Teyao

THE WAR FOR MYTHERIA - Isekai Adventure

He looked at the ceiling of his room.

He had awoken a couple minutes prior, and he slept little, for the first couple hours he had been plagued with ceaseless thoughts over and over again, even when he managed to drift to sleep his dreams had bordered on nightmares. The events from the last couple of days playing through his head in repeat and the general situation brought his mood down, so here he was, just staring upward in search of answers.

He was surprisingly... calm wasn't the right word, unperturbed sounded cooler. Perhaps it was the part of him that came from that bastard but his general disposition to bad news after the fact was to just shrug and move on.

Still, the other idiot made a habit of contemplating things when he was alone and this was a prime opportunity for it, the lunch was a couple hours away if he didn't misremember and he had no previous arrangements until later, he may as well use the time.

First of all, who was he?

He felt like he was James, he felt everything James felt before the whole blessing incident happened... but if someone were to call him Zigmund it would feel equally natural. Maybe that was the problem, he still was trying to be one while leaving the other by the wayside, not that it was that uncommon he felt, people only showed a facet of who they are after all and frankly, after seeing things from both perspectives there was little push to resume Zigmund usual attitudes, a lot of him had been steadily erased by the Black Sword for a couple of decades by now, all those negative traits of his youth pushed to stupid extremes with his survival only happening thanks to his not so fortunate encounters and opportunities. Zigmund could see that now and it provoked a spot of deep anger inside of him. Fuck Baphomet.

Yeah, on the second topic, fuck Baphomet and that fucking sword of his.

Even after Zigmund death, it continued to haunt him, he wanted to rip the head off the oblivion prince and shove it down his throat, after all it had taken from him death was too quick and not satisfying enough. At the very least the ritual should prove useful after Kass has his conversation with Zell and for that James was thankful. He didn't deserve to have such a great party, even if half of them threatened to give him gray hairs early.

And how could he forget about the last couple of incidents of course?

Zell being overtaken by that Fucking Sword™, Clive dying and coming back to life, Adam's self-recrimination tendencies appearing at the worse of times, and Fenna's sudden decision to take a dip on a motherfucking Source Well of all things. Only Kass and Mac had proven they weren't troublemakers so far. And even there he was crossing his fingers.

And that went without mentioning the group dynamics, he left HR because he didn't want to be subjected to stuff like that godamn it.

---

Before long it was finally time for him to go downstairs, his steps were lethargic but little by little he made his way until he found himself sitting at the same table as Fenna and Adam, from the voices he could faintly hear the rest of the party was still on the floor above and by the gods were they loud, whatever they had going on was rambunctious as hell. Shortly after Freddy came to take their orders and he asked for something light, after the last day he had his appetite was in shambles.

It only turned worse when the rest of his party came down.

Clive and Mac? Spotless as he could expect of them and he even returned their greetings, but the other two? Battered and bloody, almost as if they had been, no, not almost, they had been in a brawl, and seeing how unbothered the other two were acting, as well as his last conversation with Kass he could make an educated guess of what had happened.

Silently he started to categorize the injuries on both men, bruises, some lacerations, a slight limp, and winces on certain motions likely from strained muscles, from the looks of it neither was suffering from broken bones or grave internal injuries, oh it would likely hurt like hell once the adrenaline wore off but for now it seemed like neither man was in fatal danger aside from the concussions but really, what was a concussion to someone with brain damage already?

Yeah, Kass was going down the list, no matter how necessary this whole thing may have been.

As a stranger entered The Mended Drum he struggled with a new question.

Should... should he heal them? Common sense told him yes, Kass was an intelligent man and if he decided this was the path he settled on then it must have been for a good reason. On the other hand the injuries were not life-threatening, and with the natural healing Melee Classes like they possessed, it wouldn't take more than a day or two for them to go back into shape.

'In the current siege that is just a bad idea' said his common sense again and before his pettiness could argue back it continued 'You also don't want to see them hurt'

Then as he debated the man himself gave him a nod and signaled to Zell.

...Damn his bleeding heart.

Without a word he moved towards Kass and started treatment, meanwhile, he kept an ear to the conversation, his hands paused as he revised what he had heard, then he resumed his work, another one like them or not there were injured people here. Though it meant he missed his mark to introduce himself.

As he patched him up he remembered Kass's introduction and he couldn't help but murmur under his breath "Normal my ass, you could punch a tank and win" Making sure to bandage the laceration and apply some ointment, which should help dull the pain and soothe the swelling.

As he worked he listened as she talked about herself, finding herself alone must have been rough, Mytheria wildlife is not exactly harmless and the fact that she managed to make her way towards civilization and thrive was something to be lauded.

Finishing he turned towards Zell and started treatment.

None of the injuries he sported merited something like stitches or sutures, despite the bloody show they were pouring. Still, in the great scheme of things he just needed to repeat what he did for Kass.

Then when he was sure the other man was mostly fine he finally took the time for the first time.

"The Guild offers a variety of services such as the mentioned magical email, as well as rooms, affiliated institutions, and contractual regulations. The ranks are based on the criteria of merit and capability, with some of the aforementioned services tied to specific ranks" He tried to give a grin then settled for a light frown "Sorry to butt in, I was occupied when we were presenting ourselves, my name is James Sirius, from Mexico, and I am the current leader of Second Chance, nice to meet you"

Regalia

[Location] ?, ?
[Time] ?, ??:?? ??
[Interactions] @?

The world was bathed in muted shades of grey, the air still simmering with the heat of fading embers. There was a charred lump beneath him, it may have been once a rock, or a stump, or even an engine, it mattered not. Now it was little more than a convenient seat. He sat quietly, a bloodied eye closed as his hand ran a whetstone down the length of his sword, his movements methodical and precise as he traced the battered edge. At his feet, there lay a burned man looking at the smog-filled sky, his body broken and his gaze dazed and vacant but there was an undeniable spark of life within, flickering and persistent.

Silence stretched between them like a sanctuary, a strange peace that almost made the violence of mere moments ago feel like a dream. The particles drifting down from above gave the scene a surreal, almost sacred air, the battlefield seeming more reverent than any temple could.

"You always come back for that sword, don’t you?" The burned man's voice was soft, with a faint rasp. His eyes had changed course, fixing themselves on the weapon in his hands.

He didn't look up, all his attention focused on the task "A blade" He began "isn't just steel. It’s a reflection. A reminder"

"A reminder...?"

"Of its purpose"

"I see" The burned man nodded and returned his gaze to the sky "Like us, I suppose. Our path is never really done, is it? Always in need of… sharpening" The way he intoned the last word was slow, almost like he was savoring it.

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

He said nothing, his whetstone moved in the same steady rhythm, scraping softly against the blade. The man seemed to find comfort in it, as though the sharpening of the sword was a prayer in itself.

"I wonder" The man continued "If this is what He intended. Every time we rise against you, it feels like another step closer to something… higher. I feel it, even in our failures"

"Perhaps" He mused absently "Failure is just another form of progress"

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

The burned man chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it "Failure sharpens faith, doesn’t it? Makes us more resolute" He paused, his expression growing more introspective "I've always believed that each battle, irrelevant of victory or defeat, brings us closer to understanding His will. And through you, we commune with the divine"

His hands never faltered, his eyes still focusing on the sword "You look for meaning in every strike, in the outcome, that is the nature of faith"

The burned man closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the residue seep into his skin "Sometimes" he said softly "I wonder if I’ve misunderstood. If maybe it’s not about the battles at all, but about the waiting in between. About the quiet moments like this"

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

For a moment he didn't say anything, his hands pausing and bringing the sword closer to his face, his good eye examining the edge before finding a flaw and renewing his efforts "Waiting can be more difficult than fighting, it’s where you find the true test, only when you truly understand the hunger is that you finally learn to savor the feast"

The burned man lay still, absorbing the words, his thoughts heavy with contemplation. The fire within him had burned fiercely for so long, but in this quiet moment, in the aftermath of defeat, there was only reflection -no anger, no bitterness. Just the persistent question of what lay ahead. The burned man turned his head slightly, his gaze settling back on him "Tell me..." he hesitated, the question appearing to catch in his throat before he could give voice to it "Do you ever wonder... if this is the right path?"

Scrape, scrape..., scrape.

His hands slowed before eventually coming to a stop, again he brought the sword to inspection but this time he nodded at what he saw, then with a smooth movement he sheathed the sword on the scabbard at his side before getting to his feet and showing the burned man his back. He took a single step then froze before half-turning and looking at the man for the first time "My apologies, I wasn't talking to you" He gave the man a slight bow in apology then resumed his walk without looking back.

"Until we meet again, Aiden"

The Burned Man watched The Regalia's retreating figure, his presence fading into the swirling ash. His body felt heavy, worn from the battle, but his mind was oddly light, as if the weight of certainty had lifted, if only for a moment. The question he had voiced lingered in the air, unanswered. He closed his eyes, listening to the echoes of The Regalia's words, the scrape of the whetstone lingering in his mind, rhythmic and purposeful. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, The Burned Man wondered if, perhaps, this conversation wasn’t between the two of them at all.

Maybe the questions had never been Aiden's, nor the answers Mathias's

Aiden 'The Burned Man' Halloway
Scorched Warden of The Ashen Disciples

---

[Location] Landow, Estren
[Time] Sunday, 06:30 AM
[Interactions] @Mirandae@vietmyke

He followed her instructions and sat down beside her, the grass was comfortable and he briefly wondered if this was some sort of blessing inherent to her station or if the organizers had just prepared everything in advance. Before he could start talking she asked him to wait, which he did with curiosity. His reward was the boom of laughter and the stroking of the embers in his chest. The man was tall, tanned, and ripped, his muscles resembled stone with their firmness and he was sure that the earth would shake the moment he wished for it to happen.

He was Akamu Lafaele - Regalia of Titan.

He watched as the two countrymen interacted, it was rare for him to listen to any news, usually he learned most of the happenings in the world through gossip between locals but even with his lack of intention, he was well aware of the relation between his fellow Regalia. But even then something caught his attention, in the large figure's grasp lay a stuffed doll, pristine and admittedly cute but there was a detail that required his focus.

It was charred.

Was it a coincidence or a signal? And if so from whom?

After a few spins and some light conversations, both figures turned toward him, sharing their apologies but he waved them away "Do not worry, I am not vexed" He shook his head "Quite the contrary, actually. It’s not every day one gets to talk with both the Earth Mother and the Landshaker himself" He imagined it was a rare privilege to get such an honor.

"I originally approached Miss. Genevieve to ask her a few questions, but may I ask you to hear your answer too Mr. Lafaele?" He waited for a signal of approval before continuing "Very well, my first question is thus: What do you think is your purpose as a Regalia?"

"Did you see THEM? When you drew THEIR Gaze?"

Regalia

@Aeolian@vietmyke@Tlaloc@Teyao@Aku the Samurai@TokyoPewPew@Silly@rabidbacon
So here's a question for everyone: do you want a discord server for this roleplay? Yay or nay.

I've been ripping my hair out for the past few days over this, going through pros and cons. So, I'm just going to straight up ask and leave it to democracy to decide.

@Mirandae

I am pretty neutral about it, I tend to check very rarely in discord tho, so in here and PMs works perfectly fine

THE WAR FOR MYTHERIA - Isekai Adventure

He answered the question as they moved.

"Yes and no, it would depend on what is most cost-effective, keeping the barrier to offer protection for the city or using the extra firepower. If the big brass decides to keep the barrier it will hold for a while but I doubt the enemy doesn't have something prepared in advance to break through, remember this was a siege, which means time is in their favor, not ours, and if they got half the preparations I think they did then they likely waited this long because it was easier" And knowing the paranoid old man he probably had anticipated that the wait would make them fight all the harder "

Their arrival at the guardhouse was quick and perhaps they still had some luck left as the guildmaster was fit to see them right away.

Once pleasantries were exchanged Adam beat him to the punch and spoke first.

“Unfortunately, I messed up, and I'm sorry for that. First, I never mentioned to anyone that the enemy can see Source Mail messages and interfere with communications. And second, I overlooked that fact when sending my letter, so now the Witch Queen knows we knew when they were going to attack. Frankly, they probably have a new plan now. Again, I apologize for the mistake.”

Adam

He wasn't very good at it.

Once more he was reminded about this particular habit of his friend and not for the first time he felt some faint irritation, it was... frustrating to hear Adam talk like that sometimes. He was a good man and an even better friend but this was one of his traits that needed sometimes got out of control.

But that was okay, this was one of the very few things he could help with.

Giving Adam a few pats on the back he signaled to him he wanted to speak, then took a step forward "I am afraid that the Witch Queen has access to Hacking, I am unaware if she does it herself or if she has a specialist to do it" He gave a few shakes of the head then resumed "Back when we received the message we found it to have been tempered by her, even now I don't think my party knows about 'Hacking', I only know because special circumstances regarding a Blessing from Lathop"

Use the 'we' to signify the whole party, making it clear Adam wasn't alone, explaining they were ignorant but leaving enough rope to involve him.

"At the time we were extremely distraught by the contents and I think we subconsciously pushed the matter aside, the aforementioned Blessing had certain consequences to my physique which resulted in a pathological fear of the Witch Queen" He gestured towards Adam "It wasn't until my teammate here realized he had been using the guild services to send a message that he made the connection that if She could temper with our message, she may be spying on all of Valhaim's"

Involve them, it was their service that was tampered with, also elevate Adam's contribution, he was the one to discover it. He wasn't good at politics, not really, but even he wasn't blind enough to ignore how valuable they were to the whole city during the attack, with all the contributions they had made it was unlikely they would be punished, if he was a betting man he would say the matter would be swept under the rug. Still, it was better late than never, he doubted Adam was the only person using the service during these last days, and sure he may be the only Druid to do so, but there was no telling what other secrets were leaked.

After some further questioning, they were released and back to the Mended Drum.

Mac news was something that he would have welcomed any other day, but in this one in particular he was just silently waiting for one last kick in the nuts to end the day.

It was just one of those.

However, before he went to sleep he made sure to impart some last words to Adam.

"Hey Adam, Tree-Man, look, this may have been a fuckup but it was a collective fuckup, any of us should have reported the entire thing the moment we found out about it, hell I doubt you are the only one who send messages, there are a lot of Adventurers around and I bet a couple of them have friends and family outside" He took a couple seconds to think the right words "Look what I am saying is don't beat yourself too much over it m'kay? I know you are your harshest critic and truthfully thoughts like that will just make you suffer for nothing. Better focus in what is to come"

He gave the man a couple pats on the shoulder before biding him goodnight and then retreating to his room.

What a shitday.

Regalia

@Teyao I demand a bromance-valry between the Regalias of Fire and Water

@rabidbacon

United for a single purpose

I have done part 1 and 2 of my post. Hope to have part 3 done tonight, then it should be posted after that most likely.

On a random side note, Teyao, I have never had a good experience that started with the words "Hello Miss" ! I might have had Nia in character get the ick if greeted that way. 😃

If that was something down the line if ours ever met, if you wanted to lean into it or avoid.

@Silly

That would be extremly funny, though it was my intention for the words to be slighly weird, he just thought about creating a mess for no other reason that because it would be glorius conflict and is restraining himself.

Regalia

[Location] ?, ?
[Time] ?, ??:?? ??
[Interactions] @?

He was rewarded with an expression of ecstasy as his sword pierced through his follower's core. The man kept a serene smile as the bell tolled, his face a mask of content bliss, shining rivulets of light sprouting from his eye sockets as liquid streams of crimson flare escaped his wound. The warmth of the blaze spread over his hands, almost searing, and for a fleeting second, it was as if he could feel the man's heartbeat in his grip, pulsing, slowing, then stopping.

Beautiful.

He turned around, smoky, whispered words called to him from somewhere distant and yet so close. They tugged at his senses, pulling him down and down as a hail of death tore through the night. The sound was sharp and vicious, each projectile cutting through the night with a high-pitched whine, furious as their intention to end him was wasted in a barely passable attempt, in response his sword swung in a smooth arc, his will was made manifest, and a barrier of fire was erected. The heat hugged the air, sealing him from the world in a flaming embrace, obscuring his form and fooling each cruel projectile's trajectory to mere fingers away from himself. Then he charged through it.

The flames clung to him, a second skin that felt fitting, flickering, and growing with every step. He moved forward, but the world around him blurred, shapes melting into a colorful mess, the ground beneath his feet dissolving into nothingness as the faceless figures looked at him as mere shadows, hollow eyes pleading, begging to be released from their dark shackles. The whispered words grew louder, but not clearer, twisting through the smoke like tendrils of thought. He couldn’t grasp them, but he didn’t need to. The fire knew. The fire always knew. It moved through him, and he through it, every breath feeding the flickering mass, every beat of his heart reverberating in the flames around him.

It took an eternity and a second to reach them, his body a remnant of a fragment and his sword a living blaze, he was burning, he was living, he was where he was supposed to be, he would grant them-

---

[Location] Landow, Estren
[Time] Sunday, 04:00 AM
[Interactions] @N/A

Consciousness returned slowly, almost painfully so for one accustomed to early mornings like him.

It may have been a mistake to drink so much last(?) night but after he had managed to obtain a pass for a renowned liquor store it would have been such a shame to squander it, what with that friendly fellow with the deep pockets who kept throwing them around. Plus the old man always said that knowing when to rest and relax was another form of discipline.

Stretching he looked at the bench that served as his impromptu bed, from what he could remember from the night before he had been out partying with someone, the same kind patron that sponsored his way to drunkness and recklessness. However, it appeared that at some point he had decided it was a good idea to wander alone through a park before sleep caught up to him. Quietly he checked his belongings. Sword, wallet, and everything valuable was still on his person, besides the bench rested his pack with his extra clothes and necessities. The only thing missing was that alluring and expensive bottle of Spieran Fire Wine he distinctly remembered but maybe that was a good thing.

After making sure everything was where he had left it and he hadn't been mugged in his sleep he decided to head to the ritual proceedings, the Festival of Lights had been the whole reason he came to this little city in the first place. The old man rarely spoke about his past, it had been only once that he had managed to get him drunk enough to recall one of his visits to the Festival and as he was near the area he decided it was a good enough excuse to wander in.

He wondered what destiny would show him here.

---

[Location] Landow, Estren
[Time] Sunday, 06:00 AM
[Interactions] @Mirandae

There was a hunger stirring inside of his chest, a roaring beast that became restless at the sight of the two known Regalia, like him they could access powers others dreamed off, like him they had caught the Gaze of something far beyond them, unlike him they had decided to attend the Festival and the following ceremony without hiding their identities.

Laura Genevieve - Regalia of Gaia

Aethalos Vephariel - Regalia of Leviathan

The flame inside his heart was dancing with joy at the prospect of pitting his strength against them, would he win? Would he lose? Would he die? All acceptable outcomes for a clash of such proportions. Briefly, he allowed himself a second of indulgence, the idea of going straight to one of them and asking for a duel. Then he suffocated the flame inside his heart until only embers remained, temperance flashed through his mind, he was not some unruly beast that acted on any desire without considering the consequences. For starters, if he asked for a duel there was no guarantee that it would be granted and even if it were, all he would accomplish would be to shed his anonymity which would put a damper on his pilgrimage.

No.

Maybe one day he would clash against them but only if the opportunity presented itself.

Having reached a satisfying conclusion he let out a sigh, he had known there would be other Regalia here but he had been blind to his own excitement, an oversight to correct next time if nothing more. However his decision left him with a question, should he approach them? Never before had he met a Regalia so for all he knew this could be a lifetime opportunity.

Tentatively he made his way to the shrine of Gaia, no other reason than it being the first in line, then before long he was within distance of the other Regalia.

"Hello Miss, may I bother you for a chat?"

THE WAR FOR MYTHERIA - Isekai Adventure

He listened as Adam explained the situation.

A pit formed in his stomach as Adam explained in detail his situation.

"Okay, shit, wait let me think, fuck, wait, give me a second"

It was... bad(?), okay it was bad, potentially catastrophic? it was a complicated situation at least. Leaking information during a situation like this was a terrible fucking idea, but maybe the enemy would think it was a deliberate attempt? Not a chance. It was fucking Saladin, there were rumors the guy slept in his closet while a double slept in his bed with an eye open.

This...

If the enemy knew they knew then the timetable was fucking accelerated into the stratosphere. Forget 10 days they could be plotting to attack right now!

There were also other concerns.

How could he protect Adam from possible inside retaliation? Logically he should go with a slap on the wrist, anyone important knew he punched above his weight class and that would be invaluable once the barriers fell but what about the fill and rank? He needed to shift the blame but how? He needed to attack the problem from the beginning, what was the origin of the problem - Adam sent a message, okay that was the origin but not the root of it, the root was - that the Witch Queen was aware of his party messages.

His eyes narrowed.

Was the Witch aware of all messages or just those of his party?

There was an angle there, he casted his attention back to when they opened the message.

Fear was not an emotion Zigmund Mugba-Zarack was familiar with but in HER prescence? He was terrified.

He needed to distract himself, Lucy!, he should- no, he was panicking, acting foolishly, yes this was uncommon but Hacking was a known practice, of course SHE would have access to it and if she had caught on their existence it was rational to guess that she would try to do something about it.

Just in case better keep it under wraps at the moment.

Walking towards Lucy he spoke loudly "Thank you, the message was not what we expected and it raised some questions but is good to at least have a lead" giving her a nod he moved on.

One big idiot

He paled.

Did-did anyone tell her about it? He tried to remember but he drew a blank, she must know about it, she had been in the room with them, just a few steps away, besides! She had seen how shaken they were, surely...

Surely...

Oh no.

The panic from Adam was making his own worse. He needed to calm down, HE NEEDED TO CALM DOWN!

"Okay, okay" He took a deep breath "First off, stop thinking about running to the enemy that is just plain stupid, it's your panic speaking. Second, second" He needed a moment, just a moment "Adam, did we ever tell Lucy that the Witch Queen was interfering with communications?"

He looked at the man in front of him and his heart crumbled at the sight.

"We need to go. Now"

THE WAR FOR MYTHERIA - Isekai Adventure

I was abou to post but I just realized something, I will likely post tomorrow once I got some feedback

Regalia

^{_{s o u n d t r a c k}}

‎

★

_{P R E S E N C E}

---

He may no longer be a follower of Shiva but some habits remain, quietness is to be valued, hospitality is sacred and politeness is as natural as breathing. That said he tends to be overly detached, traveling has made it difficult to form long lasting connections so nowadays he does his business, and leaves as soon as it is done.

That doesn't mean he doesn't care, he wouldn't do half the things he does if that was the case, he just prefers to burn bright and quick then seek the next battlefield.

When he was much younger he used to be rash and abrasive but time and discipline have mellowed him out, nowadays he is able to control his worst impulses and think before acting, even though his internal thoughts have not changed that much. Somewhat stern and uncomplicated, he prefers to tackle problems head-on, believing that letting a problem persist leads to festering and rot.

His relationship with the cult of Iffrit is friendly, with his home it's strained and with his cult it's complicated.

As a wanderer he prefers slower methods of transport, be it carts and trucks driven by farmers, walking if it is an option if he doesn't have to spend more than two weeks in the wilderness. It doesn't originate from a loathing for modern vehicles but rather a wish to take his time and reflect, it may be slow but it is ever forward.


_{C H R O N I C L E}

---

Born in a small rural town in the mountains of northern Spiera, there were a few things that were clear the moment he was born, cold was his people's way of life, a warm house wasn't to be denied to anyone and Lady Shiva was the Dominant they followed.

He never quite fitted.

Active where others were placid, loud instead of quiet, and quicker to resort towards violence -merited or not.

It was perhaps a quirk of fate, an old swordmaster arrived at their village, he was an old follower of Ifrit and this was to be his last pilgrimage. Of all the other children it was he alone who dared to approach the stranger, pestering him with question upon question, despite this the stranger took the time to answer each one with patience, perhaps recognizing something within him that mirrored his own youth. There was a faint sense of disproval from the elders of the village but that only drove him to interact further with the swordmaster until one day he finally decided to pop the question.

'Can you teach me how to use a sword?'

... Admittedly he was never the most eloquent person.

What followed were some of the hardest and most rewarding years of his life.

At first it was grueling work. As a young boy he was filled with impatience, wanting to leap straight into swordplay, to swing and slash as he had seen in stories. But the old master was unyielding, the lessons were about discipline, the control of one's body and mind. Hours were spent holding stances, practicing footwork, and learning to breathe in a way that harmonized the spirit with the movement of the blade. Even though he was quick to anger and frustration, he never quit. Each day, he returned, determined to prove himself worthy of his Master's teachings.

Slowly, the sword began to feel like an extension of his own body. He learned to harness the aggression that had once gotten him into trouble, to channel his fiery nature into something controlled, something dangerous yet disciplined. The more he learned, the more he realized how little he truly understood before. The sword was not just a tool of violence; it was a path to mastery over himself.

He even managed to convince the old Master to teach him how to use a little complementary magic, nothing like a dedicated caster could but mere tricks to serve in conjunction with his sword.

His relation with the rest of the village changed too, although most were put off by his new obsession -with some of the most conservative members even objecting to it- it proved to be an overall boon to his social standing, no longer was he the firecracker that kept causing trouble but instead a polite teenager that had found a sense of purpose.

But nothing lasts forever, sooner than he wished his Master decided it was his time to depart. As a last gesture, he gifted him a blade, a small crystal, and some parting wisdom.

"Fire doesn’t seek peace -it seeks to burn, to grow. And you, boy, you are a flame"

If only the both of them knew how true that was.

Life moved on, he kept with his training now all by himself, practicing each day in the quiet solitude of the mountains. Though the village carried on with its usual rhythm, the absence of the swordmaster left a noticeable gap in his life. He tried new things, fishing, woodworking, smithing. Nothing ever clicked the way swordsmanship did.

There was a restlessness inside him growing every day.

It came to a head one fateful winter. News reached the village that a band of raiders, notorious for pillaging small settlements around mining towns, was heading toward their remote mountain home. But these weren’t just common thieves, there were rumors that they were followers of Ifrit’s darker aspects, flame and destruction without discipline. The villagers, usually peaceful and insular, were unprepared for such a threat. As panic spread through the village, many advocated for fleeing into the deeper mountains or hiding in the caves until the raiders passed. But that wasn’t an option for him. This was the first time in his life that the sword he had spent years mastering would be put to real use, his mind burned with purpose, and the flame within him truly roared to life for the first time.

Against the wishes of the elders, he took up his sword and set out alone to face the raiders. He knew the terrain better than anyone and used that to his advantage. Perched on a narrow cliffside path, he watched the raiders approach, waiting until they were close enough. Then, with the discipline and precision his Master had drilled into him, he descended upon them. The fight was brutal. These men were not like the quiet villagers he had grown up around, they were strong, experienced fighters who lived for battle. But he was faster, more agile, and -most importantly- his flame had a purpose. Every swing of his sword was driven by years of pent-up energy and a fierce desire to protect the village he had once thought stifled him.

He cut and was cut away, fire was used as a distraction by both sides, for every enemy he felled another two took its place, a few bullets grazed him and his blood ignited like never before. It wasn't long before he lost himself to the fire of battle

[And you, boy, you are a Flame]

...and found 'SOMETHING' gazing at him.

When lucidity returned to him he stood amidst the aftermath of the battle, wisps of fire licking his wounds, for the first time in his life, the cold failing to affect him in any way. Around him, most of the raiders were either dead or unconscious, with the remaining few watching him with a mix of emotions.

It was... uncomfortable, the way they looked at him, awe, fear, and hunger in each of their gazes.

Vitality was still flowing inside him but he was tired, more tired than ever before, around him 'Flakes' were slowly descending and landing in everything, including the riders. He had some suspicions about what had transpired and the reason for the particles falling around him. With as much strength as he could, he ordered them to leave and never return.

Miraculous enough they complied, their gazes clouded.

His return to the village was met with a mix of emotions. The villagers, who had heard the commotion and seen the distant flickers of fire in the night, initially greeted him with astonishment. Some were relieved, grateful for his bravery and for warding off the raiders, while others watched him with trepidation, unsure of what had truly transpired on that battlefield. The strange sensation of fire coursing through his veins hadn’t left him, it pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. He could feel the eyes of the villagers on him, some filled with admiration, others with uncertainty. His mind flashed back to the raiders' gazes, their fervent obedience when he had ordered them to leave.

Something had changed in him.

In the days that followed, he tried to return to normal life. But nothing felt the same. The villagers treated him differently, even his closest friends seemed distant. There were hushed conversations whenever he passed, glances stolen when they thought he wasn’t looking. The fire inside him, once a source of comfort and purpose, now felt like a weight, an uncontrollable force that had burned too brightly for too long.

He couldn't stay, that much was clear, the feelings for his actions were grateful but the knowledge of what they meant was weighing down everyone. So he made his decision. He called a meeting with the elders and announced his leave.

There were attempts to stop him, but he could tell they were halfhearted.

He packed his belongings and took one last look at the village that had been his home. The snow had begun to fall again, covering the ground in a fresh blanket of white. It was beautiful and cold, a stark contrast to the fire that now roared within him. And so, with the blade his master had gifted him, a heart full of resolve, and a spirit aflame with unfulfilled potential, he stepped into the unknown, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him. The journey ahead would be long and uncertain, but he was ready to embrace it with the full force of his flame.

For the last 5 years he has been wandering, imitating his Master pilgrimage, and searching to find himself through the edge of his blade.

After all, fire seeks to grow and he is a Flame.

_{H O M E}

---

The capital of Spiera is a temperate country known for its metal ores, its expensive wines, beautiful ships, and its historic temples. Much has been done to preserve the ancient parts of the city, and as seen from the drones, one is struck by the clear divide of darkness between old and new during the evenings. However, unlike the usual template mainland, the mountains tend to be very cold all year long with heavy winds due to their closeness to the sea.

Mathias's birth home is called Gazet Village, a small rural town in the mountains of northern Spiera.

The main worship is Shiva, but shrines exist to Leviathan and Garuda. The village's closest neighbor is a mining town and one of the biggest concerns for the elders of the village is the new tendency for the youngsters to migrate there in search of a better life.

The town is small, barely reaching above 100 in population it is headed by an elected council of six elders. It is identical to hundreds of small settlements found in the northern regions of Spiera and the surrounding nations.

_{T R I V I A}

---

Likes
-Sour candies
-Swordsmanship
-Cold
-Followers of Shiva
-His cult

Dislikes
-Stifling environments
-Recklessness
-His cult

Neutrals
-The remnants of that band of Raiders have formed a cult around him, inducting others with similar mentality into their ranks, however, the cult possesses a strange method of worship. They seek to attack him, to enter in battle, and force him to enter his Dominant form. It is only then that the surviving members are 'worthy' of absorbing the residue.
-His Master was a relatively high-standing member of the cult of Ifrit, and a well-known Grandmaster swordsman.

_{S O C I A L}

---

Has heard about a few of the most famous ones but has never met anyone(?)

Regalia

Mathias Voss, The Wandering Swordman

^{_{s o u n d t r a c k}}

‎

★

_{P R E S E N C E}

---

He may no longer be a follower of Shiva but some habits remain, quietness is to be valued, hospitality is sacred and politeness is as natural as breathing. That said he tends to be overly detached, traveling has made it difficult to form long lasting connections so nowadays he does his business, and leaves as soon as it is done.

That doesn't mean he doesn't care, he wouldn't do half the things he does if that was the case, he just prefers to burn bright and quick then seek the next battlefield.

When he was much younger he used to be rash and abrasive but time and discipline have mellowed him out, nowadays he is able to control his worst impulses and think before acting, even though his internal thoughts have not changed that much. Somewhat stern and uncomplicated, he prefers to tackle problems head-on, believing that letting a problem persist leads to festering and rot.

His relationship with the cult of Iffrit is friendly, with his home it's strained and with his cult it's complicated.

As a wanderer he prefers slower methods of transport, be it carts and trucks driven by farmers, walking if it is an option if he doesn't have to spend more than two weeks in the wilderness. It doesn't originate from a loathing for modern vehicles but rather a wish to take his time and reflect, it may be slow but it is ever forward.


_{C H R O N I C L E}

---

Born in a small rural town in the mountains of northern Spiera, there were a few things that were clear the moment he was born, cold was his people's way of life, a warm house wasn't to be denied to anyone and Lady Shiva was the Dominant they followed.

He never quite fitted.

Active where others were placid, loud instead of quiet, and quicker to resort towards violence -merited or not.

It was perhaps a quirk of fate, an old swordmaster arrived at their village, he was an old follower of Ifrit and this was to be his last pilgrimage. Of all the other children it was he alone who dared to approach the stranger, pestering him with question upon question, despite this the stranger took the time to answer each one with patience, perhaps recognizing something within him that mirrored his own youth. There was a faint sense of disproval from the elders of the village but that only drove him to interact further with the swordmaster until one day he finally decided to pop the question.

'Can you teach me how to use a sword?'

... Admittedly he was never the most eloquent person.

What followed were some of the hardest and most rewarding years of his life.

At first it was grueling work. As a young boy he was filled with impatience, wanting to leap straight into swordplay, to swing and slash as he had seen in stories. But the old master was unyielding, the lessons were about discipline, the control of one's body and mind. Hours were spent holding stances, practicing footwork, and learning to breathe in a way that harmonized the spirit with the movement of the blade. Even though he was quick to anger and frustration, he never quit. Each day, he returned, determined to prove himself worthy of his Master's teachings.

Slowly, the sword began to feel like an extension of his own body. He learned to harness the aggression that had once gotten him into trouble, to channel his fiery nature into something controlled, something dangerous yet disciplined. The more he learned, the more he realized how little he truly understood before. The sword was not just a tool of violence; it was a path to mastery over himself.

He even managed to convince the old Master to teach him how to use a little complementary magic, nothing like a dedicated caster could but mere tricks to serve in conjunction with his sword.

His relation with the rest of the village changed too, although most were put off by his new obsession -with some of the most conservative members even objecting to it- it proved to be an overall boon to his social standing, no longer was he the firecracker that kept causing trouble but instead a polite teenager that had found a sense of purpose.

But nothing lasts forever, sooner than he wished his Master decided it was his time to depart. As a last gesture, he gifted him a blade, a small crystal, and some parting wisdom.

"Fire doesn’t seek peace -it seeks to burn, to grow. And you, boy, you are a flame"

If only the both of them knew how true that was.

Life moved on, he kept with his training now all by himself, practicing each day in the quiet solitude of the mountains. Though the village carried on with its usual rhythm, the absence of the swordmaster left a noticeable gap in his life. He tried new things, fishing, woodworking, smithing. Nothing ever clicked the way swordsmanship did.

There was a restlessness inside him growing every day.

It came to a head one fateful winter. News reached the village that a band of raiders, notorious for pillaging small settlements around mining towns, was heading toward their remote mountain home. But these weren’t just common thieves, there were rumors that they were followers of Ifrit’s darker aspects, flame and destruction without discipline. The villagers, usually peaceful and insular, were unprepared for such a threat. As panic spread through the village, many advocated for fleeing into the deeper mountains or hiding in the caves until the raiders passed. But that wasn’t an option for him. This was the first time in his life that the sword he had spent years mastering would be put to real use, his mind burned with purpose, and the flame within him truly roared to life for the first time.

Against the wishes of the elders, he took up his sword and set out alone to face the raiders. He knew the terrain better than anyone and used that to his advantage. Perched on a narrow cliffside path, he watched the raiders approach, waiting until they were close enough. Then, with the discipline and precision his Master had drilled into him, he descended upon them. The fight was brutal. These men were not like the quiet villagers he had grown up around, they were strong, experienced fighters who lived for battle. But he was faster, more agile, and -most importantly- his flame had a purpose. Every swing of his sword was driven by years of pent-up energy and a fierce desire to protect the village he had once thought stifled him.

He cut and was cut away, fire was used as a distraction by both sides, for every enemy he felled another two took its place, a few bullets grazed him and his blood ignited like never before. It wasn't long before he lost himself to the fire of battle

[And you, boy, you are a Flame]

...and found 'SOMETHING' gazing at him.

When lucidity returned to him he stood amidst the aftermath of the battle, wisps of fire licking his wounds, for the first time in his life, the cold failing to affect him in any way. Around him, most of the raiders were either dead or unconscious, with the remaining few watching him with a mix of emotions.

It was... uncomfortable, the way they looked at him, awe, fear, and hunger in each of their gazes.

Vitality was still flowing inside him but he was tired, more tired than ever before, around him 'Flakes' were slowly descending and landing in everything, including the riders. He had some suspicions about what had transpired and the reason for the particles falling around him. With as much strength as he could, he ordered them to leave and never return.

Miraculous enough they complied, their gazes clouded.

His return to the village was met with a mix of emotions. The villagers, who had heard the commotion and seen the distant flickers of fire in the night, initially greeted him with astonishment. Some were relieved, grateful for his bravery and for warding off the raiders, while others watched him with trepidation, unsure of what had truly transpired on that battlefield. The strange sensation of fire coursing through his veins hadn’t left him, it pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. He could feel the eyes of the villagers on him, some filled with admiration, others with uncertainty. His mind flashed back to the raiders' gazes, their fervent obedience when he had ordered them to leave.

Something had changed in him.

In the days that followed, he tried to return to normal life. But nothing felt the same. The villagers treated him differently, even his closest friends seemed distant. There were hushed conversations whenever he passed, glances stolen when they thought he wasn’t looking. The fire inside him, once a source of comfort and purpose, now felt like a weight, an uncontrollable force that had burned too brightly for too long.

He couldn't stay, that much was clear, the feelings for his actions were grateful but the knowledge of what they meant was weighing down everyone. So he made his decision. He called a meeting with the elders and announced his leave.

There were attempts to stop him, but he could tell they were halfhearted.

He packed his belongings and took one last look at the village that had been his home. The snow had begun to fall again, covering the ground in a fresh blanket of white. It was beautiful and cold, a stark contrast to the fire that now roared within him. And so, with the blade his master had gifted him, a heart full of resolve, and a spirit aflame with unfulfilled potential, he stepped into the unknown, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him. The journey ahead would be long and uncertain, but he was ready to embrace it with the full force of his flame.

For the last 5 years he has been wandering, imitating his Master pilgrimage, and searching to find himself through the edge of his blade.

After all, fire seeks to grow and he is a Flame.

_{H O M E}

---

The capital of Spiera is a temperate country known for its metal ores, its expensive wines, beautiful ships, and its historic temples. Much has been done to preserve the ancient parts of the city, and as seen from the drones, one is struck by the clear divide of darkness between old and new during the evenings. However, unlike the usual template mainland, the mountains tend to be very cold all year long with heavy winds due to their closeness to the sea.

Mathias's birth home is called Gazet Village, a small rural town in the mountains of northern Spiera.

The main worship is Shiva, but shrines exist to Leviathan and Garuda. The village's closest neighbor is a mining town and one of the biggest concerns for the elders of the village is the new tendency for the youngsters to migrate there in search of a better life.

The town is small, barely reaching above 100 in population it is headed by an elected council of six elders. It is identical to hundreds of small settlements found in the northern regions of Spiera and the surrounding nations.

_{T R I V I A}

---

Likes
-Sour candies
-Swordsmanship
-Cold
-Followers of Shiva
-His cult

Dislikes
-Stifling environments
-Recklessness
-His cult

Neutrals
-The remnants of that band of Raiders have formed a cult around him, inducting others with similar mentality into their ranks, however, the cult possesses a strange method of worship. They seek to attack him, to enter in battle, and force him to enter his Dominant form. It is only then that the surviving members are 'worthy' of absorbing the residue.
-His Master was a relatively high-standing member of the cult of Ifrit, and a well-known Grandmaster swordsman.

_{S O C I A L}

---

Has heard about a few of the most famous ones but has never met anyone(?)