The First WarLong ago, before the death of the old world, a divine war shook the earth and tore through the heavens.
Two celestial Titans, one borne of Fire and one borne of Frost, clashed for seven days and seven nights.
The millions of devoted men, women and children who worshiped and adored the two Titans perished as their divine conflict brought ruin to the world.
Not one thing mattered to each of the two Titans but absolute victory over the other.
At the end of the Seventh Night, Frost dealt a mortal blow to Fire, and in its hubris, the cold God stood and laughed as its hated foe's death throes began to resonate throughout the ruined earth. Before its final flame was extinguished, the burning god summoned all of its remaining might and dealt a terrifying blow to Frost.
Letting out a terrible scream which spread to the furthest frontiers of the world, Frost was shattered into twelve great remnants, each of them falling to separate corners of the land. It was then and only then that Fire allowed itself to die.
With Fire extinguished, and the divine countenance of Frost shattered, the world began to take on a cataclysmic change as the great elements were thrown out of their delicate balance.
The fathomless oceans of the world rose up and swallowed the earth, plunging all but the tallest mountains and towers deep beneath the sea. Precious few survived the Deluge, and those who did live through this oblivion would in turn face an even greater punishment.
A preternatural winter unlike any before it consumed the already dying world, turning the great flooded oceans and the silent cities beneath them to ice. The last humans and animals left alive fought on bravely in the face of this unholy winter, but in time they too died out.
The world was left a frozen husk, with nothing to remain of the billions of lives that once lived and flourished in it but the ruins of derelict ships half-buried in the ice and the lonely spires of the great towers that once reached toward the sky poking up from the frozen earth.
The divine war between the two titans brought an end to the previous world, and in this frozen and boundless emptiness did it remain until many thousands of lifetimes later, when the Twelve Remnants of the Titan of Frost, now lying spread throughout the regions of the world, suddenly awakened with wills of their own... The Broken PantheonWhen the Twelve Remnants of the dead god became sentient, they awoke with both a blessing and curse.
The scattered pieces of the Ice Titan, upon drawing breath, found that they had inherited certain traits of the all-powerful being who's destruction brought about their birth.
Each of the Remnants found themselves powerful beyond imagining in their own specific sphere of influence, able to bend the fabric of existence to their will (to a certain degree). They first used this power to change their broken and jagged shapes into less damaged-looking forms. Not soon after this however, the Remnants discovered something terrible.
On the first eve of their awakening, the Remnants were afflicted with a torturous and unending pain. Waves of agony swept through their newly-created bodies, and they could do nothing but endure it. The Remnants then remembered that they were not truly whole beings, but only imperfect pieces of a greater collective.
Each came to the dreaded realization that as long as the Remnants remained free and independent of one another, they would suffer from the existential agony of being un-whole and imperfect, and thus it became the ravenous desire for each of the Twelve Remnants to seek out and devour the other eleven. And so, the twelve lesser gods wandered far and wide through the frozen earth, each on an odyssey to find, kill, and eat the ones who remained.
To do this however, they would require outside help.
As the first two Remnants discovered upon finding one another after years of wandering, they could not wound each other directly, as they were both parts of the same whole. No matter how many blows they dealt to each other, not a scratch would appear on either Remnant. This 'divine rule' would change the Remnants' methods of warring against each other and would in turn lead them to a far nobler destiny than any of them could have imagined.
Using their inherited divinity, the Remnants first revived the ancient apex beasts and animals of the old world and set them on each other. Colossal dragons and massive ice krakens all sprung into existence at the cost of the Remnants' own power, every one of them reborn with the intent to kill the opposing lesser gods and their respective forces. This first step in the war between the Remnants did not work out as intended, for animals and beasts, as fierce and powerful as they are, lack one all-important component that makes them truly dangerous-- intelligence.
And so, the Remnants looked back on the history of this dead world, and found one species of animal that would suit their needs.
Thus, on a day forgotten by time, human beings were reborn. Billions of men, women, and children rose from their icy graves, suddenly populating the once lifeless husk of this world. As they stood there bewildered, the Remnants spoke, and told them of their new purpose.
Humans were to serve as the devoted crusaders of the gods who revived them. Blessed by the Remnants and gifted with a divine flame that would burn in their souls and protect them from the dark cold that froze everything around them, the reborn humans set out to erect great civilations so that they may wage the Remnants' wars in their place.
These first men and women, reborn and given life by their gods, were our ancestors, and they lived only to serve the patron deity who blessed their frozen souls with the fire to endure the cold of this world.
Since that day, eons have passed, nations have risen and fallen, Gods have devoured and have been eaten in turn-- but the Purpose remains the same. Every boy and girl born in this frozen world is raised to serve their country and fight in the name of their patron deity.
On every nation of this world is this truth perpetuated.
A New WorldHuman civilization is thought to only exist on the three Known Continents. These massive landmasses have been kept separated by the icy maelstroms that have stormed over the frozen oceans for eons beyond number. On the continents, the deadly ice storms are kept at bay by the Gods of the Broken Pantheon (as the Remnants are known by humanity). so that their flock can serve them without fear of freezing to death.
Life on the continents is hard, but considerably less dangerous than on the open sea. In modern times, great cities of steam sprawl over the snows, filling the sky with soot and ash. Out on the iced-over oceans, the blizzards can kill a human being within minutes, and if they don't, the horrible beasts and unholy demons that haunt the frontiers will likely finish the job.
Because of the unbearable cold and the conditions out in the ice fields, travel between the three different continents is unheard of, and thus there has been little if any contact between the civilizations existing on the separate landmasses.
The story of The Last Embers will begin in the Empire of Varya, located on the western-most continent-- a colossal landmass with a long and blood-stained history.
On this continent, the borders were once split between four independent kingdoms-- T'sarae, Omestris, Muraad, and Varya. Each of these great and powerful countries was founded by a god or goddess of the Broken Pantheon, and for as long as anyone could remember, the four kingdoms existed in an uneasy ceasefire, each biding their time to strike.
Two-hundred years ago however, the nation of Varya launched a massive invasion of the continent and after a century of fighting, the god-kings of T'sarae, Omestris, and Muraad were captured and brought back to Varya, where to this day they lie imprisoned in the Varyan capital city, their divine blood being slowly sucked out by the God Varya's arcane machines.
Varya, now an immense empire after staking a claim on the entire continent, then turned its attention towards the mighty Queendom of Lanostre located on the subcontinent to the south of the Varyan landmass.
Lanostre, a land famed for its deadly soldiers, was a small but powerful nation ruled by their beloved goddess. The ensuing war between Varya and Lanostre was short and bloody, with both sides suffering massive casualties. Still, despite the immense size of Varya's armies, it lost more soldiers in the long and violent campaign than their Lanostran enemies, as the skill of the small kingdom's army military was unrivaled.
After three years of war, Lanostre finally surrendered after its Goddess appeared in the Varyan capital one fateful day and did something unheard of throughout the history of the world--she willingly offered herself to the God Varya. It is not clear why she did this or if the God Varya devoured the Goddess Lanostre, but after that day, the Lanostran Queendom willingly surrendered its sovereignty to the Varyan empire. Its people-- the men and women who were feared throughout the battlefields for their strength and valour, were then accepted into Varyan society
The War Against the EastHaving conquered and imprisoned the four gods of the Western Lands, the God Varya turned His eye to the East-- an unknown frontier hidden by ice storms that no Westerner had ever ventured to and returned.
There had always been fantastical tales about the East. Children were told bedtime stories of the Wild Gods that ruled over the Eastern Folk and of the evil demons and frost dragons that prowled those untamed lands. To every boy and girl growing up in Varya or Lanostre, the Lands beyond the Eastern Ice Storms were an exotic fantasy, a frontier of adventure and mystery. Thus, when the God Varya declared to His flock that the empire's greatest engineers had built a fleet of powerful steam arks to carry a great legion of soldiers across the frozen sea to invade the wild and untamed eastern lands, all of Varya celebrated.
Nothing was known of the Eastern Lands, only that there were two continents located across the sea and that on these mysterious landmasses the remaining sevenn gods of the Broken Pantheon ruled. Furthermore, it was not known if there were even nine gods left. Had any of them been devoured? What manner of gods were they? What kind of people worshiped these gods?
The citizens of Varya had long dreamed of the answers to these questions.
A great army comprised of many of Varya and Lanostre's greatest soldiers, along with an army of slaves from Omestris and Muraad, was formed to establish a foothold on one of the Eastern continents for a possible invasion. This grand legion boarded a great fleet of powerful steam arks (highly-advanced transportation vessels that could withstand the ice storms) and at once set out to face their fate across the eastern sea.
It took many months for the First Armada to reach the mysterious continent which would become known as 'El'. After sending many garbled transmissions back to Varya telling the High Command of their many victories against the Elurian enemy, the messages from the warfront mysteriously stopped coming.
After weeks of silence, the Varyan High Command began to grow restless.
For the all-powerful Varyan legion to suddenly end their communication with home was worrying indeed. Had they been defeated? Did the Wild Gods of the eastern lands convert them? The High Command could not know, for they were separated from the legion by thousands of miles of frozen ocean.
It was then that the High Command sent an emergency transmission to two lone steam arks currently making the perilous journey to the Elurian continent. One of these steam arks carried in its hold a group of young war priests sent on a missionary expedition to the mysterious eastern continent, while the other steam ark contained the priests' military support.
The transmission contained new orders for the priests. Instead of their missionary work, they were now to uncover the shadowy whereabouts of the Varyan legion and inform the High Command of whatever knowledge they could manage to gather.
This transmission, unbeknownst to both the officers of the High Command, the young priests, and the company of soldiers accompanying the clergy on this dark odyssey, will change them all and will set in motion events that will bring a cataclysmic change to the world. Whether that change heals the world, or brings it to further ruin...
... Is up to you.
World Information The Priesthood
In all the kingdoms and nations of the world, the clergy are an extremely important cog in the machinations of society. They are the holy soldiers and clerics who answer directly to a country's God or Goddess, and are thus blessed with a minuscule fraction of their patron deity's power to supplement their limited human potential.
In the Western Continent, the Holy Orders who serve the whims of their Gods are given a large spectrum of duties-- they can be cardinals who work in the ruling government of a kingdom, leaders who act as spiritual priests to the common folk, and inquisitors who's purpose is to hunt demons, convert foreign people to their religion, or to simply aid regular soldiers during wartime.
Inquisitors are by far the most feared and respected of all priests. Less spiritual leaders and more elite soldiers, they are trained from a very young age in religious doctrine, magic, physical combat, and war strategy until they reach an elevated plateau of skill and knowledge that regular warriors rare attain.
An Inquisitor's training is brutal and uncompromising-- so much so that few of the trainees survive it.
In Varya, the Red Seminary is where Inquisitors are trained, and in these halls many have suffered for their devotion. Despite this, the Inquisitors of the Red Seminary are known as the most potent in their skill, surpassing even the Priests of Lanostre.
After the Varyan Empire annexed its four neighboring nations, the priests of Omestris, Muraad, and T'saraen were put to death. Only the clergy of Lanostre were allowed to live, as they were capable warriors and were instead placed into the Varyan military.
All humans are born with a substance known as 'ether' coursing within them. Throughout history, 'ether' has been called a variety of names by many different kinds of people-- Divine fire, soul warmth, the inner light, ect-- but in this modern era, where science and technology have taken center stage in society, the term 'ether' is more widely used.
Ether is a gift given to human beings by the gods. It is an unquantifiable substance which exists within a person's blood, cloaking the body and its organs from the preternatural cold which permeates the world. It allows regular people to live their lives without fear of freezing to death.
This 'protection' from the cold only pertains to the continents, which are shielded in a paling of heat by the gods. This has allowed for some small measure of life to return to the continents-- small snow-covered forests and half-frozen rivers dot the landscape outside of the cities, with animals and birds existing peacefully in the revived ecosystems. These naturalistic areas are typically only available to the very wealthy and are typically used as sites for their mansions and palaces.
When leaving the aegis of warmth that surrounds and covers the landmasses, the frozen oceans await, and upon them rage the dark blizzards where the ether in one's blood proves useless against the cold. The storms that dance chaotically over the iced oceans are not natural, and are said to be ancient echoes from the cataclysmic battle between the two titans. It is said that they exist only to steal the heat from the world.
An Unlikely Power-Source
Apart from supplying extra warmth, ether is also an incredibly potent power source that is commonly used to fuel the massive machines that help in operating the colossal cities of the modern age as well as military vehicles and ordnance. Ether also acts as the sole catalyst which allows the few individuals of the world who've been blessed with the gift of magic to cast their arcane miracles.
Ether can only be harvested by special machines or by magical means. Once a person has lost their ether, they will freeze to death if they haven't died already.
A small volume of ether is enough to power an entire household, and during prior times in history, it was enough for ether to be collected from a dying or elderly family member in order to heat a homestead. However, as technology has grown more sophisticated and massive cities have been erected upon the snows to shelter humanity, the use of ether to power these monolithic urban sprawls has increased.
The Broken Pantheon & their Flock
When the Ice Titan's form was shattered into Twelve Remnants by the Titan of Fire, each of those wayward pieces fell to different regions of the world. Four of the Remnants fell on the Western Continent, and upon gaining sentience, they set out to carve their own power bases in order to eventually consume each other. The other nine remnants' whereabouts are currently unknown, though it is believed that they fell to the East, a frontier shrouded in mystery to the western civilizations.
As each of the Remnants was once a specific body part of the Ice Titan, it is believed that each of the lesser gods has inherited certain traits of the Ice Titan. For example, the goddess La Nostre was once the Ice Titan's trident, and so She is more powerful than other Remnants in matters of war. These "genetic" gifts also spread down to the people, as the ether gifted to human beings is different depending on which patron deity one is born under.
Currently, only four gods of the Broken Pantheon are known to the western humans.
Varya : (VAH-ree-uh)
'The Ravenous Lord'
A Remnant of the Titan of Ice, Lord Varya fell to the northern-most region of the Western continent upon the Ice Titan's breaking by the Titan of Fire. There, Lord Varya went on to found the powerful and industrial nation which now carries his name-sake.
Lord Varya was once a remnant composed of the Ice Titan's stomach, but like all of the lesser gods, He has taken different forms throughout the ages. For the past several centuries, Varya has veiled Himself in a human-like form, that of a middle-aged dark-haired man with a prominent beard, which his people have now adopted as his defacto appearance.
Owing to His prior existence as the Ice Titan's stomach, Lord Varya is eternally hungry, and exists to devour and conquer. Due to his constitution, the Varyan Empire has evolved as a militaristic super-power since its founding.
Long ago, the Varyan empire conquered the nation of T'sarae, a country founded by the Remnant of the Ice Titan's skull. T'sarae's people were great scientists and engineers, and their annexation transformed Varya into a technologically-advanced empire. The Varyan capital city, now a sprawling metropolis of steam and steel, shows the fruits of the T'saraen people's scientific acumen.
Native Varyans are pale-skinned with fair features and grow to be above average in height. They are a deeply patriotic race, and common Varyan folk known to be quite boisterous, loud, and gregarious. When it comes to battle they are brave and unyielding and are known to be the best marksmen in all the Western continent.
Lovejoy's Note to all RPers:
*The people and society of the Varyan Empire are loosely based on historical Russia, so names for Varyan characters should be Slavic-sounding-- EX: Mikhail, Vitaly, Sven, Anastasia, Emilya
**Varya is the only country that I've really spent a lot of time creating. The other four nations, T'sarae, Muraad, Omestris and La Nostre, are less complete in their creation. I am hoping that we can all brainstorm ideas about these other kingdoms and their people together and have their creation be more collaborative.
T'sarae : (Tah-SAH-ray)
'The Lord of Knowledge & Creation'
Lord T'sarae once existed as a Remnant composed of the Ice Titan's skull, and thus He inherited the dead god's intelligence and curiousity. Falling upon the eastern edge of the Western Continent, Lord T'sarae founded a small kingdom whose people evolved to become heralded thinkers and scientists.
Owing to this origin, T'sarae was unlike other Remnants, and instead of seeking war against His brethren, He instead focused his divine will on creating a tranquil land where His people could grow and evolve so that one day, they might heal the world through peaceful means.
This dream could not continue, for the other Remnants were filled with an animalistic hunger to be whole again, and that meant that the law of this world would be written in blood.
T'sarae was the first of Varya's conquests, and now His people have chosen a new God. The newer generation of T'saraens have a high position in Varyan society, as it is their mechanical creations that have allowed Varya's society and military to grow exponentially. Few T'saraens remember the god of their ancestors, who know lays imprisoned somewhere in Varya, His divine blood being slowly drained by Lord Varya.
*
Omestris and Muraad
(Up for creation)
Two nations that were conquered by Varya hundreds of years ago. Their people now pray to Varya, as their Gods, Omestris and Muraad, have been imprisoned in the Varyan capital since their annexation.
Lanostre (lah-NOST)
"The Lady of the Trident"
La Nostre, a powerful Remnant that once existed as the Ice Titan's trident, fell to a subcontinent south across the sea from the Western landmass after the Fire Titan's final, desperate attack. Like all of her brethren, Lady Lanostre abandoned the jagged remnant of ice that was her original physical form and has adopted different appearances throughout the ages. When she was last seen surrendering to Lord Varya, Lady Lanostre had taken on the form of a human woman armoured in azure plate, and this visage is how she has been remembered ever since.
Before its annexation by the Varyan Empire, the Queendom of Lanostre was a nation of warriors who lived and breathed fighting. Lanostran children, boy and girl alike, were trained from an early age in the ways of war, and its men and women were known throughout Varya as a dangerous sort not to be trifled with.
The reason why the people of Lanostre spent their whole lives training themselves for battle was because the Queendom had long fought a series of wars against a race of ice demons which regularly attacked their borders. The origin of these ice demons is a mystery, but it is believed that they are the rogue aspects of one of the Western Gods.
After being invaded by the Varyan Empire, Lanostrans were welcomed by their former foes with open arms into Varya's social umbrella. These days, the people of Lanostre live peacefully next to their Varyan comrades in the capital of Varya and are known as fierce and powerful soldiers in the Empire's legions.
Characters
Name: Motya Bratva “Father Motya” or more formally “Father Bratva”
*Note: Motya means a man with bad luck but good sense and Bratva is the term for the Russian mob. I thought Bratva would translate well as "slave brotherhood" in Varyan dialect, a sort of generic name all slaves use.
Age: 22
Height/Weight: 5’8” and 230 pounds
Appearance: Motya is a brute of a young man. Compared to most of his peers he is shorter, compact, and he is often called the little bear by the people that know him well enough to get away with such a practice. The young brawler’s arms are slabs of muscle attached to shoulders that have born the weight of harsh labor and his hands show the trauma of scarring and multiple finger breaks. His legs, built from years of slave labor and inquisitorial training, are just short of being small tree trunks and they need to be in order to hold up the man’s rotund belly and barrel chested torso. Motya keeps his head clean shaven and his cheeks and chin are covered in a neatly trimmed, long and tapered beard in the style of most Varyan men. His eyes are a deep chocolate brown color and shadowed under a heavy set brow. Both his nose and ears are just slightly large, the former looking to have been misaligned by force, the later pierced through with brass rings. The most distinguishing feature of Motya’s countenance is the large stylized “H shaped” tattoo that covers his face, a mark placed on him by the slave masters of the Harayatva mine he was born in, marking him as a slave born child. Various priests have offered to remove it through mechanical or magical means but Motya has refused, in fact as he has grown he has maintained the tattooed mark. He not only sees it as a symbol of how far he has risen but as a way to identify with his favored flock, the poor and the slaves, showing that even they and those like them can rise through Varya's will.
Motya has risen from those beginnings though and now being an ordained Inquisitor, wears the trappings of his office over the hap-shod armor pieces he tends to favor. Under the armor or when not wearing it, Motya wears the simple fur and cloth clothing of the lower caste of Varyan society with the monastic inquisitorial robe over those to denote his station. His armor is an amalgamation of steel, brass, clockwork, and leather that was cobbled together by a tinkerer at the Seminary, a gift after he was ordained. Heavy shoulder plates cover his shoulders, the right containing a bauble filled with earth from the mine he grew up in, a brass face guard chipped and pocked by weapons practice, leather gauntlets banded with razor edged steel strips, plated knuckles, and lined with small pistons, boots and greaves studded with steel posts and pointed edges, all wrapped in a tabard of supple black fabric trimmed in red and bearing the phoenix of Varyan priesthood.
Personality: Motya’s time as a slave has been the single largest shaping factor of his personality except his time at the Red Seminary. He is industrious and focused, almost bullishly so, always training or maintaining whatever skills he possesses. Above all he maintains a fervent and unshakable faith. For Motya, his faith and his connection with Varya is personal and not just theological, it was an inquisitorial priestess that saved him from the mines, elevated him from a life of slavery, and set him upon the path of serving, what he sees, as the greatest of Gods. While being serious about his faith Motya believes that all people should revel in the gift of life the God Varya provides, while it exists, in this harsh world. He is fond of food, drink, music, and women and good natured simplistic, often physical, competition. Motya is a man that sees every moment as a gift, either to be spent in prayer and religious study or, more appropriately, gregarious celebration, for him there is little middle ground between those two.
Despite his zealous faith and nearly hedonistic abandon Motya is a tempest defined when angered. His anger is quick to rise and quick to fade and terrible to behold, he thinks little of correcting a slight, real or perceived, with physical force. His bouts of rage, especially in the first years of his training were often rumored to be the thing that would see his time in the Red Seminary ended prematurely. His violent temper is something he struggles to maintain through faith and the companionship of his fellow Inquisitors.
Talents/Abilities: Motya is a brawler first and foremost, capable of reaping a devastating toll with just his hands, feet, and body. Most of the close physical combat disciplines taught at the Red Seminary came easily to Motya and he excelled in the lessons, despite the fact the many of the first lessons nearly killed him. The key to this talent is Motya’s ability to channel Ether within himself, lending his movements, strikes, and abilities an enhancement over natural physical abilities. His favored tactic is closing with an enemy, disarming them, and then pulverizing their resistance with physical blows or grappling, which ends up very bloody due to the nature of his armor. The cost for this is not only Motya’s reckless disregard for his own safety, something amplified when he channels the Ether but his comparative lack of refined social skills or mastery of the more academic subjects.
Background: Motya was born a slave, to a slave mother and father that he has never known; the name "Bratva" means slave born or slave brotherhood and is a generic family name of all slaves born in the mines. The Harayatva mine was his home for his infancy and early childhood and he was marked as a child of slaves before he was a year old. The Harayatva mines were run by a wealthy Varyan Industrialist who disbelieved in much of the new technology appearing and held to the idea of “breeding” a workforce. For years this idea was socially detestable but the wealth and influence of the Industrialist insulated him from open sanction of this practice. That was before Mother Oksana. Mother Oksana was a young Inquisition priestess that had been ordained only a few short years before and began her career by taking on the corrupt Industrialist. She preached that Varya would never condone the enslavement of children into a life of meaningless labor and toil when it could be these children that rise up to carry out his will in the future. Her message took hold with the low caste people and before long, soldiers were raiding the holdings of this Industrialist and freeing the people he enslaved, especially the children. Motya, then a child of seven, was delivered to the Red Seminary by Mother Oksana and was soon on the path to becoming an inquisitor. To this day when she returns to the Red Seminary she treats Motya as she would a son and Motya treats Mother Oksana like she were his actual mother and that bond between the two in nigh unshakable.
His time at the Seminary was brutal but when compared to what his life had been in the mines, it was his only chance. His courses in academia were a struggle and had it not been for some of his colleagues he would have never been ordained. On the bright side the punishing discipline enforced by the instructors for his academic failures only hardened his body and mind for what he excelled at, physical training. Motya found peace in the ceaseless combat drills which he took part in at every opportunity he could. Years spent training reinforced his faith, giving him the will and if necessary the physical ability to spread the faith and fight the enemies of the faith wherever they may be, something Motya is now eager to do.
Quote: “Do you think, because you are poor, obscure, plain and little, that you are soulless and heartless? No, you are the most divine of all subjects.”
Name: Mother Alina Alkaev
Age: 19
Height/Weight: 5'5 and 140lbs
Appearance:
A rather plain girl, the first thing people usually notice about Alina are her grey eyes that somehow resemble stained glass. Usually, it seems as if she's looking through someone instead of at them, making her seem distant. The girl has shoulder length black hair, with floppy bangs she keeps swiped to the side and tucked behind her ears. Sometimes the cold weather tempts her to grow her hair out, but she cuts it anyway, believing that the longer it is, the more likely it will hinder her in a fight. Alina has a lean and firm build, she's not soft or vulnerable looking, but is in no way intimidating either. In fact, the girl is just average, someone easily forgotten.
Alina has utmost respect for their uniform and whenever she is in uniform she tries to keep herself as presentable as possible out of respect, but it a rather daunting task considering all the snow and the fact that healers will get their hands dirty.
Personality: First and foremost, Alina is calm, reliable, and maybe even apathetic. She does her responsibilities with determination and initiative, opting to finish what she can as quickly and as efficiently as possible. The young woman is a very dedicated person, often pushing herself to her limits in pursuit of perfection. If Alina thinks she can do better, she will try to do better. The girl refuses to give anything but her best and takes pride in her ability to notice minute details and mistakes. She has a good head on her shoulders and a thirst for knowledge. Often Alina learns from observation and imitation. When trying something new, she will repeat the same activity over and over again until she is either too tired to continue or finally satisfied with the results of her training.
Alina is rather harsh on herself. However, when it comes to dealing with her companions, she is the opposite. The girl expects them to give things their all, but is understanding and kind. Alina isn't very affectionate or the sort of person that radiates cheer and joy, but she's always willing to lend a helping hand, and always there to offer a shoulder to lean on. The young woman does her best to be a pillar of support during tough times. Often giving encouraging nudges or smiles when things look bleak. She isn't easy to faze, and has a strong grip on her emotions.
In the midst of battle Alina becomes a cold and apathetic healer, unflinching as she patches up the grizzly rips and tears in her companion's flesh, calm as she runs her fingers over the gash in her fellow priest's arm, and unyielding as she tries her darnedest to save lives. Alina takes her role of healer very seriously. It is a role that requires a level head, the ability to make split second decisions and the emotional stability that is needed in order to whisper words of comfort in a dying person's ear. Alina has grown numb to the sight of the dying, and makes it her job to ease their suffering, even just a little bit. She hates it when people suffer, which is why she'll do whatever she can to help keep them alive.
The girl buries her own fears and worries, becoming a pillar for those who need something to lean on. Sometimes she feels as if her emotions will eventually resurface to strangle her. Watching people take their last breaths has never been easy, but Alina copes for the sake of others.
Outside of missions, she lowers her walls. The apathy crumbles and Alina becomes less detached. The girl keeps to herself and can be a bit distant, but when approached she will never turn anyone away. The girl likes seeing people happy, and as a result finds herself drawn to cheerful optimists despite her reserved nature.
The frozen world needs all the warmth it can get after all, and she needs some of that warmth too.
Talents/Abilities: She feels the energy draining from her fingertips as her hands press hard against the gash on her friend's side. Slowly, the torn muscles begin to mend, staunching the flow of crimson. Alina feels as if she's being electrocuted and her skin tingles. The girl lets out a huff, pouring more of her energy into her companion's wound. The flesh comes together, turning a blotchy pink, the blood ceasing completely.
Alina's talents lie not in weaponry or the sword, but in the art of healing. She works best as a supporter, but is a formidable foe when it comes down to hand to hand fighting. Alina's hands are deadly, and what she can heal she can also deconstruct. However, her specialty lies in healing people with her ether. Destroying muscle tissue or causing skin to tear takes a lot out of Alina and it's just painful and not a pretty sight, so she doesn't resort to it and has never really used it. In fact, realizing she could also cause suffering with her healing abilities was an accident and had happened when she was still rather inexperienced. Alina trained even harder at that and as a result she can keep the more dangerous aspects of her ability under control.
The girl isn't very strong, but she's swift and precise. When not healing her injured comrades, Alina is usually playing as bait, luring enemies away and distracting them before swiftly trying to knock them out. The girl is mediocre at most weapons, but does know how to fight hand to hand. As a healer, she has knowledge on the human anatomy and uses this to her advantage, often aiming for pressure points or weak spots in order to temporarily gain the upper hand on bigger foes. However, in battles that rely on brute strength Alina would be pretty much doomed.
Background:The only daughter of a tinkerer and an apothecary. Alina's family was in no way rich, but they got by. Her dad made a variety of weird little doohickeys, ranging from portable heaters to toy trains of cogs and gears. More often than not his serious inventions would fail and fall apart. To be honest, Alina's father was more of a toy maker than an inventor. The children of Varya loved his wacky new ideas. In fact, the children would go out of their to visit her father when he wasn't busy. It only made Alina adore her dad even more.
The girl was always closer to her father, since he worked in the attic. Her mom on the other hand ran a small shop on the other side of town, selling homemade remedies and different kinds of herbs. Sometimes her mom would disappear for days, opting to stay at her aunt's house instead of taking the long walk back on chilly nights. Rarely did she spend time with her mother, but when they did spend time together it was always memorable for Alina.
Life was good to the girl and she was happy.
It didn't last though and one day her mother got sick. At first it was just coughing and few fevers, but the coughing grew into fits of hacking and soon the woman was spitting up blood. She always tried to shrug it off, but finally decided to visit a real doctor. None of her herbs had worked and she just kept getting worse and worse. The woman needed help, but that wasn't something the doctors were able to give her.
The doctors said it was tuberculosis and that they couldn't do a thing about it. Slowly, Alina's mom began to get worse and worse.
Her dad fell into depression and spent most of his days locked in the attic, tinkering with his mechanical trains and cogs. Alina on the other hand scavenged around the house for every medical book her mother had. Greedily, she read book after book. Absorbing new information in hopes of finding something that could help save her mother. The information within the books were far too great for a nine-year-old and soon she too began to lose hope. Alina spent most of days in the library, searching for something within the books labeled 'healing'.
That was where Alina met Mother Nadia.
The woman had a fondness for books and was usually at the library. Several times she had run into the distraught Alina, and the sad looking child had piqued Mother Nadia's curiosity. She began to question Alina, eventually learning more about the girl each time she came to the library. Alina never told the woman about her mother's sickness though and Mother Nadia never found out until one Thursday afternoon when the girl walked into the library sniffling and wiping away at tears. Mother Nadia coaxed the girl into telling her what was wrong and the nine-year-old cracked, revealing everything; from her mother's recent death to her father's descent into depression, Alina even including her failed attempts at dabbling in medicine.
Alina's father only got worse, his depression turning him into an unresponsive recluse. Alina always told Mother Nadia everything and one day the woman came to a solution. She asked the nine-year-old if she wanted to learn more about medicine and help people.The girl said yes.Mother Nadia then asked her if she wanted to go to the Red Seminary, stating that if she trained under the Holy Order she would be able to save lives.
Alina had nowhere else to go, so with a determined nod of the head, she agreed.
Name:
Maksimylian (Max or Maxi) Markov
Age:
22
Height:
6'5"
Weight:
278 lbs
Appearance:
The first thing people usually see about Max is his frame; standing at 6'5", with a robust yet toned physique give him the stereotypical build of a soldier. Of late he has taken to wearing his hair, the colour of a dark umber, longer than the picture above shows, if only to shelter his ears from the cold and the rough winds. The second thing they tend to notice is his eyes, deep set and as icy-blue as the frozen oceans that surrounded Varya. Aside from that there isn't anything else particularly unusual about him. As a younger boy he was mocked for the size of his nose - it showed good breeding, his mother had always said - but as he aged, he grew into it, developing a prominent brow line adorned with two thick, dark brows. Though he allows his hair to grow, he keeps any trace of facial hair well-groomed, as his father always told him that it "wasn't fitting for a man of the cloth to have all that untidy fluff on his face".
When not fully-clad in his inquisitorial garb Maxi prefers a tunic and tabard combination, with leather boots and gloves. Given the rough colds of course, while outside he adorns himself in furs. As well as this, he wears a rosary around his neck at all times; an heirloom given to him by his father, representing the everlasting faith of the Markov family.
Personality:
Max is a determined sort. He will strive to get a task done, although he will insist on getting it done the way he wishes. Some people have said he was "blinkered by his own arrogance", while others say it is a sign of a strong will and good leadership. Either way, it's the way he has always been, and "if it's got you this far, it can't be that bad now, can it?". Max is also very loyal to his faith. He has been tempted by other members of his order to follow a path that may have been "easier", but he is a firm believer that "nothing good comes easily", and so sticks by his faith and his duties, following them by the book; while others may deviate from the original plan to potentially get things done with less effort, Max prefers to do what his faith has guided him to do which is normally also what he has been ordered to do, no matter whether others see it as the right or wrong thing to do.
As a person, Maxi is hard to break into. With people he doesn't know so well he tends to act cold and indifferent, but when one gets to know him well enough, he is a loyal and warm friend. Max loves to read; whether it be fiction, history books, books on tactical warfare, swordplay, smithing or anything else, if you name a book, Maxi has probably read it. His bookishness has left him with a wealth of historical knowledge, and vast lexicon of stories to be told if ever he and some friends were say, sat around a fire with nothing to listen to but the wind rushing past their ears. It has also left him with a very acute tactical mind. Because of this, as well as his "get things done my way" attitude, many see him as a potential leader in the future. Max takes this praise humbly though, preferring to focus on the present.
Max is also very jumpy; something that his friends have often taken advantage of.
Talents/Abilities:
Being a 6'5", 278lb man has its advantages as far as fighting is concerned. Maxi favours blunt weapons, usually a morning-star. His swings have been known to decapitate a man. However, because of his strength, and the ease with which he can overpower most opponents, he is not the most cautious fighter, often overswinging and leaving himself open, only just managing to get his shield up at the last second. Since becoming an Inquisitor he has been more acutely trained though, so he is less prone to do it these days, but against a smaller, more technical fighter he may struggle.
Background:
Born in Varya, raised in Varya, to Varyan parents. A father that was an Inquisitor before him, and deeply religious mother made Maxi a stalwart follower of the eponymous deity. His parents had many friends from the church, some of them fanatical followers of Varya. This deeply patriotic and religious attitude that his parents passed down left Maxi a bit xenophobic. He would not immediately reject anyone who was not Varyan, but he was slower to warm to them. With many people from Muraad and Lanostre inhabiting Varya nowadays, his attitudes have softened somewhat, but he was always more comfortable with people of his own kind.
His father being an Inquisitor, many said he was destined to follow in his father's footsteps. He began the training at the Red Seminary with aplomb, excelling through both the physical and mental toils. As he grew, however, Maxi began to question the faith which had been forced upon him. He began to associate with less pious individuals, when his days training was complete, he would even go so far as to take part in underground fighting rings amongst boys his ages. One fateful night, due to his mammoth frame - standing at six foot at fourteen years old - he beat another boy to death in one of these fighting rings. Though he was horrified by his actions, it didn't stop him, and he continued to stray from the righteous path, until his father was struck down with flux. His father was a tall, powerful man himself, the illness tore through him as though he were frail and old. His mother too, from tending to his father was stricken with this disease. It was then that Maxi knew that this was his divine punishment. He sat as his mother's bedside day and night. He prayed to Varya ceaselessly. He vowed to devote his life, his body, his soul to Varya if he could find the mercy to forgive his sins and to let his mother live. She did, and from then on there was never a doubt in Max's mind.
Quote:
"A sinner saved a believer makes. For only when one sees Varya's terror can one truly feel his mercy."
[Name: Eldvanar Skölgrimm is his birth name but is more commonly known as Van the Frostborn
Age: 22
Height/Weight: 5’10’’ or 1.78 meters tall, 155 lbs or 70.3 kg.
Appearance: A wiry five foot ten inches, Van is short for the people of Muraad and has yet to fill out. He also doesn’t quite match the complexion and build of his nearest neighbors. He has unruly dark red-auburn hard, and slightly hooded ice blue eyes. They have a tendency to develop dark bags when sleep deprived. Van possesses an aquiline profile, with a slightly hooked nose and pointed chin with slow but full growing beard. Van has abnormally pointed canines, and an old white scar running along just under his left cheekbone. Slightly hooded eyes, with a frequent tendency to get dark bags under his eyes when more than slightly sleep deprived.
http://i.imgur.com/K3EmQEq.jpg
Van has long slender fingers, with significant calluses on knuckles pads, and palms. He has large heavily muscled forearms, dotted with molten metal burn scars from crafting, smithing and archery. Consequently, he has large heavily built shoulders despite his wiry frame and has a bite scar on upper left bicep from a wolf. Another bite scar is on his right thigh. There are several more scars from light slashes across his chest, back and stomach.
Following the old traditions of Muraad, male children are tattooed at a young age as a rite of passage to adult life. Usually done by the village head or another wise figure blessed by extraordinary sight, the tattoo is not only a representative of an adult but their path through life. Instead of the traditional age of twelve, Eldvanar was tattooed by his adopted father En Skøld at the age of 6. Despite the amount of growing left, Skøld was able to tattoo the young boy with such skill that only at full growth will all the images be revealed. The tattoo is an intricate blue and black geometric tattoo with assorted scenes embedded within it. The tattoo covers from the right bicep to left pectoral and shoulder blade, and from join of right shoulder to neck down to right hip.
Only three scenes are currently visible in the tattoo. The first is a serpent dragon fighting a giant wolf with a great hawk overhead waiting to strike on the right pectoral. The second is a ruined mountain top in the middle of lightning storm. Two giant figures, one of light from the store, and one of fire on the ruined mountain clash with a god of ice preparing for combat from a surrounding fjord. It is located on the side of the right shoulder on the deltoid. The last is still too small to be clearly seen, but appears to be a raging sea scene.
Personality: Van is bitter, haunted by past memories and ideologies, and broods frequently. He is ruthless and ambitious with a mercurial temper with a tendency to hold grudges. His revenge tends to be inventively brutal, and he prefers to permanently end threats. Van is usually arrogant and brash, and will be impulsive if his emotions are running hot. Van is independent, cynical and untrusting. He also is usually clever rather than wise. Past experiences has created a revulsion to drunkenness.
Van struggles with faith to Varya. Not only was he not raised to the faith of Varya, but the idea of god that is less than supreme with other equals causes problems. Nonetheless, the power demonstrated by Varya causes a conundrum. Van is extremely well-versed in scripture, given his training in memorization, and can debate cleverly. However, the doctrine and dogma mean nothing to him on a spiritual level, as dictates of men seem irrelevant with a living breathing god. Sometimes it can be a comforting routine, well it is normally a minor irritation for having to go through the motions.
Talents/Abilities:
Physical Abilities: While well versed in the theory of a wide variety of weapons, the only three he displays any talent in are the bow, the spear, and the rifle. While skilled in unarmed combat, his slight build and size reduce his capabilities to just better than average, and he is clumsy with a sword. Van excels in endurance. Not only do most bitterly cold environments cause no discomfort, he can hike and port far more than might be expected. The counterpoint is that he lacks a certain raw, explosive strength.
Magical Abilities: Another area was Van is skilled in theory and poor in practice. While he can comprehend most of abilities, he cannot consciously perform more than the minimum required basics. He continues to practice and improve, if very slowly. He possesses two magical skills that he uses unconsciously at times. The first seems to derive from gods, and is shaping and creation of ice. The energy taken away is transferred to Van. While somewhat addicting, it is both random and has stubbornly refused all conscious control.
Unending Vigor: Van’s sole well-performed magical skill has been performed from birth. He very efficiently converts ether into physical endurance and energy. It sustains and regenerates his body so as long as the initial wounds or a serious infection doesn’t kill him and he has a supply of energy or ether to draw on, he will eventually heal, and a rate between 10% and 20% faster than anyone else.
Background: Eldvanar Skölgrimm was found by his adopted father in the Ice Wastes as he prospected for lead sands and blood vine. The infant was found in swaddling clothes covered in frozen blood on a frozen slick of red ice. Despite what might have been a day of exposure in one of the harshest places on the continent, the young boy was still alive. Skøld scouted around the area for clues to his past, but other than generic traces of a fight and scavenging from animals. Had Skøld been of the Muraad, he would have left the boy alone in the wastes to die. Infants who survived the Wastes for more than a night were Frostborn, loved by the gods of ice with hearts just as cold. Skøld saw the boy’s fringe of red hair and took it as portents to other things, and retrieved the boy to live with him for his own ends.
Old En Skøld was a foreigner to the small rural town of Arvska, home of a well-known but small crystal works. The one-eyed gray haired man had arrived five years earlier and had quickly and quietly made himself indispensable as a tinker, a craftsman, a smith, and a tattoo artist. Brilliant but mad, old Skøld was a master with his long clever fingers and fever-bright eyes that could clearly see into the heart of things. Prone to uttering heresy when drunk, bringing home a cursed infant did little to change their opinion of the man. Too rural to be able to afford to get rid of the probable T’saraen and his vital skills and inventions, they settled for a grudging respect, a subdued hate and fearful awe.
Skøld couldn’t care less, hiring a prostitute to take care of the boy he named Eldvanar for a year during the day and provide him enough milk until he could be weaned. During the intervening time, he continued to prospect and eventually found a new source of lead for the crystal works. The deposit revitalized the works and made the old man rich enough to continue with his experiments, with his percentage of earnings supplemented with the occasional bloodvine harvest. The color made from a brilliant red dye preferred by the church, the sap a powerful and controlled narcotic, and the fiber tough and insulating fabric. After the first year, Skøld took the young boy everywhere with him, and when he turned four, Skøld began expecting the young boy to begin learning and punishing him for failure. The beatings were the most severe for failing to remember the Skøld’s tales of gods and religion, like the man with fire for eyes, or the one-handed fighter with a sword for justice. The latter was in strict contrast to the old man’s bitter words and the back of his hand for failure.
Once Van could memorize a new tale a day, Skøld began his tattoo. Unlike the work of the rest of the Muraad had to reveal their heart’s truth, Van’s was to form a truth and a path. Beginning when Van was six years old until he was eight, the intricate working was Skøld’s masterpiece. At the time, the detailed scenes were not yet visible, and the completion represented the height of Van’s belief in the harsh old man. It also marked the beginning of some independence for the young boy. Allowed to visit the town, Van was not only ridiculed, but also beaten by some of the village boys. While Skøld began training the boy to fight, the doubt began to creep into Van’s mind. To the young boy, even Skøld’s harsh training and burgeoning skills couldn’t armor him from the attitudes and ideas of the villagers.
As the questioning began, the beatings grew worse. Skøld began to drink more and his work began to slip more, exacerbating the issue. As Van began to take over more the duties, crafting and hunting, Van lost faith in old Skøld. Even the spear training, of which the old man had peerless skill, was another excuse to break Van’s will and mold him into the mad dreams of the heretic. The grand ambitions to steal all the ether from the gods, tame the raging ice storms in the same way, and create gods out of men lost their appeal. If Skøld’s dreams of gods solely for humanity existed at all, why the world was covered in ice and only fractured gods of the titan of ice remaining? What proof was there for a titan of fire, and how could Skøld rekindle his essence at all? Other inconsistencies widened the cracks, and Skøld’s permission for solo hunting missions gave time for the young boy to brood sullenly. The final straw came when Skøld came home barely coherent from booze after a poor visitation to a local prostitute and began beating the boy in a black rage. Van was beaten so badly he couldn’t move for days, and in the coherent periods between the hazy periods of pain, he decide to run away. It took him six months to gather all the materials, craft the necessary goods, and cache it all away from the increasingly brutal and suspicious old man.
Van ran away at twelve during the waning of a brutal blizzard. Half his caches were lost but the stubborn youth refused to concede defeat. During the next three months he trekked towards what he thought was a large town to sell his skills. Unfortunately, his cartography was poor in comparison to his survival skills and become hopelessly lost. Half-starving, Van made the mistake straying into the expanding territory of a dire wolf pack. Luckily, the pack had also drawn the ire of the local monastery and a party of inquisitors were sent out to quell the threat. Drawn by the noise of Van defending himself, they rescued the boy from being savaged by a wounded wolf, with two dead pack members not far off.
The head of the party, Father Tovio Rolvson ordered to the boy to be treated and held at their camp for investigation. In a simple test of endurance to the cold, the simple brutal father ordered the bandaged youth exposed to the elements for the night to have Varya judge him for trespassing on their lord’s lands, even inadvertently. It would also conveniently save on paperwork if the boy died, as they could just report finding the youth frozen. Proving the Muraad legend true once again, Van managed to hang on through a mild storm with no more than a few minor cases frostbite. Father Tovio considered the sign versus the commensurate paper work and deemed that if truly was frostborn and loved by the gods, Varya would keep him alive through the rest of the hunt. Tovio outlined his plan simply, if Van managed to survive the hunt while essentially being bait, Tovio would overlook his offense, treat him, and would foster him.
Van soon realized that he had traded his old master for an even more brutal one. While he managed to barely survive the hunt, the brief three month stint at the monastery was less than pleasant. Food was still low, and Van was fed barely enough to survive in the icy halls. They worked him mercilessly doing scut work and instructing him for half a year in the tenets of Varya. Despite his extremely deficient starting point, the memorization ability drilled into Van by Skøld allowed him to catch up with ease. Soon Father Tovio decided to both ease his logistics concerns and garner points for a talented disciple and sent Van off to the Red Seminary.
Already inured to brutal conditions, the physical and mental training of the seminary was less of an issue to him with a few exceptions. Weak in the classical grounding most candidates imbibed from their families, Van struggled to initially excel. Similarly, his slight build and late growth spurt made training in most weapons painful, and Van concentrated on archery, the spear and the rifle in comparison to all else. The most difficult aspect of the seminary was neither of these things, but rather the social interaction and arts required to fit in. Frequent clashes with bullies, a tendency towards sullen brooding and a crippling issue with trust cause Van to struggle with making comrades. The few he does possess he defends with ruthless vigor.
Quote: Knowledge without power is useless. Power without knowledge is wasted. The only man to fear is one who possesses both.
Member
CollectorOfMyst
Nightbringer
