The Captain

Plague of the North

Drusus the Erudite

Catechism of the Gift.

---

"Bear in mind just where you are bound for, Drusus," the bishop said as he undid the clasps on his snuff tin, "A treacherous land full of barbaric heathens. Don't trust a single word they say," he glanced upwards, locking eyes with the wizard, "Never forget where your loyalties lie."

"I have served faithfully for many years, Most Reverend," Drusus said, offering the Bishop of Foleci what was supposed to be a disarming smile, one in good humor, "Bad weather and log cabins won't make a traitor of me."

The Bishop was entirely unimpressed with the quip, and instead of dignifying it with a response he brought a pinch of powdered tobacco to his nose and snorted it. "They are all rapists and murderers up north," the old, robed man continued after some seconds of silence, "You would be wise to understand the implications of venturing to a pagan realm."

"With respect, Most Reverend, I do not think the destination of their prayers will be my foremost concern. Perhaps you should save such advice for your missionaries?" Eyes narrowed around the table as the bite in Drusus' words sank in. There wasn't a single person in the marble conference hall that wasn't uncomfortable, save for the Bishop that is, whose eyes lit up, whose expression could be likened to a lion eyeing its prey.

"But perhaps - oh perhaps - cursed man, their prayers should be exactly what you scrutinize. As your colleagues say, and as mine say, from all the information we have gathered, the plague is most definitely unnatural in nature. It makes monsters of men, yes? It spreads like a wildfire. It is the scourging of heathen man. Curious that it is the pagans of the north that are its sole victims, yes? Curious how the enlightened realm of Dawn is content with simply repelling them from our shores, yes? They are being punished. This trip is folly."

"I'm willing to wager that even if we had their whole realm prostrate before you with open ears, minds, and hearts the plague would continue its work," Drusus muttered.

"Oh, yes, but it is not for the reasons you think. You of all people should know that a week of prayer does not absolve one of a lifetime of idolatry and sin."

A woman present at the table, one dressed in the most current, and opulent of Florine fashions softly cleared her throat and gave each of them a pointed glance. "If we may proceed to matters of practicality, Drusus? Most Reverend? Folly as it might be, we must hedge our bets," she said, choosing her words carefully, the singsong of her southern Florine accent all too apparent. Her lips curled into a wry smile. "And besides, Most Reverend, I am sure you will not miss Drusus while he is gone. You have precious little to lose by giving your blessing."

The Bishop grunted and gave those assembled a dismissive wave of his hand. The talks continued.

---

He had been waiting for a long, long time for this. The trip to the Cross Roads has been an arduous one. The effects of the plague grew more pronounced as he had made his way further north on roads that were simultaneously well travelled and dangerous. Refugees made easy pickings for opportunistic slave snatchers and bandits, and the stories he'd heard in passing from the downtrodden of Vasili had left him on edge. He was fortunate to have been able to accompany an opportunistic, rotund merchant and his many guards on the way north, he supposed. A man dressed as finely as he was, in his cloak and his wool and cotton, walking alone, would have made a fine target. But then, what rich man walked alone? And what rich man walked alone towards the ruination of the north?

Maybe the highwaymen would have given him a wide berth. Still, he re-affirmed in his mind that he was not a man for stupid risks. The lower his profile the better, there needn't be any whispers of wizards brazenly walking the roads of Vasili. He was a foreign dignitary bound for a meeting with the rich and influential of the Cross Roads, that was the story that he had stuck to, and the one that he intended to stick to even with the Consano. As well as he knew them already, by means of divination, study, and hearsay, he could not say with confidence that they would be receptive towards the aid of a cursed man.

And so when he said his goodbyes to his travelling company at the gates of the Cross Roads, as the sun sank below the distant pines and cragged hills, he didn't make straight for the tavern that supposedly served as their headquarters. He walked the city. He took in its sights, its sounds, and especially its smells. The incense and perfumes and blooming flowers of wealthy Florine were all but forgotten to him, replaced by mud, shit, pines, and fresh rain. The stink of human living unmasked. He'd become quite used to it in his sojourn towards his ultimate destination, towards the Consano. He'd stopped wrinkling his nose and grasping for a handkerchief some time ago, and good thing. That sort of behavior would breed disdain here in Vasili, he believed.

He'd talked and walked, mingling with locals and refugees alike, offering alms and offering meals as it suited him. He'd gleaned some useful information from those malnourished thankful, peculiar characters arriving, a tavern being closed for the night on behalf of some royal expedition or other. All of what he heard fit the bill, but it dismayed him all the same. The Consano was so meager that it had posted a sign outside of a rented tavern, yes, they didn't even have the ear of the city's master, indeed. Upon getting his bearings he made for the tavern itself, and for a long while he lurked on the periphery, making himself occupied with whatever he could as he watched and waited.

He contented himself with an alley across and down the street from the so-called Kevil Arms. In passing he had indeed found the sign and the desperate recruiter's scrawl. The tavern, and the whole street for that matter were quiet enough. The sun had gone, and the drizzle continued. But there was, in time, a slow trickle of those aformentioned peculiar outsiders making their way in. He watched from afar, brazen as could be considering the sheer distance, eyes and cloak embroidery alike glimmering in the alley gloom.

Men and women alike, and of all sorts, at that. His gaze lingered on each in turn, and he leaned forwards and craned his neck from his vantage point, the small of his back remaining propped against the dampened structure of the building behind him. He could glean precious little from where he stood, and the words they exchanged were indistinct. There was attitude though, that was for certain, and he could see the seeds of confrontation being sowed just fine. These individuals were just meeting for the first time, he could ascertain as much, and there was a characteristic lack of tact, there was no cohesion and it worried him.

Does the king not care? Can he not find a dozen knights of his own to go north? This is not a faerie tale. Plucky underachievers don't save kingdoms.

The whole situation seemed more and more rotten to him as he continued to stare unabashedly. So rotten that he emerged from his hiding place and started down the street towards the inn. Sorcery be damned, he was much less a misfit than the rest of the bunch, or so he told himself. There was a spring in his step now, a hurriedness that betrayed his frustration with what he'd spent the last few minutes watching.

Griping about the Consano will not change things. I will change things. Maybe.

His pace slowed again as he grew closer, but he made no effort to hide himself. He did hide his demeanor however, taking the time he needed to recompose himself as he approached. His face became an immutable mask, one that was cold, vaguely unfriendly, and above all else professional. He settled himself maybe ten or twenty feet from the closest presumed Consano member, head inclined, chin jutting outward and eyes narrowed, arms simply at his sides. His boots sank an inch or two into the mud as he settled there.

He cleared his throat and brought an open hand up in greetings, parting his olive cloak and giving a glimpse at functional, but pricey travelling garb just beneath.

"I'd speak with your leader, Consano," he said, in an effort to cut through whatever arguing he'd just stumbled his way into, "That is if you have one fit to speak with me. I can wait." His gaze darted this way and that as he waited, from one person to the next, addressing the collective group rather than any particular one. He couldn't pick out a particular hierarchy, it seemed. And so the standoffish question lingered in the air.

Plague of the North

Alright, I'm writing that first post. About a quarter of the way done or something. I dunno. I don't have the whole thing planned out, but then introducing the character shouldn't be too complex. Expecting something by the end of the day.

Plague of the North

Drusus

Character Theme – Catechism of the Gift
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Drusus is a man of slightly above average height, at least relative to his fellow citizens of Florine. He's somewhat wiry, with a frame that's thinner than it ought to be, but he's by no means malnourished. His skin, though swarthy by Vasili standards, lacks the bronzing finish of years under the sun, which can be attributed to his previously cloistered lifestyle. His eyes and his hair are both dark brown, and he keeps his face cleanly shaven and his hair cut short. His features are characteristically Florine, with almost almond-shaped eyes, an aquiline nose, and thin, drawn lips. He dresses well, but the garb he affords himself is perpetually shrouded by an olive and gold filligree cloak, the signature garb of the modern Synod.

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【Full Name】
Mauro Nicodemo

【Alias】
Drusus, Academia Erudite

【Gender】
Male

【Age】
33

【Sexuality】
Bisexual

【Birth Place】
Calraddi, The City of Martyrs

【Nation/Allegiance】
The Kingdom of Florine, The Florine Academia Synod

【Profession】
Sorcerer, Academia Agent

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【Personality】
To be raised by the Synod, to be discovered in one's youth by the shadowy fraternity, is to be committed entirely to the so-called 'virtues' that they have lived under for a hundred generations. Drusus, just as those before him, was indoctrinated, broken and built back up into a person very different from the one he arrived as, so full of fear and anger. He was taught from the very beginning to value secrecy and skepticism, to acknowledge that the world, at best, didn't trust the power he was capable of wielding and, at worst, hated him for it. He was taught not to reciprocate this fear or hatred, but to accept it and, when appropriate, use it to his advantage. To be relegated to the shadows, to be ostracized, had advantages all its own or so he was taught.

It wouldn't be fair to him to say that he became cold under the tutelage of Florine's grandmasters, but he did grow reserved. He took the lessons of those who came before him and applied them, and the passionate young man they took in became quiet. What had first resembled paranoia to him steadily began to make more sense as he delved deeper into the mysteries of magic and the ancient society that had endured thousands of years through highs and lows. He naturally grew into the shape his tutors intended for him, he detached himself from the strong opinions he once held dear and embraced the borderline sociopathic pragmatism that the double-faced sorcerers of Florine devoted themselves wholly to.

He had to play the part of a coolly professional civil servant, dance to the sordid tune of Florine politics as nought but a servant. There was no way around this, and so he grew good at saying what others wanted to hear. Upon full induction into the Synod as a true Erudite he pursued work under the State's elite and ingratiated himself to many of them. They saw a hard worker, a professional whose supernatural skills were at their disposal, entirely divorced of their sinister connotations.

There was always ambition to the Academia Synod however, there were always shadowy agendas at work just under the surface. They had managed to put on a good face for so long, to be regarded as at least somewhat trustworthy by those that held their leash, but in truth they shared the same intentions as their more anarchic kin across the borders and across the sea. Their knowledge must be preserved. Their power must be preserved. Their survival must be ensured. Drusus was no different, and was driven by his own ambitions just as much by the ambitions of his superiors.

Unscrupulous as he might be, he took particular pleasure in the company of others and especially in the exchange of knowledge and ideas. He was deprived of it for over a decade. Those he had associated with in his time as an apprentice had made contact with those of the outside world absolutely refreshing to him, because just as there was so much to glean from the libraries and the debate and discourse of the Academia Synod there was even more to learn from the people of Florine and beyond, even if they were wrong.

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【History】
Mauro Nicodemo is a secret name. The name of a boy who died far too young. It was a name given to the oldest child of Marian Nicodemo, who was a junior merchant in service of one of Florine's most powerful guilds, an institution that had made a fortune for itself and its members through the creation of war materiel and glass. They were based in Calraddi, which was more colloquially known as the 'City of Martyrs' for the body count the municipal authorities of old racked up during the birth of the Church of Light.

Marian was by all accounts a decent father, but also one whose work took him to the far corners of the known world. He carried out the movement of goods, the guilds funded him and those like him, the young ambitious merchants, the nouveau riche, and provided them an opportunity to prove themselves on the more hazardous end of Florine business. He afforded his family a fine house on Calraddi's perfumed canals and afforded them a life without want, and so while he was gone more often than he was home there was a sense that he did care.

Marian's wife - Mauro's mother - was the heiress to the fortune of a sonless provincial magistrate, and had made quite a name for herself in the circles of the Florine affluent as a poet and ideologue. Where Mauro's father's influence was felt through the coin that funneled back to them by way of the guilds, Mauro's mother - Alisanne - made hers known in the active raising of the children. She afforded them the greatest classical tutors of Florine and immersed them in the ancient Florine philsophical and mathematical schools of thought.

Mauro Nicodemo took to his studies well, but he was always a restless boy, and more disposed to mischief on the town than he was to listening to the graybearded academics whom his mother had contracted. That's not to say he was rebellious, but his spirit, as it were, always sought to propel him beyond the impromptu classroom of his mother's solar. The workings of the city - the condottiere and the officials both - always fascinated him. He could imagine himself as a gallant mercenary. As a prominent statesman. Perhaps both? He had no mind for poetry or sculpture or painting as he found, and as his mother was most dismayed to find.

People were always of more interest to him. The interests of people, their interactions, what made them all 'tick' and would make one do one thing and another do another thing. He developed a knack for lying and for speechcraft, and would often put such skills to use for petty things, like getting out of trouble with his caretakers or his mother. For wheedling this or that out of the people of Calraddi. Sympathetic bakers or fishmongers or the like would often find themselves giving him far more than they ought to.

It was a languid childhood, a comfortable one, the sort that so often ultimately creates spoiled and viperous adults. By all rights Mauro could have become the next cutthroat senator of provincial Calraddi. He could have taken bribes and kept assassins on retainer and lived in opulence that even his well-off parents could not have imagined. But it was not so. Just weeks after his sixteenth birthday a cabal of well-dressed, but heavily shrouded men arrived at the Nicodemo estate along with a number of condottiere, and they asked for Mauro and his mother by name.

The leader of the party of five quite casually explained that by means of divination they had determined that the young Mauro was cursed with the power of sorcery. Now, were it not for the armed escort and the olive and gold filligree cloaks the two of them would perhaps be skeptical. They wanted to be skeptical. To be cursed in Florine was to be spirited away in the night or killed. The gravity of the situation was lost on no one in that room. The wizards and their attendant soldiers presented Mauro a choice: he would go with them and his supposed curse would be confirmed and studied in greater detail, or they would take him by force and, failing that, end his life and the danger he posed to society.

He said his tearful goodbyes, he surrendered himself to the party that had come to collect him. Then a lump of tumorous hatred began to grow in his heart. His freedom had been taken from him. This singular thought possessed him as they led him, blindfolded, to a carriage which rolled off across the city, first through familiar streets and then further onwards to unfamiliar ones. His creature comforts were gone. His lessons were done. The young, foolish infatuation with the neighbor girl was done. In one afternoon he had gone from prince to slave.

He was taken from the carriage and escorted, still blindfolded, to a gondola, and from there poled down a maze of eerie, quiet canals. And then there came the telltale acoustics of a canal tunnel. One that did not end. And then the gondola was moored and he was pulled bodily from it and his blindfold was removed. There he stood on a very spartan dock with the five cloaked men, those he supposed were in fact sorcerers. A great oaken double door stood open to them, and beyond was a corridor lit only by paired candelabras. The acrid stench of sandalwood incense wafted from within, replacing the stench of the canals.

Dark chambers and darker hallways. The persistent stink of all varieties of incense burning his nose. The leering, skeletal dead interred in their wizarding cloaks. Propped up, marionette-like skeletons stood transfixed, accusatory or pleading in their artifical stances. The deeper they went into the earth by way of hurried twisting and turning the more interred dead they passed. Now bones lined the walls, bodies were set in vertically stacked loculi graves. It was a catacomb that they walked him through. One that stretched on for miles. A catacomb of dead sorcerers.

Further beyond there came the ascent into old gardens rife with exotic plantlife and sculptures both ancient and grand. Marble. Obsidian. Palms. Jungle flowers. The cool, misted expanse of green gave way to what Mauro could only describe as a villa. A compound, of sorts, perhaps. It was built in the likeness of old pagan Florine temples, with great columns and walls of immaculate white marble. And, for the next fifteen years of his life these grounds, and the buildings that had stood upon them for centuries served as his home. It was an immaculate institution that presided over a largely depopulated district, one that had been abandoned following a ravaging fire.

It was within these walls that he was inducted into the esoteric mysteries of sorcery, and into the ritual-steeped society that had governed Florine's magic-users for innumerable generations. He was taught to control the power that was coaxed from him, and he was also taught the accompanying of truths of 'real philosophy' by those who derided his old teachers as blind. He was made to study the works of Church-shunned hermetics and gnostics by the light of red candles. He was made to wield his power for applications both practical and ritual in his training.

Sorrow and frustration lingered in his heart for a long while, but the nameless apprentice that had once been Mauro Nicodemo took to his studies and his new powers eagerly. He was amongst likeminded peers, all of whom had been separated from their old lives and their old kin in similar fashions. They grew close. A tight knit community of not only scholars, but friends. New family bonds grew out of necessity and shared profession. The 'curse' had driven them close together.

He progressed from the fundamentals of sorcery into more specialized advanced crafts. He embraced his curse and developed more and more control over the powers of illusion and divination, and his studies gravitated back towards more mundane concerns such as politics and the workings of non-magical society. He was to be groomed for work abroad, or so his master explained to him during one lesson involving the extended projection of a false apple onto a table. He would take an active part in the survival of their society, starting with service under the Florine Senate.

And so, just as ritual brought him into the Florine Academia Synod, ritual would also bring him back 'out' of it. He was made into a true sorcerer in his own right and given the chance to be born again with a new name. As was the custom amongst the Synod's membership he elected to take the name of a historic Florine figure of importance, and in Mauro's case he chose the much-beloved orator Drusus, who was struck down for defying a tyrant who sought to keep his power by military force.

Drusus made a name for himself amongst certain less savory circles of Florine society, as much for frustrating ambitions as fulfilling them. He switched sides as often as he formed coalitions. He employed sorcery as much as he employed trickery and social engineering. He was for the most part regarded as an asset by members of the Senate, but he was also regarded as somewhat untrustworthy. He was a man with his own ambitions, with a certain zealous drive that propelled him, and a wizard with ambitions and drive was something to be worried about. He had on more than one occasion had to deal with nameless, faceless catspaws as well as pressure from the Church and the Florine State Gendarmerie.

The Academia Synod's gaze turned north independent of the eternally bickering Senate's. Vasili's war with Dawn was already a fact of life, and indeed it was a beneficial one for the neutral Florine. The traders were pleased enough with the status quo, and so the Senate and the condottiere remained uninvolved in the conflict. The Synod was more concerned with the balance of power - and by extension the plague - than with war profiteering and the guilds.

Ultimately, out of all of the debate on the opportunities presented by the plague and the war came a singular decision. The plague must be understood and it must be stopped. Drusus was selected from the ranks of sorcerers as an ideal candidate and given an appropriate cover to travel north, under the patronage of a Florine senator who had business and political relationships in The Crossroads. And so he went north promptly as could be, far from his old stomping grounds of cutthroat Florine politics.

Drusus set his own machinations into motion, now far away from the watchful gaze of the Synod and Senate both. He had a plan that would completely shatter both organizations' expectations of what he could accomplish. He studied the Consano through personal contacts and magical divination. A small collection of individuals, but one populated by big names, a group with just the sort of potential combination of talent and naivety to help him pursue his own goals.

The Plague would be stopped. He committed himself to this. But he also committed himself to so much more.

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【Skills and Abilities】
Drusus is, first and foremost, trained extensively in the magical arts and had the advantage of learning in a professional institution. He was not impeded by the pitfalls of self-education and as such has a considerable length and breadth of magical power that he can reliably call upon. He has a particular penchant for more subtle invocations, such as those involving illusion or divination.

Secondly, Drusus is a learned man, by virtue of the traditional elite Florine education and the less conventional lore he delved into in his time as an apprentice in the Florine Academia Synod. He is particularly well versed in the more scholarly aspects of sorcery, alchemy, and spirituality. He's also trained in the finer points of the law, mathematics, and philosophy.

In his service with the Senate he picked up on a number of more rake-ish talents such as the ability to use lockpicks and make use of conventional sleight of hand.

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【Weapons/Tools and Magic】
Weapons/Tools
Drusus travels light. He'll typically carry only his most essential reagents for spellcraft, such as hagstooth and scalpbrine, and will make use of a variety of pouches and pockets to store them away. He also tends to keep a pair of spellbooks on his person, both bound with black leather and stamped with the sigil of the Florine Senate. The spellbooks aren't strictly necessary for spellcasting, but they do streamline the process of invocation. They function of a focusing tool first and reference material second.

Drusus also carries a proper channeling focus at all times, and depending on the circumstances he'll carry either a scepter or a proper stave. The scepter is a heavy copper implement that's approximately two feet in length that features acid-etched scripts and patterns. The stave is around six feet in length and is carved of dark ash heartwood. A heavy globe of copper is set at its top. These two implements are intended as a means of focusing his power, and they are absolutely necessary for any spellwork beyond the most basic cantrips.

He'll also tend to bring along some basic components for alchemical works, such as for common poultices and remedies. He's a layman at best with them, but it helps to be prepared, or so he reminds himself. And, for the purpose of being prepared he also keeps a knife spirited away in one boot and a set of lockpick's tools in the other.

Magical Spells
The Florine Academia Synod pursues sorcery in a very methodical fashion, breaking down each invocation into its component parts in order to make the learning and casting into a more formulaic, streamlined process. Each invocation is, at least on paper, divided into several 'Truths', which are treated as components. For example, to join the Truths of 'Fire' and 'Projection' would theoretically produce something along the lines of a fireball. Of course this is all magical theory, and many of the Synod's best and brightest are more spontaneous than the Truth system would imply. The mental and physical strain of using Truths increases exponentially with each addition.

Drusus repetoire is as follows, in no particular order:

Projection: To extend one's reach beyond one's mortal coil. At its most fundamental form this can allow one to use their five senses as if they were 'projecting' themself. In essence it's a more intimate form of scrying, but its range is limited to the sorcerer's sight (across a room they're in, a valley from a hill, etc.) unless further Truths are applied, such as fixate, which permits one to truly scry from afar.
Expansion: To push with the fundamental power of the Curse. At its most basic this can allow a sorcerer to shove indiscriminately.
Contraction: To gather the power of the Curse around oneself. At its most fundamental it can allow a sorcerer to ward off a foe's strike.
Impulse: To strike with the Curse's primal power. A very basic form of magical power, with some of the basic manifestation of magical power (e.g. telekinetic bolts) falling under this classification.
Shadow: To play with or even create an absence of light, often for the purpose of deception. At its most fundamental form this can allow one to deprive someone of their ability to see in a localized area.
Light: To play with or even create illumination, often for the purpose of deception. At its most basic it can provide illumination in a cave or perhaps dazzle a foe.
Fixate: To use various mediums to locate something or someone. The work of oracles and diviners would fall under this Truth.
Ward: To use magical power in order to link one's senses with a particular area or object. Its disturbance will be known to whoever's maintaining the ward.
The Four Elements: Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air are often employed in conjunction with other Truths with intent destructive or otherwise.
Worm: To interfere in the workings of the mortal mind by means of suggestion or confusion. Worm sorcery is best applied against those who are unprepared for it, those who don't suspect one of being a sorcerer. A skeptical mind, or a hostile one, is almost impossible to affect. It is most effective when applied to easier suggestions, such as telling someone what they want to hear. It's far from outright 'mind control'.

EDIT: Changed theme music and removed an extra word.

Plague of the North

GMT -8. I'll give worm and projection some elaboration.

Plague of the North

Alright, I think I'm ready for the big review. Sheet's done.

Plague of the North

Drusus

Character Theme – Four Remedies for Five Sick Dukes
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Drusus is a man of slightly above average height, at least relative to his fellow citizens of Florine. He's somewhat wiry, with a frame that's thinner than it ought to be, but he's by no means malnourished. His skin, though swarthy by Vasili standards, lacks the bronzing finish of years under the sun, which can be attributed to his previously cloistered lifestyle. His eyes and his his hair are both dark brown, and he keeps his face cleanly shaven and his hair cut short. His features are characteristically Florine, with almost almond-shaped eyes, an aquiline nose, and thin, drawn lips. He dresses well, but the garb he affords himself is perpetually shrouded by an olive and gold filligree cloak, the signature garb of the modern Synod.

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【Full Name】
Mauro Nicodemo

【Alias】
Drusus, Academia Erudite

【Gender】
Male

【Age】
33

【Sexuality】
Bisexual

【Birth Place】
Calraddi, The City of Martyrs

【Nation/Allegiance】
The Kingdom of Florine, The Florine Academia Synod

【Profession】
Sorcerer, Academia Agent

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【Personality】
To be raised by the Synod, to be discovered in one's youth by the shadowy fraternity, is to be committed entirely to the so-called 'virtues' that they have lived under for a hundred generations. Drusus, just as those before him, was indoctrinated, broken and built back up into a person very different from the one he arrived as, so full of fear and anger. He was taught from the very beginning to value secrecy and skepticism, to acknowledge that the world, at best, didn't trust the power he was capable of wielding and, at worst, hated him for it. He was taught not to reciprocate this fear or hatred, but to accept it and, when appropriate, use it to his advantage. To be relegated to the shadows, to be ostracized, had advantages all its own or so he was taught.

It wouldn't be fair to him to say that he became cold under the tutelage of Florine's grandmasters, but he did grow reserved. He took the lessons of those who came before him and applied them, and the passionate young man they took in became quiet. What had first resembled paranoia to him steadily began to make more sense as he delved deeper into the mysteries of magic and the ancient society that had endured thousands of years through highs and lows. He naturally grew into the shape his tutors intended for him, he detached himself from the strong opinions he once held dear and embraced the borderline sociopathic pragmatism that the double-faced sorcerers of Florine devoted themselves wholly to.

He had to play the part of a coolly professional civil servant, dance to the sordid tune of Florine politics as nought but a servant. There was no way around this, and so he grew good at saying what others wanted to hear. Upon full induction into the Synod as a true Erudite he pursued work under the State's elite and ingratiated himself to many of them. They saw a hard worker, a professional whose supernatural skills were at their disposal, entirely divorced of their sinister connotations.

There was always ambition to the Academia Synod however, there were always shadowy agendas at work just under the surface. They had managed to put on a good face for so long, to be regarded as at least somewhat trustworthy by those that held their leash, but in truth they shared the same intentions as their more anarchic kin across the borders and across the sea. Their knowledge must be preserved. Their power must be preserved. Their survival must be ensured. Drusus was no different, and was driven by his own ambitions just as much by the ambitions of his superiors.

Unscrupulous as he might be, he took particular pleasure in the company of others and especially in the exchange of knowledge and ideas. He was deprived of it for over a decade. Those he had associated with in his time as an apprentice had made contact with those of the outside world absolutely refreshing to him, because just as there was so much to glean from the libraries and the debate and discourse of the Academia Synod there was even more to learn from the people of Florine and beyond, even if they were wrong.

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【History】
Mauro Nicodemo is a secret name. The name of a boy who died far too young. It was a name given to the oldest child of Marian Nicodemo, who was a junior merchant in service of one of Florine's most powerful guilds, an institution that had made a fortune for itself and its members through the creation of war materiel and glass. They were based in Calraddi, which was more colloquially known as the 'City of Martyrs' for the body count the municipal authorities of old racked up during the birth of the Church of Light.

Marian was by all accounts a decent father, but also one whose work took him to the far corners of the known world. He carried out the movement of goods, the guilds funded him and those like him, the young ambitious merchants, the nouveau riche, and provided them an opportunity to prove themselves on the more hazardous end of Florine business. He afforded his family a fine house on Calraddi's perfumed canals and afforded them a life without want, and so while he was gone more often than he was home there was a sense that he did care.

Marian's wife - Mauro's mother - was the heiress to the fortune of a sonless provincial magistrate, and had made quite a name for herself in the circles of the Florine affluent as a poet and ideologue. Where Mauro's father's influence was felt through the coin that funneled back to them by way of the guilds, Mauro's mother - Alisanne - made hers known in the active raising of the children. She afforded them the greatest classical tutors of Florine and immersed them in the ancient Florine philsophical and mathematical schools of thought.

Mauro Nicodemo took to his studies well, but he was always a restless boy, and more disposed to mischief on the town than he was to listening to the graybearded academics whom his mother had contracted. That's not to say he was rebellious, but his spirit, as it were, always sought to propel him beyond the impromptu classroom of his mother's solar. The workings of the city - the condottiere and the officials both - always fascinated him. He could imagine himself as a gallant mercenary. As a prominent statesman. Perhaps both? He had no mind for poetry or sculpture or painting as he found, and as his mother was most dismayed to find.

People were always of more interest to him. The interests of people, their interactions, what made them all 'tick' and would make one do one thing and another do another thing. He developed a knack for lying and for speechcraft, and would often put such skills to use for petty things, like getting out of trouble with his caretakers or his mother. For wheedling this or that out of the people of Calraddi. Sympathetic bakers or fishmongers or the like would often find themselves giving him far more than they ought to.

It was a languid childhood, a comfortable one, the sort that so often ultimately creates spoiled and viperous adults. By all rights Mauro could have become the next cutthroat senator of provincial Calraddi. He could have taken bribes and kept assassins on retainer and lived in opulence that even his well-off parents could not have imagined. But it was not so. Just weeks after his sixteenth birthday a cabal of well-dressed, but heavily shrouded men arrived at the Nicodemo estate along with a number of condottiere, and they asked for Mauro and his mother by name.

The leader of the party of five quite casually explained that by means of divination they had determined that the young Mauro was cursed with the power of sorcery. Now, were it not for the armed escort and the olive and gold filligree cloaks the two of them would perhaps be skeptical. They wanted to be skeptical. To be cursed in Florine was to be spirited away in the night or killed. The gravity of the situation was lost on no one in that room. The wizards and their attendant soldiers presented Mauro a choice: he would go with them and his supposed curse would be confirmed and studied in greater detail, or they would take him by force and, failing that, end his life and the danger he posed to society.

He said his tearful goodbyes, he surrendered himself to the party that had come to collect him. Then a lump of tumorous hatred began to grow in his heart. His freedom had been taken from him. This singular thought possessed him as they led him, blindfolded, to a carriage which rolled off across the city, first through familiar streets and then further onwards to unfamiliar ones. His creature comforts were gone. His lessons were done. The young, foolish infatuation with the neighbor girl was done. In one afternoon he had gone from prince to slave.

He was taken from the carriage and escorted, still blindfolded, to a gondola, and from there poled down a maze of eerie, quiet canals. And then there came the telltale acoustics of a canal tunnel. One that did not end. And then the gondola was moored and he was pulled bodily from it and his blindfold was removed. There he stood on a very spartan dock with the five cloaked men, those he supposed were in fact sorcerers. A great oaken double door stood open to them, and beyond was a corridor lit only by paired candelabras. The acrid stench of sandalwood incense wafted from within, replacing the stench of the canals.

Dark chambers and darker hallways. The persistent stink of all varieties of incense burning his nose. The leering, skeletal dead interred in their wizarding cloaks. Propped up, marionette-like skeletons stood transfixed, accusatory or pleading in their artifical stances. The deeper they went into the earth by way of hurried twisting and turning the more interred dead they passed. Now bones lined the walls, bodies were set in vertically stacked loculi graves. It was a catacomb that they walked him through. One that stretched on for miles. A catacomb of dead sorcerers.

Further beyond there came the ascent into old gardens rife with exotic plantlife and sculptures both ancient and grand. Marble. Obsidian. Palms. Jungle flowers. The cool, misted expanse of green gave way to what Mauro could only describe as a villa. A compound, of sorts, perhaps. It was built in the likeness of old pagan Florine temples, with great columns and walls of immaculate white marble. And, for the next fifteen years of his life these grounds, and the buildings that had stood upon them for centuries served as his home. It was an immaculate institution that presided over a largely depopulated district, one that had been abandoned following a ravaging fire.

It was within these walls that he was inducted into the esoteric mysteries of sorcery, and into the ritual-steeped society that had governed Florine's magic-users for innumerable generations. He was taught to control the power that was coaxed from him, and he was also taught the accompanying of truths of 'real philosophy' by those who derided his old teachers as blind. He was made to study the works of Church-shunned hermetics and gnostics by the light of red candles. He was made to wield his power for applications both practical and ritual in his training.

Sorrow and frustration lingered in his heart for a long while, but the nameless apprentice that had once been Mauro Nicodemo took to his studies and his new powers eagerly. He was amongst likeminded peers, all of whom had been separated from their old lives and their old kin in similar fashions. They grew close. A tight knit community of not only scholars, but friends. New family bonds grew out of necessity and shared profession. The 'curse' had driven them close together.

He progressed from the fundamentals of sorcery into more specialized advanced crafts. He embraced his curse and developed more and more control over the powers of illusion and divination, and his studies gravitated back towards more mundane concerns such as politics and the workings of non-magical society. He was to be groomed for work abroad, or so his master explained to him during one lesson involving the extended projection of a false apple onto a table. He would take an active part in the survival of their society, starting with service under the Florine Senate.

And so, just as ritual brought him into the Florine Academia Synod, ritual would also bring him back 'out' of it. He was made into a true sorcerer in his own right and given the chance to be born again with a new name. As was the custom amongst the Synod's membership he elected to take the name of a historic Florine figure of importance, and in Mauro's case he chose the much-beloved orator Drusus, who was struck down for defying a tyrant who sought to keep his power by military force.

Drusus made a name for himself amongst certain less savory circles of Florine society, as much for frustrating ambitions as fulfilling them. He switched sides as often as he formed coalitions. He employed sorcery as much as he employed trickery and social engineering. He was for the most part regarded as an asset by members of the Senate, but he was also regarded as somewhat untrustworthy. He was a man with his own ambitions, with a certain zealous drive that propelled him, and a wizard with ambitions and drive was something to be worried about. He had on more than one occasion had to deal with nameless, faceless catspaws as well as pressure from the Church and the Florine State Gendarmerie.

The Academia Synod's gaze turned north independent of the eternally bickering Senate's. Vasili's war with Dawn was already a fact of life, and indeed it was a beneficial one for the neutral Florine. The traders were pleased enough with the status quo, and so the Senate and the condottiere remained uninvolved in the conflict. The Synod was more concerned with the balance of power - and by extension the plague - than with war profiteering and the guilds.

Ultimately, out of all of the debate on the opportunities presented by the plague and the war came a singular decision. The plague must be understood and it must be stopped. Drusus was selected from the ranks of sorcerers as an ideal candidate and given an appropriate cover to travel north, under the patronage of a Florine senator who had business and political relationships in The Crossroads. And so he went north promptly as could be, far from his old stomping grounds of cutthroat Florine politics.

Drusus set his own machinations into motion, now far away from the watchful gaze of the Synod and Senate both. He had a plan that would completely shatter both organizations' expectations of what he could accomplish. He studied the Consano through personal contacts and magical divination. A small collection of individuals, but one populated by big names, a group with just the sort of potential combination of talent and naivety to help him pursue his own goals.

The Plague would be stopped. He committed himself to this. But he also committed himself to so much more.

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【Skills and Abilities】
Drusus is, first and foremost, trained extensively in the magical arts and had the advantage of learning in a professional institution. He was not impeded by the pitfalls of self-education and as such has a considerable length and breadth of magical power that he can reliably call upon. He has a particular penchant for more subtle invocations, such as those involving illusion or divination.

Secondly, Drusus is a learned man, by virtue of the traditional elite Florine education and the less conventional lore he delved into in his time as an apprentice in the Florine Academia Synod. He is particularly well versed in the more scholarly aspects of sorcery, alchemy, and spirituality. He's also trained in the finer points of the law, mathematics, and philosophy.

In his service with the Senate he picked up on a number of more rake-ish talents such as the ability to use lockpicks and make use of conventional sleight of hand.

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【Weapons/Tools and Magic】
Weapons/Tools
Drusus travels light. He'll typically carry only his most essential reagents for spellcraft, such as hagstooth and scalpbrine, and will make use of a variety of pouches and pockets to store them away. He also tends to keep a pair of spellbooks on his person, both bound with black leather and stamped with the sigil of the Florine Senate. The spellbooks aren't strictly necessary for spellcasting, but they do streamline the process of invocation. They function of a focusing tool first and reference material second.

Drusus also carries a proper channeling focus at all times, and depending on the circumstances he'll carry either a scepter or a proper stave. The scepter is a heavy copper implement that's approximately two feet in length that features acid-etched scripts and patterns. The stave is around six feet in length and is carved of dark ash heartwood. A heavy globe of copper is set at its top. These two implements are intended as a means of focusing his power, and they are absolutely necessary for any spellwork beyond the most basic cantrips.

He'll also tend to bring along some basic components for alchemical works, such as for common poultices and remedies. He's a layman at best with them, but it helps to be prepared, or so he reminds himself. And, for the purpose of being prepared he also keeps a knife spirited away in one boot and a set of lockpick's tools in the other.

Magical Spells
The Florine Academia Synod pursues sorcery in a very methodical fashion, breaking down each invocation into its component parts in order to make the learning and casting into a more formulaic, streamlined process. Each invocation is, at least on paper, divided into several 'Truths', which are treated as components. For example, to join the Truths of 'Fire' and 'Projection' would theoretically produce something along the lines of a fireball. Of course this is all magical theory, and many of the Synod's best and brightest are more spontaneous than the Truth system would imply. The mental and physical strain of using Truths increases exponentially with each addition.

Drusus repetoire is as follows, in no particular order:

Projection: To extend one's reach beyond one's mortal coil. At its most fundamental form this can allow one to use their five senses as if they were 'projecting' themself. In essence it's a more intimate form of scrying, but its range is limited to the sorcerer's sight (across a room they're in, a valley from a hill, etc.) unless further Truths are applied, such as fixate, which permits one to truly scry from afar.
Expansion: To push with the fundamental power of the Curse. At its most basic this can allow a sorcerer to shove indiscriminately.
Contraction: To gather the power of the Curse around oneself. At its most fundamental it can allow a sorcerer to ward off a foe's strike.
Impulse: To strike with the Curse's primal power. A very basic form of magical power, with some of the basic manifestation of magical power (e.g. telekinetic bolts) falling under this classification.
Shadow: To play with or even create an absence of light, often for the purpose of deception. At its most fundamental form this can allow one to deprive someone of their ability to see in a localized area.
Light: To play with or even create illumination, often for the purpose of deception. At its most basic it can provide illumination in a cave or perhaps dazzle a foe.
Fixate: To use various mediums to locate something or someone. The work of oracles and diviners would fall under this Truth.
Ward: To use magical power in order to link one's senses with a particular area or object. Its disturbance will be known to whoever's maintaining the ward.
The Four Elements: Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air are often employed in conjunction with other Truths with intent destructive or otherwise.
Worm: To interfere in the workings of the mortal mind by means of suggestion or confusion. Worm sorcery is best applied against those who are unprepared for it, those who don't suspect one of being a sorcerer. A skeptical mind, or a hostile one, is almost impossible to affect. It is most effective when applied to easier suggestions, such as telling someone what they want to hear. It's far from outright 'mind control'.

Plague of the North

So. I lost my (nearly finished) sheet because I had been keeping it open and forgot to save it. Which sucks.

On the bright side I found character art.

EDIT: I did foolish things. This should get deleted. I was tired. I'm sorry.

Plague of the North

<Snipped quote by The Captain>

Sure... unless other players appear and quickly snatch up the last couple of spots. Hurry! :P

Just a quick bit of info about the State Of Florine. There is no monarchy, but rather a senate; very much like ancient Rome. Though it's not in the Northern Lands, it's certainly not a hot country (think of Dawn as like North England/Scotland climate, and Vasili as like Norway climate). Religion would be mostly COL (at least 60% COL). Of course feel free to fill in the gaps and add lore.

@Fat Boy Kyle

This meshes really well with what I had in mind, actually. I was thinking Florine would have a centralized society, a lodge or academy or what have you, that had a virtual monopoly on the training and control of the state's magicians. They'd be very secretive, be really steeped in ancient tradition and ritual, with roots stretching all the way back to antiquity.

Naturally this sort of organization isn't going win many friends among the devout of either major faith, but it's managed to maintain its place in Florine politics and society as the safer alternative to magicians being dispersed around the country and largely out of the public eye.

So the character I had in mind, while firstly being a wizard would also be a scholar, having been essentially raised within this mystery cult-esque academy.

Land of Roa

What I have in mind would be best suited to this region. Regardless of the territory I take, however, at the very exact center of the domain is where his vaunted capital city ought to be located. A massive sprawl of red granite and white marble, much of it uninhabited and reclaimed by nature. The stomping grounds of terrible beasts and the resting place of dark, pre-confrontation secrets. The rest is the province of humans, and to a lesser extent, other various Roan races. Obviously that doesn't have much bearing on the map representation itself, but I figured I'd clue you in on what I had in mind so you could get a better of what idea to do in the map editor. Either way. The city is -big-, but pretty dysfunctional.

The city itself is named 'Biarlisid', but it's more colloquially just referred to as 'the city' by the locals, since it's by far the largest permanent settlement in Corcanocht's domain.

The rest of his domain, which is known as the 'Periphery', is all particularly rough terrain, both in terms of habitability and travel, with the southern reaches being dominated by very alien-looking badlands. The further north one travels, the colder (and wetter) it becomes, with the terrain giving way to fogged highlands and moors, and finally bitterly cold tundra as one nears the northern peninsula.

Plague of the North

Hey, I had a character in mind. How would you feel about a wizard? And in particular a foreign one? Perhaps from Florine, which was mentioned in the Kingdom of Dawn description as a neighbor? I had some backstory and motivations that I'd thought of.