merovich

Dreams of the Old World (Post apocalyptic adventure with dream based powers)

Kassander

Before anything is the absence. An acute empty where the library once filled him. The spaces it lived within eluded him, but he could still feel it; like the phantom pains of a limb long lost. He knew it was the stone beneath the cage.

First comes the breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Kass savored it for a moment. Then allowed the rest to come to him, piece by piece. Sound found his ears, and the booming voice told him he would fight, or he would die. He opened his eyes and the daylight washed over him. A moment to himself; to be himself, for a change. As ever, the moment does not last. He needed to remember. They would aid him; they would make him whole again. Hidden within his robes, he produces a piece of parchment.

He knows this is the place of the omen. His omen. And so it is the place he must be, with these people. He doesn’t know them; doesn’t need to. Maybe they knew him; maybe they will take him to his old memories. He doesn’t waste time trying to understand the omen, he knows only he’s reached it. They will lead him back to himself.

He hesitates to step out a moment, savoring the quietude of it all for a moment, before stepping out. The effect is immediate. As the library fills him again, he can feel the memories and the dreams of those around him. Pages flitter about; the names and faces of those who will fix him. One by honor; one by friendship; one by coin.

From Alexandria more parchment comes. It surrounds him, folding in on itself again and again, coming to a single point at the head of a spear. Around his left arm the paper folds into points, rotating about like spikes on a drill. With blade and barrier Kassander makes calmly for the one called Lynette.

Dreams of the Old World (Post apocalyptic adventure with dream based powers)

Kassander

Name: Kassander (Kass)
Gender: M

Age: 25

Appearance:



Personality: Frankly, aloof would be understating Kass. His dream curses him with a nigh inability to tell anything but his omens. He speaks in cryptic riddles and poetry befitting a raving madman, but a knowing pair of eyes belies the man underneath; a caring, gentle soul, bound by solemn purpose.

One might see him run into the forest, muttering about some lost bluejay, only to be seen later escorting a lost child clad in blue to their family. There is a dim fire within the otherwise meek man. Something driving him forward through, and indeed in spite of, the cruelty he has known.

Few know the enigmatic soul beneath the madness, but he will brave heaven’s wrath and hell’s fire for those he holds dear. He will lose nothing more.

Still, don’t expect this guy to give a speech on your wedding day.

Dream: Alexandria is a shifting library of towering stacks and halls branching out in every direction. Within this space are the omens inscribed by Kassander. The sacred memories of those who came before, fraught with hyperbole and emotion. In one scroll the memory of a father teaching his son to ride a bike; in another, hellfire engulfs a jungle and ashes fall like rain.

Kass is both caretaker and wielder of these memories. Each memory a wish to be relived by the souls within. For each memory Kass is given an omen. He knows not what the memory will show him, but he knows with certainty when and where he must be to release it. With each memory released the memory becomes his own, and a piece of himself is returned to him. His end of some long-forgotten bargain.

When defending himself, Kass’s powers are twofold. At times, Kass may summon a particularly powerful memory to aid him. Perhaps he summons the wildfire, or perhaps simply the memory of a smith’s prized blade and armor. The actual magnitude of the memory varies, but when a memory is released, it becomes ingrained into his own memories. This takes a great toll on his mind, and he must often retreat into the library to sift through and parse his own memories out from the rest.

The second manifestation of Alexandria is the library itself. Kass may summon torrents of paper and leather to bind, cut, and protect. The scrolls within the library are, after all, living memories, with the will to protect themselves and their master.

Bio: Kass’s real name was one of the first things to go, in those few, maddening moments of lucidity; before he put prophecy to scroll. He remembers the smell of smoke, clamoring to find the scroll in the ashes. He remembers the snow stinging his feet as he ran; as he was begged to run. The smoke choking his lungs as he left them behind. He remembers the pitter patter of a thousand formless footsteps going with him, etched into him.

He does not remember their faces. He does not remember their names. He wants to forget the hurt; forget the lost; forget the forgetting.

But he remembers the cabin.

He remembers home. A burbling creek interrupting a quiet July day; crackle of a fire and the first chill of winter; white ravens in the nest on the high peak. He remembers what his family’s love felt like.

He cannot remember who gave him the stone. The “gift”, they called it. He remembers the running; the raving; the enmaddening. Visions in the holes his mind used to fill. He almost forgot it all, but he couldn’t. He needed to remember what he couldn’t forget, and so the first scroll he did make, and inscribed it upon himself; that he would never forget.

In time, more of his omens were inscribed, with manic fervor. He seldom knew their meaning, but they always came to pass. All but the first, anyway. He carried the prophecies with him to where they needed to be when they needed to pass, and when it was their time, he released them. Those few who came to know him gave the roving vagrant a fitting name: Kassander, the mad prophet. The piece of himself that is himself now govern him as he dutifully shepherds the omens where they must be, and all the while tries to put the pieces back together.

He must remember what slipped away. He must know what he needed so badly to forget.