Slamurai

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

It sailed on a sea of primordial matter, tossing and turning with the waves. It was helpless, like a tumbleweed in a gale. There was nothing to grab hold of, no solid matter to stop its momentum. Just a violent current that carried it away from all it had ever known and loved.

Though the waves of chaos it could glimpse others like it. They, too, thrashed in the roiling mass and wailed with voiceless throats. The waves swallowed them, dragged them under and spat them back out, tormenting them. It wanted to scream, pluck itself from this nightmare and fly away. Anywhere else, for anywhere was better than here. It was about to cry out, but then it saw.

The sphere was enormous, dwarfing it and all the other souls being pulled towards its great blue mass. For a moment, it forgot about the primordial waves that tugged and beat it. The sphere commanded its attention, the only thing of color in the blackness. The only real, tangible, recognizable thing. It reached out with desperate hands. Then it realized that the waves had passed and they carried the other souls away to that blue surface.

It was afraid and alone. The void was cold and empty. Its vast darkness held the great sphere captive, along with the souls. These thoughts brought distress to it and it tried to shy away, although there was nowhere to hide. What was it to do alone in such nothingness? How could it exist like this?

A voice like rolling thunder shook it out of its reflection. It looked up into a singular great eye and it stared back, penetrating its consciousness. The words the bearer of that eye spoke shook it to the core. It did not understand them at first, and only made it more afraid. But then a realization started to form in whatever passed for its brain.

Those other souls that had been cast down to the sphere - they were like it, terrified and helpless in the chaos of this domain. Like it, they had the barest sense of self. No worth, no comfort to take refuge in.

Without a purpose they were lost.

Without.

Virtue.

It looked to that all-seeing eye once more. There was a clarity in that glassy surface. Its gaze commanded him and he understood, for he was a he. A man of strength, without and within. A beacon, an arbiter, a rock, a leader. He stood, suddenly proud of things he had done, and of things he had yet to do. He glowed in the blackness of the void, a torch to guide the souls of that sphere - Galbar. He needed fear no longer, and neither did they. He would give them something to live for.

He was aware of others like him, left by the waves. A chosen few, selected from the host of nameless ones that hurled towards Galbar. He knew they were special and that each would add something to that mass of blue. Some were valuable. Some were not.

He scanned his fellows, a base understanding of each coming to him as he did so. Some of them lingered, some were already boarding their stars, taking off for realms beyond. But his gaze locked with one, bright and beautiful. An understanding dawned between them, a wordless bond, a vision.

With a smile, Aelius approached.

~ Cinders ~

@Aristo Are you a fan of David Gemmell by any chance?

@BlackSam3091

I'm only vaguely familiar with him. Haven't read any of his works, actually, but he seems up my alley.

~ Cinders ~

Nazan

Nazan

Age: Two and a half decades.
Race: Orisiri
Origin: Kerious.
Appearance:
Nazan is tall of stature and has an athletic build, honed by years of training and combat. He isn't the largest of orisiri, but he is well-built, with lean whipcord muscle and explosive energy. He has the grey-hued skin and gaunt features of orisiri of Iza. Altogether, his bearing is noble, concealing an acute readiness and predatory drive.

Personality:
Nazan had a reputation among his fellows as a taciturn, levelheaded combatant, but possessed of great mirth off the battlefield. Laughter and banter came easily to him. While that is still true today, the fate of his home city-state, Iza, and the trials he endured after its fall have changed his worldview.

Like many orisiri, Nazan is superstitious, looking to signs and portents of the gods for guidance. The fact he ran from the sacrificial altar weighs heavily on his conscience. He wants to believe his induction to the Order is the gods' way of granting him a new lease on life. However, the notion that his actions have angered them nips at his heels. Did running from certain death make him a coward? What would they say if he ever showed his face in Kerious again?

Without a definite answer to these questions, Nazan is content to do as the Order asks. There is still honor left in him, and that honor demands he repay his debt to the Order for saving his life. He's matured since his years as an ambitious young warrior of the Iza, no longer needing to prove his worth to others, save himself.

History:
Nazan was raised in Kerious. His household was in service to the city-state of Iza, a prominent orisiri stronghold. Iza combined the martial culture of the orisiri with a political structure reminiscent of the humans or elves. It was a feudal system where land was the measure of wealth, rewarded for service at arms and tended by peasantry. Nazan’s house was of the warrior class, landholders that fought for Iza in wartime and afforded the serfs who tended their lands with protection. As such, Nazan was trained to fight, but also to govern the lands that he would one day inherit.

Iza’s influence grew steadily as Nazan became an adult. It cast a shadow over many smaller states and peoples, a fact that didn’t sit well with several other powerful states. Tensions grew over the years as conflicts became less about subterfuge and cloak-and-dagger machinations, and more about skirmishes and open warfare. To keep Iza in check, the city-states of Nadir and Pesht created a military alliance and marched on their common enemy.

The fighting lasted for years. Campaigns came and gone with the seasons. Iza still stood, yet could not hold out under siege forever. A last-ditch offensive to sally out and defeat the alliance for good ended in defeat. Nazan was captured by warriors from Nadir during the battle. A person of his rank could be ransomed for a decent sum, or sacrificed as a worthy offering to the gods. The Nadir chose the latter.

Sacrifice was not an ignoble death. There was a measure of honor in joining the gods this way. The orisiri of the plain knew this and fought and died for the gods. The orisiri of Kerious knew this too, adopting sacrifice to replace - or often accompany - war. Nazan, however, felt no honor when his name was called and he was led to the altar at Nadir’s square. He felt no pride or elation that he’d see the gods at last. He felt only the twist of fear in his gut and the overwhelming instinct to run. So he did.

His escape should have been impossible, but by some miracle, Nazan wrenched his way free, leaped through the throngs of onlookers and disappeared down the alleyways and into the sewers of Nadir. He crawled through the dirt and waste as guards scattered through the streets, waving torches and shouting directions. Nazan clung to the shadows and bided his time. With the guards in meandering pursuit, he took his chance when a post of the wall was abandoned and leaped to his freedom.

Once clear of the city, Nazan fled to the wilderness. He decided to go north, out of Kerious, across the Maw and find sanctuary in the Aouril Plains. The orisiri there wouldn’t know of his cowardice, but he could prove his skill in a fight. Just maybe, they’d take him in. He spent days eluding Nadir patrols, cloaking himself with mud, sleeping only briefly and living off the land. Finally, Nazan reached the Maw and prepared for the grueling descent down its rocky face.

To his dismay, Nadir riders had caught onto his trail. Caught between the mercy of his captors and the stone jaws of the chasm below, Nazan prepared for his final moments. However, he did not anticipate the arrival of a second set of red-garbed horsemen, and neither did his pursuers, who fell from their horses full of arrows. The riders in red didn’t ask for his thanks, only for his allegiance.

Relationships:
TBA

Skills:
Nazan is proficient in Kin-jak, an orisiri martial art that combines swordplay and grappling maneuvers. He is a skilled rider and huntsman, in the orisiri style of mounted archery. His education taught him of Kerious’ courtly structure and manners, an overview of history and geography and literacy. During his escape from Nadir, Nazan was forced to learn on his feet and adopt surivalist skills, including camouflage, living off the land, making shelters, leaving no trace, etc.

Magic:
Nazan shows no sign of attunement to any forms of magic. Magic was always the domain of shamans in Iza and Nazan doesn't aim to understand its nature.

Equipment:
Nazan carries the slew of basic gear given to him by the Order: a pack containing a bedroll, flint, tinder, a mess kit, rope and trail rations, among other miscellaneous supplies.

In addition, he dons crimson orisiri armor pilfered from his dead captors, with the emblems of the city-state of Nadir chiselled off. He is armed with a broad shield strapped to his arm and an orisiri bladed club. The weapon resembles a longsword, but its edges are lined with the razor-sharp teeth of the polengo shark.

Nazan also carries small totems on his person: good luck charms and idols of the gods to keep him from harm.

~ Cinders ~

Finished up Nazan on the previous page: roleplayerguild.com/posts/4834010
@Mag Lev

~ Cinders ~

@Dealdric Correct.

~ Cinders ~

Nazan

Nazan

Age: Two and a half decades.
Race: Orisiri
Origin: Kerious.
Appearance:
Nazan is tall of stature and has an athletic build, honed by years of training and combat. He isn't the largest of orisiri, but he is well-built, with lean whipcord muscle and explosive energy. He has the grey-hued skin and gaunt features of orisiri of Iza. Altogether, his bearing is noble, concealing an acute readiness and predatory drive.

Personality:
Nazan had a reputation among his fellows as a taciturn, levelheaded combatant, but possessed of great mirth off the battlefield. Laughter and banter came easily to him. While that is still true today, the fate of his home city-state, Iza, and the trials he endured after its fall have changed his worldview.

Like many orisiri, Nazan is superstitious, looking to signs and portents of the gods for guidance. The fact he ran from the sacrificial altar weighs heavily on his conscience. He wants to believe his induction to the Order is the gods' way of granting him a new lease on life. However, the notion that his actions have angered them nips at his heels. Did running from certain death make him a coward? What would they say if he ever showed his face in Kerious again?

Without a definite answer to these questions, Nazan is content to do as the Order asks. There is still honor left in him, and that honor demands he repay his debt to the Order for saving his life. He's matured since his years as an ambitious young warrior of the Iza, no longer needing to prove his worth to others, save himself.

History:
Nazan was raised in Kerious. His household was in service to the city-state of Iza, a prominent orisiri stronghold. Iza combined the martial culture of the orisiri with a political structure reminiscent of the humans or elves. It was a feudal system where land was the measure of wealth, rewarded for service at arms and tended by peasantry. Nazan’s house was of the warrior class, landholders that fought for Iza in wartime and afforded the serfs who tended their lands with protection. As such, Nazan was trained to fight, but also to govern the lands that he would one day inherit.

Iza’s influence grew steadily as Nazan became an adult. It cast a shadow over many smaller states and peoples, a fact that didn’t sit well with several other powerful states. Tensions grew over the years as conflicts became less about subterfuge and cloak-and-dagger machinations, and more about skirmishes and open warfare. To keep Iza in check, the city-states of Nadir and Pesht created a military alliance and marched on their common enemy.

The fighting lasted for years. Campaigns came and gone with the seasons. Iza still stood, yet could not hold out under siege forever. A last-ditch offensive to sally out and defeat the alliance for good ended in defeat. Nazan was captured by warriors from Nadir during the battle. A person of his rank could be ransomed for a decent sum, or sacrificed as a worthy offering to the gods. The Nadir chose the latter.

Sacrifice was not an ignoble death. There was a measure of honor in joining the gods this way. The orisiri of the plain knew this and fought and died for the gods. The orisiri of Kerious knew this too, adopting sacrifice to replace - or often accompany - war. Nazan, however, felt no honor when his name was called and he was led to the altar at Nadir’s square. He felt no pride or elation that he’d see the gods at last. He felt only the twist of fear in his gut and the overwhelming instinct to run. So he did.

His escape should have been impossible, but by some miracle, Nazan wrenched his way free, leaped through the throngs of onlookers and disappeared down the alleyways and into the sewers of Nadir. He crawled through the dirt and waste as guards scattered through the streets, waving torches and shouting directions. Nazan clung to the shadows and bided his time. With the guards in meandering pursuit, he took his chance when a post of the wall was abandoned and leaped to his freedom.

Once clear of the city, Nazan fled to the wilderness. He decided to go north, out of Kerious, across the Maw and find sanctuary in the Aouril Plains. The orisiri there wouldn’t know of his cowardice, but he could prove his skill in a fight. Just maybe, they’d take him in. He spent days eluding Nadir patrols, cloaking himself with mud, sleeping only briefly and living off the land. Finally, Nazan reached the Maw and prepared for the grueling descent down its rocky face.

To his dismay, Nadir riders had caught onto his trail. Caught between the mercy of his captors and the stone jaws of the chasm below, Nazan prepared for his final moments. However, he did not anticipate the arrival of a second set of red-garbed horsemen, and neither did his pursuers, who fell from their horses full of arrows. The riders in red didn’t ask for his thanks, only for his allegiance.

Relationships:
TBA

Skills:
Nazan is proficient in Kin-jak, an orisiri martial art that combines swordplay and grappling maneuvers. He is a skilled rider and huntsman, in the orisiri style of mounted archery. His education taught him of Kerious’ courtly structure and manners, an overview of history and geography and literacy. During his escape from Nadir, Nazan was forced to learn on his feet and adopt surivalist skills, including camouflage, living off the land, making shelters, leaving no trace, etc.

Magic:
Nazan shows no sign of attunement to any forms of magic. Magic was always the domain of shamans in Iza and Nazan doesn't aim to understand its nature.

Equipment:
Nazan carries the slew of basic gear given to him by the Order: a pack containing a bedroll, flint, tinder, a mess kit, rope and trail rations, among other miscellaneous supplies.

In addition, he dons crimson orisiri armor pilfered from his dead captors, with the emblems of the city-state of Nadir chiselled off. He is armed with a broad shield strapped to his arm and an orisiri bladed club. The weapon resembles a longsword, but its edges are lined with the razor-sharp teeth of the polengo shark.

Nazan also carries small totems on his person: good luck charms and idols of the gods to keep him from harm.

~ Cinders ~

@Mag Lev I'll be gone on a trip this weekend, but I had an interest in playing an Orisiri. I'll see if I can get a sheet written before I leave tonight. I'll still be able to check in through my phone when I'm gone.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. III. Finished in Record Time™!

I missed most of the discussion, so I'm coming in with a very limited perspective, but I gathered that souls are a finite resource. There's a 'pool' they're drawn from and recycled into when things are born and die.

However, what I'm not understanding is why this exists when we, as gods, can hocus-pocus things into existence. I understand we're not omnipotent, but we have the means to create. So why are souls so distinct?

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

Trimming the fat

~ Cinders ~

I'd like to ask about the story. So from the intro, it seems like most, if not all, of our characters will have been inducted into the Order as a last resort. I get that the Order has historically been a neutral, semi-religious organization and wants to make headway into Weirn. How do you see the plot moving forward? What exactly is it our characters will be doing?