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Zan-weset
R-2700-07-08-3,400 | Fenix Tear | ■Header
Identity
Fairytale
Grimoire
Independent, inspective, and supremely confident in his own abilities, Zan-weset followed the moniker that no god is over him but him. He rejects the mysticism and crude descriptions of light and dark, holy and unholy, seeking instead complete knowledge. Heresy, to him, is merely a moniker used by a religion to declare that which threatens the religion. Against this, Zan-weset probes the many facets of the universe slowly and carefully, taking only great risks when the opportunity to do so is clear and the threat is minimized.
Towards base mortal humanity, Zan-weset has gradually become numb at worst, at best seeing them as potential tools to an end in helping to reach new artifacts or pieces of knowledge. After all, such beings seem to come and go like the leaves of a tree, and he has learned to not get overly attached to such. To those longer lived races, Zan-weset is inherently wary to commence anything approaching friendships, though does have scholarly ties to a few communities in the deep ocean.
Towards base mortal humanity, Zan-weset has gradually become numb at worst, at best seeing them as potential tools to an end in helping to reach new artifacts or pieces of knowledge. After all, such beings seem to come and go like the leaves of a tree, and he has learned to not get overly attached to such. To those longer lived races, Zan-weset is inherently wary to commence anything approaching friendships, though does have scholarly ties to a few communities in the deep ocean.
Fairytale
Born once in ancient Numer, to the east of the lands in existence today, Zan-weset lived a fairly normal life as a rising star among the nobility. As humanity heaved to and fro, the age of heroes bringing prosperity and ruin seemingly at random, Numer thrived and Zan-weset studied the magics of the soul and all that lay within. He came under the eye of one of the Pharoh's Magisters, that court of seers, masters in their art, and soon enough was under the tutelage of that man. Growing in knowledge and expertise, it would not be long before Zan-weset's experiments came close to that of the black arts, the arts of death. Seeking to prolong life against disease and falter was a noble goal, true, yet the student sought to do so through means disapproved of by the Magister. While he was reprimanded and punished, Zan-weset continued his experiments in secret, believing that there was a gem of possibility hidden among the superstition and caution.
In time, Zan-weset rose to be a Magister himself. His studies had never fully slowed, not in the face of scrutiny when it was suspected that the tombs were robbed, not in the face of exhaustion when his examinations and tests took up most of the day from dawn to dusk, and with the newfound time as a Magister Zan-weset set about truly discovering the mysteries of the soul and all which was kept within. There were seldom times that such a Magister as he was called upon by the Pharaoh and, in this spare time, the scholar went about researching a method to prolong life without pause. A plague had begun sweeping through Numer, striking hearty men dead in days, and against this was Zan-weset set. It afflicted but their distant settlements, true, yet could march to the capital. The healers had grown frantic against the plague's relentless pace as the Magister found himself sleeping less and less, spending more time in his study than ever.
When he came upon the method, the system, there was but one way to test it. Zan-weset conducted the ritual against himself, a gesture of magic which but accelerated the plague that then assailed the capital. Magic grew frenzied and spurned, grew uncontrolled by all save those few masters, and as the population of the capital screamed Zan-weset watched as the flesh sloughed from his bones. The ritual worked, and life was prolonged, yet the capital of Numer had nearly none left to save.
Zan-weset, last Magister of Numer, spent the following centuries compiling the knowledge kept hidden by every other Magister who laid dead. The city grew to be a tomb itself as he poured over their notes, their information, their secrets. He wished a method to resurrect the population as a whole, yet the conditions of the plague and his own ritual complicated the usual healing methods. As time passed and the scale of the problem was realized, Zan-weset shifted his goal: If he could not restore Numer as a whole, then he could restore the finest minds of the country, the Circle of Magisters. The issue still drove his research to last for centuries instead of decades, and in the end it was only through the combination of that original ritual with the traditional magics that the Magister found a method that could, hopefully, work.
The ritual's completion attracted a dragon, and while the other Magisters shook their undead sleep away the dragon approached the city. A grand battle commenced, and though the Magisters held knowledge they were slowed by the brush of death in mind and body; despite the attempts of Zan-weset, the others fell one by one to the dragon's claws and fire. As it continued, finally the man who was the last Magister before was so again, and on the steps of the Royal Palace he fought against it. There was nothing else left for him to save, there, and that fact broke against Zan-weset like the storm. The earth cracked and boiled, sand turning to glass shards, and from it the Magister drew great spires to skewer the beast. And yet, the dragon refused death. Zan-weset boiled it from the inside, rendering the beast screaming, yet the dragon refused death. He drew against a different method, working to rip the soul from the dragon the same way as before he had delivered strength to the souls of the other Magisters. The process was long, painful, complicated as Zan-weset siphoned it away, imbuing himself with its power. As a whole, the issue lasted years. By the end of it the capital of Numer was a ruin, broken with the long-rotted carcass of a dragon impaled upon great spines of glass from the sands, and Zan-weset took his residence at the tower of Magisters.
He studied magic in all its branches. He studied magic to find a way to restore Numer to its rightful glory as a jewel of the eastern world. He studied magic to obliterate the meddlesome dragons which he knew would stand in his way. As time passed, he studied magic to study magic. The reasons would slowly fall away with the glacial realization that the way things had fallen were, perhaps, the way they were meant to be. Numer was being swallowed by the desert, and as ages passed Zan-weset could but look out and see only the tops of the highest buildings of the city. There was nothing for him to save, not anymore, and all the people worth saving could not be saved. Even if he had succeeded in that ritual, spending eons with the other Magisters did not sound as enticing as Zan-weset originally thought. When he finally departed from Numer after a millennia of contemplations and reflections, not by the tower of Magisters remained. He marched west, out of the desert and sand storms.
Zan-weset settled in the lands which would come to be known as Mildian, continuing his research and experimentation, only occasionally moonlighting as a defender of the local lands from creatures, bandits, and other distractions. Through this, he would garner a type of mythology about him, a symbolism, a following in a twisted manner. Villagers would repay his protection with offerings to the foot of his abode, small as it was, and the more superstitious burned offerings at altars. Zan-weset paid them little total mind; after all, he removed the monsters because they were distractions, not because they were threats. In time, some villages grew to be cities, others did not, and militias, town guards were formed. The reason for his interventions removed, Zan-weset grew ever more reclusive, though the cult that once prayed to him grew ever more fervent. When Mildian was taken by Alvarez in those ancient days, that same cult made butchered ritual after butchered ritual, attempting to invoke Zan-weset to help them in throwing off the invader. They merely drew attention to themselves, hunted down slowly as traitors at best, heretics at worst, though would prove to succeed in rousing the lich from his studies. Finding the lands suddenly altogether too crowded, Zan-weset decided that it was time to yet again move.
Under the cover of altogether far too many illusionary spells, he moved south to the coast in an out of the way cove. There, expeditions into the deep sea would begin to be launched on occasion, both to test theories on magic and to examine how magic infused life at such extreme locations. It was by no means safe, but Zan-weset was confident enough that that it could be done. Even as cities grew about his enclave in the close distance and ships began to frequently ply the ocean, he still succeeded in remaining hidden to their prying eyes. He would begin making contact with the oceanic civilizations, though, a strange and curious tourist to their cities that had remained untouched by mortal man. So interesting was this, in fact, that Zan-weset spent much time among the various groups on the deep ocean floor, exchanging knowledge for their own curious sorts of magic. Altogether these proved adept at styles that never would have been practical in Numer, methods never possible in Mildian, and Zan-weset learned much.
Eventually, though, the age of heroes came to a close and the great wars between humanity, demons, and angels began. Zan-weset felt a call to this, though by no means was he interested in the moral implications of the conflict and the gods. To him, it was obvious which was strongest, and obvious too that no god held control over the course of his journey but himself. No, Zan-weset was interested in the souls lost - and possibly gained - that he could study. Quickly as could be, Zan-weset joined the conflict and began collecting what souls he could, any souls he could, to observe and perhaps eventually absorb them. When it was altogether over, he would disappear again in his enclave on the Alvarez coast, studying what he had obtained over the course of the conflict. As Zan-weset performed such heretical profanities, however, a nagging curiosity grew in his mind, a question of how magic had grown, developed in other parts of the world. It was not something altogether easily answered from the confines of a room, and perhaps that fact made it all the more alluring to the lich who had found himself growing more and more threadbare in his studies. He has begun to retrace old steps that had been followed but decades prior, encountered issues that had been solved centuries before, found but dead ends where he was certain, and had been certain before, that illumination could be gained if the issue was approached from differently just so. It had grown altogether tiresome. After a few decades at work extracting the secrets of an angel's soul, Zan-weset departed the continent entirely.
He spent decades traveling, learning the various systems and beliefs under the guise of a wanderer, a vagabond. Some systems were discarded, others inspected, and a rare few accepted, yet still Zan-weset traveled Ishgar. In time, he would settle in northern Fiore to study the lands destroyed to that country's east, lands otherwise deemed useless, lands otherwise deemed impossible to traverse. Nameless labyrinths were found and delved by Zan-weset, drawing up curiosities predating the great war, though these rare opportunities ran dry after a few decades.
It was then that the nation came under assault from devils - a supposed test by Sin. Zan-weset was drawn to it like a moth to flame, curious what the devils had brought, curious if they had any artifacts he desired, and somewhat annoyed by their pervasive nature and desire to be absolutely everywhere. He had been involved in such hunting since that very beginning, though had continued largely to reject the various religious applications to the whole endeavor.
His joining of Fenix Tear came following the dissolution of another group, Rotesvaerd, after they delved into a devil inhabited labyrinth to uncover a number of artifacts and stolen holy weapons. Zan-weset's reasoning for such has been generally simple: the young guilds are eager to prove themselves and he has no wish to go with mortals who value themselves so highly.
In time, Zan-weset rose to be a Magister himself. His studies had never fully slowed, not in the face of scrutiny when it was suspected that the tombs were robbed, not in the face of exhaustion when his examinations and tests took up most of the day from dawn to dusk, and with the newfound time as a Magister Zan-weset set about truly discovering the mysteries of the soul and all which was kept within. There were seldom times that such a Magister as he was called upon by the Pharaoh and, in this spare time, the scholar went about researching a method to prolong life without pause. A plague had begun sweeping through Numer, striking hearty men dead in days, and against this was Zan-weset set. It afflicted but their distant settlements, true, yet could march to the capital. The healers had grown frantic against the plague's relentless pace as the Magister found himself sleeping less and less, spending more time in his study than ever.
When he came upon the method, the system, there was but one way to test it. Zan-weset conducted the ritual against himself, a gesture of magic which but accelerated the plague that then assailed the capital. Magic grew frenzied and spurned, grew uncontrolled by all save those few masters, and as the population of the capital screamed Zan-weset watched as the flesh sloughed from his bones. The ritual worked, and life was prolonged, yet the capital of Numer had nearly none left to save.
Zan-weset, last Magister of Numer, spent the following centuries compiling the knowledge kept hidden by every other Magister who laid dead. The city grew to be a tomb itself as he poured over their notes, their information, their secrets. He wished a method to resurrect the population as a whole, yet the conditions of the plague and his own ritual complicated the usual healing methods. As time passed and the scale of the problem was realized, Zan-weset shifted his goal: If he could not restore Numer as a whole, then he could restore the finest minds of the country, the Circle of Magisters. The issue still drove his research to last for centuries instead of decades, and in the end it was only through the combination of that original ritual with the traditional magics that the Magister found a method that could, hopefully, work.
The ritual's completion attracted a dragon, and while the other Magisters shook their undead sleep away the dragon approached the city. A grand battle commenced, and though the Magisters held knowledge they were slowed by the brush of death in mind and body; despite the attempts of Zan-weset, the others fell one by one to the dragon's claws and fire. As it continued, finally the man who was the last Magister before was so again, and on the steps of the Royal Palace he fought against it. There was nothing else left for him to save, there, and that fact broke against Zan-weset like the storm. The earth cracked and boiled, sand turning to glass shards, and from it the Magister drew great spires to skewer the beast. And yet, the dragon refused death. Zan-weset boiled it from the inside, rendering the beast screaming, yet the dragon refused death. He drew against a different method, working to rip the soul from the dragon the same way as before he had delivered strength to the souls of the other Magisters. The process was long, painful, complicated as Zan-weset siphoned it away, imbuing himself with its power. As a whole, the issue lasted years. By the end of it the capital of Numer was a ruin, broken with the long-rotted carcass of a dragon impaled upon great spines of glass from the sands, and Zan-weset took his residence at the tower of Magisters.
He studied magic in all its branches. He studied magic to find a way to restore Numer to its rightful glory as a jewel of the eastern world. He studied magic to obliterate the meddlesome dragons which he knew would stand in his way. As time passed, he studied magic to study magic. The reasons would slowly fall away with the glacial realization that the way things had fallen were, perhaps, the way they were meant to be. Numer was being swallowed by the desert, and as ages passed Zan-weset could but look out and see only the tops of the highest buildings of the city. There was nothing for him to save, not anymore, and all the people worth saving could not be saved. Even if he had succeeded in that ritual, spending eons with the other Magisters did not sound as enticing as Zan-weset originally thought. When he finally departed from Numer after a millennia of contemplations and reflections, not by the tower of Magisters remained. He marched west, out of the desert and sand storms.
Zan-weset settled in the lands which would come to be known as Mildian, continuing his research and experimentation, only occasionally moonlighting as a defender of the local lands from creatures, bandits, and other distractions. Through this, he would garner a type of mythology about him, a symbolism, a following in a twisted manner. Villagers would repay his protection with offerings to the foot of his abode, small as it was, and the more superstitious burned offerings at altars. Zan-weset paid them little total mind; after all, he removed the monsters because they were distractions, not because they were threats. In time, some villages grew to be cities, others did not, and militias, town guards were formed. The reason for his interventions removed, Zan-weset grew ever more reclusive, though the cult that once prayed to him grew ever more fervent. When Mildian was taken by Alvarez in those ancient days, that same cult made butchered ritual after butchered ritual, attempting to invoke Zan-weset to help them in throwing off the invader. They merely drew attention to themselves, hunted down slowly as traitors at best, heretics at worst, though would prove to succeed in rousing the lich from his studies. Finding the lands suddenly altogether too crowded, Zan-weset decided that it was time to yet again move.
Under the cover of altogether far too many illusionary spells, he moved south to the coast in an out of the way cove. There, expeditions into the deep sea would begin to be launched on occasion, both to test theories on magic and to examine how magic infused life at such extreme locations. It was by no means safe, but Zan-weset was confident enough that that it could be done. Even as cities grew about his enclave in the close distance and ships began to frequently ply the ocean, he still succeeded in remaining hidden to their prying eyes. He would begin making contact with the oceanic civilizations, though, a strange and curious tourist to their cities that had remained untouched by mortal man. So interesting was this, in fact, that Zan-weset spent much time among the various groups on the deep ocean floor, exchanging knowledge for their own curious sorts of magic. Altogether these proved adept at styles that never would have been practical in Numer, methods never possible in Mildian, and Zan-weset learned much.
Eventually, though, the age of heroes came to a close and the great wars between humanity, demons, and angels began. Zan-weset felt a call to this, though by no means was he interested in the moral implications of the conflict and the gods. To him, it was obvious which was strongest, and obvious too that no god held control over the course of his journey but himself. No, Zan-weset was interested in the souls lost - and possibly gained - that he could study. Quickly as could be, Zan-weset joined the conflict and began collecting what souls he could, any souls he could, to observe and perhaps eventually absorb them. When it was altogether over, he would disappear again in his enclave on the Alvarez coast, studying what he had obtained over the course of the conflict. As Zan-weset performed such heretical profanities, however, a nagging curiosity grew in his mind, a question of how magic had grown, developed in other parts of the world. It was not something altogether easily answered from the confines of a room, and perhaps that fact made it all the more alluring to the lich who had found himself growing more and more threadbare in his studies. He has begun to retrace old steps that had been followed but decades prior, encountered issues that had been solved centuries before, found but dead ends where he was certain, and had been certain before, that illumination could be gained if the issue was approached from differently just so. It had grown altogether tiresome. After a few decades at work extracting the secrets of an angel's soul, Zan-weset departed the continent entirely.
He spent decades traveling, learning the various systems and beliefs under the guise of a wanderer, a vagabond. Some systems were discarded, others inspected, and a rare few accepted, yet still Zan-weset traveled Ishgar. In time, he would settle in northern Fiore to study the lands destroyed to that country's east, lands otherwise deemed useless, lands otherwise deemed impossible to traverse. Nameless labyrinths were found and delved by Zan-weset, drawing up curiosities predating the great war, though these rare opportunities ran dry after a few decades.
It was then that the nation came under assault from devils - a supposed test by Sin. Zan-weset was drawn to it like a moth to flame, curious what the devils had brought, curious if they had any artifacts he desired, and somewhat annoyed by their pervasive nature and desire to be absolutely everywhere. He had been involved in such hunting since that very beginning, though had continued largely to reject the various religious applications to the whole endeavor.
His joining of Fenix Tear came following the dissolution of another group, Rotesvaerd, after they delved into a devil inhabited labyrinth to uncover a number of artifacts and stolen holy weapons. Zan-weset's reasoning for such has been generally simple: the young guilds are eager to prove themselves and he has no wish to go with mortals who value themselves so highly.
Grimoire
Affinity
Abyss
Origin
Third
Design
Mana | Spiria | Root
Magic
Forge of SoulsThe soul is holy to many, appetizing to few, and precious to all who bear them, yet to Zan-weset the soul is merely another article of study when curious, tinder for magic when not. His magic is interwoven with the souls of those consumed by it, bearing marks of draconic, devil, and even angelic power to those who might be capable of seeing such complexity.
