@calmgale also, were the 9 nerds? On a more serious note, are they all still alive/if so, what are they doin' now?
From the first post:
The Heroes; Those who weathered the storm brought in the wake of Chaos and Death have been left scarred...but stronger for it. Though most of the true Nine Heroes remain, all of their stories are told in near perpetuity by bards, singers, gossipers, laymen and adventurers. They are a varied group, brought together, once, by their common purpose; now, they are splintered and scattered across the land...guarding their Mask Fragments, living simpler lives or still pursuing the adventures demanded by their restless hearts.
The Nine Heroes;
Elise Ethra, The Silver Glint. [Beastkin. Runewielder, Genesis. Living.]
Tempa, The Firebrand. [Human. True Mage, Flame. Living.]
Seralleof The Shadowed Countenance. [Elf. True Mage, Myriad. Living]
Granz Granwald, The Gargantuan. [Beastkin/Human. Berserker. Dead.]
Abelene Ayshford, The Iron Imprisoner. [Human. Warden. Living]
For what they're doing, some have disappeared from the map while others continue adventuring or have taken up simpler lives. Elise is still adventuring, Kalayron has returned to his monastery, Sera is where she always is(aka nobody knows), Tempa is a goddamn bandit because of course she is, Knight & Shadow are who knows where, Abelene is the current leader of The Silver Shield(An organization that functions in and around Essia, an independent police force type thingy). And yes this information comes from Calm's mouth directly as she batters me for what I want on my subway.
Also considering Calm & I share an electric bill, I'm out of power too so Danyrr's history is not gonna be up for even longer welp
Title: He has no title, minus nicknames including brat and runt. He hopes to earn one soon, though.
Age: 80 (roughly equivalent to 16 in humanity’s terms)
Appearance: A small creature, looking like a young human boy at first glimpse. Unlike the tales written and sung in taverns of the elves, Dan is only 5’3/160cm, practically a midget by his kind though he claims he’s still growing. Unlike elves of folklore, his hair is pitch black and greasy, a long mess hanging down around his neck and into his big grey eyes. Somewhat “framing” or more blocking out his round, chubby face that has yet to slim down like his elders and display his high tilted cheek bones and swept brows. The point of his large ears poking through strands of hair, fully displayed when he tilts or shakes his head. Somewhat rounded, never having fully lost his baby weight, his body is wrapped in light tanned hide with scratches & bruises from his adventures on the farm and into humanity’s wilds. Danyrr’s hips are narrow and sway when he begins his monologues, his long fingers outstretched as he flaps his arms midspeech.
Danyrr wears by his standard, simple attire. A white cotton blouse, coated with dust lazily tucked into brown working pants. White shell buttons it at the front and at the cuffs, made by the boy’s mother for his “Sunday best” (need a better term). He covers his forearms with a hardened leather vambrace, matching the long leather boots caked in mud and used to shove his trousers into. At his waist a woven red belt wraps around through his pants, polished steel clasping it at his middle. He drapes himself with a maroon cloak, inside runes with silver thread have been sewn with impeccable skill (*cough* by his mom*cough*) catching the light at certain angels. He fastens the cloak with matching white shells that shine with the rainbow at midday or by a fire. Strapped into his belt is a small dagger in a plain leather sheath along with small bags for coins and miscellaneous.
He carries essential items in a bag on his back, along with a plain unadorned spear he can use somewhat as a staff or for a mold to create a more formidable weapon in combat.
Personality: “Small, weakling, runt, useless… My body is small, as is my strength. Even the strength of my magic isn’t great but I can do a lot with it, that’s my one strength and I know it well.”
Danyrr comes off as many things. Elders of his village called him an ungreatful brat, his father saw him as a small disappointment, peers viewed him as a loud bug. Demanding respect as if twice his age, acknowledgement of the few things he was good at causing outbursts and marking him as stubborn.
Danyrr is many things; stubborn, thick headed, a know it all, blunt and lacking social grace at times. However the one talent he holds dear, magic, is also his greatest virtue. His confidence waxes and wanes, fragile and easily cracked but whenever he draws upon his Throe, he becomes determined to continue on. He is flexible and easily repaired, grudges not held long in his heart.
Abilities:True Mage – Genesis & Void
A spark of fire, roaring inside his breast, filling the young elf with determination. Wielding the power of creation, light and life itself fills Danyrr with hope, excitement, a strange euphoria that he lacks the skills to describe. His Throe makes him revel in using genesis magic, urging him on through battle or hardships. Edging him on to continue his journey through the Divided Kingdoms, far from home and kin.
His skills in magic are extraordinary for one who stands among elves as barely an adolescent; illusions crafted by bending and manipulating light & shadow, gravity displaced and dispersed or magnified and the ultimate form of genesis: Creation. From the boundless expense of magic through Kallore and the realm beyond, Danyrr can create items and weapons letting him get away with not having to carry simple items. However he cannot create stable items yet, having to maintain a type of “flow” with them that is taxing on body & mind as it drains him and feeds on the image he holds within. When this connection is broken, anything he creates disintegrates.
Void magic; the magic that feeds on the darkness of the boy’s heart. Dread, fear, bringing to the surface his own doubts and insecurities. This magic he is less versed in then Genesis but he wields it all the same, trying to master it and his own heart. Using void’s own Throe, he tries to keep his self in check during the heat of moments from the Throe of Genesis and his own foolishness.
Danyrr, despite not being a warrior of any repertoire, is quite handy with spears and other pole weapons. Still though, he is not formidable with hand weapons as his own strength is small even by his kin’s standards. He possesses basic rune knowledge (though quite limited), like most elves though his craftsmanship of them lacks quality leading to busted runes at times.
History:
The Dreamlands, the ancestral home of the elves, once arid land that stretched for miles with only the heartiest of shrubs poking through the cracked ground and soaking up the smallest drops of moisture. With their natural affinity to the forces of the arcana, the elves long ago transformed the arid wastelands into their revered and mystical home. Farmers being at the forefront of this transformation, using their own knowledge and mixing it with their mages and rune crafters, picking up pieces along the way as well as respect from the average citizen.
Yulna grew from this trade; a town that sat only a few days ride south-east from Eleyrra and could see the shadow of the great wall that separated them from mortal lands. This farming village ships most of its produce and exports to Eleyrra, caravans and patrolling parties a site seen once a month in the small secluded place.
Annile Heath was born and raised within the confines and luxury of Eleyrra, eldest of her brood. She grew into a fine crafter, her nature for true magic being too far from her grasp (unlike her sister) and took her runes into shaping fabric and the like for the rich and pampered denizens of Eleyrra. Her younger sister descended into the wilds, into human lands and becoming a successful adventurer. Ann otherwise stayed much of her long life in the capital, enjoying her luxuries and the men that & came and went, producing many kin in her life; the last of which coming from her oddest coupling.
Finding herself on the arm of a high noble, she journeyed around the Dreamlands; seeing the ocean, the large forests and farms for the first time. On this journey she met an elf who had barely come of age and had taken up the mantle of his father. Levian, far her junior and a turnip farmer of Yulna coming from a long line that had never set foot from the soil they tilled. Saying farewell to the noble (name changed in each recount of the story or omitted altogether), she ended up staying and becoming further captivated by Levian.
Screams filled the air, tempers flaring up and egos crashing as the two women watched. Danyrr and his father, Levian, were at each other’s throats. The small child barely reaching his father’s hip but he was as stubborn as he was young
Danyrr was the eldest and only child of his father’s, the mantle to stay put and continue this farm was not just expected but demanded of him. Tradition, rules, laws, etiquette, a million things to learn and obey by as an elf. Beings of order and law while Danyrr was of his own heart’s wants, this clash of ideals happened on a near daily basis. His elders, peers, father…each ruffled differently by Danyrr’s rejection of established Order. While supposedly brilliant, the atmosphere within his school was the same, even alone with tutors hired by Annile. His teachers broke the cool fascade all elder elves adapted at Danyrr’s questions and persistence, his strange method at magic.
Teachers couldn’t force him to practice runes, anger building up as his penmanship did not improve and his hand continued to shake as he wrote. His mother even had tried to sit and practice, ending up teaching him a handful of runes but he never got the technique and lines quite right. She had simply petted him, silver hair falling in his face as he had huffed.
He had been found to have a gift at True Magic, a strong will and good hold on it however… it still brought wrath from tutors and teachers. His Throe overhwhelmed him, swept him away in euphoria. They glared down at the small boy, lecturing day in and out about the method to one’s Throe. It shouldn’t control you, you control it, be calm, be focused, the very nature of how elves were was the method to perfect magic. He had spat at their feet.
Danyrr continued to revel in the emotions that rolled over his body as he worked magic, he found strength in it. And so he continued to draw upon it, upon magic and the Throe to stand up to peers, elders and his father. Practicing behind closed doors or secluded meadows, returning home with the embers of his Throe still light is how his scream matches with his father were ignited.
Words whispered between his mother and aunt had come up with a solution that should have been Danyrr’s escape, instead of continuing as a farm he could be sent to the capital to be trained as a true mage but he would need to wait sixty years (adulthood) before he could be enrolled. Too long, he wasn’t going to wait, all everyone did was waiting and it infuriated him. Such long lives yet they relax until their final years when death’s door begins to creak open, the sound finally making them do something.
He was going to leave, now…or…he would have. Dekruvitomen had risen; the elves paying little mind to him at first until he had shattered their Goddess. Her Sundering had created panic and fear across Kallore, the elves closing their gates and allowing no one to leave or enter. Cut off from the world. Only his aunt had come and gone, telling tales of Dekruvitomen and what happened outside and her own adventures. If the boy hadn’t wished to do anything but farming already, he would of after hearing the words spun from under the brim of her large hat.
Eventually the Shadow of Eldra had been shattered, and Danyrr left the safety of his village finally. His mother wrapping a maroon cloak around his shoulders, with a sly wink as she proclaimed that no adventurer could go without a cloak. A kiss on his cheek and sweet goodbyes, that distance between his father gone for the sake of a goodbye.
Danyrr travelled through the wilds of the Dreamlands and passed through the Dreampass, into the silent city and his first encounter with humanity…and what Dekruvitomen had done to the world. Stories couldn’t prepare him, and in the late night with the moon hanging low Danyrr encountered his shadow self. Alone in the ruins of a once great city, the very fabric of Kallore having been clawed and gauged by Dekruvitomen’s pale fingers, Danyrr fought. The Throe he had been told to hold down in his soul was his greatest ally and threat, his determination matching his Shadow’s but eventually winning out.
More battles with bandits, monsters and himself followed as he journeyed through the expanse of human lands. At the Stone of Nine he’s found his trail has lead, stopping to rest and pay respects to heroes before continuing to Essia.