pantothenic

O R I F L A M M E

Deadline is this Sunday if any of you missed the new OOC header.

O R I F L A M M E

In the ashes of a former village, two weeks previous

The village is gone. We’ll have to write a report to the baron.

Gordes was lost. Every house and every homestead was broken into and ransacked. The larders were empty and all animals had been cut loose or slaughtered. The grain fields had been set ablaze, leaving behind nothing but black stems and ashes. As for the residents, not a single living soul could be found inside or outside the village. At this moment, the detachment from the local monastery was still finding bodies and adding them to a pile in the village square. All bore the signs of being cut to pieces, beaten to death, or peppered with arrows. Among the faces of the dead, even some children could be seen.

Gerard looked away from the gruesome procession and turned to the two hooded neophytes behind him. A man and a woman, they were dressed in the robes and regalia of the red Rezaindians.

“Tristan. Misha.”

“Yes master.” “Master Castello?”

“I will continue the watch. Do one last sweep of the residences. Some children may have hidden under the floorboards.” It was a pointless order. Anyone with the Gift could tell there were no survivors to be found.

“By your command!” Gerard’s aides each gave him a quick bow and left to carry out their orders. If they knew they were being kept busy they certainly didn’t question it. The two youths had been assigned to the bald headed man as apprentices back when he was still in the Stresian order. Despite his blunt attitude towards them, Gerard was secretly grateful that the two were willing to follow him after leaving Chune's service. Tristan and Misha were talented. Their lives could have been spent conducting research and spreading knowledge. He had said as much many times, but it seemed they were adamant on staying by his side.

In these times of strife, many towns and villages found themselves in need of military aid. In light of King Arcel’s latest campaign, the local garrisons were lacking in manpower. It sometimes fell to the Quentic brotherhoods to fill the gaps. Unfortunately, word of the village’s plight had reached the church several days too late. When the servants of Echeran arrived, the carrion eaters had already begun to feast. The only job left to do was bury the victims and notify the owner of the fief.

For the better part of an hour Gerard meditated on top of a comfortably flat rock. Using his sixth sense, he searched the immediate area for a foreign human presence. There was little chance of the attackers returning to a village full of corpses, but one had to be careful. For now, nothing seemed amiss. A while later he could feel someone coming from the square. Gerard opened his real eyes to see a gray chaplain approaching.

“Echeran empower you brother.”

“And you as well. What is the situation?”

“Not good. Come with me.”

The two of them returned to the center of the village just as the burial rites began. Some of the priests were already circling around the rows of bodies with thuribles in hand. The incense covered the village square in a smoky haze. The scent of lavender and sage made Gerard’s nose tingle. The two men stopped a good distance from the proceedings so that they wouldn’t get in the way.

“The tax collector we brought from the castle helped us identify most of the departed. None of the bodies came from outside the village. Gordes had a small militia, but no dead enemy combatants were found. It was a one-sided victory.” The man in gray unfurled a rough looking piece of parchment paper and showed it to Gerard. On it was a handwritten transcript of the village’s last census alongside an estimate of casualties.

“Only this many are missing? The Eskandr would never waste all these slaves.” The red Rezaindian almost sounded disappointed. The other man nodded.

“Given the distance from the coastline and the weapons we recovered from the scene, we think this might be the work of deserters.”

Gerard grunted and spit at the dirt. “Feh. May the Judge damn their souls. Hrothgar sends his armies to slaughter us, and our soldiers turn on their own people? This war needs to reach a turning point soon or else this nation will consume itself.”

Those with the Gift were now working together to create a burial mound using force magic, while others assisted by clearing away broken wagons and other debris. There was not enough time or manpower to make personal graves for so many.

“Master Castellooo!!! A message for you sir!” Misha was hollering from a distance with a scroll in her hand. Gerard excused himself and met his apprentice halfway. After catching her breath a bit she handed him the sealed document. The older man’s eyes lit up in recognition when he saw the imperial seal.

“Jacques!” Gerard barked at a pudgy looking man who was assisting with the construction of the mass grave. The one in question halted his spell and trudged over to his elder.

“I am needed elsewhere. I may not return for some time. Ensure that these people are given a decent burial. That is all we can do for them now.”

Parrench army camp, one week previous

Gerard was a warrior, but he was no soldier. He found it difficult to relax in the presence of a force this size. In an attempt to find some peace of mind, he had elected to tend to one of the camp’s cook pots. This particular dish was going to be rabbit stew. The wild meat had been caught by the army’s rangers. With this many people to feed there was little time to prepare and recipes had to be kept simple. The only seasoning in the stew would be a couple cubes of rock salt and whatever herbs the camp followers picked on the way here.

The noise was deafening. The pounding of the blacksmith’s hammers. Hundreds of horses and cattle. Thousands of men and women talking or shouting in unison. Gerard could barely hear the sound of his ladle scraping the bottom of the pot. The red priest’s only source of tranquility was the dancing flame of the campfire.

Misha found him just as the stew finished simmering. Unlike her master, the priestess had her hood down. Sweat was causing her jet black hair to stick to her neck. Gerard looked at her but didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence. He brought the ladle up and tasted the broth. It was a tad gamey. Rabbit was a somewhat lean meat. It was fine though. A hungry swordsman on the march would have little to complain about.

“What is it Misha?” Gerard finally said.

“Master, may I ask what you’re doing?”

“Making stew.”

“I see…”

The young acolyte stood and watched her master for a minute. He continued to sit in his wooden chair, boredly stirring the pot without further comment. Gerard’s apprentice rolled her eyes at his cold demeanor.

“Why?” Misha finally asked in exasperation.

“Why?” Gerard parroted, seemingly unbothered by her irreverent tone of voice.

“Why are you cooking stew at a time like this? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Captain Auclair?”

Gerard clicked his tongue. “Yes, I agreed to meet him. I never said it would be now.”

“Arrrggggh! We still need to decide our battle assignments and deliver a report to the general! We may be priests, but have you forgotten that we’re part of an army right now!?” Misha pulled at her bangs in frustration.

“They can do as they see fit. I care not where the pieces move. My only goal is to kill as many Eskandr as I can.” Gerard growled. His response caused Misha to close her eyes and massage her temples. Despite their age difference, the young woman looked more like a defeated housewife than a student speaking to her teacher.

Once she managed to regain her composure, Misha crouched down next to Gerard and watched him stir the pot. He wordlessly produced a spoon and held it towards her. She took it and dipped it into the stew, gently blowing on the morsel before taking a bite.

“Hmm… not bad. I think supper will be starting soon. May I help fill the bowls master?” Misha gave Gerard a sideways glance.

“You may.”

Location: Relouse - Defensive Encampment

Gerard was on standby at the sidelines with his two apprentices. They had been granted the honor of being part of the assembly. Tristan and Misha were bell bearers while the bishop led them with censer in hand. In just a few minutes the king and queen of Parrence would be addressing a host of thousands. There were likely more troops gathered here than the entire population of Relouse.

Tristan was visibly nervous. He leaned towards Gerard and whispered to him.

“Master, which pattern are we following again?”

“Just use your sense of rhythm and do what the others do. Do not dare screw this up. We are in the presence of the crown and the archbishop.” Gerard turned around and looked Tristan in the eyes. The younger man backed away sheepishly.

The first bell had rung. The chimes traveled through the mass of people as priests of every order shook their handheld bells and lit their censers. When the group next to theirs joined the clamor, Gerard and his students followed suit. Misha seemed to know what she was doing right away, while Tristan did his best to watch her hands and copy her. It was passable. Gerard held up his metal censer aloft and called upon the Gift. Lighting the coals gave him an instant of euphoria, but he was brought back to his senses by the scent of the sacred herbs.

The king and queen projected their voices far and wide using the power of Force. “Lover, Learner, Creator, Destroyer, Judge,” they began. “All magics and all of creation pay homage to the divine Pentad who brought them into being. Thy existence is beyond human understanding, thy ways both arcane and divine, and thy gifts the foundations of life itself. May thy will be done now and forever.”

Amen.

---

“Master Castello, shouldn’t we be waiting at the rear of the army?” Misha questioned as the trio hiked down to the beach. Gerard regarded her with his usual grimace. He dug his staff a little harder into the sand as they walked.

“Have you seen any Eskandr on the beach yet? Why waste the opportunity to leave a little surprise for them?” The frowning Rezaindian shaded his eyes with his hand to make it easier to see past the sun. The three servants of Echeran were not the only members of the army to have trekked down to the beach. There were knights of all sizes certainly, but many mages and lightly armored warriors as well.

Is that a Yasoi? Gerard thought to himself. He hadn’t met one of their ilk in months. “It looks like some of our associates are preparing the beach head already. We should help them for now. Let’s go.”

The Hourglass Order

An ominous visitor

Yalen sliced off a quarter of the baguette and cut it into two pieces. A typical Perrenchian tartine would be something light and sweet, but growing up on the plains of Miatto had given the country boy a more savory preference. He topped his bread with a slice of cured meat and ripened cheese to create a simple open faced sandwich. Yalen took a bite and inhaled through his nose, allowing the flavor to spread across his entire tongue.

Nothing beats the taste of home. He thought to himself, before clearing his palette with a sip of water. Home… home? Yalen put his food down and looked around the room in confusion. He was back in his dorm at Ersand’Enise. The room was just as ordinary as it was when he first moved in. The same bed. The same study desk. The same curtains.

Were they the same curtains? Yalen remembered them being chestnut colored. He scooted out of his chair and walked towards the window to inspect further. The seed of an idea took root in his mind as he pinched his fingers around the creamy white linen. He shouldn’t have been able to cross the room so quickly in his condition. Yalen wiggled his toes, something he hadn’t been able to do for a couple years now. This was all wrong.

The flustered teen threw the curtains open. The rough paved streets of Ersand’Enise looked the same as they ever did… except that the buildings had no windows and the academy town was completely devoid of people. The trees seesawed between green and red as if they couldn’t decide what season it was.

“Please tell me I’m-”

“Dreaming? Indeed.”

The unexpected voice gave Yalen a disturbing sense of deja vu, bringing him back to his first meeting with the paradigm. He turned around without hesitation. The uninvited guest sat on the edge of his bed. Their features were completely obscured by a hooded cloak, though the individual had a vaguely feminine silhouette. She? rose up and sidled towards the young monk with a confident stride, stopping when the two of them were only a couple feet apart. Every instinct in his body demanded he run away. This person had the shape of a human, but their presence felt alien. Unnatural. Powerful beyond measure. It took all the willpower Yalen had not to make a sudden move.

“So you understand what you’re dealing with. That’s good. I like smart people like you.” The woman chuckled.

Yalen’s eyes fearfully darted around the room. “Wait, are you- are you real?”

“Very real child, so I suggest that you stay calm. You don’t pose a threat to me here, but if you test me I’ll make sure that you don’t wake up for a long time.” The stranger’s tone of voice remained steady, but the underlying threat they made was clear.

Yalen nodded. He llicked his lips nervously before speaking once more. “Who are you?”

The hooded woman smiled. “You disappoint me Mr. Noyel. Or was it Mr. Castel? Hm. Out of all the do-gooders Hugo sent here, I expected you to recognize your enemy the quickest.”

Noyel? Yalen’s brows furrowed in confusion. The lady raised her hand upwards. The air in the room began to change, and above the interloper’s palm it appeared as if space-time itself was being deformed. Though he had never seen one in person, Yalen could sense the foreign, unholy energy of an aberration.

“The Traveler!” His hands unconsciously went for the holy symbol wrapped around his neck. He gripped the half-sun medallion like a protective charm.

“The one and only.” The aberration disappeared in her closed fist. The Traveler’s soft smile turned to a smirk as she gazed upon his Dordian icon. “Look at yourself. Do you believe me to be a demon? It’s sad to see an intelligent mind like yours be clouded by deception.”

Finding the courage to speak against this unfathomably powerful being was almost too difficult for Yalen. His voice began to falter, yet despite his terror there was still a spark of defiance within. “You may not be a demon, but you certainly consort with them villain. Why do you come to me?”

“Hmm. I suppose it’s because I find you interesting. Yalen, the pacifistic choir boy from Miatto. Despite not being able to hurt a fly, you’ve killed quite a few beasts on your way here.” The Traveler's lips curved into a smirk.

Tears of frustration began to well up in Yalen’s eyes. “Those creatures were maddened by the very forces you seek to control! The aberrations sow chaos wherever they are found! You’re going to destroy the world!”

The Traveler wasn’t smiling now. She sighed and turned her back on him. When she came back around, Yalen was no longer speaking to the woman from before. Rather, he saw the face of someone he’d known since birth. It was an orphan from the monastery, his big sister Colette.

“I am not trying to destroy the world, Yalen. I am trying to save it. The aberrations, as you call them, are not evil. You do not realize the good that can be done with their power.”

The tears that came unbidden now spilled down Yalen’s cheeks. “Y-you… what sorcery is this? Stop. Please. My sister wouldn’t utter such lies. She…” His breathing was becoming heavy with emotion now. Everything looked blurry.

Colette rolled her eyes and raised her hands in exasperation. The second Yalen blinked his eyes, his sister was gone, replaced by a hairless man with an eagle-like nose.

“As I expected, you are far too emotional. I suppose it was the same when you slew those Halassa. I’m sure you were about to vomit.” The man came closer to Yalen, prompting him to instinctively back away until he was pressed against the window sill. “Listen to me. The church has been lying to you.The madness can be cured. If I am allowed to accomplish my goals, what you witnessed tonight will never happen again.”

Yalen felt ice crawl through his veins. He never thought he could hate someone, but right now he was looking at the Traveler like a pile of walking garbage. “You would blaspheme against the church? Do you not have enough enemies as it is?”

The bald man waved his hand dismissively. “I have a number of enemies. More than I can count. You don’t need to be one of them. I have already made allies out of your classmates. They have seen the proof of my work. Unlike you, their minds are no longer clouded by the lies of their fellow men. What about you? Do you worship the gods, or the priesthood? Do you truly think a mere mortal can speak for the will of the Pentad?”

The fledgling priest was wavering, but he remained unbroken. The Traveler was inhumanly charismatic, but nobody would forsake their entire world view based on the hearsay of the century’s greatest criminal. Yalen’s throat was almost too sore to speak.

“What- what proof?” At that, the Traveler’s face morphed into a rapacious grin.

“Emotional, but open-minded. Yes, I knew I could believe in you.” He was so close now that Yalen could feel his hot breath. “You might be useful to me… but not yet. Not as you are.”

The entire room became dark without warning. Fearing the worst, Yalen closed his eyes. He felt his body become weightless. The moment passed in an instant. The two of them now stood inside an unknown residence, though it had a similar interior to the room Yalen had fallen asleep in. Were they back in the real world now? At the dining table, Ayla and Zarina were having a meal together. They did not seem to notice the presence of two intruders standing right in front of them.

“I know how far you would go to protect them. You’ve been that way long before you swore yourself to the Creator. I admire that about you.” The Traveler moved so that he was standing behind the two girls, still blissfully unaware as they chatted and ate. Yalen’s attention shifted for a mere second, and now it was Jocasta running her fingers through Zarina’s ash black hair. The monk bit his lower lip but continued to watch expectantly.

“But it’s not enough. Unlike this one, you lack the ultimate resolve. Sometimes… offering your own life isn’t good enough.” Jocasta traced her fingers along Ayla’s face. The latter continued talking to her friend like nothing was wrong. Those fingers slowly began to close into a fist. At first, neither of Yalen’s companions reacted, but as the seconds ticked by they grew increasingly uncomfortable. Utensils fell to the ground as both girls exhibited visible signs of distress. They grabbed at their throats; the universal sign of someone choking.

She’s going to kill them! Yalen began searching for drawing sources, planning to form a counterspell in retaliation. It was for naught. The shadows in the room, compelled by some sinister will, writhed around his hands and feet. He struggled violently, but could not find the strength to break free. All Yalen could do was bear witness to the horrible scene in front of him.

“Were you going to try and knock me out? This is what I’m talking about boy. You’re weak.”Jocasta, no, the Traveler, didn’t seem at all interested in her victims. They were now clawing at their skin in abject terror as she continued her speech.

“How many people do you think I’ve killed? Does my karma not demand that I pay for my crimes? Why do you swear an oath of nonviolence while letting the other orders do as they please?”

“That’s…”

“The will of the Pentad? Are you going to wait for a Rezaindian to break in here and dispose of me? Talk me down while I draw the life out of these two? Do you think the gods care for your empty pacifism?”

“No more! I want no part of this!”

“That choice is behind us now. You have a new choice to make.”

Yalen felt his right arm behind pulled forward by tendrils of darkness. He never perceived the moment the pistol appeared in his hand, but it was pointed directly at the Traveler’s chest.

“It’s simple. You will decide who dies. If you pull the trigger, you can end me and save their lives.”

“You don’t want to do this…”

“This is not about what I want. The time for talk is over. I’ll give you ten more seconds and then I end their lives.”

Yalen’s mind was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions. In his addled state it was impossible to parse through the individual thoughts that swirled in his head. The need to save his friends. His holy vows. The belief that even someone like the Traveler deserved to live.

“9… 8… 7…”

It was too much for Yalen’s mind to bear.

“6… 5… 4…”

He fell into a catatonic state, unable to act or think.

“3… 2… 1…”

Yalen shut his eyes the moment they died, but nothing could drown out the sound of their bones crunching as their necks broke. When the shadows finally let him go the cleric pathetically fell to the floor, no longer possessing the wits to stand upright.

He could hear the Traveler walking towards him now, and when he imagined the devil striking him down next, Yalen nearly welcomed it. The idea of drawing never crossed his mind. His will to fight was extinguished by his failure. The tears had long since stopped. There was nothing inside now.

He felt the gun being pried out of his hand.

“If you had just pulled the trigger, you wouldn’t be feeling the regret that you do now.” A hand gently clasped Yalen’s shoulder. The sudden touch prompted him to reflexively open his eyes.

Jocasta was gone now, and so were Zarina and Ayla. The Traveler was in the form of an old Torragonese woman now. They were back in his dorm room, as if the gruesome incident never occurred. Yalen was still dreaming. Everything felt so real that the young monk had forgotten. The relief he felt from this revelation clashed with the guilt of his inaction. He pulled at his hair in frustration and screamed.

In time Yalen finally fell silent, and when he did the Traveler was ready to speak once more.

“I just wanted you to understand.”

“Under… understand?” Yalen’s voice was hoarse from exhaustion.

“Yes. One day, you will meet someone whom words cannot reach. Someone who believes so strongly in their righteousness that no argument will persuade them. When that day comes, you will have to ask yourself.” The old woman stooped down so that she was eye level with Yalen. She squeezed his chin and held his head up so that he couldn’t look away.

“Is it really your duty to preserve all life? If you could save a hundred lives by sacrificing one person, is that not the true path to justice? The Pentad represents unity. Ipte. Shune. Oraff. Eshiran. Dami. Why follow one creed when you can embody them all?”

“I…” Yalen attempted to respond, but his eyelids were growing heavy. He felt the prickly sensation of chemical magic altering his state of mind, but lacked the power to resist. He couldn’t hold on, and gave in to the peaceful oblivion of sleep. As he did so, Yalen could hear a voice echoing dimly in his head.

I still have hope for you Yalen, but you are not yet ready. Accomplish your mission. Continue to grow. When you have begun to see the world for what it truly is, I will come find you again.

Morning briefing

@YummyYummy@Ti@Force and Fury
Yalen proceeded through his morning rituals sluggishly. It would take time for his mind to settle after experiencing such a realistic nightmare. His memory of the ordeal was fragmented, but the sight of Jocasta murdering their friends rooted in his thoughts like a tumor.

Though he normally left his bed before the final hour of Ipte, it was now approximately 2:30 HS according to the time telling device on the wall. Last night’s bath still sat in its basin, the water now completely cooled. The sun would be well over the horizon by now. There was plenty of thermal energy within Yalen’s drawing range to heat the water to a more tolerable temperature. He stripped off his nightwear and slowly lowered himself into the washbasin. The sudden chill made goosebumps crawl up his skin.

After cleansing himself, Yalen retrieved his Dordian uniform from a nearby basket. The caretakers had been gracious enough to have it washed during the night. There was another gift as well. At his request, the staff had provided him with a set of leg braces that were approximately his size. The simple devices were little more than two metal rods connected by a crude hinge, with several leather straps that wrapped around the calf and shin. The braces fit over his legwear, and his outer robe covered everything so that Yalen’s appearance was essentially the same.

The tethered priest had mostly gotten by with walking sticks and makeshift foot bindings up until now. He was rather stiff when he walked around the room. Still, it was a considerable improvement to Yalen’s mobility. Perhaps now he wouldn’t be such a burden the next time the team found itself on the run from a sand wyrm.

Dear Oraff, today I ask you to renew my heart with strength and purpose. Forgive me the errors of yesterday bless me to follow in your footsteps today. Allow all who bear witness to feel your presence in me. Hold my hand precious Creator, for your servant cannot make it alone. Yalen secluded himself in bedside prayer for a few minutes, but was forced to finish his silent conversation prematurely. If he took too long he would be late to breakfast and someone would be troubled to come and fetch him.

Yalen took a deep breath before opening the door to his room. He would try his best to act normal. Last night was just a dream. Last night was just a dream. Last night was just a dream. He threw the door open and crossed the threshold in one swift movement and then shut the door closed.

The worst possible person happened to be the first one Yalen met today. He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and nearly got run over by Jocasta’s wheelchair.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” The tethered girl quickly apologized, but he was not so swift in his reply. He tried his best to suppress it, but the dream forced itself into his mind all the same. Logically he knew that Jocasta would never do something so evil, but a more primitive part of Yalen’s brain instinctively viewed her as a threat. The look of fear on his face lasted only a moment, but it would have been obvious to her if she was paying attention.

“I-i-it’s okay.” Far too obvious. He had to get it together. The cleric tried to play it cool as he and Jocasta made their way to the morning meeting. All the while he could feel her stealing glances at him. The others joined them soon enough in various states of alertness. The students reached the dining room right on time. The warden was present as usual, as well as Marceline and another woman. Once the pleasantries were dealt with the briefing began immediately.

Yalen was uncomfortably silent the entire time. It was already difficult to keep a straight face with Jocasta around, and now he had to sit near Zarina and Ayla as well. It was as if he was looking at a pair of ghosts. In his unsettled state he was barely able to absorb the conversation at the table. The warden sounded like he was speaking from across the room.

Breakfast must have been served at some point, because without warning Yalen had a plate of churros held in front of his face. Now brought back to earth, he looked up to see Ayla smiling warmly at him.

“Thank you.” He whispered, plucking his share and placing it on his empty plate. Everyone continued to ply the warden and his entourage with questions while Yalen stared at the churro like it held the answers of the universe.

“Mein Gott!” Marceline exclaimed, “You were in a Refuge?” She blinked. “I had thought to ask but didn’t want to be insensitive. How did you ever get out?” She turned to regard the rather quiet Yalen. “You too?”

Yalen raised his head to look at Marceline but failed to find his voice right away. His mouth dumbly hung open for a second as he mustered a reply.

“I… uh… no…” He shook his head. None of it was real! Get a hold of yourself! They’re looking at you!

A tall cup of coffee floated across the table and landed in front of Yalen. Zarina’s stern glare threatened to drill a hole in his head.

“Drink it. All of it.” She commanded.

“T-thank you…” Yalen murmured. With a shaky hand, he brought the cup to his mouth and drank deeply. Zarina literally wouldn’t stop staring at him until he finished it. He forgot to blow on it and burned his mouth. The scalding liquid soothed his body and filled him with a rush of energy. It was sickeningly sweet. How many sugar cubes were in there?

A hot drink was all it took for Yalen to realize how hungry he was. He was able to take a few bites of his meal before the group departed on a tour of the facility. Before everybody could make it out in the hall, which simmered, open to the elements, under a colonnade, Jocasta spoke up. She glanced awkwardly in Yalen’s direction and then at the others, with a small, reassuring smile.

A pang of guilt throbbed in Yalen’s chest. His unwelcoming behavior must have offended her somehow. That wasn’t fair. This was not the girl from his dreams. Someone this sweet and innocent could not be a murderer. He would force that idea through his head as many times as it took.

“You... you all go on w-without me,” she told them, a couple of pushes from the entrance. The sequins and faux-gold embroidery on her green and white dress caught a few rays of the desert sun and sparkled and her blonde hair, done up in an elaborate fashion, shone in a halo about her head. “I have… s-something else I need to do quickly.”

With that, Jocasta was gone. That was a bit of a disappointment. Yalen would have to apologize to her later. The rest of the gang continued strolling through the compound at a brisk pace. The girls were deep in some conversation that had nothing to do with him, so Yalen silently walked alongside them while taking in the scenery. Once in a while one of the residents would wave at him in passing or give him a knowing nod. It was probably easy to tell that he was tethered just by looking at his footsteps.

The party stopped at a ramp and some stairs. The priest chose the stairs, desiring to explore his full range of movement with the braces on. It was a comedic affair. Yalen descended the stairs like a waddling duck, to the amusement of the rest of the group. Marci couldn’t help but look at him.

“You’re still on four,” she observed almost reverently. “Lucky.”

“Keep at it, hotshot, and you’ll be faster than me.” Zarina winked before continuing onwards.

They reached the bottom and continued on, heading towards the pool area. It was teeming with half-dressed children and teens. The sounds of play and laughter helped Yalen perk up somewhat. He had half a mind to jump into the water himself. He knew how to swim, though in his current condition he might only be able to tread water.

A small curly ball of energy came streaking out of the pool, headed straight for their group or, rather, one member of it in particular. “Mistuh Yawen!” Rita made it a few more steps before tripping over her own feet, only managing to avoid a faceplant by sticking her hands out and absorbing the impact. She lay there on her stomach for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to cry. They apparently didn’t have swimsuits, so the kid was in her underwear and showing a fair bit of plumber’s crack. “Oww,” she pouted.

“Rita!” Yalen broke away from the tour group, nearly tripping on his own feet in the process. In the same moment he tore off the outer garment of his uniform and wrapped it around the child’s body to preserve her modesty. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

Apparently comforted, she returned to a more neutral expression, quirking an eyebrow. “Owaph,” she muttered. “Whewe doesn’t it huwt?” She rolled onto her back and sat up, examining her palms and rubbing at her knees. Thankfully she didn’t look seriously injured.

Yalen gently took Rita’s hands and pulled her up. Rita was running circles around him the moment she was back on her feet. Unfortunately, his coat was a bit too large for her. It fell off her shoulders and into the sand. He sighed and flapped it in the air as best he could. So much for having clean clothes.

“Come on mistuh Yawen! Play with me! Play with me!” Yalen’s fate was decided. It was physically impossible for him to say no to such an adorable kid. There was a good hour or so before everyone had to meet up at the gate. He looked towards Marci and the others and waved at them.

“You all go on ahead! I’ll catch up later!”

Summary: Yalen didn't sleep well and spends breakfast acting like he sees dead people. He has some new leg braces to replace his cane for the time being, but he still walks kind of funny. He has separated from the group to keep a kid named Rita company at the swimming pool.

The Hourglass Order

---

The fork flies, nobody dies.

---

The diversion was away. The die was cast. Nothing Yalen could do mattered now, so he held his breath and waited. He pulled his holy medallion off his hand and wrapped the chain around his neck. Yalen’s hands flowed in unison as they formed a divine pentagram, then came together to complete the sign of the Pentad.

Oraff is my savior. I shall know no fear. Yalen’s mind raced with silent prayers of safety and courage. Should this plan fail, let me be the only one to fall. I am ready.

The beast was so close it could shake the earth beneath their feet. The dry winds were blowing, but the monk did not close his eyes. Yalen would stand witness to the coming moment no matter what, whether the group was about to meet its salvation… or its demise. In this rare moment of tranquility, the world appeared sluggish. The bells of the refuge may as well have been distant claps of thunder.

When the head of the scaly tyrant breached the surface, Yalen instinctively held his breath. As he beheld the colossal wyrm, his mind instantly froze. A monster of that size shouldn’t exist. His primitive brain would not accept it. He could only stand and stare as time appeared to slow down.

And then it turned. The wyrm forced its head back under the sand and withdrew, apparently deceived by the metal decoy. Twenty tons of dragon passed by like a locomotive, and the trembling of the sand forced Yalen to fall backwards. When the sand wyrm was finally gone, the fallen cleric was partially buried by the sand spray.

"Hahahaaaaa you piece of shit!" Yalen could hear Jocasta cursing. "I-I hope you have to poop it out, you d-damned worm!" What a mouth she had on her!

He felt someone’s spell pull upon him, lifting him out of the sand. After scrambling on all fours to retrieve his pearlwood cane, Yalen managed to rise to his feet and rejoin the others. By the grace of the gods, nobody was hurt. It filled him with relief knowing that they were okay. There wasn’t much time to rejoice though. They had to get behind the sanctuary walls before the sand wyrm decided it wanted seconds.

"Yeahhhhhhh!" Zarina raised a hand for a high-five, which he happily returned. Despite their camaraderie, he declined Zarina’s offer of a piggyback with a look of embarrassment on his face. He had no idea if she was joking. It was hard to tell with her.

---

Safe at last.

---

There was an inexplicable delay before the six students were granted entrance into the refuge. A chill went up Yalen’s spine as a stiff breeze hit him, his perspiration causing the air to feel like ice. His body was exhausted by the terror of facing two life threatening encounters so close together. When the wooden gates finally opened, Yalen was hanging on to his cane with both hands.

The same could be said for many of those in the surrounding crowd. Though there were a handful unafflicted individuals present, the majority of the people gathered were refugees. The tethered. It looked like a crowd of war veterans. The only ones not being supported by crutches or wheelchair were the children running about, frantically trying to avoid getting snatched up by their guardians. There weren’t enough guards about to keep the crowd from growing, and the air was buzzing with chatter.

Yalen was stopped in his tracks when a child managed to slip through and make it to him, beaming. "We don't geh visidors verrey offen!" she said with a thick Segonese accent. "Only waan in de whole time I'm heer!" She blinked and regarded his cane for a moment. "Whehr you froam?" she asked.

How precious! Yalen couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he squatted down to meet her eye to eye. “Me? I come from Ersand’Enise!” He raised his voice so that he could be heard above the noise.

“Ersandenis?” The Segonese girl fumbled over the phrase with a look of confusion. “Haha, you talk wead mistuh!” The way she so innocently derided him made Yalen crack up a bit.

“What’s your name little one?” He asked her.

“Rita!” She giggled.

“I’m Yalen! Nice to meet you!” He reached out and ruffled her curly hair a bit. Rita laughed even louder, but eventually pushed his hand off.

“You gottsa cane too! Yuh’re one of us!” She poked at his fancy walking stick out of curiosity. “Big kids dun’t walk on all foors! You do! How come? How come?”

For a little while the young man entertained his wee visitor, but the bubbly conversation was interrupted by the sound of a pistol being fired. An amplified voice made itself heard over the frightened murmuring of the residents.

"It is well past curfew for anyone under sixteen," he commanded in Avincian, repeating himself in Torragonese. "Come now: you know this. The desert is harsh and these travelers encountered some wildlife. You are to return to your rooms or tomorrow's recreation time will have to be canceled!"

A woman with a similar complexion to Rita appeared from the crowd and rushed over to the youngster to grab her hand. She was rather colorfully dressed, though her heavy chainmail shirt and wicked looking halberd indicated that the lady was not to be trifled with.

“There you are, you naughty child! I look away for ten seconds and here I find you disturbing our master’s guests! Please excuse us Brother.” The Segonese guardswoman had to practically drag the resistant juvenile away. Rita puffed her cheeks up and pouted, evidently displeased at having to part ways with her new friend so soon. Yalen regretfully waved goodbye to her. He hoped they would cross paths again in the near future.

Events played out as expected. The warden introduced himself along with some of his cabinet. Some matters of grave importance came up, especially that of a wild aberration being spotted somewhere outside the refuge. After seeing the Halassa go wild against their natural instincts, Yalen didn’t need to make many inferences as to what would happen if the same thing affected the sand wyrm. He had little to say, so he listened carefully and tried to absorb as much of the conversation as he could.

When Marceline led the team to their quarters, Yalen’s entire body nearly went limp. Too much caffeine. Too much adrenaline. Not enough sleep. He was so dearly close to a warm bed… No bath would be needed tonight. His bed time prayers would have to be brief.

The Hourglass Order

---

Post-battle report
@YummyYummy

---

“Got something for this?” Zarina held out one of her gore stained blades while looking expectantly at Yalen. He slowly nodded and wrapped his fingers around the hilt just above hers, prompting her to release the weapon. The samshir was unexpectedly weighty despite how light the curved blade appeared to be. The gentle monk was not prepared for it and nearly let the sword slide out of his fingers.

“With your permission.” Yalen reached into his shoulder bag and produced a clean handkerchief. He wiped the blood and tissue away as best he could, at least so that Zarina would be able to put it back in its scabbard. Despite his reluctance to do harm, Yalen was far from hemophobic. He had watched his brothers perform surgery numerous times, and he regularly found himself knuckle deep in an open wound during training.

The combat high was wearing off now. He could already feel his hands trembling from the exhaustion and fear. Once he finished cleaning, Yalen let the wind carry the handkerchief away. Even if he tried washing it, the smell of iron and fat would continue to linger.

“Here.” Yalen extended the samshir to Zarina.

“Much appreciated.” The flighty swordfighter graciously accepted the blade, then shuffled off to shower Ayla with her unique brand of affection.

Yalen approached the fast cooling corpse of the Halassa that Zarina had slain. There wasn’t much of a head left on it now. Her kinetic blast had caused quite a mess. He knelt down and placed a hand on the beast’s shell. It was worn and gritty from years of exposure to the desert wind. This one had lived a long life.

Why did it have to turn out this way? They didn’t do anything wrong. There was a sour taste in the back of Yalen’s throat, which he quickly swallowed down. He closed his eyes and silently mourned for the dead.

The moment of reverence ended when a metal cup floated towards him. Yalen caught it before the magic carrying it wore off. There wasn’t much in it, but the smell of ground coffee beans was unmistakable. The small show of hospitality brought a smile out of him. Perhaps Zarina wasn’t as high handed as she appeared to be.

---

Intermission in the desert
@Ti@Force and Fury

---

As one might assume, the march to the refuge was a difficult experience for Yalen, but he was able to keep up as long as the others didn’t take off running without him. The grains of sand coalescing around his feet lent some surety to his footsteps. It was mainly a lack of exercise that was holding him back. Running for your health was difficult when you kept tripping on nothing. Not being able to feel your toes was quite the inconvenience.

A bit further ahead, Jocasta was humming an unfamiliar tune. Once in a while she would look back towards Yalen and smile at him encouragingly. One would not think such an innocent girl had the strength to send a giant Halassa flying. Although she was strong, Yalen felt uneasy about her being a part of this.

Why can’t I remember seeing her before? She would stand out quite a bit in that chair of hers. I suppose the campus is quite large. It’s not impossible for us to have just missed each other. She might also be from another academy. Yalen was interested in finding out more about her. Jocasta was the first student that he’d met who shared his disease.

As the blonde cleric pondered over various things, his thoughts started to return to the previous battle. The way he handled the second Halassa was sloppy. If Ayla’s magic faltered, or if his little trick didn’t work quickly enough, there could have been trouble. It came as no surprise that Zarina was a bit frustrated with them.

“Ayla.” Yalen abruptly addressed the flutist next to him. “I’m sorry about how I handled things earlier. I should have finished the beast quicker. Causing harm is… not easy for me.” She acknowledged his apology with a nod, but did not slow her pace.

“We have a saying for Halassa in Torraganese. Lento pero seguro; Slow but safe. These… aberrations defy their base nature.” After hearing what Ayla had to say, Yalen bowed his head and continued marching. It was true that he wanted to apologize for his blundering, but deep down he was also looking for some reassurance. Perhaps it was wrong to try and find solace in his peers.

For a while he trudged through the sand in silence. He listened to his fellow students as they paired up and talked amongst themselves. Despite all the chatter, the others didn’t seem too interested in Jocasta at first. Seeing it as a chance to satisfy his curiosity about her, Yalen quickened his steps so he could catch up to the chairbound girl. She was going a bit slower now, enraptured by the clear night sky.

After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Yalen decided it was better to begin with an ice breaker before going into more personal questions. Leaning heavily on his walking cane, he came nearer to Jocasta so that they were walking, or in her case rolling, side by side.

“You know, when I was a child I used to believe that falling stars were the souls of the dead. When the guilty have served their sentence in the afterlife, Dami allows their souls to fall to the earth to be reborn.”

After pausing for a moment, Yalen smiled and continued. “What a surprise it was when they were proven to be nothing more than falling rocks! Years of superstition, dispelled by a temporal mage with a telescope and a chip on his shoulder.” He peered towards Jocasta, attempting to gauge her receptiveness to his awkward rambling. “And yet, no matter how much knowledge we accumulate, we still find ourselves fascinated by the stars. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Hmmm.” Jocasta began to mull over his question. With a sigh, she met his eyes and gave her answer. “Because no matter how many disgruntled mages with telescopes there are, we cannot know the truth of the stars for certain. They are so far out of reach that we accept it. They intrique without frustrating us.”

Yalen thought about her answer for a few seconds. There wasn’t actually a correct response to the question. He merely wanted to understand her way of thinking. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and picked up the conversation.

“That is certainly one way of looking at it.” Yalen tugged at his sleeve which had become slightly sticky from perspiration. “Me? I think it is because we are afraid. We are afraid of accepting how small we are, where our place in the universe is. What power must lie at the heart of a star, what worlds must lie beyond our own! If we were to discover those worlds, harness the power of stars, we might even become equal to the gods themselves!” He shook his head. “It’s a foolish idea, but one that many indulge in.”

Yalen vacantly looked up at the sky. “No matter how much we discover or how much we create, we will never be able to touch the very fabric of our existence. How can a painting tear its own canvas? That is the difference between a human and a god.”

A strange silence occupied the air, and Yalen suddenly realized how long he’d been going on for. He rubbed the back of his head appearing embarrassed and shrugged. “I forget myself. You’re free to dismiss my babbling. I have nothing to substantiate my words after all. Such is the nature of faith…”

Jocasta blushed and glanced down at her lap. “I… I fear you’re right. Sorry, I just… don’t like to think about impermanence.” She let out a long sigh.

Ayla started to play her flute while attempting a coarse rendition of Jocasta’s humming. “I’m attempting to follow the tune of your humming. Is this a tune of your homeland?”

“I think it is.” Jocasta admitted. “Though I… I don’t really know. It was from my childhood but… I don’t remember it. They er-erase you when you arrive at the refuge. They say it’s so you won’t miss the family that left you there.”

“Erased!?” Yalen uttered the word as if he had bitten into a rotten lemon. “Erase your memories? You lead me to believe that the refuge is actually a prison!” He could feel the blood rushing to his head, causing his face to become hot. As someone who grew up with the tethering outside the system, he’d been raised with the same belief that everyone else had about the tethered refuges. They were supposed to be like resorts for the infirm. A place to spend one’s short life in peace. The revelation that people were being brainwashed there was like a slap to the face.

An uncharacteristically bitter tone entered Jocasta’s voice. “Is it really so hard to believe? Didn’t your… your own parents abandon you? Mine sure did, whoever they were.” The blunt remark made Yalen turn his head away. A flood of emotions rose up unbidden. Empathy towards Jocasta. A longing to go home and hug his dad. He held his hand over his mouth in order to regain some measure of composure.

“Of course they abandoned me, but I never-” Yalen stopped himself, unsure of how to continue. Unlike the other orphans in the monastery, the young monk had never felt the need to contemplate his circumstances. He felt loved by the priesthood, by the Pentad, and above all by the abbot who adopted him and gave him a real family. He had nearly forgotten what the reality was for people like Jocasta, who had no-one to prop them up like the Abbot Castel did for him.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” Yalen managed to force out in a weak voice.

“I’m… Ipte, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Jocasta gave him a pained look. “Truly. It’s… a very sensitive subject for me. I grew up in a place like this one. It doesn’t look like it, but it’s wretched. We’re… not p-people there and, if you’re smart, you’ll p-peer beyond the veil.”

Yalen’s head was spinning. This is outrageous. He thought to himself. People with the disease had precious little time to live as it is. What was the point of making them suffer any more? To reduce a girl like Jocasta close to tears… what else is she not telling us about this place?

---

An unseen threat emerges
New location: Refuge

---

Yalen could feel the sanctuary before he could see it. When it came into physical view, its towering stone walls made it look more like a fortress than a refuge. In his mind’s eye, he could sense the dozens of refugees sheltered within. When the party finally spotted the garrison, or more accurately the caretakers, Yalen felt something was off. When he first detected them he thought there were four healthy individuals, but now one of them was carrying a body.

Oraff keep us, that person is- “Arena! Arena Malvada!” The caretakers were shouting in Torragonese, something Yalen did not understand. Jocasta clearly did, because when she heard them shout she started screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Sand Wyrm! It’s east of here and coming in fast!” East. Yalen directed his mind’s eye in the stated direction, searching for any sign of life that might be a threat to those stranded outside the refuge. There was nothing on the ground nor in the sky, save for a flight of Froabases that was going in the complete opposite direction.

If it’s not up here then… Underground. Yalen reached out once more, and when his mind touched the behemoth, he was filled with an existential dread. For something that massive to be capable of such speed… it was simply unthinkable. The group had perhaps a minute before their lives were forfeit. Jocasta was floating now. Maybe she was planning to use her magic to save herself. He wouldn’t hold it against her. It was the smart thing to do.

Yalen almost suggested that they leave him behind and make a run for it on their own, but then Ayla was shouting at everyone in Torragonese. It seemed she too knew about the sand wyrm, and by some miracle had stumbled upon a plan to deal with it.

Ayla produced a tuning fork from her handbag and held it up in front of Kaspar and Ysilla. “Binding magic. Kaspar, Ysilla, we need this at least 100 times bigger. Right now. Use everything.” By her command, the two proceeded to draw upon a spot in the sand, rearranging the constituent particles within to create a jumbo sized version of Ayla’s acoustic tool. Creating that much new matter on short notice must have been difficult for them. Kaspar was sweating profusely once the task was finished.

Only a fraction of the work was complete however. “Yalen, this has to be red hot.” Ayla gestured for him to work his arcane magic on their newly constructed tuning fork. Not knowing anything about the monstrosity approaching, Yalen blindly followed her instructions and began gathering energy from whatever source he could find. Any plan was fine as long as it was calculated.

The night grew deeper, and much of the heat underground had been exhausted by Yalen and Jocasta’s previous siphoning. To get the metal red hot he would need a more abundant source.

And I think I have one. The resourceful priest opened his inner eye and probed his way towards what felt like a giant 20 meter long earthworm. Whatever this wyrm was, it had Manas to spare. His attempts to draw straight from its body were resisted by a much greater strength than his own. That was fine, he didn’t expect that to work. There were other sources, like the limitless kinetic energy being produced by its muscles as it vibrated through the sand.

The conversion process of turning kinetic energy into thermal energy was not instantaneous, but Yalen finished preparing himself after a moment’s pause. Metal was an excellent conductor of heat, so even with his average energy capacity it didn’t take more than one draw to fill the tuning fork with sufficient heat.

“If this gets any hotter it will start to warp! What’s next?”

O R I F L A M M E

Gèrard Castello

Gèrard Castello__ _ _ _ _

30 | MALE | PARRENCE | ARCANE - ??? - ??? | PRIEST__ _ _ _ _

“Fire washes sin off the soul.”

C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _

There is not much to say about his appearance, for Gèrard is not a man you recognize for his heroic stature. He possesses a fair skin tone and adequate musculature. He has a stern face, and his head is clean shaven. Gerard dresses like a typical Rezaindian priest, and is rarely seen wearing anything but the robes of his order.

To his allies, Gèrard may appear aloof. Unless there is a goal to accomplish he rarely has much to say, and sometimes even appears bored by regular conversation. The only times he seems to speak at length are when he is praying or giving someone instructions. He is truthfully very introverted and feels more at peace doing what he wants to do without the suffocating presence of others. His social circle is small, but each relationship is quite deep.

Gèrard is a warrior now, but his scholarly nature still remains. He has not let hubris consume him, and is always prepared to accept new knowledge. What he lacks in youth he makes up for with persistence and discipline. When attempting to understand a new concept or learn a new skill, Gèrard can spend hours toiling away in his study or practicing wherever is convenient. He is not above asking others for assistance in this respect, and he even seeks the expertise of commoners when necessary.

Despite being a fairly reserved person, Gèrard exhibits a darker side when battling against the Eskandr, for it is they who set him on the path of vengeance. He feels a sick sense of satisfaction any time he manages to kill one of them. Drudgunze is exempt from this hostility, though Gèrard doesn’t necessarily trust the cousins of his sworn enemies. He justifies his wariness by pointing out the number of Drudgunzeans that have pledged their services to Hrothgar.

B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _

As the fifth son of the noble Castello family, Gèrard had no expectations of inheriting his family’s lands or titles. Like any nobleman, he could have wormed his way into a comfortable seat of authority via bribery and nepotism, but in pursuit of self actualization Gèrard turned his eye towards a more virtuous lifestyle. At the age of 13 he declared to his family his intention of becoming a religious scholar, and with no reason to refuse his parents arranged for him to join the Stresian priesthood.

It was known that on the Ensollian coastline, there lay an ancient landmark that existed since the times of the old empire. It was a Stresian monastery, home to a group of thaumaturges that sought complete understanding of the natural elements. The reclusive researchers living there were reluctant but, after receiving a generous donation from the head of the Castello family, the servants of Shune agreed to raise young Gèrard as one of their own. Maybe they figured he would soon grow tired of the ascetic lifestyle and go home, leaving them with plenty of gold with which to pursue their studies.

Contrary to everyone’s expectations, Gèrard was happy there. He secretly hated living under the expectations of the nobility. Away from the pretentious feasts and stuffy etiquette, the youngest son of the Castello family was able to flourish and focus purely on his personal development. After a few weeks went by it became clear that the nobleman was there to stay, and the monks began to teach him in earnest. Gèrard drank in knowledge like water. He was not some stereotypical genius, but he was unusually determined in his studies. He always had a disturbing number of questions to ask his mentors, and their frustration grew to the point where they had to take turns each day to supervise him. When they eventually grew tired of answering his endless inquiries, Gèrard holed himself up in the library and read books until the crack of dawn.

And so his life went for many years. Gèrard spent his 14th birthday there, and on the same year he awakened to the Gift. When he was given the wheel test, many of his teachers were embarrassed to find that their student was stronger than they were. Then his 15th went by, and his 16th... he was old enough to become a sworn member of the order, and he did so with pride. Once in a while he would leave the monastery to fulfill his Stresian duties, like collecting newly recovered texts or investigating some mystical ruin. His regular visits to his family slowed by the time Gèrard was fully grown, and soon he was communicating with them solely through letters. This bothered no-one. He was never the favorite child.

At the age of 26, Gèrard was deep into his study of Arcane magic. He had become a Luminary, the fourth highest rank in the order, and when Tristan and Misha came to the monastery it was decided that he would be their master. The three formed a unique bond together. As the years passed, the two apprentices came to treat each other like siblings, and in a way Gèrard was like their father. Where he used to take pride in his own growth, he now found joy in theirs. While he was always strict with his students, the young master cared for them deeply.

Their peaceful lifestyle was not destined to last. A year after Gèrard met his students, the monastery was suddenly attacked by an unforeseen Eskandr raid. Under the concealment of powerful magic, a warband carrying no flag stormed the complex and began killing everyone who resided there. Why had they come? Were they weakening Parrence in preparation for a full scale invasion? Did they desire the knowledge stored within the centuries old library? There was no way to know. The Eskandr asked no questions nor did they answer them. Every Stresian on the premises was summarily executed, and everything of value was plundered.

A scant few managed to escape the raid, including Gèrard and his two apprentices. That day was the first he had ever used his magic to kill another human being. He had no choice after all. He couldn’t let his beloved students die. Arrows were incinerated in midair and berserkers were cooked inside their own armor as Gèrard fought desperately to break the Eskandr encirclement. When an opening presented itself, the three broke out and fled into the nearby woods. They were not pursued. It was possible that the pirates had gotten what they came for and simply went back home. The escaped found shelter further inland in a nearby town, where they numbly secluded themselves while processing their great loss. A detachment from the local lord attempted to investigate the smoking heap that was once a monastery, but all they found were corpses. No clues were found about the invaders save for their nationality, for an Eskandr longboat had been abandoned on the shore.

It was without question a traumatizing event for the three, but Gèrard suffered the greatest heartbreak of all. He had known the scholars there for over a decade. He knew every single one of their names. He knew their hopes and dreams. They were truly his family and they were now gone forever, including the place he once belonged. Gèrard failed to overcome his grief and move on. As time passed he became obsessed with the idea of vengeance, and though he bid his students abandon him and live their lives peacefully they would not do so. Underneath a darkening sky, the trio made a pact with each other. They would avenge the fallen as one. And so, after days of travel, they prostrated themselves within the halls of a Rezaindian monastery…

I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _

❖ An ironwood staff inlaid with a crystal sphere
❖ Several bottles of oil and other flammable mediums
❖ An inscribed steel sword of Eskandish origin
❖ A light leather bag containing provisions
❖ The Book of Wrath

T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _

Blood type: Blackblood, Truecaster
Preferred School: Arcane
Secondary Schools: ???, ???
Wheel rating: 4

Gèrard is a well rounded magician, but he greatly favors Arcane over other schools. As an expert pyromancer, fire and light are like clay in his hands. He has a strong grasp of both offensive and utility spells which makes him competent in any sort of engagement. He often uses special oils and flammable liquids to help augment his casting when there are no significant sources of heat available. Gèrard has exhibited several spells thus far such as channeled arcane lances, light refraction, fire walls, and dragon’s breath. There is still much more in store.

Using other types of magic in battle is something Gèrard has considered and will likely pursue as the war continues, especially after he duels against other elite casters and learns their tricks. He simply needs more opportunities to apply his magical studies to real combat.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _

❖ Stresian Thaumaturge
Gèrard’s theoretical understanding of magic is far higher than the average hedge wizard. While the bulk of his study has been in pursuit of Arcane mastery, he understands the principles behind the other magic schools well enough, and may eventually add them to his repertoire given enough inspiration to do so. The potential of his spells are limited only by his imagination and mana capacity.
❖ Learned
Being a son of nobility and a former Stresian, he is highly educated by the standards of this era.
❖ Daring
He has repeatedly demonstrated willingness to engage enemy champions, regardless of their level of strength or the number of soldiers defending them.
❖ Bilingual
He learned the language of Eskand in order to insult its people in a tongue they can understand.

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _

❖ Truecaster’s curse
Like all who possess this blood, Gèrard’s spellcasting options are defined by the energy sources that he can find or make for himself.
❖ Average swordsmanship
Though he carries a blade, Gèrard isn’t a top class duelist. He cannot win a fight against a more skilled swordsman without resorting to magic to bolster his offense.
❖ Untested
Until Hrothgar’s invasion of Parrence, Gèrard’s fighting experience mainly came from training and skirmishing with poorly equipped coastal raiders. He still has much to learn about the art of magical combat.
❖ Vengeful
He has an extremely negative view of southerners. Only the most unlikely circumstances would keep him from trying to attack them on sight.

C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _

❖ Red Rezaindian
❖ He is a distant ancestor of Charles Castel, Yalen's adoptive father.
❖ F92D00

Code Vein (Closed)

---

@DCLassified

Dallas you've really outdone yourself this time. Dallas stared at his plate like it was a birthday present. Fully loaded vegetarian nachos. Most of the ingredients came out of a can, but it was quite a delicious looking spread. Nacho cheese, jalapenos, black beans, and diced tomatoes. On the side was some refried beans topped with a generous pinch of salt.

Dallas grabbed the plate and a half finished bottle of Maker's Mark and began to head back to the karaoke corner. Vincent seemed to be quite happy to have the microphone all to himself since quite a few people had disappeared.

"Dallas, a word please." Holy shit, how does he keep doing that? Even if he was a bit more sober, Dallas wouldn't have heard Ajax creep up on him. He wondered if the ex-Cerberus operative did it intentionally or if his years of training just made him walk like a ninja on reflex.

"And hello to you too Ajax. If you need me I'm all ears. You want to talk here or should we go somewhere private?"

O R I F L A M M E

I have taken interest! I may take 1-2 days to post a character, though - I shall need all my creative juices for an in-depth character.
Might I ask why this isn't in Advanced Roleplay? Really cool concept regardless!

@Siber

Casual RP is just the most popular and accessible category on the forum. You have plenty of room to make long posts and do detailed world building without being expected to, but you also have just enough standards to keep out the low effort posting of Free RP.

O R I F L A M M E

Posting my CS in here in case it helps someone feel more comfortable with writing their own.

The Flame of Extermination

Gèrard Castello__ _ _ _ _

38 | MALE | PERRENCE | DEEP ARCANE | PRIEST__ _ _ _ _

C H A R A C T E R I S T I C S__ _ _ _ _

Gèrard is five feet nine inches tall. He has a fair skin tone and average musculature. His head is clean shaven at all times. In his calmest moments, Gèrard's face is set in a permanent grimace, but his expression can go wild in an instant. He dresses like a typical wandering Rezaindian priest.

His sole motivation is guarding the Quentic faith against the godless hordes of Eskand. For those who drop their arms and place their faith in the Pentad, he will offer leniency. To the ones that refuse, Gèrard will give them Echeran's peace in the most painful way imagineable.

Gèrard is a broken man. There is still a decent person on the inside, but that person is drowning underneath a sea of pain and loss. He has slowly begun to withdraw from the world, no longer able convey his feelings to those around him. When fighting the pagans of Eskand however, he will grow frantic to the point of madness.

B A C K G R O U N D__ _ _ _ _

The Vauquelin departed on her maiden voyage as the first flowers of Verdi bloomed. She was bound for the eastern coast of Drudgunze. Among her passengers were various merchants, five Quentic priests, and a small party of mercenaries. The round trip was supposed to take 30 days. The vessel failed to return to harbor well after the expected date and was assumed to be lost at sea. Months passed, until one day an Eskandish longship was captured, its party having been wiped out after a coastal raid. Gèrard was one of several slaves liberated from the vessel. He was very weak after being forced to row for miles with little in the way of rest or sustenance. Gèrard was one of the priests aboard the Vauquelin, as well as the only known survivor. From him it was learned that the Vauquelin and all those aboard were captured by raiders and taken back to Eskand as plunder. However, when asked about his experiences as a slave or the condition of his fellow passengers, Gèrard continually refused to elaborate.

Gèrard spent most of his life as a normal Rezaindian priest. He once followed the way of grey, traveling to distant lands in order to conduct burial rites and commemorate the dead. He, like the other holy men and women aboard the Vauquelin, hoped to spread Quentism to the foreign cultures in the south. A terrible fate befell the ship, one that Gèrard is unwilling to speak of to this day. Whatever transpired, it caused him to annul his vows as a Grey Rezaindian and don the red cloak of a warrior monk. He sharpened his blade and refined his magic towards more violent pursuits. He believes the only way to protect the true faith is by wiping out all others, and his body count grows by the day. Gèrard's one man holy war has given him a reputation, along with the nickname "Flame of Extermination".

I N V E N T O R Y__ _ _ _ _

❖ An ironwood staff inlaid with a crystal sphere
❖ Several bottles of oil and other flammable mediums
❖ An inscribed steel dagger
❖ The Book of Wrath
❖ A light leather bag containing provisions

T H E G I F T__ _ _ _ _

Blood type: Truecaster
Preferred School: Arcane
Wheel rating: 4

Gèrard was once a well rounded practitioner of magic, but he now uses Arcane magic almost exclusively. Driven by a single minded thirst for revenge, he obsessively refined his art into what the history books now call "Deep Arcane". It is a path focused on pure destruction, with as many ways to destroy a person as there are scales on a Golden Kite. He is an extremely dangerous opponent to face one on one. It is recommended to engage him at night, in greater numbers, and with as much indirect fire as one can muster.

Gèrard has an intuitive understanding of the Gift that allows him to push the limits of the Arcane to the absolute peak. He manipulates heat and light equally well, and is just as likely to cremate you with a fireball as he is with a light beam. Though he tends to wield magic like a sledgehammer, he can also get quite creative with his spells. A favorite trick of his is to get close to an enemy and use internal magic to forcibly ignite their fat reserves, causing spontaneous human combustion.

S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S__ _ _ _ _

❖ He is well traveled and familiar with many cultures.
❖ He is fairly well educated.
❖ He is fearless.
❖ He is a high ranking Rezaindian priest and can bargain for the support of local chapters.

W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S__ _ _ _ _

❖ Gèrard is an incurable pyromaniac.
❖ He sometimes can't tell the difference between an Eskandr and a Drudgunzean.
❖ His psychological injuries have negatively affected his personality.
❖ He subconsciously seeks his own demise. One day he may find it.

C O L O U R C O D E & O T H E R__ _ _ _ _

❖ He is a distant ancestor of Charles Castel, Yalen's adoptive father.
❖ F92D00

O R I F L A M M E

I will be furiously slapping my keyboard so I can get my character in within a couple days.