Lord

Seekers of the First Flame

Perhaps it was because generosity was an uncommon occurrence for Lucas, but when the masked figure, which from the voice he presumed to be a woman, offered him her own bowl, he felt something. Was it guilt? He didn't dwell on it as he happily grabbed the bowl.

“Hahaha! Thank you very much!” He gave the masked woman his biggest smile. Despite her harsh words towards the important looking man, she didn't seem that mean spirited to Lucas. The free food, of course, helped color his opinion.

Watching over the brim of the bowl as he devoured his second portion of stew, he observed the mounting tension that the skull clad man had summoned with his arrival. He looked mean spirited. His entire frame was bleeding violence, some he had obviously been on the receiving end of. He eyed the stains on the man's weapons nervously, they carried with them the tension in the air. Alarm was contagious it seemed.

But the skull faced man wasn't the only new arrival, and this one's manner of entry was rather unusual. He had seen the giant bird fly over, briefly illuminated by the fire's light, at the same time as he made his own approach. This man looked strange while the other looked lethal. What was strange was the eye on the man's helmet. Lucas found it captivating. After finishing his stew, he stared intensely at it, wondering if it would blink.

By his third blink he gave up. It either never blinked, or Lucas concluded, only when he did. Frustrated with the peculiar eye Lucas rolled off the log he was resting on, and crept on all fours closer to the skull man. He was wary of the axe the man still held, but there was something about him, more than just the horror his appearance bled. Keeping his distance, mindful of the axe, Lucas closed his eyes, stuck his nose high, and sniffed. Then he opened his eyes and tilted his head in curiosity.

“Mister Skull, you smell kind of funny.”

Seekers of the First Flame

@IndianGiver
Positively metal! All puns intended.

Oh now I feel guilty that Lucas asked for more. Lucas won't really of course.

I'll post again later today after my class.

EDIT: Alright looks like it'll be tomorrow. Sorry for the delay guys!

BTW have you guys seen the leaks for DS3?

Seekers of the First Flame

The bonfire's light had drawn Lucas as it always did. When he found the small flame he felt the familiar warmth of the bonfire. He didn't want that feeling to disappear, and using a small vial he stowed the flame. Afraid it might be stolen he cut open his chest, and stashed the vial there, close to the spot where his chest thumped when he ran too long or became to excited. He didn't want to lose the warmth, he wanted to carry it with him, always.

Sitting by the bonfire now, he felt that warmth more intensely. There were others. They seemed different. Since coming here, wherever this place was, Lucas still wasn't sure, everyone had either ignored him or tried to kill him. They never talked they just moaned. They reminded him of some of the slaves who had worked the mines for many years. Distant and unaware. But these people were different.

He was squatting on a fallen log picking at a scab on his cheek presently. The skin around it was tender, and with time to let his broken thoughts wander an itch had awakened. His fingernails were cracked with dry blood and dirt, but it was their shortness that was giving him trouble. They were too short to get under the scab to peel it off. The activity bothered the nail, and a bright red trickled from under his inefficient nails, smearing on his cheek. He didn't notice.

“Ugh, itchy!” he whined.

He was used to being ignored. He had been most of his life, this time, however, his eyes went wide with bewilderment when the masked figure, Lucas wasn't sure if it was a man or woman, handed him a bowl full of stew as if his whining had been some sort of command.

“Fo-For me?”

When the figure nodded he grabbed the bowl greedily, giggling, and attacked the stew. He was good at being quiet and sneaking about, he had learned early the finer points of being a street thief. He was not quiet now. He devoured the stew noisily, slurping and hooting, licking the bowl clean. His oddly clean teeth now dripped with the stews broth as he smiled childishly.

The big man was talking. Lucas found him funny. He didn't have a reason. He just was. He was talking to another man, he looked like someone important. He had seen many similar looking men on the streets and they always looked like they owned the place. This one looked sad.

They were talking about fighting. The big one had no weapon. He said he didn't fight with steel. Neither did Lucas. He had a nice little bone dagger safely tucked away. But the man's boasts about fighting with his hands reminded Lucas of the guards who used to kick him when he tried to steal the boots off of a corpse. He never understood what the issue was. Lucas needed boots and that guy didn't need his anymore.

The sound of clanging metal somewhere barely out of earshot caught hold of Lucas' attention for the briefest of moments, and he jerked his head towards the direction it had come from. The breeze happened along at the same moment, and the smell of the stew flooded his nostrils, distracting him from the metallic sound.

Holding out his arm, bowl in hand, wide eyed with happiness, and a big toothy smile, he asked “More please!”

Seekers of the First Flame

Name – Lucas

Age – 19

Gender – Male

Sexuality – Straight

Appearance – Lucas is skeletal, his eyes large, sunken, and forest green. His clothes are ragged, his hair platinum blonde, dirty, medium length, and unkempt. His body is riddled with scars, burns, and several poorly stitched wounds, most notably one on his chest where he keeps his Pyromancy Flame. His fingernails are cracked and bloody from constant fidgeting. His left index finger has been replaced by a metal talon-like appendage that is usable as a catalyst for sorceries. He carries a white mask with a laughing face, and a dirty doll that has been mended repeatedly.

Land of Origin – Catarina

Covenant – None

Personality – Lucas is often described as being a simpleton, one possessed of fatally cunning instincts. Dominated by a child-like curiosity and wanderlust, he flits about from one place to the next. He often mutters to himself or inanimate objects, and at times acts like a beast running on all four while growling and snarling threateningly. While definitely quirky and not right in the head, Lucas is a gentle soul, most of the time. Incited into a frenzy he becomes savage, malicious, completely out of control.

Arsenal – Hollowed Thief Set, Ring of Fog, a bone dagger with a potent toxin, a dagger, an estus flask, a few firebombs, some pebbles and prism stones

Magical Traits – Hush, Hidden Weapon, Aural Decoy, Fall Control

He shows an aptitude for sorceries, but lacks potency. He also has a Pyromancy Flame though he doesn't understand what it is and keeps it in a vial under a stitched wound on his chest.

Biography – Lucas' mother died when he was young, his father he has no memory of. When he was 3 part of his head was bashed in by a wooden plank and it's malevolent wielder. The blow fractured his skull, little bits of which stabbed into his brain. He screamed and hollered for days alternating between simply wailing, and flailing violently as if possessed by a demon. When he finally fell silent one night they presumed him dead, and planned to dispose of the body in the morning. But miraculously, the next morning Lucas was fine, he seemed his old self.

Another 3 years passed, with the ever vigilant caretakers growing ever more concerned at Lucas' increasingly erratic behavior that were likely a result of swelling in the brain during times of stress coupled with the shards jutting from his brain. One fall afternoon Lucas and another boy got into one of the silly arguments that 6 year old's get into. Lucas became violent, however, and the boy was savagely brutalized. The caretakers were horrified, and Lucas, realizing that he had worn out his welcome, and in all truthfulness losing interest in the orphanage, left.

He lived on the streets till he was 11, surviving on pity, quick hands, and quicker feet. It was a formative time for young Lucas, but not a very eventful one. He learned to move with haste both vertically and horizontally, and work all sorts of mischief. Most importantly though he learned how to survive with next to nothing.

When he was 11 slavers found him sleeping in his little hiding hole, abducting and shackling him. No one noticed, he was after all, just another street urchin. He was forced to work long hard hours in the mines, except on a good day he might get to run a message or two and be received with a boot. Days seemed to blend with each other, and Lucas has no real knowledge of how long this went on. He retreated somewhere into his broken mind most of the time going about his day in a daze.

Somewhere along the way a sorcerer of some skill took an interest in him. What he saw in Lucas was a mystery perhaps known only to those with an aptitude for the soul arts. Whatever his reasons he bought Lucas and poured a great deal of time into training his new apprentice. And while Lucas showed great talent at learning the arts, his spells lacked power. The sorcerer tried many things hoping to finally find that break through to allow his young apprentice to reach his full potential. One such endeavor involved cutting off Lucas' index finger and replacing it with a catalyst for casting. His hope was that a more personal connection to a catalyst would be just what the boy needed.

When that too failed, the sorcerer began to lose hope and abandoned trying to teach his apprentice. In his warped mind, for his mind was very warped, he decided that by poking and prodding he could extract some insight into what gave the boy such aptitude yet lacking in practical ability with his castings. It was sometime during this torture that Lucas' darksign manifested. He remembers little of the time, most thoughts are blocked out by agonizing pain, but he remembers moments of darkness, silence, and respite from the pain. And then he would return again, and so would the pain. The sorcerer seemed amazed at his resilience never noticing the sign.

It was after one particular session when the boy went limp and quiet for an excessively long amount of time, and lacking a pulse, the sorcerer assumed him dead at last. A pity, he had learned nothing. He summoned a servant to dispose of the corpse and retired for the evening. But when the servant loosened his restraints Lucas returned to consciousness and attacked the servant in a frenzy, killing him. Hatred pulsing through his mind he made his way to his former Master's chambers. While his offensive sorceries were weak he had always been capable with other sorceries that that didn't require sheer force to be useful. He particularly enjoyed those used in misdirection. It was these that he used to sneak towards the sorcerers bed chambers. His anger overflowing, bleeding into his mind like a poison, he slit the sorcerer's throat with a knife he had found and began to savage him as the dying man clawed at his now very exposed and very red throat. Later reports hypothesized that he had been mauled by some sort of beast as no man could, or would, maim a person so. There was little left to recognize.

Lucas wandered aimlessly with a fractured psyche for a time. Eventually he stumbled his way into Lordran. Something about the land seemed to mend his ailing mind, perhaps all he had needed was time. It's hard to say, nor does it really matter. In a new place and with a freedom he had never known, for not even death could hold him back now, an excitement bubbled inside him, something he had not experienced in a long time, perhaps never even, he couldn't remember. His wanderings have taken him to the Forest Hunter's groves, a short stint into New Londo, and some time lost in the Catacombs and the Tombs further below, among other places. He's discovered a hand full of trinkets, weapons, and other things discarded or removed from previous owners. Somewhere below he met the man he affectionately calls Uncle Patches.

Seekers of the First Flame

@Unraveller
If it makes you feel better my original idea was he would be a gravelord with an eye of death replacing one of his eyes along with everything else ;)

Seekers of the First Flame

Yay! I'll work on something for the IC either tomorrow or the day after.

Seekers of the First Flame

(The background turned out a lot longer than I was expecting, but here it is)

Name – Lucas

Age – 19

Gender – Male

Sexuality – Straight

Appearance – Lucas is skeletal, his eyes large, sunken, and forest green. His clothes are ragged, his hair platinum blonde, dirty, medium length, and unkempt. His body is riddled with scars, burns, and several poorly stitched wounds, most notably one on his chest where he keeps his Pyromancy Flame. His fingernails are cracked and bloody from constant fidgeting. His left index finger has been replaced by a metal talon-like appendage that is usable as a catalyst for sorceries. He carries a white mask with a laughing face, and a dirty doll that has been mended repeatedly.

Land of Origin – Catarina

Covenant – None

Personality – Lucas is often described as being a simpleton, one possessed of fatally cunning instincts. Dominated by a child-like curiosity and wanderlust, he flits about from one place to the next. He often mutters to himself or inanimate objects, and at times acts like a beast running on all four while growling and snarling threateningly. While definitely quirky and not right in the head, Lucas is a gentle soul, most of the time. Incited into a frenzy he becomes savage, malicious, completely out of control.

Arsenal – Hollowed Thief Set, Ring of Fog, a bone dagger with a potent toxin, a dagger, an estus flask, a few firebombs, some pebbles and prism stones

Magical Traits – Hush, Hidden Weapon, Aural Decoy, Fall Control

He shows an aptitude for sorceries, but lacks potency. He also has a Pyromancy Flame though he doesn't understand what it is and keeps it in a vial under a stitched wound on his chest.

Biography – Lucas' mother died when he was young, his father he has no memory of. When he was 3 part of his head was bashed in by a wooden plank and it's malevolent wielder. The blow fractured his skull, little bits of which stabbed into his brain. He screamed and hollered for days alternating between simply wailing, and flailing violently as if possessed by a demon. When he finally fell silent one night they presumed him dead, and planned to dispose of the body in the morning. But miraculously, the next morning Lucas was fine, he seemed his old self.

Another 3 years passed, with the ever vigilant caretakers growing ever more concerned at Lucas' increasingly erratic behavior that were likely a result of swelling in the brain during times of stress coupled with the shards jutting from his brain. One fall afternoon Lucas and another boy got into one of the silly arguments that 6 year old's get into. Lucas became violent, however, and the boy was savagely brutalized. The caretakers were horrified, and Lucas, realizing that he had worn out his welcome, and in all truthfulness losing interest in the orphanage, left.

He lived on the streets till he was 11, surviving on pity, quick hands, and quicker feet. It was a formative time for young Lucas, but not a very eventful one. He learned to move with haste both vertically and horizontally, and work all sorts of mischief. Most importantly though he learned how to survive with next to nothing.

When he was 11 slavers found him sleeping in his little hiding hole, abducting and shackling him. No one noticed, he was after all, just another street urchin. He was forced to work long hard hours in the mines, except on a good day he might get to run a message or two and be received with a boot. Days seemed to blend with each other, and Lucas has no real knowledge of how long this went on. He retreated somewhere into his broken mind most of the time going about his day in a daze.

Somewhere along the way a sorcerer of some skill took an interest in him. What he saw in Lucas was a mystery perhaps known only to those with an aptitude for the soul arts. Whatever his reasons he bought Lucas and poured a great deal of time into training his new apprentice. And while Lucas showed great talent at learning the arts, his spells lacked power. The sorcerer tried many things hoping to finally find that break through to allow his young apprentice to reach his full potential. One such endeavor involved cutting off Lucas' index finger and replacing it with a catalyst for casting. His hope was that a more personal connection to a catalyst would be just what the boy needed.

When that too failed, the sorcerer began to lose hope and abandoned trying to teach his apprentice. In his warped mind, for his mind was very warped, he decided that by poking and prodding he could extract some insight into what gave the boy such aptitude yet lacking in practical ability with his castings. It was sometime during this torture that Lucas' darksign manifested. He remembers little of the time, most thoughts are blocked out by agonizing pain, but he remembers moments of darkness, silence, and respite from the pain. And then he would return again, and so would the pain. The sorcerer seemed amazed at his resilience never noticing the sign.

It was after one particular session when the boy went limp and quiet for an excessively long amount of time, and lacking a pulse, the sorcerer assumed him dead at last. A pity, he had learned nothing. He summoned a servant to dispose of the corpse and retired for the evening. But when the servant loosened his restraints Lucas returned to consciousness and attacked the servant in a frenzy, killing him. Hatred pulsing through his mind he made his way to his former Master's chambers. While his offensive sorceries were weak he had always been capable with other sorceries that that didn't require sheer force to be useful. He particularly enjoyed those used in misdirection. It was these that he used to sneak towards the sorcerers bed chambers. His anger overflowing, bleeding into his mind like a poison, he slit the sorcerer's throat with a knife he had found and began to savage him as the dying man clawed at his now very exposed and very red throat. Later reports hypothesized that he had been mauled by some sort of beast as no man could, or would, maim a person so. There was little left to recognize.

Lucas wandered aimlessly with a fractured psyche for a time. Eventually he stumbled his way into Lordran. Something about the land seemed to mend his ailing mind, perhaps all he had needed was time. It's hard to say, nor does it really matter. In a new place and with a freedom he had never known, for not even death could hold him back now, an excitement bubbled inside him, something he had not experienced in a long time, perhaps never even, he couldn't remember. His wanderings have taken him to the Forest Hunter's groves, a short stint into New Londo, and some time lost in the Catacombs and the Tombs further below, among other places. He's discovered a hand full of trinkets, weapons, and other things discarded or removed from previous owners. Somewhere below he met the man he affectionately calls Uncle Patches.

Seekers of the First Flame

If you are still accepting new characters I'd like to throw my hat into this. I've got an idea brewing at the moment and I should be able to have it up by tomorrow.

Against the gods, Against the world! Open-World Fantasy Adventure

This has my interest piqued :O So do we need to list small little magic tricks under magic even if their effects are miniscual? Like tiny little fireworks, that couldn't do any real harm, unless it was used, to say, light a fuse or some such thing? Also are half breeds allowed? :D

Lok Vaazaan Nivosik|Skies Torn Asunder; a dragon-played faction roleplay.

I think the concept is definitely interesting, I'd very much like to see some more specifics on it, though. I guess the real question I have at the moment is will the color of the dragon have any impact, or will it merely be cosmetic?