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About GamblersPalm

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Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Roland LeGrand
  • Character Race
    Gambler/Swindler/Creature of whimsy

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  1. A reputable businessman looks over the pristine white city of Celia'nor, stood amidst the tower atop his sanctum. His face downturned into a frown, no, a scowl. Fire danced in his eyes...
  2. Late to this but: I only knew you for a little bit, and I had fun writing with you. Hope to cross paths again in the future, despite how unlikely that'll be. Enjoy life, and go with the flow.
  3. "Was a good fella. Watched him beat up an old man who spat on de princess. Made for good fun, no?" The reputable businessman, Roland LeGrand, would say upon finding out the poor knight's passing. "Well, dat and he warned of skeletal horsemen. Got t' close up de casino a bit early." He'd snicker, passing cards to each player on a streetside table in Karosgrad.
  4. "Ya have darkspawn within your own ranks, ya idjit." A reputable business man would comment in passing, before entering the inner sanctum of The Hiram King.
  5. "Too late. Fifteen years too late." The gambler would hum, reading the missive brought to him by the sufficiently paid host of the casino. "Now do ghosts next."
  6. Masuo of Yamatai sat in the wilderness of this horrid land, having heard what had happened from his comrades. He'd sharpen his blade, a frown laid struck across his features. "We gave him chance after chance. Hell, I gave him a second lease on life." He'd mutter, feeling some twinge of sadness and regret. "Now my only regret is I didn't get to kill him myself." He'd say, packing up and moving on from his temporary seating arrangement. Little did the Oyashiman know, that there would be a letter waiting for him should he ever return. One that may give context.
  7. He was there for both events. The supposed 'attack' at Starpool, and the 'execution', if one could call it that. One might say it was more akin to a butchering fit for a slaughterhouse. Something did not line up in his mind about the rationale. With his own disposition soured towards the government, and the grief stricken elves of Amathea making pilgrimage to ask what had happened, a fire ignited in his belly. One of rebellion. A scowl twisted his vision, as he stood within the tower overlooking the square. Rememberance took hold of the calm and collected mother of the deceased, carrying off her son down the roads of the countryside. Of the phantoms and poltergeists that laid claimant to the rights of the living. Of the violation of his sacrosanct sanctum by the fascist 'military'. Anger threatened to bubble to the surface, but he knew better than that to show his emotions in public. He'd simply sigh deeply, shut his eyes for a moment, and hold his anger within. In his mind, something needed to change.
  8. "Didn't particularly enjoy my place of business bein' raided like some common bandit's hovel. Or being intruded upon t' begin wit', unannounced. All guardforce actions, by de by." The illustrious and reputable Roland LeGrand would comment, a sharp frown downturned upon his features. "De way I see it, Celia'nor's guardforce accounts for nothin' but common thugs, lacking finesse or tact." He'd criticize, as he shuffled the deck to those within attendance of his private card game, taking place within The Hiram King. "Much love to de new ruler of de Celia'diraar, hope de reign is short and fruitless." He'd say, dealing the cards out to the players, a small smile as he did so!
  9. He didn't witness it happen. Merely, an arrow sail through the air, as he'd been trying to breach the tower and pull them both out. Between the roaring of the blaze, and the shouting of his comrades, Masuo of Yamatai did not hear with certainty what went down in the tower. Just the explosive power of a boomsteel arrow. Yet, the flames raged on, and the samurai could not bare to lose any more than he had. Simple shouts and commands, to abandon the keep, and escape with their lives. Fighting through smoke and flame, did those weary Hexers run. Witnessing the horrors of lost comrades, one of which his beloved niece, he trudged on. As they looked back, Masuo fought tears. How could this have happened? How could the mage do this? A mix of hatred and pain tore his face asunder, the tears welling in his eyes until he could not contain them much longer. Kolette of Rolin. At one point in time, he cared for her like a mentor, trying to steer her from her misdoings, and occasionally even partaking in them. He could see her face planted clearly in his mind. The scared little girl, on a ship besieged by pirates. He'd tried to visualise her now, in the present, but the pain was too much. Even with her final act, he could harbor no hatred. Despite the misgivings of others, and the antagonistic nature, he'd miss her. In his mind, he knew she was gone. No one escaped the blaze. But in his heart, he prayed she'd somehow made it out, and left to embark on a quiet and peaceful life. He'd think back, to their last conversation together, sitting side by side at the great dining hall of Dun an Ein. "I'm happy you are back. It's so good to see you!" "You as well, Kolette." He'd smile. "You as well..." This. This is how he'd remember her. A girl who loved so completely, that she'd sacrifice herself for those she'd care for.
  10. The ronin hexer, Masuo of Yamatai, watched in terror as the flames engulfed the tower. Praying to himself for the safety of his beloved niece, the samurai urged those within the flames to find better ground. However, before he could, he watched in despair. A plummet of flames and flesh, the form roughly in the shape of that woman he held so dear. The wailing of Angelika, and the crackling of flames drowned out all sounds. Yellowed gaze grew glassy, but the intensity of the flames summoned him back to his senses. "We have to GO!" He'd cry out, and the others acquiesced. He would mourn, later. However, the pain of this loss. It would never leave him. It would become a part of him, warping and changing him in a way no blade or fang could. Darya...his moody, headstrong, difficult Darya. How many times had they sat upon the rails, just outside Verres's room, and exchanged philosophical conversation by way of Kaktuz smoke? The times, standing side by side, as they fought for what they believed to be right, whether it be in the halls of Dun an Ein, or on the streets of Providence. Backing each others' play, keeping their heads on a swivel, being warriors for the mundane. He'd fought tooth and nail to keep her alive. He'd believed he failed once, and it ruined him. The uncertainty of not knowing her absolute fate, a haunting shadow that hung over him like a cloak. Now, there was no question. Grief stricken, a pit left curled into his stomach, as he would take stock of his life and choices. Could he carry on? In a world without one he had sworn his family? A bond deeper than blood. One of absolute, unshakeable love. He knew the Hexer Creed meant certain death. He'd steeled himself for it many times over. So why? Why did this pain wrack his body and mind? Poisoning his thoughts and stalling his action. Again, he asked. Could he carry on? Once before, when he'd thought her lost, he tore himself away from the family he knew, and retreated back into himself. A destiny he swore he'd never let happen again. A stain of guilt, for his shakiness to the Creed, ever marking him. He'd promised himself: whatever happens, he would see it through to the end. Well, despite his best efforts, those thoughts intruded again. Many nights were spent staring down to the bottom of a sake bottle. A panacea for the pain. Now, more than ever, when his family needed him, he was sitting hand in hand with his vices. Replaying the events in his mind. Opening wounds before they had the chance to close and heal. It should have been him. She should have surpassed him. Curse it all, this long lived life! The blame he rendered upon himself, the horrid self-flagellation of the mind, tore him to bits. He could do it again. The trail called him once more, and he was on the precipice of letting his feet carry him off. Like the wind, he had said fondly, though this time would be marred with grim intent. He'd spiral. Like a man being pulled into the undertow. Drifting away, leaving others to share the burden amongst themselves. Until he thought to himself.... What would she say, should she see him now? "Get up, uncle. I thought you were one of the old ones." He'd heard, clear as day. A smile formed at the thought. A weak one, but it was what he needed. How foolish Arising from his stupor, he'd enter the forests outside of where they made refuge, the voice of his niece guiding him onward. He needed to be stronger now. Resolute. An unmoving oak for the others to latch to, when they feel themselves growing weak. "I am sorry to have left once more, uncle.. But in spirit I shall remain until we are united once more.." There, in the dense woodlands, one would hear the primal screams. One filled with hatred, sorrow, pain, and most importantly...love. A reaffirming of himself to this order; to his family. He'd scream, and scream, until his voice gave out. Tears poured from his eyes like a dam that had been breached, until his eyes could produce no more. And, then when all was quiet, and he was sat upon a stump, he would look to the sky, upon the pallid complexion of the moon. And he could swear, up there on the surface of that celestial rock, that he could see a figure dancing. Swaying in a dress, hair bobbing as she's lifted and swung around by a man with eyes yellowed much like his own. They'd seem to stop as soon as they were noticed, the girl breaking free from the man's grasp, as she ran to put herself in better view. She was jumping and waving, as if to get the ronin's attention, soon coming to rest with a wide, toothy grin. The man took position behind her, a more reserved smile lining his visage. He'd wave as well. The Hexer's hand moved on it's own, as he lofted it high, and waved back, a smile etched permanently upon him. He'd sworn he had no more tears left. A gamble he'd lose.
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