Conversely, however, due to the reverence with which the kingdom treats its mythic history, the Knighthood has been known to exercise a remarkable sway over the politics of the nation despite this. Several times in the nation's history, individual officers of the order have been known to come forward and publicly make "suggestions" or "requests" of the nobility, the Council, or even the King himself -- and more often than not, this "advice" is heeded. When those who have dedicated their very lives to shoulder the country's well-being ask for something, it's very difficult to refuse them without looking bad, and what's more, whatever faction has the support of the Knights can count on the nation's military strength in times of crisis.
The structure of the Knights is, in many ways, a microcosm of the country as a whole. They are split into individual squads, each with their own numerical hierarchy, in order of importance. The First Seat of each squad them reports to the overall unit Captain, who in turn reports to one of the four Knight-Commanders, who finally answer to the Lord Marshal -- both the bodyguard of the King, and the commander-in-chief of Grayle's armies. This structure is somewhat peculiar, however, in that it is quite malleable in actual warfare, as the Knights themselves only comprise a small part of Grayle's armed forces. Levied soldiers, conscripted peasants, militiamen and men-at-arms are all far more commonplace than fully-fledged Royal Knights when actual lines of battle are drawn. As such, even a Fifth or an Eighth Seat can end up commanding small units on the battlefield, should senior officers be otherwise indisposed, and squads that originally train as tightly knit units may end up having to separate to fill multiple roles as needed in an engagement.
The bottom line is that any rank of Royal Knight, even one who is not an officer, holds a prestigious and glamorous sort of title by comparison to the average rank-and-file soldier. And for precisely this reason, knight candidates are expected -- nay, required to excel in some way in order to earn those honors. Whether it is through mastery of the sword, the spear, the bow, the lance, magic, or even unorthodox disciplines such as espionage or assassination, one can earn the title of "knight." However, as the Knight King was renowned for his mastery of the blade, those who excel in swordsmanship are particularly favored over all other candidates.
Becoming a Knight Candidate is actually surprisingly easy... at least, to begin with. Strictly speaking, there is no hard and fast rule that requires service in exchange for citizenship. However, due to the reverence with which the knighthood is treated, most well to do families -- even those that aren't part of the nobility -- send a candidate to carry the name of their house and try to earn a spot in the order. Second and third sons without anything to inherit flock to the training grounds, hoping to distinguish themselves and earn a glamorous livelihood. The order, by and large, allows this, assembling countless rookies for the first few months of training, be they the accomplished students of distinguished sword schools, or the children of noble houses looking to maintain their family's honor, or just random nobodies with a chip on their shoulders and something to prove. Even foreign refugees are allowed to try out for the knights, and are offered full citizenship should they earn their keep -- a rare treat for those with no one to help them and nowhere else to turn.
Once candidates are admitted, they are organized at random into squads ranging in size from five to twenty. Particularly promising candidates tend to get sorted into smaller groups with one another, allowing them opportunities for more personalized training and hands-on experience sparring with or against their equally talented peers. Unremarkable candidates, on the other hand, tend to get shunted into larger groups and handled en-masse, with those who eventually show promise despite their slow starts picked out and sorted up into more favored squads, and those who don't left to languish along with the rest of the merely ordinary.
These squads are then sorted into four dormitory houses, each bearing the heraldry of one of the four Knight-Commanders, and instructed by members of that particular officer's retinue. The competition is likewise fierce between houses to secure the best candidates each year, as these will likely go on to serve under their respective commander in the future should they become fully-fledged Knights.
As I said before, becoming a candidate is easy. Actually staying a candidate, however, is far more difficult. A grand tournament is held periodically in order to cull the herd, with those who perform particularly poorly in training exercises having special attention paid to their results. If they fail to acquit themselves in combat, they'll be kicked out and sent packing. Conversely, those who perform particularly well can be hand-picked, either individually or as an entire squad, to jump up the ranks and serve as pages and squires to actual knights, taking on real responsibilities and duties within the order, in addition to their continued training. The four Knight-Commanders are even said to attend these tournaments, and select specific elites and specialists among the candidates in their own divisions to serve as their own personal attendants and aides.
And, as if this wasn't incentive enough, the Knight-Commanders' own rivalries tend to get mixed into these tournaments as well, with their chosen instructors pushing their students to excel and claim victory at all costs, for the honor of their own commander and to thumb their noses at the others. For this reason, there's quite a bit of hostility between the four houses, with friend and foe changing on the fly depending on the conditions of the next tournament, and on the relative perceived competence of the houses in question. This also tends to foster an odd sort of "my dad can beat up your dad" sort of mentality amongst the younger candidates, who begin to idolize their respective commanders and, based on their own rose-tinted view of things, try to decide who would win in a fight. Obviously their teacher. Right?
As the holders of the Knight-Commanders' positions are subject to change, so too are the crests of the four houses. At present, the Northern House is represented by the White Griffon, the Southern House by the Crimson Lion, the Eastern House by the Black Wolf, and the Western House by the Golden Stag.
The current generation of Knight-Commanders is, with one exception, perhaps the most decorated and respected that the order has seen since its founding. It is commonly said that, among Knights, there are three paths to excellence: those who seek to hone and master their strength above all else, those who live and die by their honor, and those who can read the tide of battle. And, it is also said that none exemplify these traits better than the three senior members of the council.
His Highness Prince Manegold is, without a doubt, the finest swordsman in the entire Kingdom. His renown is already unparalleled on account of his possessing the discipline to utilize the power of Aura despite his inauspicious birth -- a miracle in its own right which has drawn some practitioners of the Living Faith to make the arduous pilgrimage from distant Alexandria, a hostile nation, to venerate him as a living saint. However, as if unsatisfied with even this unprecedented achievement, he has honed his skill with a blade to such a degree that it is said he could even defeat other Aura users without ever employing his own. His skill is such that no one questions the legitimacy of his position, despite the fact that he has never once resorted to leading his troops in active battle against a foreign enemy -- or rather, precisely because of this fact.
It is said that when a war almost broke out with Valefor over a vein of precious ores on the border, Prince Manegold journeyed alone to negotiate a peaceful resolution. While there, he was -- allegedly -- asked the reason for his obsessive pursuit of strength, and if his presence there was meant as a threat to cow them into submission. He is reported to have replied that "The reason I came here is precisely because I do not wish to sully my blade with the blood of my fellow men. I have never once endeavored to strengthen myself for such a petty reason, either. All I wish is that, if a monster were to appear before me, then I would like to cut it down without hesitation." It is said that this calm reply both moved and frightened the Valeforian general in equal measure, and Valefor conceded the region without bloodshed immediately thereafter.
The second of these excellent knights is Ser Valentin -- though of course, anyone with a knowledge of history would immediately ask "which one?" Ser Rubeus Valentin sits as commander of the Southern House, just as his father did before him, and his grandsire before that. They have always loyally served the royal family, and maintained a watchful eye upon the border, purging bandits and barbarians and protecting the citizens of that troubled region. His pride is as tall as a mountain, his will to succeed and excel in all things unrivaled and unshakable -- and were he born into any other era, he doubtless would have been crowned the foremost warrior in all of Grayle. Unlike Prince Manegold, however, he is not a master of one particular weapon, but rather an expert in the use of several. Be it archery, jousting, swordsmanship, or any other knightly art. even if Rubeus does not necessarily excel all others in its practice, he acquits himself with remarkable alacrity; and, in the use of his signature weapon -- a monstrously large poleaxe fit to cleave a horse and rider in twain at a single fell stroke -- he is unrivaled.
However, his high pride and short temper have also made him many enemies among both the knights and the aristocracy -- and though his personal skills and merits and the honor of his house are both beyond reproach, there are those who say he is lacking as a military commander, a logistician, and an instructor to those he takes under his wing -- particularly after the Southern House's crushing defeats in the Grand Tournament over the last three years.
The final of these three luminaries is, of course, the esteemed and venerable Ser Caius Ward. A veteran of several wars with both the northern nomad tribes of the Great Steppe, and the River Kingdoms up the Viridian River, he is a living monument of Grayle's glorious military history -- and, some might even say, to the very art of war itself. He, like Valentin, favors an eclectic blend of martial artistry -- but in his case, the weapon with which he practices this art is significantly more humble. A long, double-edged cross spear -- hardly the weapon of a knight, but rather more like something one would expect to see employed by an unskilled footman. And yet, the White Griffon wields his mighty fang with unprecedented mastery, blending all manner of different styles of combat and even magical arts into a fluid and dynamic mix that confounds the eyes and baffles the senses.
But despite his admittedly formidable talent with a spear, Caius' rank has a bit more to do with strategic acumen than pure martial prowess. The old Griffon earned his spot through some exploits in a border war with some minor River Kingdoms up the Viridian River, where, after a series of lost battles under the Northern House's former commander, Caius, his squadron, and an assortment of militia forces were cut off during the retreat. So, unable to return to their homeland, they instead moved covertly behind enemy lines and strolled around raiding outposts and occupying villages until the enemy's supply chain broke down, and an army five times the size of his own ground to a halt and was forced to surrender without ever even meeting the wily Griffin in pitched battle. He returned home a hero, and was given his disgraced predecessor's position as a reward -- for though the former Knight-Commander had nearly lost the war despite having every advantage, Caius had gone and won it anyway with just a handful of men! Or so the story goes, anyway.
But among these living legends and storied personages, there is an outlier: a common man from a common house, which has neither land nor title to its name -- a friend of Prince Manegold from his academy days, an internal reformist greatly respected among the lower ranks of the Sentinel Knights, and a smooth talker who somehow managed to earn the favor of not only the Grand Duke, but also the Lord Marshal: the elusive and mysterious Commander Gilbert Tervellan. A childless widower whose wife passed some fifteen years ago, he has neither living relatives nor an heir to inherit his name and meager estate. A patriot, he is -- at least, by all measure -- and he carries himself with all the dignity and composure one would expect of his standing. And yet, if he has any martial achievements, he does not boast of them -- nor does he have any special magical talents that might qualify him for the position. Those in power vouch for him, and he himself works blamelessly in discharging his duties -- but there are many who view him as an opportunist and an upstart -- particularly once his scheming begins to involve the young prodigies who might one day shape Grayle's future...
Character Sheet
Character sheet template courtesy of Gowi and Supermaxx. Thanks, and sorry for the plagiarism. XD It just looks pretty.
[color=YOUR COLOR CHOICE GOES HERE][CENTER][img]Character Name Font Meme[/img][/CENTER] [table][row][/row][row][cell][center][img]Character Image[/img] [color=2E2C2C][sup]_______________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center][hider=// INFO][indent][sub][b]P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S[/b][/SUB]
[sup][COLOR=SILVER] [b]Full Name[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Give me your full name.[/COLOR] [b]Age[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Character age, preferably early to mid teens to begin with, since we're starting as kids and there may be a timeskip down the line.[/COLOR] [b]Gender[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Self-explanatory, though bear in mind female characters will need to disguise themselves to fit in[/COLOR] [b]Heritage[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - Are you an aristocrat? A commoner? The child of a military family, or a wizard clan? Are you native to Grandor, or do you come from elsewhere? Just give a few words to summarize your social position.[/COLOR] [b]Magical Affinity[/b][COLOR=#807B84] - What elements can you use, if any? Don't list big spells or techniques or anything here, though. Put those in skills.[/COLOR][/color][/SUP]
[color=#2e2c2c]-[/color][/indent][/hider] [hider=// PERSONALITY][indent][SUB][b]P E R S O N A L I T Y[/b][/sub]
[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Character Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's personality.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=SILVER][b]Character Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's personality.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=SILVER][b]Character Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's personality.[/COLOR][/COLOR] [/SUP][/indent][/hider] [hider=// SKILLSET][indent][SUB][b]S K I L L S E T[/b][/sub]
[sup][COLOR=SILVER][b]Skill Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's skills and abilities. Try not to go too crazy with it, since these are just kids.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=SILVER][b]Skill Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's skills and abilities. Try not to go too crazy with it, since these are just kids.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[COLOR=SILVER][b]Skill Trait[/b] [COLOR=#807B84]Explain a bit about your character's skills and abilities. Try not to go too crazy with it, since these are just kids.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[/SUP][/indent][/hider] [/cell][cell][b]Physical Description[/b] [color=#807B84][indent]Self-explanatory [/indent][/color] [b]Character Conceptualization[/b] [color=#807B84][indent] A brief summary of your history, any important NPCs connected to your character, why you chose to become a knight, and maybe a bit of foreshadowing on where you hope to take the character going forward. If you want to hide stuff and not include it yet in order to reveal it later, PM me about it.[/indent][/color] [b]Other Information[/b] [color=#807B84][indent] Anything else you think people need to know.
[/indent][/color] [/cell][/row][/table][/COLOR]
Without any further ado, welcome to the thread! Let's all have fun with it! ^^
I was actually thinking of just playing a conventional character idea for the Knights RP, though I'm not exactly sure what kind of knightsey guy would fit well with the others. My first thought was a mage-turned-knight due to outside pressures, but that might overlap with Rin's so I'll try and feel out other ideas. Unless two magic-oriented knights would be fun? Perhaps a more conventional "protector" type of knight would fit best with everyone else. Someone tall, strong, and ready to put themselves between their comrades and danger.
Well, since it seems like most of our knights so far are aristocrats, prodigies, or otherwise important people, somebody more grounded and mundane could be nice as a balance to round out the rest.
At any rate, I'll think it over, but it looks like we're leaning towards doing Knights first, and I guess I'll put Saintess on the list of future things to run, for those who were particularly interested in that. Maybe could start running two threads in parallel once Knights gets off the ground, but for now I don't wanna push my luck. :P
Also, Vita, long time no see! By all means, feel free to apply for stuff, and I'll see what I can do. I may open up additional slots because everybody seems super friendly and fun and I don't really wanna toss anybody out.
Eh, as fun as I'd find it I decided to try and figure out a rough concept for an actual male character. Bare in mind it's like 5:15am right now so there's a chance I'll change things later and this is very rough but still.
Effeminately pretty apprentice mage whose ancestor was one of the greatest mages in history and thus great things are expected of him. Whilst he acts rather nonchalant and flippant about things, this is partially because he secretly doesn't think he can live up to everyone's expectations and so he'd rather goof off than actually apply himself. Despite this he is something of a prodigy and rather learned in the ways of magic, and actually kind of a big old nerd. Finds it extremely difficult to say no to a pretty face, no matter what gender they are.
I can already see the other squire kids making fun of him for his girly appearance, and the actual girls joining in too because it takes the heat off of them. XD Definitely brings some fun to the table, though, with the focus more on magic than physical prowess. Rounded party composition is always good.
Hahah, imagine though.
Everyone but one player for the Knight idea is a female in disguise...and the RP instantly becomes a standard shounen harem instead.
Probably gonna have an elegant, sorta airheaded prince of the royal family, but one who is suitably removed from the line of succession due to being born to a third or fourth wife, and only as the second or third son. With nothing to inherit, he was yeeted into knights training, so that he could at least manage a keep or something on the frontier once he grew older. Despite his imperial mannerisms, he's the sorta person to screw around while possessing such mannerisms, making for a noble delinquent-type, preferring to paint rather than practice his swordsmanship. He doesn't get mad, and practically laughs off any insult or injury tossed in his direction, as pitiful and pathetic as that may be. It is better to bend than to snap, after all.
If we go into deep lore, he'd perhaps be touched by the God of Wisdom as an infant, and his artistry is very much impressionistic rather than realistic. And he's SUPER PRETTY!
A big savage fellow, probably with big hair too. Your archetypical barbarian monster hunter, who was perhaps hired to be part of the Saintess's entourage for his expertise in handling beasts infected by miasma. I'd imagine that he'd be a wise brute sorta character, the one that supports the Saintess herself and cuts through the bullshit of religion and society, in exchange for not having any real political influence or power. Rough around the edges, with the sorta independent streak that makes him too stubborn to accept healing. Loud and prideful as hell, but since violence is his trade, he doesn't wield it for free or for personal reasons, making him weirdly restrained.
If we go into deep lore, he'd perhaps be part of the many outcasts pushed out to the boundaries of the kingdom to serve as essential meatbags to stem the flow of miasma coming from the outside. That'd give him many bones to pick indeed.
Oh man, I LOVE both of these concepts. Feels like they'd have really interesting potential dynamics with what I was going for, regardless of what option we went with. If I went plucky girl kouhai, she could potentially end up poking at your prince dude and giving him somebody who thinks he's cool, maybe giving him encouragement to believe in himself by proxy. And, if I went with a doofus prodigy, we'd be natural foils -- both demanded to be knights without any real say in the matter, but one of whom discarded that and decided to do his own thing, and the other of whom doesn't really know how to do anything else -- a socially skilled lazy type and a tryhard with absolutely no experience interacting with others. Would definitely get on each other's nerves, and/or somehow end up as best friends without even realizing it.
And for the Saintess one, your dude isn't tied down by political bullshit or "The good of the many," and could call my character out on basically all his insecurities. Would be hella dramatic.
Looking over the others now...
Hammer's Saintess ideas seem really fun too. If she's super cheerful to hide how much she's struggling, it'd throw my guy for a loop since she'd be different from what he expected, but also he wouldn't realize the truth just looking in from outside. Whereas if she's just, like, completely hopeless and emotionally repressed, he'd almost immediately realize something was wrong, but have no idea how to help or what have you.
Izu's noble also seems neat, and could be an interesting contrast to other characters doing the same thing in spite of gender norms, whereas he's doing it precisely because of those norms and wanting to be more masculine.
...Though, I guess my main worry with the Knights concept is that, even if the meme of "everybody's actually in disguise and thinks they're the only one" is pretty funny, there might be a bit too much character overlap for comfort. Gotta have some people who are entirely out of the loop and are just doing normal stuff to have a baseline for contrast's sake, and all. Even so, it does seem like a lotta people are on board with it, so I'm definitely not opposed to the idea!
Wow! I must say, this got a lot more responses a lot more quickly than I had expected -- especially considering most of you are people I haven't actually RP'd with before and/or other such friends I dragged kicking and screaming into my madness. :P
At any rate, seems we've got almost equal preference for both of the two group-oriented ideas and about the maximum number of people I'd be confident running this sort of thing for anyway, so... hm.
To be honest, I didn't expect this even a split between ideas, so I'm not actually sure what to do here. XD It does seem like more people have specifically said they want to do Saintess than the the Knight RP, but on the other hand it seems like more people overall have some fun ideas for Knights, too, so I'm not sure if I want to commit to the other one right off the bat.
That being said, maybe we should start off by saying really briefly what sort of character setup we'd want to play for each idea? Give us a better idea of what sort of dynamics we could make, and help settle on which one seems like we'd have more fun with.
To begin with, my character for Saintess would... I guess I'd probably lean towards a prince-type role -- maybe somebody torn between his responsibilities and his sympathy, knowing he needs to make use of her power for the good of his country but also unable to overlook the stuff that's happening to her. Not really tsundere in the traditional sense, but... something sort of like it, I guess? Maybe also start out assuming she's like the rest of her family so it's alright to be cold towards her and view her as nothing more than an obligation, and slowly begin drowning in guilt when he realizes how wrong he was. A defrosting icy prince with a warm and caring center.
As for Knights, I'd lean towards a weird sort of character who's had a rough life that's somehow pushed her into this whole wacky plan to masquerade as a boy and become a knight to seize control of her own destiny, but still acts like a wacky goofball with little to no common sense due to a sheltered -- or rather, sequestered upbringing. Used to being ignored and treated as a pariah, so she'd be a little awkward at first, but then pleasantly surprised to fit in -- so as to basically come out of her shell and end up as a really clingy kouhai who bluntly and openly admires her seniors and is always tagging along to see what cool new stuff they do, so as to make the threat of having her secret uncovered a very real one -- after all, this is her home now, and she doesn't want people to treat her differently or leave her behind. Just the right mix of an undercurrent of sadness with a bright smile and a firm resolve to keep on moving forward at her own pace -- that sort of plucky heroine. I'd probably scrap the idea if I didn't have anybody for her to suitably fluster with that sort of behavior, though -- clingy kouhai is no fun when there's not a teaseable, straight-laced senpai to confuse the heck out of, after all.
If that didn't work, then I guess I'd have to make that sort of straight-laced senpai myself, and instead be a huge dork from some noble family raised from childhood to master the blade, but with absolutely no social skills or experience with women. Go from the mysterious prodigy swordsman everyone admires to desperately not trying to turn into a tomato once he realizes he's dealing with a girl in disguise.
I guess maybe that sort of clarifies what I mean? Like, certain things I, at least, want to do would require the existence of other sorts of characters, so I guess having a general idea what people are going for could help us settle on which plot would give us the most interesting interactions. I dunno. I just figure that's probably a safer bet than just saying "Alright, we're doing this one" and leaving half the people who've so kindly expressed interest high and dry.
Local Floof Back At It Again With The Trashy Romance RPs
Yuuuuuuuup. It's that time again, folks. Fey's been reading too much manga again. Villainesses, saintesses, princes, knights, arranged marriages, dark secrets, knowledge of past lives or getting stuck in a groundhog day loop of bad ends -- dig up all your favorite corny tropes, because that, my friends, is why we're all here.
Basically, just looking for a fun bit of casual slapdash melodrama since most of my other RPs are sorta stalled out at the moment, and wanted to have some fun with some guilty pleasures of mine. Last time I tried something like this, it got too overcomplicated and out of hand, so for this time around, I'd like to keep things simpler -- just 2-4 people (myself included) would be ideal, though I guess I could be talked up to as many as six if there's a lot of interest. And, while I would like to revisit some of my old concepts at some point, I think for this time around I'd rather do a simpler plot setup than the one I tried before.
That being said, I've come up with a few possible ideas for plots and premises, some more suited to small group RP and some more suited for 1x1s. I'll list them below, so if you're interested, please let me know which ideas appeal to you!
To Become a Knight: The most lighthearted and comedic of my concepts, inspired by a mix of RPG-mechanics novels and wacky, Twelfth Night-esque crossdressing hijinks. This story would be set in a JRPG-esque setting with elemental magic, roaming monsters and demons, and maybe even a full-on "Demon King" style plot with our unlikely heroes having to take up their swords to save the world! Not sure if there would be actual hard and fast levels or stats as an in-universe mechanic, or if it would be more like a martial arts novel with more vaguely defined "powerlevels" and shit, but basically it would be a comedy first, a romance second, and occasionally remember that it's supposed to be an action adventure once every now and again.
The "unlikely heroes" in question would start as a various collection of kid heroes, all in training to become knights for their own reasons. Could be nobles expected to take up the sword by their families, or commoners whose skills have given them the opportunity to climb the social ladder, or any number of other things. The only problem is... Well, one or more of these "boys" is anything but, disguising herself/themselves for whatever reason and trying to become a knight. Needless to say, regardless of whether this secret is kept under wraps or discovered by the other characters, hijinks ensue.
Ideally, this would mostly be a story of a bunch of goofy kid heroes growing up, coming to terms with each other and themselves, probably having a bunch of misunderstandings as they try and fail to keep their secrets hidden, and maybe having a few awkward crushes along the way. Maybe there'd be a timeskip after this first part and we could deal with them actually doing knightly things as young adults too, but honestly, I feel like it's pointless to plan that far ahead right now, so I won't!
I'd be favoring playing a disguised girl in this plot, and it could probably work equally well as either a 1x1 or a small group, whether that small group ends up with multiple crossdressers or as a one girl, three guys reverse harem setup, or, heck, just as a bunch of friends palling around without knowing or without caring about the whole gender reveal.
The Bastard Saintess: A more serious plot setup, better lending itself to more of a dramatic or angsty angle. This one's in a setting more inspired by Otome games and novels/manga about Otome games, with some kind of miasma or other existential threat that can only be purified/remedied by the powers of a chosen Saint/Saintess, who can influence the weather, heal the sick, bestow blessings, the whole shebang. And, in many cases, those chosen as "Saints" come from specific lineages favored by the gods, entrusted with the responsibility of protecting their countries.
A child is born into one such family out of wedlock, and has the misfortune of inheriting divine power. As such, she must be taken in by a family that really doesn't want her, and probably suffers a miserable childhood as a result. Ultimately, the story could go a lot of different ways from here, whether it's about her trying to escape from her abusive family and expose that the "Saints" really aren't all that saintly, or her getting forcibly engaged, banished, sold off, or otherwise thrown away and taken in elsewhere. Basically, a sympathetic heroine with a tragic life climbing her way slowly out of her miserable past and finding a new home.
I could go either way on characters for this one -- whether it's playing as the Saintess herself, or as whatever prince or love interest comes along to help her, or even as a side character -- an adoptive family member who helps take her in or whatever. Like with the first idea, this'd work just fine as a 1x1, and though it's slightly less well-suited for a group RP, it could still work for one. Regardless, the goal would be to have dark parts that are dark and depressing, as well as plenty of warm fuzzies to counterbalance them.
The Fake: This one's also on the darker side, and a bit more somber than just dark and angsty. It's also much better suited for a 1x1 than a group setup, so it's basically here in case interest is very minimal. The basic setup is as follows.
The daughter of an upper class noble meets a young knight of no significant estate or standing through coincidence, and the two of them fall in love, keeping their courtship a secret, and knowing that theirs is a love that can never be. The flower of high society, married off to a commoner in all but name? It is an unthinkable and unattainable dream -- one that slips even farther out of reach when the young man is sent off to war. He undergoes numerous trials and tribulations, surviving in the face of certain death, and earns himself a name as a hero and the favor of the the empire. Returning in glory to his homeland, he asks for but one thing as his reward: the right to marry the woman of his dreams. This wish is granted, and the two lovers are reunited...
...Except that's nothing but a lie. While he was off at war, his beloved died -- and has since been quietly replaced by a body double by a desperate, controlling father who has no other successors, and to whom the prospect of a marriage alliance is the only means of securing his ambitions. Now, the girl forced to play the role of his dead daughter is stuck in a marriage with a man who went through hell for the sake of the woman she claims to be, and he finds himself grieving for a person who is, in the eyes of the world, still alive and well. Whether they hate each other, or ultimately find comfort in this quiet tragedy? Well, that's all up to you.
Those are all the concepts I have write-ups for right now, but if none of them draws significant interest, I've got a few more things I can add later. Anyway, that's all for now, so thanks for reading, and, of course, let me know if any of these seem fun!
Full Name - Fianna Fray Age - 37 Gender - Female Vocation - Sentinel Nationality - Scila
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Stoic Fianna is, above all else, a woman of few words. She seldom speaks unless spoken to, and even when directly addressed, will often answer as bluntly as possible before resuming her silence. She's not necessarily hostile, standoffish, or confrontational about it -- and in fact could even be called polite -- but she's at best apathetic to most interactions and seems to be either unwilling or unable to really express herself beyond the bare minimum that is necessary.
Bloodthirsty Underneath her calm exterior, however, lies a darker side of her personality. Though she detests her masters, she still takes pride in the skills she has honed, and the power she wields. As such, devoid of any other purpose, it is only in battle that her soul can truly burn. In but a single masterful stroke of a sword, there is art. In slaying a fearsome foe, there is achievement. In enduring pain, in standing up and taking but a single step when one's body cannot go on, there is beauty. Though she has long since lost both the ability and the drive to pursue higher ideals, she yet clings to a vision that transcends good and evil. A sword, after all, does not choose who it slays -- its job is simply to cut all that stands before it. And so, Fianna the Bloody takes up her blade without reason -- no, without needing a reason. She fights because there is a battle to be fought, kills because there is an enemy to be slain, and with each step she takes grows closer to becoming one and the same as the sword she wields.
Wild For at least half of her unnatural life, Fianna has lived as a beast. First as a hungry, scavenging orphan, then as a Hunter forever seeking her prey. It was only for a brief time that she was shown kindness, and allowed to live as a human, as herself, and learned what it meant to care for others. Kindness, generosity, protectiveness, empathy -- with her humanity effectively long-since shattered, none of these things come naturally to her. And, likewise, should she be shown such warm emotions again, she wouldn't know how to respond to them, or to reciprocate. Yet, once one has learned how it feels to be loved, one cannot ever truly forget it. When people are kind to her, in some sense, she is grateful to them -- even if she can't show it. When people do great things for the sake of others, she admires them, because they remind her of her master and his sacrifice. In this sense, she can recognize goodness in others, and may even strive to emulate it, though she herself could not ever truly claim to be a good person. Yet, even so, she cannot truly move on from her past, and ultimately, the one powerful feeling she has left is her hatred for those who took her master and her comrades from her. If given the chance, with nothing to hold her back and without regard for the world as a whole, she might well cast aside what little remains of her humanity, if only it meant destroying the system that took her master's life.
E Q U I P M E N T
The Wolf's Fang, Amaryllis Midnos' ancient history has never been pretty. Long before the void ever reared its ugly head, the land was a hotbed of various sorcerer-kings and queens all vying for dominance. Though the orthodox faith and the Pyromancer Kings and Queens eventually unified the land and established the great empire known today, there were many other contenders for that throne... and many artifacts they left behind as vessels for their unnatural powers.
Amaryllis is one such relic, though it was not originally called by that name, but rather by several others. An ancient sword, it was forged who knows how many centuries ago by a maker whose very name has been scrubbed from the annals of history -- but who was, judging by his handiwork, a master of the dark art of necromancy. Even this small fragment of his craft is still just as sharp as the day its massive edge was first set, and still just as insatiable. It has been rediscovered many times throughout Midnos' unification and early history, and each time has left slaughter and death in its wake before disappearing along with its wielder. At last, it was reclaimed by the Kingdom, and sealed away to prevent its dark power from ever being used again. But, as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures, and with the coming of the void, the vault was opened, that the then-nameless accursed sword might see use once again.
Though on its own, it seems unremarkable, the weapon's unnatural nature becomes quite apparent the moment any would-be wielder -- unsuspecting or not -- lays hand upon it. Its handle grafts itself into their flesh, and it changes its form to best suit the capabilities of its new wielder -- no, its new host. And, should that not be enough, then it changes its new host body to better handle its power.
Foreign muscles begin to grow and shift, writhing like worms, uncoiling like snakes beneath the user's skin. The changes begin slowly, creeping up the arm that first took hold of the sword, then expanding to the rest of the body. To sustain the new muscle mass that it cultivates upon them, new bones, new nerves, new organs are all required. Lungs to gather and store more air, hearts to pump the blood, an ossified exoskeleton to protect this fragile new flesh beneath... and, of course, a source of sustenance to fuel this explosive growth. The sword's favored diet is, unsurprisingly, the flesh, blood, and bones of its victims, all of which swiftly disappear into the blade's expanding bulk -- but failing that, it will not hesitate to cannibalize its own host body in order to fuel this unholy transformation. It seeks nothing short of ever greater and greater heights of strength, its shape evolving with its wielder's ever more and more twisted form, never stopping until the body it has inhabited can take no more and perishes. Then, the sword slumbers, storing up the power it has cultivated until it is needed again. Every single individual who has wielded this unsightly blade has thus met a similar end, devoured completely by the cursed sword.
But, the scholars of Midnos wondered -- what would the sword do if it were provided a body that could never truly die? And so, it was given to a quite expendable Hunter -- a sick "gift" for one who possessed no other power.
G I F T
Awaken, And Hunt Again Fianna has never possessed any affinity for the magical arts. Even when she became a Hunter, that fact never changed. All she had was her master's teachings, and the determination to hone them to their utmost limits. Yet, despite this, the sword she christened with the name it bears today reacts entirely differently in her hands than it does when held by any other wielder. Namely, she possesses the unique ability to draw and sheathe it at will, in so doing reverting all the changes and unnatural growths brought on by its evolution. Whereas a normal user would be slowly overtaken until their body was nothing but a vessel for the sword, it instead appears entirely willing to relinquish control and reconstruct her body after the fighting is done.
Functionally speaking, in addition to not forcing her to kill herself every time she draws her weapon, this unique bond gives her phenomenal regenerative faculties above and beyond even a normal Hunter, so long as she can keep feeding her sword. If her limbs are severed, Amaryllis will just grab hold of them and shove them back into their sockets, knitting her muscles and nerve endings back together to allow her to keep fighting. Even if her vital organs are destroyed, chances are that the sword may well have created redundant backups that will keep her blood pumping and her lungs breathing until it can rebuild her. Unless her body is completely ripped to shreds, her brain destroyed, or the sword itself forcibly severed from her flesh, then Amaryllis will do its best to put her back together again.
In practice though, this process can be... somewhat unreliable. Forcing her body to regrow rapidly or frequently has a tendency to cause errors to crop up -- a fact to which her perpetually misshapen and scarred hands stand as an unfortunate testament -- and uses up a great deal of energy, requiring her to keep feeding Amaryllis and potentially forgo further growth and evolution in order to fuel her regeneration instead.
Likewise, the process of undoing the changes the sword has already made is an arduous one, even for an immortal. Ejecting new organs, bending her skeleton back into its original shape, compressing her muscles so that they fit back inside her skin, and rewiring her nervous system accordingly all cause a variety of pain that is barely even comprehensible to the human mind -- and though Amaryllis has tried to reduce the side effects by dampening her sense of feeling so much that she's almost perpetually numb, it's still all she can do to avoid blacking out when she reverts. As such, though she doesn't need to constantly feed Amaryllis even when outside of combat, once she's out of battle, she tends to stay that way for a long, long time.
But, though her partnership with the accursed sword comes with a tremendous backlash upon her own flesh, it also comes with its benefits. When she allows Amaryllis to fully merge with her, she is capable of adapting rapidly to match the unnatural abilities of the voidspawn she hunts. And by sharing her senses with the sword, she can draw upon its past experience, and the experiences of its prior wielders to augment her own not-inconsiderable talents with a blade, and to help her adapt to the rather... unique fighting style required by such an obscene weapon.
When it was first placed within Fianna's grasp, the sword took on a wicked curved shape, like the fang of a wolf. Its edge became dyed in crimson red, rippling outward along the blade like the petals of a flower. Its pommel spiraled and unfolded, becoming like vines that coiled up her arm and joined with her flesh. These aesthetic considerations seem entirely unrelated to the sword's usual functions, however, begging the question of just why it bothered taking on such a form.
The scholars had thought that the sword might be overcome -- harnessed -- controlled -- brought to heel and forced to obey. If met with the power of a hunter, surely its curse could be broken and its power put to use. But ultimately, when she first held the blade and it became one with her, it was not her undying body, nor the flame she bore within her, nor even her force of will that triumphed over it - a fact to which its form stands as testament.
Perhaps it was because the sword simply recognized in her the possibility to sustain itself forever. Perhaps it was because it sought to improve itself even further by devouring the void which even its fearsome fangs could not sunder without her help. Or perhaps it was because when its hideous intelligence looked within her... it realized that the thing they both wished for was the same.
Together, they sought strength for its own sake, both searching for the same answer, both testing and pushing their limits wherever they might lie. Everything else was a burden to be discarded or a tool to be used, that they might climb a little higher. That was the only purpose the sword had ever known -- and it was the only purpose Fianna had left.
But no matter how much she lost, or how much she forgot -- no matter how much the past she had cherished withered and scattered into nothing, that woman still held on tightly to the name of the flowers she had seen so long ago, and to the very first order she had been given.
The smith forges. The Hunter seeks. The blade cuts. The enemy dies. The wolf eats. The flower blooms. The sun sets. The memory fades. She awakens, and hunts again. And that, in and of itself, is a kind of answer. This is her -- no, this is their Gift.
Physical Description
A tall, gaunt woman with a somewhat ragged and unsettling aspect to her, Fianna somehow manages to be both younger and older than she looks. Though she's now in her late 30s, her body stopped aging half a decade ago when she first became a Hunter, leaving her mostly unmarred by the ravages of time. The ravages of duty, on the other hand, are a different story. Her sleepless crimson eyes are often bloodshot and rimmed in red, with heavy eyelids that never seem to fully open like those of a tired old woman twice her true age, while her resting expression could perhaps best be described as a thousand-yard stare. Her hair is wild, matted, and uneven like the mane of some great beast, as though she simply stopped caring to cut or straighten it and simply lets it trail behind her as it may. And most unsettling of all, her pale skin is almost imperceptibly marked by countless faint crisscrossing white lines too numerous to be battle scars, as though every inch of her has been ripped apart over and over again, then pasted back together almost but not quite right each time.
It's not particularly difficult to guess at what she is, as unlike other Hunters, she exerts essentially no effort to hide her nature. She is most often seen dressed light, in flimsy dresses and tabards that only provide enough cover to preserve her modesty, despite the chill of the perpetual night in which she prowls. The fire within is more than enough to keep her warm, and anything more would be a waste anyway -- as the destructive way in which her powers as a Hunter and her weapon of choice tend to warp her body would shred any more comprehensive garment. The only exception to this general rule is that she tends to favor long, flowing sleeves which cover her hands completely... meaning that most people never get to see the hideous scars covering the limbs hidden beneath.
Character Conceptualization
Fianna remembers the sunset.
It was a long time ago, now -- so long that her childhood seems like a distant dream, one which grows less real to her with each awakening. And yet, the hand that was outstretched to her that day is burned into her memories. Though she can no longer even recall the names or faces of her birth parents, that man and the lessons he taught her -- that old house overgrown with crimson vines -- the sunset they watched together on that day will never fade.
She remembers the smell of soot and ash, the chill of the rain running down her back as she dug amongst the dead and the dying for any small scraps that might earn her next meal. There was no joy, even when she found an unbroken sword or some precious brooch to bring back to her masters -- merely the objective knowledge that she would live another day. Hers wasn't the loyalty of a dog, proud to be of use, willing to die for the praise of its owner -- it was the hunger of the wolf that drove her. Live. Take what you can. Eat. Preserve your wavering heartbeat. Don't become like the bodies that surround you. Sleep. Awaken, and hunt again. Those lessons serve her well now.
Yet she also remembers a kinder teacher -- one who pulled her from that life, wrapped her in warm clothes, and gave her a place to call home. He taught her to write her name, praised her when she got it right. For the first time, she raised her head out of the mud and the dirt and looked at the sky, and realized that somewhere under it could lay freedom -- a future -- something more to live for. She wanted to give that gift to others, too. There were other children like her -- others who had, like her, been saved. But they came and went, guided by his hands back to the land he fought for. Yet she never left. Even when the sun went out, even when the war ended -- she stayed by his side.
She cared for the sick and the weary, took up the sword that she might protect them together with him. Her dear Master Fray, her second father, always on the move, always rallying the oppressed to break their chains, scale the walls, and cross over to the land of opportunity that awaited them on the other side. Scila, her new homeland, its cause her own, its people her cherished protectorate -- even if Scila itself officially denied their actions.
The war had ended suddenly with the advent of the void. A hundred lords arose to proclaim themselves the rulers of the lands no one else had been able to claim, and the people starved and suffered under their rule. Scila couldn't fight them, no matter how many had already died to free those who were now enslaved. Not without starting another war. But Master Fray was not Scila. He and those who followed him could continue to fight for those who had already perished in the name of freedom, and those to whom the gift of freedom could yet be bestowed. They struggled. They won. They liberated. And then...
A band of refugees, so close to the border, so close to freedom. They had to hold the line -- just long enough to get them out. But Midnos would not so easily give up its people -- its property. There was a battle, and they...
She remembers the pain of the lash -- her teacher's warmth stripped away. She remembers watching her comrades fall one by one around her, consumed by the fire within. She remembers the blazing agony that coursed through her being, and the questions with which she was left alone to remain.
Why? What was it all for? What purpose do I have left to fulfill?
Live. Take what you can. Eat. Preserve your wavering heartbeat. Don't become like the bodies that surround you. Sleep. Awaken, and hunt again.
The wolf bared its fangs again, and the old lessons, once forgotten, were remembered. Fianna lived. She ate. She stepped over countless bodies. She awakened, and she hunted once more. That was all that remained to her, a tool to which even death was denied, bearing two voices within her -- a beast that lived only for destruction, and a child who yet dreamed of what lay beyond the sky...
Other Information
Fianna was orphaned during the Great War, and was eventually picked off a battlefield to become first the student, then the adoptive daughter of a former Scilari general. This general, known as Master Fray, left his nation behind after the war's end to continue fighting as a revolutionary on the Midnosian border, leading a band of guerrilla fighters known as the Red Branch. They occupied themselves in liberating contested regions and allowing their people to flee to Scila to escape oppression in their homeland. She remembers well the lessons he taught her in those days, residing in secrecy along with the other orphans he had taken under his protection. A small cottage in the woods, overgrown with the crimson flowers that became the revolution's symbol functioned as their shelter, hideaway, and school for all of them.
He taught them to read and write, and read them books and stories of heroes of old. He taught them that they were valuable and precious, and that everyone deserved the right to strive for their own happiness. When the war drew closer, he did his best to smuggle them to safety in the homeland that awaited them, teaching them the secret code his men used to differentiate friend from foe. Every one of the flowers in that wood dipped in crimson had a meaning -- and the flower he gave to them as a sign of protection was no different. The Amaryllis -- a symbol of love, and of endurance, containing all of his wishes that they survive at any cost.
But even when his other students fled, Fianna stayed, and learned new lessons. She learned how to hold a sword, and how to fight. She proudly became her father's right hand, serving the Red Branch first as an aide, then eventually as a fellow warrior fighting by his side, despite his wishes to keep her away from the battlefield.
When the revolution was eventually quashed by Midnosian peacekeeping forces, however, she and her comrades were submitted to the pyromancers as sacrificial candidates for the Hunter project, in lieu of a public execution. Master Fray and all those who were captured with him did not survive the transformation -- all those, that is, save for one, who not only lived to become a Hunter, but somehow kept her burning will to survive intact for the five long years that followed, becoming one of the oldest Hunters still on active duty fighting the void, unbroken and uncorrupted.
She is, however, by no means well-regarded. As a tool of Midnos, the missions she has been forced to undertake have been perilous -- suicidal, even. She's died many times, but each and every time her fire has brought her back to life. Her mere appearance is now regarded among other Hunters as a sign of an ill omen, since wherever Fianna the Bloody goes, disaster tends to follow...
Though she is known as something of a cryptid to the locals still inhabiting the area around the ruins of Ardenfeld, the so-called "Witch of the Argent Vale" really... doesn't live up to the hype. Spoken of in hushed tones, she is reputed to be a horned demoness who preys upon those who go too close to the old village, searing them to the bone with hellfire. In some tellings, she is a vengeful spirit -- a village maiden who gave herself over to the dark powers to survive the disaster, now driven mad with agony by the very flame she bears within her. In others, she is simply a fiend called forth by death and destruction that needs to be cut down. Still others claim she's nothing but an old wives' tale, while others claim to have caught glimpses of her with their own eyes; a fleeting horned shadow in a black cloak seen watching from afar, her eyes burning like embers amidst the shadows of the forest.
Despite these fanciful stories and poetic descriptions, however, the truth of the matter is significantly more mundane. Aethra is simply a sheltered, reclusive individual who, seeing how feared she is, withdraws from any and all human contact. And, sure, perhaps she might have used her powers to create eerie, flickering fires to scare off people who got too close to her camp, but she never actually attacked anyone!
In any case, she is painfully shy, and though she hides it well, dislikes being looked at and doesn't really know how to talk to anyone with two legs. She doesn't become a blushing, stammering mess when forced to interact with others, mind you -- but even if she keeps her composure, she seldom says more than a couple words unless they're practically forced out of her. This may give the impression that rather than being shy, she's simply without feeling, or actively hateful of others. But though she never forgets an insult -- a scornful glance, or a derisive remark about her horns -- she does not hate people for acting this way. Rather, interacting with them simply makes her sad, and so she'd just rather not bother. Needless to say, this also makes her somewhat neurotic about her appearance, to the point that she usually wraps her forked tail around one of her legs and hides it under her skirt, and keeps her head down in dark places to avoid having the fiery glow of her eyes seen. Only her horns are too large to adequately hide, but even then, she does the best she can, draping a hood over her head at all times to hide the point where they actually connect to her scalp. Maybe she hopes they'll be taken for some form of decoration or garish accessory, rather than an intrinsic part of her person?
She's much more comfortable with animals, however -- especially when she thinks she's alone -- and can often be seen conversing quite cheerfully with various creatures she encounters, using the magic taught her by the spirits to communicate with and befriend anything she thinks won't judge her too harshly for being different. While her unnatural heritage does sometimes thwart these attempts too, most animals don't think twice about her horns, tail, or gleaming eyes -- after all, in this sense, she's quite similar to them.
Despite her cold exterior, she's also quite childish, displaying no small measure of awe or even fear in the face of very simple things. Big cities are utterly foreign to her, having lived first as a country girl, then as a hermit. Fanciful baubles and trinkets catch her eye quite readily, and she has a tendency to fiddle with almost any unusual or interesting thing she encounters, displaying an almost magpie-like attraction to shiny objects. And, thanks to her deprived upbringing, her standoffish attitude can oftentimes be defeated with the help of tasty food, especially sweets. Wild berries, roasted fish, and the occasional morsel of meat are all well and good, but given her insatiable curiosity and voracious appetite, she just can't resist.
My Story
Born as a peasant girl, the girl now christened with the fanciful appellation "Aethra" originally bore the much simpler name of "Mary." Her father was one of the village of Ardenfeld's foremost hunters, and was a gruff-but-gentle man who doted upon his daughter extensively. Her mother, on the other hand, was a wanderer from elsewhere -- a gypsy of sorts of unknown heritage who had ended up in Ardenfeld on her travels and cared for her father when he was, coincidentally, injured during a boar hunt. Ultimately, she decided to settle down there and marry him, and though her origins were originally regarded with some measure of suspicion at first, the other villagers quickly stopped caring. The family didn't have any outlandish customs, nor did the foreign lady have any particularly alarming physical traits. They got along well with the community and all did their part, and so quickly became just as ordinary a sight as anyone else.
Her parents loved her very much, and she would often help her mother around the house with chores or errands. She learned to cook, the basics of mending clothing, and other common household skills -- as well as a few small tricks her father taught her, such as how to carve and play a reed flute. They would wile away the hours sitting on their back step, with Mary clumsily tooting away on a small, shabby instrument of her own creation, and her mother singing along from inside. The memories are bright and warm, like a flame -- but they have since flickered and faded as the years drag on, until only embers of those warm, happy days remain. Aethra remembers little of that time now, for her peaceful childhood ended when she was only eight years old -- and after that, she tried her hardest to forget.
Her father's voice, telling them to run.
His hand, clutching an old sword.
His back as he rushed out of the house.
Her mother's grip on her hand.
A stifled cry as that grip went slack.
The fire, all around her.
The pain, the heat, the choking smoke -- and then suddenly, nothing at all.
Someone had pulled her from the flames and carried her to where the other children were hiding. Miraculously, she was mostly unharmed. Her skin was burned in places, leaving scars upon her back that persist to this day -- but she survived. Initially, this was seen as simple good fortune; but when a fire mysteriously broke out in her room at the orphanage, too -- from which she also emerged almost entirely unscathed -- people began to grow worried.
It was around this point when the dreams began. Nightmares, visions of fire and death and bloodshed -- landscapes left barren and lifeless by war. Whether it was the trauma of the attack or some kind of vision of things to come hardly mattered to her at the time, however -- because the more immediate concern was that the flames in her dreams persisted when she awoke. Opening her eyes to find fire in the palm of her hand would set her screaming, only for it to disappear when people came rushing in to check on her. She thought she was losing her mind... and others thought she was possessed. These fears only became more founded when one morning, after a particularly bad nightmare, she awoke to find that her hair had become white like an old woman's, her ears pointed, her teeth sharp, her eyes like blazing embers, and, worst of all -- horns and a forked tail had grown upon her during the night. She panicked, and this in turn once more drew people to come running to her room -- only this time, the evidence didn't just go away.
She was locked in her room, priests were called to conduct an exorcism, and Mary, not unfamiliar with what happened to monsters in fairy tales and already quite aware that she was feared by those around her, was certain that she was going to be killed. In her panic, she broke out of her room and made a run for her life. Though several people caught sight of a horned girl fleeing the city, the search parties that followed lost her trail in the deep woods, as she instinctively began to follow old hunting paths that led her back to her old home.
Arriving amidst the ruins of Ardenfeld, she found an unexpected sight. The fallen houses, the charred landscape, and the ravaged ruins that had haunted her dreams had long since given way to verdant greenery. Vines, flowers, trees, and shrubs had completely overtaken the former town, leaving nary a trace of the hell she remembered from her nightmares. There was a certain tragic beauty to it -- one that burned itself into her memories even more strongly than the trauma of that fateful night.
She wandered aimlessly through the ruins for longer than she can really remember. For a while, she occupied herself with searching for familiar places or items -- old, burnt dolls pulls from the wreckage of her house, a broken reed flute found trampled in the village lane, or a book of fairy tales she couldn't read that the headman's wife had once read aloud to the village children during the harvest festival. She gathered all these mementos in one place, and then, not knowing what else to do with them, with her tiny hands she set about burying them as a kind of memorial to what once had been.
The final trinket she found, however, she couldn't bring herself to bury. It was the broken-off handle of a shattered sword -- an heirloom that had never been meant to see combat. It must have failed its user in his hour of direst need, or surely -- surely, he would have been able to save them all. If only the blade hadn't broken, her father never would have lost his noble fight. Yet, even though he must surely have been defeated without a weapon, she couldn't find any signs of his body. Perhaps it had just burned to ash along with the others, but maybe... just maybe. Hope rekindled itself in her heart, not because she truly believed it to be possible, but quite simply because she needed something to believe in. So, she held on to this ruined keepsake, promising that she wouldn't bury it until she was certain her father was dead.
It was in this state, however, that someone -- or rather, something -- found her. On the first night, it came as a great wolf, from which the young girl hid in terror. Since it could not find her, it left -- but returned upon the second night in the guise of an owl, circling high overhead to search her out. When it found her hiding place, it left, and then returned upon the third night as a white deer -- a doe, but bearing horns like a stag. It came to her hiding place and asked of her...
"Why do you linger here, mortal? This land has already been lost to your kind, and none here yet live."
She, unsure of how to respond, answered only that she had nowhere else to go.
"Why do you not go among the living? Among your own people?"
She shook her head and said that she could not go back, for she was not welcome among them.
"And why is that?"
Because she was a monster. A bringer of fire and destruction -- and so, she only belonged in a place like this, where there was nothing left for her to destroy.
"Tell me, Little Flame, what do you see around you?"
A graveyard.
"Nay. I prithee look again, for you will find not a graveyard, but a garden. The end of your people need not be the end of this place. For the birds will build their nests among your fallen homes, and their songs shall be a lullaby to those who sleep beneath the soil. Look, Little Flame. Look and see. Even atop these graves you have dug, flowers will one day bloom."
It was beautiful, yes... but she wasn't any less lonely for knowing that. And, if that was truly the case, then she had no place here, either -- for she would only serve to destroy what nature hoped to build.
"Then, what if there were another like yourself here? Another with no place and no purpose, save to wait for and tend to what comes after the flames?"
If there was such a person, then she wouldn't want to hurt them. It would be better for her to stay alone.
"Ah, but that person needs you more than you know, Little Flame. There is a place not far from here where few tread -- a blighted, sorrowful land where the trees can no more grow, where the grass withers and fails, and from which all creatures shy away. That place was once her home, as this was once yours. And if you were to burn the rot away, then that place, too, might become a beautiful garden. I'm sure that she, and all those who once shared that home with her, would be happy."
It beggared belief that the strange power she had been granted might be used for such a purpose... but ultimately, she accepted. If that person showed herself, and could accept her as she was, then maybe she could do some good for someone who shared a similar sorrow to her own.
And so, on the fourth night, the one who came to visit her was not a wolf, or an owl, or a deer -- but rather, an old woman with a kindly smile, who introduced herself as Mithra. The girl said that she had been named Mary, but all those who knew her by that name probably hated her by now. And so, the woman gave her a new name: Aethra. A little flame, but one which could offer much to the world by burning brightly, be it in the seclusion of the wilderness or for all mankind to see. It was a name weighted with expectation, but made light by hope and joy -- for finally, there was someone who would walk with her and talk with her, and tell her that she wasn't mad and that neither the world nor her place in it had yet come to an end.
In the years that followed, she learned much under Mithra's tutelage. They lived together amidst the wild, with Aethra tending to the chores that were appointed her by her new mentor, and Mithra teaching the young Tiefling to control the flames within her, and to suppress them if need be. She learned that her powers could be used to heal and to create life in addition to simply destroying it... but also that there was a place for destruction, just as there was a place for new life to take the place of the old. Within an ever-snowy northern forest of rotted, whitened trees, hidden in a secluded valley unknown to mortal men, she worked tirelessly to perfect her craft, so that she could at last fulfill her promise to Mithra, and create for her a garden amidst this wasteland.
But there was another promise that weighed heavily upon her mind -- and as the time came to fulfill it, Mithra ordered her not to break her word, reluctant though she was to leave. And so, her two tasks became one. She would go back to the home she had left behind once more, and tend to the garden there. She would make good on her promise to speak once more with her old friends, even if they hated her or didn't recognize her after all the changes she had gone through. She would travel the world outside the Argent Vale once more, and once she had learned everything she could learn from seeing all the hopeful beginnings and fiery ends that life had to offer... she would return to Mithra, and share the fruits of her knowledge, creating a beautiful garden amidst that lifeless valley.
And yet, throughout all of this, still she is haunted by the dreams of all that she has seen -- and all that may wait for her in the world beyond. Something dark and terrible looms upon the edge of her awareness, and all that Mithra has taught her may not be enough to prepare her for it. If that day comes where her flame fails her as her father's sword failed him, or where the essence of life she strives to uphold slips from her grasp as her mother's hand slipped from hers... what will she do then?
Going Forward
At the moment, Aethra would say that she simply wants to make her mentor and surrogate grandmother Mithra proud of her, and to fulfill her promises. However, that's not entirely true. In part, her real goal upon this journey is to try to prove, both to herself and to those who once called her a monster, that her power really can be used to do great things, and that she's not the bringer of destruction she once feared she was. In seeking this, she'll also have to contend with the difficulty involved in changing people's perceptions of her, and her own wavering confidence in her own abilities as she wonders what, precisely, even is the right way for someone like her to live.
Secretly, she also perhaps holds out hope that her father might have survived the attack and still be alive somewhere... and that maybe, just maybe, some of her old friends who might still remember her from her childhood as Mary won't hate her when they see what she has become. Finally, she's also curious as to why she was cursed with the flame she bears to begin with, and from whence her daemonic heritage springs -- hoping that, perhaps, if she understands the roots of her own nature, that may bring her closer to triumphing over it, and over people's perceptions of her as a result of it.
But even leaving aside her plethora of emotional issues, the fact remains that Aethra is horribly sheltered and ignorant as to the workings of civilization and society as a whole, and she has a lot to learn before she is ready to truly save -- or destroy -- anything. Where her path and her reunion with the other survivors can take her, who can say? And what further trials fate has in store for her, only time will tell...
The strong, silent type. Given his (former) profession, it would only make sense that Ulreik is someone who prefers actions to words, as what he lacks in rhetoric and wit, he has in work ethic. That said, it's not like he holds any sort of pride over his work, as he is completely modest with what he does. After all, why would someone be proud of digging graves? It is an honest job, if macabre, but it's not like he's anyone special for doing it.
Believing that he is cursed due to his tragic upbringing, Ulreik prefers to keep others at a distance. It is why he ended up tending graves in the first place. After all, he believes it's better if he hung around the dead over the living. It's because of this that Ulreik has made little friends aside from his fellows from Ardenfeld. In place of interacting with others, however, Ulreik has dedicated much of his focus to improving himself and getting things done. A determination developed by someone who spends too much time alone.
My Story
Even before the attack, Ulreik's life was already filled with tragedy. His mother had died during childbirth, leaving himself and his father on their lonely little farm on a hill. It didn't help that every time it was the day of Ulreik's birth, something bad would happen in the small ranch of theirs. When he turned two, their cattle had gotten sick and were nearly all killed off. When he was four, a terrible famine struck their farm just before the month of harvest. At seven, their barn had been struck by lightning. It was coincidences like these that caused Ulreik's father to call him a cursed child, regretting that he was ever born.
On his ninth birthday, Ulreik's father had sent him to Ardenfeld, a town only a few paces away from the farm, to run some errands. In truth, he had only sent the boy out so his presence wouldn't cause another travesty to happen. Of course, this was the same day of the attack. During the siege of the lowly hamlet, Ulreik had blacked out in the chaos. When he had finally come to, he was surrounded by the other surviving children of his age, mere minutes after the highwaymen had sacked the village.
Believing himself to be truly cursed, Ulreik broke away from the other children as soon as he was able to, running back to his home. It, too, was ablaze. Their crops had been stomped out, their animals dead or taken, and their barn all but destroyed. Ulreik had found his father's body, already bled out, nestled atop the small mound that was his mother's grave. It was such a sight that had finally broken the idea to the boy's mind that he was actually cursed.
When the older survivors had found Ulreik, he was clutching a shovel almost as large as he was, standing in front of two makeshift graves.
Ulreik's time at the Landeil orphanage was as expected. The more superstitious folk shared the same beliefs as the boy's father, believing Ulreik to be a child that would only bring tragedy and death. Many of the other children in the orphanage saw this and used this as enough of a reason to pick on the poor boy. Much like his father's abuse, this bullying was merely another form of penance that Ulreik believed he deserved. Of course, this didn't mean he wouldn't fight back.
At the age of thirteen, Ulreik was kicked out, having gotten into far too many physical altercations with the other children. With nowhere else to go, Ulreik had gone back to the only place he had known, back to his father's ranch. When he returned, Ulreik was surprised to see that it had turned to a new graveyard. What was once a place where life is cultivated had now turned into a land where the dead would have their final rest. Ulreik would soon find the place where his mother and father were buried, now a part of a mass grave dedicated to those who lost their lives during that fateful day in Ardenfeld.
Believing that the dead should at least have some form of memorial other than merely being buried together, Ulreik had made his way to the groundskeeper's abode, finding it empty but unlocked. Procuring some tools and a pair of planks, the boy would fashion a makeshift memorial, listing the date of the attack as well as a few harrowing words.
"We have not forgotten."
When the graveyard's groundskeeper, a wizened halfling, had returned, he would see the boy resting near the mass grave, tired boh from his work as well as his journey from Sarinan. The halfling dragged the boy back to his home, waiting for him to awaken. When Ulreik had come to, the halfling first scolded the boy for using tools not belonging to him before complimenting him on his handiwork. Introducing himself as Osmund, he gave the young Ulreik an offer soon after finding out that he had no place to go: help him tend the graves in exchange for room, board, and maybe a wage if he does a good enough job.
And so, Ulreik began his work as a gravedigger, tending to the very same lands his father had done years before. He would learn many things from Osmund, from boarding up a grave template to properly sawing out a casket. He also learned other skills from the halfling's past life as well. Osmund was not a stranger to death even before he became a grave tender, having served in the Pallaviel military as a scout. Keeping his larger build in mind, Osmund drilled Ulreik in many of the basic sword techniques taught to fresh recruits. Ironically, it was a place of death that Ulreik would truly find the most growth for himself.
Many years would pass, and soon, Ulreik's nineteenth birthday would come closer and closer. Having spent much of his coffers on a set of hand-me-down armor, a battery shield, and an old sword, Ulreik would prepare himself to face his curse head-on.
Going Forward
Beyond potentially getting revenge on the bandits who had slain his father, Ulreik truly desires to overcome his supposed curse. He wishes to rise above it, and to not let it control his life any longer. That being said, he's not quite sure how to go about it. There is always following Osmund's steps and joining up at Pallaviel, himself... But they wouldn't want a cursed recruit, now would they? Maybe he could also become a scout, staying on the outskirts of the battle rather than in the heart of it? Or perhaps he should just be a simple sellsword, dedicated to no cause but his own, so that his curse would not drag down anyone else...
In other words, Ulreik has not completely thought this through. At the very least, he'd like somewhere where he could belong, somewhere where his curse wouldn't trouble the lives of others. The dead make good company for this, but aren't quite the best when it comes to striking conversations with. That being said, he does not wish to merely abandon his past. If he ends up working as a gravedigger again, then so be it. He will continue to carry the memories of all those who have fallen. After all, he has not forgotten.
And another one who I think would have great potential interactions with Aethra, what with both of 'em being "cursed" in one way or another. XD I especially like how the imagery in their backstories is exactly reversed -- the destroyed home Aethra thought of as a graveyard ended up teeming with life, whereas his lively home became a literal graveyard.
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mickilennial
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TokyoPewPew
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