VoiD

✯ Our Brightest Stars - Always Accepting!

Sorry, I'll make a response post soon! School just started up again and I've been super busy despite this awful quarantine.

✯ Our Brightest Stars - Always Accepting!

Time: 5:00 PM, Monday
Location: Campus Commons; Welcome Banquet
Interactions: @Aurora Primrose + Anyone who approaches

Morgan looked surprised for a moment before unconsciously beaming. "Really?" He asked, suddenly shedding his timid mannerisms like an old cloak. "I love Plato. And Russian history! You know, they used to call Moscow the 'Third Rome', and the interactions between the principalities and the Byzantines are fascinating. There was this book I was working on that I-" Morgan stopped mid-sentence, a high blush covering his face all the way down to his neck. The energy that had possessed him seemed to dissipate in an instant.

"I, uh, meant a book that I had been reading. Not working on. Or anything like that. Y-yeah. Um, am I boring you? S-sorry." He muttered, his eyes downcast again. "Erm, I did sign up for Russian history by the way. Um, w-what other classes are you taking?"

✯ Our Brightest Stars - Always Accepting!

Time: 4:55 PM, Monday
Location: Campus Commons; Welcome Banquet
Interactions: Aaliyah + Anyone who approaches

Morgan went stock-still upon hearing Aaliyah's voice, before sighing and turning to face her. "H-hello Aaliyah..." He said resignedly. Of course he ran into her. Speak of the devil and such. He wrung his hands, pausing for a long moment. Before the silence turned too awkward, he spoke up again, his eyes which had been downcast prior glancing up quickly to meet hers. "I h-heard we would be covering Plato this year. Do you l-like Plato?"

Morgan kept a hard copy of Plato's Republic in his study but he was scared of mentioning that. He wasn't sure how to approach the subject in a relatable manner — everyone seemed to think it was strange for him to read those things out of class. But then most people thought it was strange to read outside of class at all, and reading was one of his most cherished hobbies. He couldn't understand how that was an unpopular activity, but maybe that was why he was considered strange by his peers. He couldn't understand their hobbies just like how they couldn't understand his.

@Aurora Primrose

✯ Our Brightest Stars - Always Accepting!

Time: 4:55 PM, Monday
Location: Campus Commons; Welcome Banquet
Interactions: Anyone who approaches first

Morgan swallowed nervously. His palms felt sweaty so he wiped them on the back of his pants, which made him realize he was tapping his foot. He stopped for a moment, but quickly started again when anxiety threatened to overwhelm him. "Pull it together, Morgan..." He muttered to himself. He hated this time of year. Too many smiles, too much forced camaraderie — it drove him insane. He longed to flee to the comfort of isolation, to find his favorite corner of the school library where no one would bother him. He wanted nothing more than to replace the agony of social interaction with the solace of his books. But this event was basically mandatory, and so here he was. Sweating. Nervous. Alone.

Morgan bit his lip, looking around for a possible refuge. He saw Phoenix Gallagher welcoming people dressed like some kind of great orange Peacock, and promptly looked elsewhere. He saw June and briefly considered walking over, but judging by how she tried to catch the attention of nearly every person walking in her general direction he decided that wasn't a good idea either. Maybe he could slip by, but it seemed a risky prospect. At least she isn't here... He comforted himself, as he thought of the bubbling ball of energy that was Aaliyah Meadows. Morgan felt guilty for the relief he felt, but extroverted people like Aaliyah were the bane of his existence. He didn't know how to deal with them at all. It was a shame too, because supposedly she shared the same majors as he did. He would have loved someone to talk to about those topics without feeling like he was boring them incessantly — which always seemed to be the case whenever he miraculously mustered the courage to do so.

People were starting to stare at him, Morgan realized. He had been hesitating too long, and people were starting to notice him. Before anyone dared to approach him, Morgan abruptly picked a direction at random and woodenly began to walk forwards. He kept an eye out for the welcome leaders and anyone else that looked too happy or welcoming. They would certainly try to strike up a conversation, and he didn't want that. Hopefully he would be able to find a relatively isolated spot and ride out the event in solitude...

✯ Our Brightest Stars - Always Accepting!

@Aurora Primrose I just realized your character is also a History & Philosophy major, lol. And is the exact opposite of my character in every way. This should be fun.

✯ Our Brightest Stars - Always Accepting!

@Amethyst How many players are you aiming for before kicking off the RP? Just curious, no rush or anything :)

✯ Our Brightest Stars - Always Accepting!

Morgan Mortirmir

Name: Morgan Mortirmir
Gender / Preferred Pronouns: Male, He/Him
Age: 20
Year and Degree Program: History & Philosophy double major, with a minor in Political Science
Nationality: American-Greek. Father was from Athens. Grew up in Boston.
Appearance: Black hair, brown eyes. Pale white skin, a sharp nose and a bookish dispostion. Tall and rail-thin; delicate hands and long fingers. cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/i…
Location and Notes on Star Mark: Large five-pointed star on the palm of his right hand. It is pale white -- but this is actually just a scar he inflicted upon himself to hide his real star, which is jet black and located on the sole of his left foot.
Star power: Small-scale energy manipulation. Such as creating a flame similar to that of one made by a lighter above his finger, or a spark of electricity. This was the extent of his power before his star became corrupted; presently he is now capable of significantly stronger manipulations, though this is unknown to all save himself. Without external resources available, Morgan can conjure a fireball or small bolt of lightning, though this is extremely costly to him as every evocation requires an energy source — usually derived from his own body's reserves. Sugar and fat reserves are typically burned for his power, and as a consequence Morgan has significant trouble putting on weight. He has also developed a voracious appetite and an infamous sweet tooth in order to replenish his body's reserves.
Personality: An introvert by nature, Morgan is seen as bookish and somewhat of a prude by his peers. He is highly sensitive, socially awkward, and has difficulty connecting with others. However, Morgan has a serious, assiduous demeanour and a sharp intellect. He cares deeply about the subjects he studies, and his ultimate and most secret passion is gaining the ability to affect societal change.
Biography:
Originally born into a loving household, Morgan was a quiet child. His father was Greek, having immigrated to Boston from Athens, and his Mother was a local. Morgan was a prodigious reader from a young age, consuming any and all text lain before him. Fiction, comics, dictionaries — it didn't matter. He read them all with the same appetite, though over time he gravitated towards historical topics. His father owned a successful construction company and thus their family enjoyed a comfortable life. This allowed them to enroll Morgan into several famous preparatory schools in the Boston area, where his interest in history was heavily encouraged. He found out about his star and its power shortly afterwards, and from then on had the personal tutelage and supervision of many so-called "experts" on the subject of star power, all hired by his affluent parents.

This all changed after the financial collapse of 2008. His father's company went bankrupt, and Morgan's family was forced to sell their home to make ends meet. His father swiftly became an alcoholic, and took out his anger on Morgan by beating him senseless from the slightest provocation, imagined or otherwise. This deeply scarred Morgan, and it was during these years that his star turned jet black. He became even more of a recluse, even more devoted to his studies. He experimented with his abilities, finding them significantly stronger than before. After a particularly bad beating from his father one night, Morgan snapped and struck his father with a bolt of lightning. Morgan promptly fainted from the excessive energy consumption, and his father was hospitalized. His parents, even his gentle mother, were from then on terrified of him. It came as no surprise to Morgan that he was soon enrolled into the Nova Excelsis Institute with a scholarship — doubtlessly his parents had sought any means to rid themselves of him. He has since studied at Nova Excelsis for four years.

Notable Rumors: He is rumoured to have a terrible relationship with his parents, and to have also written several textbooks under a pen name.
Trivia: Morgan embarasses easily. He also speaks Greek and Latin, the latter having been self-taught. He loves Roman history.

✯ Our Brightest Stars - Always Accepting!

Here's my app! If you have any criticism/concerns I will do my best to resolve them.

Morgan Mortirmir

Name: Morgan Mortirmir
Gender / Preferred Pronouns: Male, He/Him
Age: 20
Year and Degree Program: History & Philosophy double major, with a minor in Political Science
Nationality: American-Greek. Father was from Athens. Grew up in Boston.
Appearance: Black hair, brown eyes. Pale white skin, a sharp nose and a bookish dispostion. Tall and rail-thin; delicate hands and long fingers. cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/i…
Location and Notes on Star Mark: Large five-pointed star on the palm of his right hand. It is pale white -- but this is actually just a scar he inflicted upon himself to hide his real star, which is jet black and located on the sole of his left foot.
Star power: Small-scale energy manipulation. Such as creating a flame similar to that of one made by a lighter above his finger, or a spark of electricity. This was the extent of his power before his star became corrupted; presently he is now capable of significantly stronger manipulations, though this is unknown to all save himself. Without external resources available, Morgan can conjure a fireball or small bolt of lightning, though this is extremely costly to him as every evocation requires an energy source — usually derived from his own body's reserves. Sugar and fat reserves are typically burned for his power, and as a consequence Morgan has significant trouble putting on weight. He has also developed a voracious appetite and an infamous sweet tooth in order to replenish his body's reserves.
Personality: An introvert by nature, Morgan is seen as bookish and somewhat of a prude by his peers. He is highly sensitive, socially awkward, and has difficulty connecting with others. However, Morgan has a serious, assiduous demeanour and a sharp intellect. He cares deeply about the subjects he studies, and his ultimate and most secret passion is gaining the ability to affect societal change.
Biography:
Originally born into a loving household, Morgan was a quiet child. His father was Greek, having immigrated to Boston from Athens, and his Mother was a local. Morgan was a prodigious reader from a young age, consuming any and all text lain before him. Fiction, comics, dictionaries — it didn't matter. He read them all with the same appetite, though over time he gravitated towards historical topics. His father owned a successful construction company and thus their family enjoyed a comfortable life. This allowed them to enroll Morgan into several famous preparatory schools in the Boston area, where his interest in history was heavily encouraged. He found out about his star and its power shortly afterwards, and from then on had the personal tutelage and supervision of many so-called "experts" on the subject of star power, all hired by his affluent parents.

This all changed after the financial collapse of 2008. His father's company went bankrupt, and Morgan's family was forced to sell their home to make ends meet. His father swiftly became an alcoholic, and took out his anger on Morgan by beating him senseless from the slightest provocation, imagined or otherwise. This deeply scarred Morgan, and it was during these years that his star turned jet black. He became even more of a recluse, even more devoted to his studies. He experimented with his abilities, finding them significantly stronger than before. After a particularly bad beating from his father one night, Morgan snapped and struck his father with a bolt of lightning. Morgan promptly fainted from the excessive energy consumption, and his father was hospitalized. His parents, even his gentle mother, were from then on terrified of him. It came as no surprise to Morgan that he was soon enrolled into the Nova Excelsis Institute with a scholarship — doubtlessly his parents had sought any means to rid themselves of him. He has since studied at Nova Excelsis for four years.

Notable Rumors: He is rumoured to have a terrible relationship with his parents, and to have also written several textbooks under a pen name.
Trivia: Morgan embarasses easily. He also speaks Greek and Latin, the latter having been self-taught. He loves Roman history.

☀ THE DEVOURER CYCLE — Act I ☀

The journey had been a relatively pleasant one, compared to others that Mazyar had been on. The terrain had been mountainous, true, and perhaps difficult for some of their party who were not used to such hardship. But, as Mazyar noted to himself wryly, it was no Screaming Sands, and the most difficult part of this trip for him was dealing with the constant questioning of his sparabara, a young boy of thirteen named Mazis with an intensely inquisitive nature. That, and doing his best to deal with his Lord's brooding.

Mazyar sighed. He was, in truth, conflicted about his lord. Siddayumi Anabinpāl was not a poor master as far as they went—he tried hard to win the love and loyalty of his subjects—but Mazyar could not shake the discomfort he felt from Anabinpāl's bestial appearance and mannerisms. He felt more like he was serving an ape dressed in fine clothes than a great Lord and head of the vaunted Sidda family. But this was an unworthy thought, especially for one of Mazyar's reputation.

His reputation.

Mazyar had garnered many titles over the years: Windchaser, Magebane, Swiftspear. Once they had filled him with pride; now they simply brought him an empty weariness. They were accolades he had once earned but perhaps no longer deserved, and their upkeep required him to pretend he was still the spry young man he had been when they were given. A man whose joints did not ache, whose breath did not desert him from rudimentary excercise, a man who did not have grey in his beard and wrinkles across his face.

His time amongst the Jalwarudi had robbed him of his lust for glory and fame. For a precious few years, they had shown him what a peaceful life unmarred by constant adventuring and fighting may have been like. He had once disdained such a lifestyle; now he craved it. But Mazyar knew he would never be able to return to those days, not after she had died, and that—

A commotion at the front of their party interrupted his ruminations.

Mazyar peered ahead and saw the Carogacts brazenly snatching a goat in their train. He heard the angry words exchanged, but his first instinct was not to ride forth as it once may have been but instead was to grab his sparabara's wrist.

"You must be cautious." Mazyar chastised.

"But they attac-" The boy began heatedly.

"Mazis." Mazyar's voice was stern, brooking no argument. "It is already well in-hand. And they are men grown, and you merely a boy."

Mazis flushed an angry red but said nothing, and settled into a sullen silence. But there was truth to Mazyar's words, as even as they watched Lord Anabinpāl laid out a pair of Carogacts unfortunate enough to be close to him. Mazyar had to admit that Anabinpāl's strength was simply monstrous, and unlike most he knew how to use it properly. Nantunipāl had clearly not skimped on his training.

Mazyar spotted the Carogact Chieftain's approach, and glanced at Mazis. He considered for a moment, before reaching out and ruffling the boy's hair—dark brown and curled, like his own—and whispered to him. "Patience, Mazis. Now watch carefully."

"Is this how you Carogacts hail a fellow tribe?” Anabinpāl asked. “Unsheathing your swords and ganging up at every sign of commotion? Your chief must be proud of you.”

Mazyar frowned. Did his lord not realize he was already speaking to the Chieftain?

“You are right; I am not proud of the spoiled apples in my bunch.” The Carogact Chieftain spoke softly. “The few.” And then with great dignity, Chieftain Lubbo reined in front of his men so that they were squarely behind him. “Who spoke the first insult, and who drew their weapon first?” Lubbo dismounted slowly, and spoke to Anabinpāl in a cool tone. “Our men almost died because of one goat.”

“Happens more often than one’d admit. Cattle are scheming beasts. They confuse us on which of us get to butcher them, and make us butcher each other instead,” Anabinpāl replied, and Mazyar made an almost silent noise at his sarcasm. His lord was badly angered, it seemed.

Lubbo gave a sardonic smile. “You and your tribesmen are welcome in our long hall tonight. We’ll have wine and mutton.”

Anabinpāl seemed to pause, before replying. “Do not let it be thought that we Mikanna are ungrateful for the Carogacts’ hospitality, Chief Lubbo,” he said, before another pause. “But we know that the other tribes have made… assumptions about us. I would like it if we did not feed these assumptions further, so… It’s my opinion that it’s best if we honor your offer, perhaps after the conferring.”

Mazyar's lord glanced at the wounded man before continuing. “It would have been better if we hadn’t met over such an incident, but… such is fate. We did not come with a baggage train; the goat must have been yours. But one bad turn only leads to another. I had to stop these fools before their cockiness caused further incident. Still, we have the culprit; best make an example of that goat before others can follow in its wake.”

Mazyar raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised at the shrewd suggestion.

Lubbo clasped his hands together with a thoughtful noise. “Aye, it would be a bad omen unless we give this creature up to the gods. Only they can have it." The Chieftain said, before collecting his people and speaking his goodbyes. As the Carogacts returned to their camp, Mazyar motioned for Mazis to accompany him as he approached Anabinpāl.

"My Lord, are you well? I am at your service."

☀ THE DEVOURER CYCLE — Act I ☀

Mazyar Windchaser

Mazyar Windchaser

Mazyar is not an openly vain man, but any old soldier of similar repute will boast of their adventures when they're deep in their cups... And so, there are some that know his story as told by him, and recall it going somewhat like this. "I was born a low-ranking member of the Sidda family, whose roots lay in old Nhir. My father was the fifth brother of one of the branch families, and my mother a local aristocrat's daughter with almost as much commoner in her as noble. As far back as I can remember, father was embroiled in the internal politics of the family; always jockeying for position, always vying for the smallest of recognition from the family heads. It was inevitable that I would become one of his pieces in that game, and his desire drove him to become a fierce disciplinarian. I still remember the sting of the switch he used, even after all the fights and scrapes I've been through. I must be honest however -- much of the Sidda were like that in those days, so soon after their exile. They all grasped for the glories they had before, and I don't doubt that many ardently wished for their return to the vaunted heights they had reached whilst a part of the Empire. In any case, I left at the first opportunity I had, when I was only fifteen. I escaped the family grounds in the dead of night, and traveled south to the nearest saltwater harbor. I lied to an unprincipled shipmaster about my age and paid him enough coin to turn a blind eye, and managed to travel as far south as the Velucian islands. There I spent some months attempting to convince a mercenary company to let me join their ranks. It was obvious I was a runaway, and most of the groups there were looking for the famed Velucian slingers, not some green boy without any equipment. But I was determined and had some talent with bow and spear, and after scraping together some coin from working in taverns I was able to buy myself some decent maille. It wasn't long after that I joined a small company headed for the Gwidlic kingdoms. My time in the Pearled Sea became the foundation to my later fame. I spent six years there, fighting for and against all manner of petty kings and chieftains, sometimes in both capacities. They were a strange people, but not too unlike the Thraxian tribes in their constant feuding. Their Knights are impressive fighters, but although almost every man had some training in archery I found their mastery of that craft rather poor. Thus I initially made a name for myself amongst them as an archer; only later did they come to appreciate my spearmanship as well. I left many blond-haired champions bleeding in the dirt. In fact, it is the Gwidlics who gave me my name Windchaser for the speed of my gait when sprinting into battle. Eventually I grew tired of the Kingdoms and spent the next two decades traveling across the Known World. I was employed in many capacities as a fighting man. Sometimes with a few others, sometimes under an entire outfit. I'd like to say I've fought in almost every corner of the world. I spent years on the various frontiers of Nhir, where I witnessed the power of the Nhirian Cataphracts. I sailed to Hitravata and fought against Sarsinid raiders -- they were gloriously talented equestrians and archers, and I managed to learn some of their craft from those we captured. In Lower Eshkhep I spent some time amongst the Hamurmids. Their temperament was much like my fathers with their petty squabbling and backstabbing, and I left as soon as possible. I spent some time as far south as the Riddling City, where I slew a cabal of magi practicing dark magics. That feat itself is a good story on its own, and won me no small amount of fame. I crossed the Screaming Sands (whose people are little more than cowardly vultures) from Sea to Sea. That was a foolhardy journey, and I have never been closer to death's door. Afterwards I was beset by Talomaic pirates, and although I beat them off their poisons would leave me in agony for weeks. I was lucky though, as a passing group of Jalwarudi nomads nursed me back to health. I still count their people as friends to this day. Three years ago I decided to finally return to Thraxia. I had seen my fill of the world, and some part of me still missed the land of mountains and valleys. And another part of me still cursed my father, and wanted to show the Sidda family the man I had become. Well, it was a lacklustre homecoming to be sure. My father was long dead, and my mother as well. I had no relatives that remembered me, and it took some time to convince my erstwhile family that I was who I said I was. I may have never accomplished that if not for my fame as a mercenary. In any case, I was accepted begrudgingly back into the Sidda, who are now ruled by a monster of a man and are still plagued by infighting. And now I hear tell of the Ardent Host once again being on the march..."	Tall and stocky, Mazyar bears the marks of a lifetime of fighting. Scars crisscross his body, his left hand misses one digit, and his tanned skin bears the resemblance of leather. However, his former vigor has begun to give way to the vicissitudes of age, with grey dotting his beard and wrinkles marring his face. Even so, Mazyar moves with the surety and grace of a master warrior. Age: 52 Skills & Talents: A famous warrior with a heroic reputation, Mazyar is a tremendously skilled fighter. His preferred weapons are his iron-tipped ash spear and horn composite bow, though he also is proficient with his iron acinaces-style sword. He is an able equestrian due to his wide travels, and is fluent in two languages while being able to partially speak another four. Mazyar is a career soldier and veteran campaigner, and thus is experienced in all facets of that lifestyle. However, age has token its toll on him, and he no longer moves with the alacrity he once did. Traits: Moral; Brave; Insecure; Jaded; Imperturbable; Honorable; Prideful; Reckless; Perceptive Allegiances: Those he holds dear [Personal]; Anabinpal [Liege]; the Sidda family [Familial]; the Mikanna [Faction] Rank & Role: RETAINER. Mazyar serves Anabinpal and the Sidda family.