Member
evierose
Fallenreaper
Snowdrops
Taka
Dark Jack
Crimson Flame
Danyel
Kalas
HeMandaddyFigured I'd save this somewhere else. This is the stuff I've got for my character for the potential reboot.
Summary: A man with a background of fighting constantly to get ahead, to do something–perhaps anything even–to distinguish himself. He wants to innovate, to leave his mark on the world heedless of those he might hinder or harm in the process. Yet, an ambition like this is like a raging inferno: sure to burn you eventually. So it is that at some point his misdeeds, his careless actions, and indeed his thoughtlessness catches up with him. The world judges him and he realizes–finally–that the way he had been living is unmaintainable. It is not enough to claw and bite and scramble over others to move forward, nor is it possible always to win.
So he surrenders to judgment, knowing that it will hurt him, knowing that it may hinder his progress for some time. Knowing that such a thing will leave its mark. Yet, at the same time, this judgment and the repercussions of his actions have fostered in him something new: wisdom. So it is that with experience and insight as his tools, the flames of his ambition are tempered, and a new path–a more careful one–is begun.
Potentially an ex-convict in his “relative” youth, his obsession with magic and the workings and allure of Realms beyond his own have led him on a treacherous path. Recklessly, he stole from other mages, snatching research notes and spellbooks all in the pursuit of achieving the first of his many aspirations: Reaching the Realm of Dreams.
While he could certainly visit after a fashion, that was merely his soul, and all that he could do was control the nature of his dreams.
It wasn’t enough, in fact, it was unacceptable. He wished to trawl the vast ocean of ideas, sift through the concepts formed by mortal kind, and recorded in that place. The whimsy of it called to him, but so too did the potential power that such a feat might bring, and the doors it could open for further research.
Could he draw directly from the Dream, could he enchant objects that could do so? Could he sift the infinite threads and currents of knowledge and there and discover spells that no other mortal had yet to make let alone conceive of?
What could such revelations allow? Might he step from one realm to another soul and body both? The idea delighted him and since it had come to roost within his skull, he found he could not escape it.
So, foolishly, he’d stolen and pilfered, and snatched. Any scrap of magical research, any spellbook he could get his dextrous hands on. For some time he went uncontested, uncaught, his own spellwork shifting to make his deeds easier.
However, one cannot escape the consequences of their actions forever, and he was no different from any other in that regard. So it was that one day he was caught, one day he was brought up on charges. Yet, not all could be proved or even pinned on him. Surely a single man, let alone a boy, could not steal from so many mages. Surely their defenses, their precautions would have caught him sooner.
His sentence was–as these things go–far kinder than it could have been. Still, he did not fight it, realizing that there was little point. To further anger all those mages would be folly. So he plead guilty, and his sentence was decided.
A decade or more of confinement. No tools for writing. He would pay in time, and time itself would wear down his memory such that all that he had stolen would erode within his mind. Though not happy that the thief would live, many of the mages were placated by his sentence.
On that day, he learned more clearly a single lesson than he had on any day prior. Sometimes, to win a war, you must first surrender several battles. You must lose, so that later you might win, or at least survive.
Still, he was lucky, for while he was disowned, his family at least paid the fines for his transgressions. His father told him not to show his face in their community again, and left never to visit him again. It stung, but what stung more was the disappointment in his mother’s eyes and the confused dismay in the gaze of his younger sister.
He would likely never see her again and he knew the girl had adored him as only a sister could her elder brother. He could not watch them leave and he convinced himself that it was just as well that they’d never meet each other again.
For there was one thing he knew.
He couldn’t stop.
This was too important.
After all, why should only the gods know other realms? Why not men as well….
His family would be safer this way, far from him and his workings.
The years dragged on, without a book to read, without decent company to talk to, yet he would not languish. He couldn’t, he simply could not allow it. He chipped at the stone of his cell and the wood of the single bed he was provided. He drew diagrams and spellforms and incantations. Depictions of the realms as he understood them. Old spells he’d read from books he’d stolen. The guards surely thought him mad. After all, he spoke to himself, always muttering under his breath. It was nonsense to many of the guards, but the reality was simple. They were invocations, chants, notes he’d read, principles of magic. Anything at all that he could remember.
Oh, and when he dreamed he reveled in the expression of his craft. Every word he’d ever read or written swirled in endless colorful patterns around him. He made diagrams of many colors, connecting words and ideas, concepts and designs. In his dreams he kept the spark alive. While he was awake, he made sure it would not diminish.
He told himself he would forget not a single passage, nor a single phrase or pair of words…but the years wore on and slowly words slipped between his fingers like so many tiny grains of sand.
Eventually the mutterings of his captors, the chuckles and mockery of their laughter as they watched him scratch desperately at the stone of his cell…it made him think.
‘Perhaps I am mad afterall’.
It never stopped him. So years slipped by, knowledge slipped away, and eventually the date of his release finally came. He was given only the clothing on his back and what few belongings his family had deigned to leave in the custody of the prison. It wasn’t much. Some clothes, some food, a bit of coin, and better than anything else…a single thick tome.
It wasn’t all his research, it wasn’t even half, but it was better than nothing, and further there were pages that remained. He cried that day, making sure not to get any of the pages wet.
More importantly though, with the fines paid, and his sentence served, he was finally free. This time, he would endeavor to keep it that way.
With years to develop and refine mnemonic devices [name] has an exceptional memory, the sort that most mages would perhaps kill for. While he cannot simply remember anything he’s ever seen or heard, he can recall the vast majority–if only those things that he deliberately dedicates to memory.
He’s a lucid dreamer and one could comb far and wide and struggle to find a single mage as utterly dedicated as he is. Still, his many years of confinement may have taught him memorization, but they did little for many other things, particularly his demeanor. Having been isolated for so long, he finds crowds difficult, and people are–while not a mystery–a source of irrational paranoia.
Yet, at the same time, he is unflinchingly confident, perhaps to a degree that borders on insane. Indeed, he’s the sort of person who one might either consider mad or–at best–eccentric.
Still, he is fiercely intelligent, wildly observant, and undeniably thorough in his craft. While not reckless in the same ways of his youth, [name] is a man unafraid of taking risks…so long as they are calculated such that they will only affect him…or conversely individuals who no one will consider or believe.
Dream-Probe
Wants to create, or has created, an enchanted item that he can use to sift through ideas and knowledge within the Dreamrealm. It both allows him to view said ideas and concepts, but also records them somehow.
Spells
He would have spells associated with stealth, misdirection, and item acquisition. He would also have spells for recording information swiftly, as well as defense and concealment.
So he surrenders to judgment, knowing that it will hurt him, knowing that it may hinder his progress for some time. Knowing that such a thing will leave its mark. Yet, at the same time, this judgment and the repercussions of his actions have fostered in him something new: wisdom. So it is that with experience and insight as his tools, the flames of his ambition are tempered, and a new path–a more careful one–is begun.
Potentially an ex-convict in his “relative” youth, his obsession with magic and the workings and allure of Realms beyond his own have led him on a treacherous path. Recklessly, he stole from other mages, snatching research notes and spellbooks all in the pursuit of achieving the first of his many aspirations: Reaching the Realm of Dreams.
While he could certainly visit after a fashion, that was merely his soul, and all that he could do was control the nature of his dreams.
It wasn’t enough, in fact, it was unacceptable. He wished to trawl the vast ocean of ideas, sift through the concepts formed by mortal kind, and recorded in that place. The whimsy of it called to him, but so too did the potential power that such a feat might bring, and the doors it could open for further research.
Could he draw directly from the Dream, could he enchant objects that could do so? Could he sift the infinite threads and currents of knowledge and there and discover spells that no other mortal had yet to make let alone conceive of?
What could such revelations allow? Might he step from one realm to another soul and body both? The idea delighted him and since it had come to roost within his skull, he found he could not escape it.
So, foolishly, he’d stolen and pilfered, and snatched. Any scrap of magical research, any spellbook he could get his dextrous hands on. For some time he went uncontested, uncaught, his own spellwork shifting to make his deeds easier.
However, one cannot escape the consequences of their actions forever, and he was no different from any other in that regard. So it was that one day he was caught, one day he was brought up on charges. Yet, not all could be proved or even pinned on him. Surely a single man, let alone a boy, could not steal from so many mages. Surely their defenses, their precautions would have caught him sooner.
His sentence was–as these things go–far kinder than it could have been. Still, he did not fight it, realizing that there was little point. To further anger all those mages would be folly. So he plead guilty, and his sentence was decided.
A decade or more of confinement. No tools for writing. He would pay in time, and time itself would wear down his memory such that all that he had stolen would erode within his mind. Though not happy that the thief would live, many of the mages were placated by his sentence.
On that day, he learned more clearly a single lesson than he had on any day prior. Sometimes, to win a war, you must first surrender several battles. You must lose, so that later you might win, or at least survive.
Still, he was lucky, for while he was disowned, his family at least paid the fines for his transgressions. His father told him not to show his face in their community again, and left never to visit him again. It stung, but what stung more was the disappointment in his mother’s eyes and the confused dismay in the gaze of his younger sister.
He would likely never see her again and he knew the girl had adored him as only a sister could her elder brother. He could not watch them leave and he convinced himself that it was just as well that they’d never meet each other again.
For there was one thing he knew.
He couldn’t stop.
This was too important.
After all, why should only the gods know other realms? Why not men as well….
His family would be safer this way, far from him and his workings.
The years dragged on, without a book to read, without decent company to talk to, yet he would not languish. He couldn’t, he simply could not allow it. He chipped at the stone of his cell and the wood of the single bed he was provided. He drew diagrams and spellforms and incantations. Depictions of the realms as he understood them. Old spells he’d read from books he’d stolen. The guards surely thought him mad. After all, he spoke to himself, always muttering under his breath. It was nonsense to many of the guards, but the reality was simple. They were invocations, chants, notes he’d read, principles of magic. Anything at all that he could remember.
Oh, and when he dreamed he reveled in the expression of his craft. Every word he’d ever read or written swirled in endless colorful patterns around him. He made diagrams of many colors, connecting words and ideas, concepts and designs. In his dreams he kept the spark alive. While he was awake, he made sure it would not diminish.
He told himself he would forget not a single passage, nor a single phrase or pair of words…but the years wore on and slowly words slipped between his fingers like so many tiny grains of sand.
Eventually the mutterings of his captors, the chuckles and mockery of their laughter as they watched him scratch desperately at the stone of his cell…it made him think.
‘Perhaps I am mad afterall’.
It never stopped him. So years slipped by, knowledge slipped away, and eventually the date of his release finally came. He was given only the clothing on his back and what few belongings his family had deigned to leave in the custody of the prison. It wasn’t much. Some clothes, some food, a bit of coin, and better than anything else…a single thick tome.
It wasn’t all his research, it wasn’t even half, but it was better than nothing, and further there were pages that remained. He cried that day, making sure not to get any of the pages wet.
More importantly though, with the fines paid, and his sentence served, he was finally free. This time, he would endeavor to keep it that way.
With years to develop and refine mnemonic devices [name] has an exceptional memory, the sort that most mages would perhaps kill for. While he cannot simply remember anything he’s ever seen or heard, he can recall the vast majority–if only those things that he deliberately dedicates to memory.
He’s a lucid dreamer and one could comb far and wide and struggle to find a single mage as utterly dedicated as he is. Still, his many years of confinement may have taught him memorization, but they did little for many other things, particularly his demeanor. Having been isolated for so long, he finds crowds difficult, and people are–while not a mystery–a source of irrational paranoia.
Yet, at the same time, he is unflinchingly confident, perhaps to a degree that borders on insane. Indeed, he’s the sort of person who one might either consider mad or–at best–eccentric.
Still, he is fiercely intelligent, wildly observant, and undeniably thorough in his craft. While not reckless in the same ways of his youth, [name] is a man unafraid of taking risks…so long as they are calculated such that they will only affect him…or conversely individuals who no one will consider or believe.
Dream-Probe
Wants to create, or has created, an enchanted item that he can use to sift through ideas and knowledge within the Dreamrealm. It both allows him to view said ideas and concepts, but also records them somehow.
Spells
He would have spells associated with stealth, misdirection, and item acquisition. He would also have spells for recording information swiftly, as well as defense and concealment.
