Illogical Jim

Hope for a Dying World

Okay, first IC post is up!

Hope for a Dying World

Hope for a Dying World

Day One

The King's Road, near Lastbridge

The dawn had come bright and clear a few short hours ago, and the day was already warm for early autumn. Osric ambled south down the road to Lastbridge under a cloudless sky, one hand grasping the lead of his pack horse – a big strong gray – and the other clutching a walking stick. He passed a field full of farmers working to bring in the harvest and failed to return their friendly waves. Such coldness was not his wont; normally he would have greeted them with great cheer, singing as he went. But he was in no mood for levity this morning.

He knew that lack of sleep was at least partly to blame for his ill humor. After the evening rites were finished the night before he had gone off quickly to his cell, but peace had proved elusive. He ended up leaving just a few hours later. Father Superior Robert and Mother Superior Matilda were roused from their owns beds to see him off, though Osric would have sooner not bothered them. He'd had precious little to say to them, anyway; his mind had been too distracted for proper farewells.

Soon Osric approached the outskirts of Lastbridge. It was the most watchful of the Seven, bounded by walls of stone and guarded ceaselessly. He did not enter the village proper, but stopped outside the shabby tavern that lay just before the northern gate. The Forlorn Hope was its name; whether or not she had known it at the time, the proprietress of that place might well have glimpsed the future when she had named her establishment. For it was here, where the young monk secured his horse to a crooked post and sat down in the shade of nearby old oak tree, that Humanity's last desperate gamble would first begin to play out. This was the appointed meeting spot.

No one approached him directly, but Osric knew he was being watched. Two comely girls had paused in mucking out the stable across the road to look at him, whispering to each other and making no attempt to disguise their interest. That sort of attention would have bothered him on any day – a monk was sworn to celibacy, of course, and this monk took his vows very seriously – but doubly so on an occasion such as this. Did they not know that the fate of the world hung in the balance? Still, they were young; younger even than he was. So he did his best to forgive their indiscretion and ignore them, closing his eyes and meditating prayerfully.

The prayers were automatic, arriving as naturally as the breath they were mumbled under. They had been drilled into his very soul, and he hardly needed the beads at his belt to count them off. “O Queen of Heaven most holy, blessed be thy unuttered name,” and so on and so on. The tranquility that was supposed to accompany them was less forthcoming. His worries should have been carried up to the gods, but Osric still felt their weight upon his shoulders.

There was the note in the pocket of his robe, for one thing. Only with effort did he manage to stop himself from pausing in his prayer to pull it out again. He had read it dozens of times already; looking again would yield no new information. Still, it mystified him. The plain writing had promised the aid of someone skilled at arms – the value of which he could hardly deny – but a line at the bottom of the note was plainly enchanted so that only he could see it:

'Magic, glad you're well.'

No one outside the Order should have been able to write such a missive, but no one inside it would have had any reason to resort to such subterfuge. Hendrick, the man who had passed him the note at the Assembly, had refused outright to say who had sent him with it. So Osric was left to ponder over the bare handful of mages that had entered the Monastery and then run away. One name came to mind, over and over, yet he couldn't bring himself to hope that it was her. And that wasn't all.

The visit to his family still weighed heavily upon him, too. Osric knew now that it had been a mistake to go and see them for dinner. Oh, they had been encouraging enough; he could not fault even one of them for that. The fault was his own. He had gone forth expecting kinship and found nothing of the sort. His siblings were practically strangers to him now, and his parents little more. Perhaps if he had tried harder over the years to remain close with them then things might have been different. But –

– no. There was no sense in dwelling on regrets. The path ahead was laid: There was nothing to do now but to follow it gladly, wherever the gods willed. He loved his family, his friends, and his brothers and sisters of the Order no less than he loved all humans. It was for all of these that he had embarked upon this Quest, after all. Yes, for these. All of these. It was for all of these that –

– he fell asleep in the pleasant warmth of mid-morning, succumbing at last to bodily exhaustion. His head slumped back against the trunk of the oak tree under which he had sheltered. He saw no more, for the time being, but slept peacefully.

---

As Osric slept, the horse chomped thoughtfully on the grass at his feet. Both man and beast were loaded with baggage. Dried food and clean water, fodder and rope, fresh clothes and soap, phials of holy water, religious symbols and talismans, tools of every description; almost nothing that might aid the Quest had been left behind. There were even maps and books of lore to guide them. A keen eye observing them might also have noticed the angular shapes bulging from one particular bag on the horse's back, shapes that looked suspiciously like long knives.

The most important piece of baggage was not to be found in any of the bags strapped to the pack saddle, nor in Osric's backpack. The Cup of Woe – holiest of relics – was enclosed in a plain leather case slung over the monk's shoulder and hidden under his dark cloak. It was snugged firmly between his arm and his torso, as if even in sleep he intended to protect it with his life. Perhaps he did.

The village of Lastbridge went about its work as the monk slept. The staff of the Forlorn Hope prepared for the coming day of profligate drinking, sweeping away the vomit and sundry filth of the night before. The stable-girls went – well, who knew where? No doubt they were busy with something. There was always something needing done, and staring at a silly-looking monk and his horse was hardly a worthwhile use of their time.

Hope for a Dying World

Okay, so I am working on an opening IC post. IT should be up either later tonight or sometime tomorrow. I'm kind of anxious to get things rolling, but anyone else interested in playing is still welcome to join in! There's no reason we can't have new characters catch up to us on the road.

-snip-

@Blizz

Oh, very interesting. I like Katrina. It'll be interesting to see how her worldly cynicism plays out with the rest of the group. She is a fair bit older than I would have thought -- and kind of at odds with the 'naive kids on a deadly adventure' vision that I started with -- but I think that dynamic might actually work well. It's kind of on me for not setting a cap on age in the first place, and it's not as if there's any particular reason for Osric to insist that his volunteers be young. I imagine he's happy to get anyone at all.

I do have to insist that you come up with some connection, either to an existing character or to one that hasn't been posted yet. It doesn't have to be a particularly deep or meaningful connection; it can really be anything.

But: Tentatively accepted! You can go ahead and post her up in the CS tab, and just edit in a connection later.

@HiippoAF

Are you still planning on posting a CS? No big rush or anything, but it has been a couple of days.

Hope for a Dying World

-snip-

@Blizz

Hmm. This sounds interesting. It is a little outside of what I had in mind for character backgrounds, but I'll shoot you a PM here in a minute with some thoughts.

Hope for a Dying World

Bump?

@Sadie@Zariah@musicway

Are any of you still interested interested in participating? Haven't heard anything from you for awhile.

Hope for a Dying World

@Smystar99

Oh, I like Sage. Very interesting character -- accepted!

Hope for a Dying World

I went ahead and posted a CS for Brother Osric in the 0th post of the 'Characters' tab. Everyone else can go ahead and post theirs' here when they're done.

I don't mean to be a nag, but is anyone actually working on CSs? If you're concerned about fitting a bio in with how vague some of the setting information is, don't be. I wanted to be vague enough to give you enough room to make up whatever elements of the Seven Villages you want, so long as it all makes sense with what's already established. In retrospect I think I probably should have mentioned that from the beginning, so I'm sorry if that was unclear.

Hope for a Dying World

Characters

Brother Osric

Name: Brother Osric Saint-Remigius (Born Osric Bada's Son)

Age: 22

Strengths:

Faith – Most people would be hesitant to lead such a grim mission, but not Osric. A zeal bordering on obsession drives him forward to whatever end the gods see fit, even if that should result in his own untimely death. As a result, he is buoyantly optimistic and eager to press forward down the road.

Well-Educated – Osric had read voraciously from the monastery library, and is familiar with a surprising array of subjects. He knows a great deal about demonology, geography, theology, and herblore, and is fluent in the High Speech as well as multiple dialects of the Common Tongue.

Healing – Though fully trained in the magical arts, Osric took to its healing applications early and despite his youth is already noted for his skill in that field. Given sufficient time and resources, few cases are entirely beyond his ability to set right.

Weaknesses:

Poor Leader – Despite his formal status as leader of the Quest, Osric is in fact a classic follower; uncomfortable with commanding others and indecisive at any time that there is not a single, obvious path to follow. As a result, he leads primarily by consensus – or, at most, by mild suggestion – and happily allows anyone else to take charge of decision-making.

Unimposing – Osric is shorter than the average man and is not particularly strong. To make matters worse, he has almost no experience with combat, armed or unarmed. These characteristics, alongside his boyish features, make for a less than intimidating monk.

Features: Osric is short and lightly-built. His deep-set eyes are blue, and his sandy blond hair is shaved in the traditional tonsure. He has a youthful, boyish face, highlighted by the clean-shaven look uncommon outside the cloister. He invariably wears the black habit of his Order, with a silver starburst of the Faith hanging from a chain about his neck. A preoccupation with cleanliness leads him to bathe as regularly as possible, and he often smells of flower-scented soap. His voice is fairly high. He rarely swears and his speech is refined. He carefully avoid lying outright, but can dissemble with the best of them.

Connections:

Sage Magus – Osric had been a novice of the Order for eight years when he first met Sage, a young girl recently pressed into service. Stirred to pity by her obvious unhappiness with monastic life, Osric went out of his way to receive work assignments alongside her. They were friends in no time at all, despite their difference in age, and could often be heard laughing through the corridors when they ought to have been silent. Over the years he began to view Sage as something akin to a little sister, someone to be protected and encouraged. Though he could never seem to convince her of the worthiness of their religious calling, he held out hope that one day he might change her mind.

Osric was thus caught entirely off-guard when Sage ran away, though in his heart he had always known the possibility. That she would shirk such an important duty – and do so without even telling him – filled him with rage. It was a betrayal of everything he believed in. Over the years though, as it became increasingly obvious that she would neither return nor be returned, the memory of her presence at his side only made him sad. All he could do was pray that she was safe and happy, wherever she was.

Bio:

Osric was born shortly before the beginning of the cataclysm to a cobbler named Bada and his wife, Edith, in a small town in the Pendish Midlands. The third of what would eventually be four children, his earliest memories are of violent disorder. Though his parents did their best to protect and provide for him and his siblings, eventually they were forced to flee from their home. They wandered through the increasingly-blighted land for over a year, chasing rumors of safety in the north. In time they found it, and settled alongside other refugees among the Seven Villages.

Taking up their former lives as best they could in Saint Antonia, Bada and Edith were soon pillars of the community. Their eldest child they trained as an apprentice cobbler, while Osric and his other siblings were lent out to assist other families with whatever work needed doing. Such was the norm in the Seven Villages; there was always something needing done, and there was little room for idleness even among children. So they helped with herding cattle and tending crops, and here and there stole a few precious moments to play with their peers.

Things changed, however, not long after Osric's sixth birthday. While accompanying a herdswoman driving cattle to their pasture, his attention was drawn by the pitiful cries of a calf. They went together to investigate, and found that the poor animal looked to be dying. The woman tried to draw him away, explaining that there was little hope for it now, but Osric broke free of her grip and threw himself upon the calf. By the time he was finally pulled away the animal was stirring, and eventually rose up and walked off as if it had never been hurt.

This event caused quite a stir about the village, and rumors drifted up to the monastery on the rocky heights above. Within a week a monk from the Order came to speak with Osric and his parents, and it was clear that he would not leave without a new novice. Though they bitterly resented the loss – loving all their children deeply – in the end Bada and Edith had no choice but to allow their son to enter the Order of Holy Wisdom.

For his part, Osric was thrilled. He took quickly to the structure and discipline of monastic life, and proved to be quite a capable student. By the time he took his solemn vows at sixteen (when he adopted the surname Saint-Remigius), he had experience with almost every task the Order could set its brothers and sisters to; from assisting with the repair of buildings and bridges throughout the various villages to copying books in the scriptorium. But his favorite duty by far was working in the infirmary, helping to heal the injured and the sick.

Assembly Response: N/A

Hope for a Dying World

Is there still room for one more?

@Smystar99

Absolutely!

Hope for a Dying World

The OOC thread is now up!