GinookazenoJinn

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

You guys need to shut the fuck up
Divine damn it XD

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

I should be making a Marco post before the week is over, pending on how overactive work becomes again.
Within the past two weeks I worked something like almost 80 hours as a part time cashier.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

@GinookazenoJinn Do you mind if Stark runs into the smol cinnamon roll child?

@PetiteAmbivert

Course not, I don't mind having interactions

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

@GinookazenoJinn SMOL SCARED CHILD IS SCARED

@PetiteAmbivert

Marco is an actual cinnamon roll too pure for this world
which makes this more fun for me, the actual sinnamon roll

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Its been a long time coming, but I finally made a post.
May my horrible grammar shame your eyes.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Marco Maxell

---

The hour grew late and the young boy still hadn't finished his studies for the day. With news that the kingdom had gown to war, many of the solders and knights of Barcea were busying themselves preparing for the worst. However, Marco still was told to do as instructed.His lessons would take priority over all else, unless an emergency occurred. Master Az'Cer Codigo, Arcmagus of the Capitol, had given his a harsh lesson about the reality of their situation.

'A Mage does not prepare his body like a knight does, but his mind and his spirit, in times of crisis. Your greatest tool was a clear head and sharp wit. You remember how your father sacrificed himself to save you, don't you? Keep that in heart and be prepared to do the same. The queen has graced you with her mercy and you will grace her with your loyalty. You are to lay down your life as will as the rest, even in face of your worst fears, child.'

Sighing deeply, he scribbled away with quill and ink. He had to transcribe some of the older text unto fresh parchment, translate a few terms into more a. It was murder on his wrist, each loop of cursive brought about a sharp pain, and his eyes strained to see in the sim light of his candle. At this rate he wouldn't be finished until the first light of dawn. However, the boy had a nice mug of hot fresh coffee beside him. Never did Marco ever truly live until he tasted the nectar of hot bean juice. He had always seen his father drink it, but couldn't understand for the life of him why it was so important. Then again, he didn't really understand what was important overall to begin with...

He raised a hand to his face and pressed the tips of his finger into his eyes. The slight pressure blocked out the light, causing stars to pop and explode behind his heavy lids. How long had he been working again? It almost seemed as if he was working through the entire day. "Perhaps sleep is the answer," he thought to himself as he removed his hand and went for his mug. Coffee doesn't seem to be doing much more of anything other than making my bowels act up. As if on queue, his stomach gave a howler. "Another restroom break, a few more pages, and then I will choose to sleep. Master will punish me for not completing my task on time, of course." He gave a nod, affirming his decision before pushing himself back away from the hardwood desk he had hunched over. Joints crackled and clicked as he stood up, the soreness of his tired limbs rose up with him. He downed the last few dregs that remained in his cup and took it with him as he descended from his spire work place.

His master had personally requested that Marco be allowed a room to rest and a room in which he could work. Marco never believed that in his years he would ever be able to stay in a place such as this. Grand halls, regal balls, and plenty of food for him to gain more than a few inches of fat. In all honesty, the life style made him fell more lazy. So whenever the opportunity arose for him to help around the castle he took it willingly, as long as it didn't interfere with his work. He enjoyed the view, though it was a bit vertigo inducing at first. It was a swirling staircase, enough room for two men to walk abreast at any point, that spiraled high into the air.

Marco placed down his mug on the windowsill of his bedchambers and started to undo his breeches. He hands fumbles lazily with the knot, when he heard a communion out in the hall. 'Perhaps it is just a collection of drunk guards, trying to dull the edge of the recent events', he thought to himself as he sat about. He did his business rather quickly, the caffeine more so forced its way out of him. 'Perhaps I should ween myself off of the stuff... these unexcused breaks are becoming more frequent and it displeases me.' He could only sigh as he reached for a cloth to clean himself with. There was much for him to consider before the night was through.

He stopped, stained cloth in hand, as the earlier commotion came closer. Before he could only hear slight shouts and an rare yell, not too uncommon for drunkards, but now he heard the truth. The song of ringing steel, the pained, labored, grunts of combat, and the unforgivable sound of death. Whomever was engaged in the fighting, it was intense. Marco felt his lung seize up as he silently listened. He could not tell exactly whom was fighting, but knowledge from the earlier events of the day gave him a strong inkling. He reached behind his waist to the spell book that he never kept far from him, as he was instructed, and edged slowly back into his bedchambers.

The air felt different was the screaming continued farther off, muffled by so much stone and distance. Marco could feel the energy of the night and knew that he wouldn't be able to get his work done. 'Master Az'Cer will be cross with me', he thought sharply. His brow creased as a frown crossed his face. Why would he be concerned with his master's will at a time like this? Their lives are in danger and he still holds the mindset of a servant. He needed information, it was the key to any situation as he had learned repeatedly. He had nothing really to protect him, being dressed in his night clothing and barefoot, other than his spells, he would rather use the time to prepare a few layers of protection.

He kept the light of his bedchambers dimmed, make it appear as if he is not alert, and started to chant in the tongue of the Divines. He felt power surge through his being as he channeled magics beyond his comprehension. Soon his attire changed and he stood clothed in ethereal robes with tendrils of magic trailing from his hands. His chamber doors flew open with a loud crash, shadowed figures rushing forward with steel in hand. Their keen edge gleamed like slithers of the moon, Marco knew that they were not for show.

"Bego-!", his words were cut off as a dagger dug its way into his shoulder. Had he stood still for longer than he did, his life would have ended. The blade was aimed for his heart and it burned like the sun in his arm. The boy wouldn't be able to negotiate his way out of this situation, so he turned to the magic that he had been learning. He called out for the Divines to give him strength that his body lacked and threw up his palms. The movement caused his shoulder to burn again, but he followed through anyway. An invisible wall of force shot forward from the boy and pushed the creatures backwards. There was a thunderous crash as he moved most of the belongings with them. Loose bits of parchments, books, strange instruments, and even a small table where sent flying towards the exit. The instruments exploded into a cloth of glass and broken pieces, along with the wooden shrapnel of the table. This was the gift that he was graced with, and it would be his one true friend before this night was over he was sure.

Left panting as the magic faded from him, Marco knew he had to find help. In truth he had not killed the creatures. His display of power had only stunned them at best, so he had to be quick. Using his main hand, he took the dagger by its hilt and wrenched it free from his flesh. It was a deep wound, one that would hinder him in the future unless it was taken care of now. Normally, he wouldn't waste one of his back up plans now... but this was a time of crisis. He turned to the windowsill where his coffee was left waiting. Kneeling down to reach his satchel, the boy mage removed a thin vial filled with a vibrant pink substance. A healing potion, if his notes on the subject of Potions had anything to say. While it wasn't as potent as one his master could craft, Marco's would help his own natural healing process along. He uncorked the vial and down the contents, smacking his lips a little afterwards. His eyes widened as he felt a surge of energy run through him. His pain was gone, along with his exhaustion. He tossed aside the vial and went about wrapping his wound up.

Shortly afterwards, he stood in the hall outside of his room with his satchel slung over his unharmed shoulder. He covered his mouth at the sight of the carnage. Dead bodies of his friends, allies, and kinsmen. There was so much blood, it pooled even after being soaked into the carpet. He felt his hands trembling. His whole body was left shaking like a leave in a gale. It brought back that night he had lost his father, the same terror that he felt at seeing his world around him shake and scream like a banshee. He needed help, he hand to run. Someone, somewhere, could protect him. He was just a boy, he had no place in a war. He turned to look over his shoulder as sounds of shuffling came from the pair of creatures he attacked earlier. He gathered what wits were left about him and ran as far as his legs would take him. He wanted to scream, he wanted to yell, for help, but all he could manage were the tears flowing down his face.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Marco Maxwell

Full Name: Marco Maxwell
Nicknames/Titles: Marco Stormborn, Marco the Cobalt, Marco
Occupation: Apprentice, Court Mage,
Birthday: November 18th.
Height: 4'4"
Weight: 120lbs.
Race: Human
Sex/Gender: Male
Age: 14
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Place of Birth: Barcea

Biography: Born the son of farmers, Marco never knew a rich life. Everything he earned, he earned by his own two hands. Though he was a runt, barely 3 feet tall by his tenth name day with no muscle mass to be accounted for, he still kept up with his daily chores. He was a smart boy, using tools more than his body really, to accomplish what others doubted he could do. He was teased much for his structure, often left out by the other kids while they played games with one another.

But Marco was content with this. It allowed him time to grow his mind, rather than his body. You could barely find him without a book tucked in arm or lost in the depths of another great adventure. During harvest, while visiting the south to sell the abundance of crops they had reaped this year many were worried about the approaching winds, storms seen on the horizon for weeks prior. However, Marco's father was determined to get his business done and concluded before the storm made for land.

It was during the night that the storm hit, a surprise to all but the worldliest of fishermen. The shack they were housed in shook like a shivering coward. It creaked and moaned like the spirits of the dead come to haunt it. The wind was insane, ripping apart the building. It stole his safety and Marco was certain that he would die. His father tried to secure the boy down, tying him to a post in the middle of the room. The seaward walls were sucked off, shattered in the crosswinds and sprayed splinters everywhere. Marco cried, pleaded to whatever Divines were present to spare him. He was heard and spared with nothing more than minimal rope burns.

Lost in the wake of the storm, Marco's world began to collapse. Suddenly, he was alone. He had no guidance, no money, and worst of all, he had lost his father. One of the few people who loved him was gown, swallowed by wind and sea. He had no idea how he would regain contact with his mother, nor did he even know if he would ever see her again. He had given up hope at this point, but it would be by Divines’ grace that his hope would return.

A very studious mage, a rare breed within this part of the world, happened to be at the port town on his own business. The man who would come to be known as Macro's master, Az'Cer Codigo, was young, much younger than his father for sure. In his eyes however was the glare of a man whom has seen more than his fair share of tragedies. He found Macro within his depression, addressing the boy as he would an old friend, and brought him to one of the few standing buildings left. Macro didn't realize at that point that his life had changed, for he was too focused on his past.

To this day, Macro wasn't sure if Az'Cer was there to investigate the storm or if the mage was there for the poor farmer boy. Regardless, Macro took up the duties that mage gave to him quickly. It was fair enough work for saving the boy's life. He held a hidden talent for the magical arts. Perhaps that was why he knew what to do to succeed while others went at an issue with brute force. Eventually, he began to enjoy life with Az'Cer and had all but forgotten about his old life. Though on silent nights, you may be able to catch him whimpering in his sleep about what transpired.

Personality: Small and shy Marco would rather keep his mouth close and his thoughts silent, as Az'Cer instructed him to do. He has always seen his magical art as a tool to be used and mastered. He is more than likely has his nose buried in a book to try and learn something new. He tends to be hardheaded, thinking that he is right until proven wrong. He is still awkward around women, which leads to him blushing and stutter over his speech when he is to speak.

Likes: Books, quiet, peace, magic, learning, tea or any warm beverage.
Dislikes: Water of great depth, morons, conflict of any kind.
Skills/Strengths: Basic Magical skill, Telepathy, Telekinesis, Illusions,
Flaws/Weaknesses: Physically weak, Emotional, Easily Fooled, Must prepare his spells beforehand.
Weapons/Equipment: His magic journal, a select few (4) potions of minor healing, an extra set of travelling clothes, an extra set of underpants.
Appearance: FC 1 FC 2
Theme Songs: Two Steps From Hell - Blackheart (SkyWorld)
Other: Marco is a melting pot of emotional taurma, under the right conditions, he can easily lose control his his magical talent.
Main or Side: Main
Username: GinookazenoJinn

Jinn Sagaro

Full Name: Jinn Sagaro
Nicknames/Titles: Ser Jinn Sagaro von Fondlebottom, Lord of the Duck, King of the Cookie. Fourth of his name, Sixteenth of his line. Ginookaze no Jinn

Occupation: Inventor, Baker, Lover
Birthday: October 7th
Height: 6' 7''
Weight: 210lbs.
Race: Elf
Sex/Gender: Male
Age: Two Hundred Twenty-Two
Sexuality: Yes

Place of Birth: The Nation of Barcea

Biography: Jinn Sagaro: Warrior. Protector. General cool dude.
Born into a family of elves, he is the oldest male born from his fathers seed, birthed by elf and raised a human woman. She was a lovely maiden, fair of skin and hair. He was the lucky one, being born beautiful and strong in the eyes of his father and mother. Jinn quickly out lived his parents, through either sickness or other natural causes, though it was sad to see his mother pass. He never really cared for his father. His father was never around, galvanizing through the world until his timely death. The man sired many hungry mouths in the world, but also cleansed the world of many more. Claimed that it was his duty to kill this "Eyeblight" and others like it. Disgusted by his father, Jinn disowned his family and decided to strike out on his own at the tender age of Ninety-nine.

Living on his own proved more difficult than originally thought. While yes, he held the skills needed to survive the wilds on the world on his own, he still had needs. He traveled the world for most of his adult life, for over a century. He traveled far and wide, getting into many misadventures of grand scale full of women, treasure, and possible sexual transmitted infections. Jinn made a name for himself in Jasi by being an effective Bounty Hunter/Mercenary. He even found love a couple of times, if anyone could love someone as toxic as him.

Recently, he returned to his home land in order to fight in the war between Barcea and H'Kela. He fought hard, for fifteen long years, along side his kinsmen. During the conflict however, Jinn did the unthinkable. A young sibling of his was trapped, stuck between a raging H'kelan and a hard place. His father, close to the end of his life cycle, had all but written off the 'Eyeblight.' Jinn on the other hand, had not. He slew the H'klean and then his father as well in the bloodlust. He was labelled hero by the citizen of Barcea and kinslayer by his family. Their words would have stung more, had he not disowned them long ago.

Now, he is his own man. No longer a Sagaro, but no less Jinn than he was before. He is still watchful of his former kin, for they would try and enact their revenge for their father's death.

Personality: Jinn is a fun loving, easy going individual who uses humor and jokes to cover up his true feelings at any given moment. Deeply caring and compassionate about his people and family. He is willing to go to any lengths in order to please someone he cares for, though it may seem a bit extreme overall. Though, on the other side of the coin, he is willing to go to whatever extreme he has to in order harm someone.

He normally prefers to smile and laugh, as well as drink himself into a brief stupor.

Likes: Bitches, Cookies, Watermelon, Steak and cheese sandwiches,
Dislikes: Feeling down, Himself, the Jasi higher ups (long story),

Skills/Strengths: Jinn has affinity for the element of Wind, making him swifter than most others. He is an excelled combatant, though he has been out of practice since opening the fabled Jinn-kun's House of Poon™. He is a quick thinker, a skilled tactician, and has shown knowledge of most mechanical objects. He also has magic in his blood line, specific to his clan, that allows him to move at the speed of the wind.

Flaws/Weaknesses: Rapid Degrading Mental Stability, Lack of general focus or structure, Procrastination, Alcoholic, Disregard to order, Doesn't like much higher authority.

Weapons/Equipment: Two custom build pistols, one carbine rifle with additional scope, one Extending Broadsword, A pack of cinnamon flavored gel candy, a small container of dried meat sticks, a pouch of dried smoking weeds and plants, a flask.

Appearance: Standing amazing and tall at 6'7", Jinn is a devilish handsome fellow. He is pale of skin, white of hair, and eyes as grey as steel. Muscular of build, not as lithe as the others of his race. Usually seen wearing a crimson leather coat, regardless of weather, brown pants, and black boots.

Theme Songs: Alive - Papa Roach The Fiend Never Surrender
Other: Jinn has the alcohol tolerance of a machine. He has spent four days drinking straight before he went beyond the realm of tipsy. He tends to cleanse his system with gallons of water daily, along with meals designed to help remove the toxins. He has a strange love for baked goods, especially cookies.
Inspirations: Myself, Dante Sparda, Deadpool,
Main or Side: Main
Username: Ginookaze no Jinn

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

@The Darklight Project

I am workin on that shit now btw.
if you can throw anything information about Barcea at me. like geography, how likely are there to be bandits, or anything like that
It would make this go faster

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

hmm things look a little too peaceful in here