Spellblades

“What will you do when your magic eventually fails you, Vesryn?” “Protect those I can with my physical being, even if it means my death, Sir.” Deep in the night, A Mali’ker rummaged through cabinets and shelves, a mission set in his mind as he picked out the items The High Prince had instructed him to bring. Laid out on the table were rations that would last him a week at most, a small serrated dagger, and a small medical bag in case of emergencies. “A full year, huh..?” Vesryn murmured as he packed up each item from the table in a swift manner. The Greye recalled every haunting event, replaying every what-if, what he could’ve done differently. The man he considered a father, taken while all he could do was watch. “Helun-Velulaeya tom uhv’lye honyr.” He’d utter in prayer under a moonlit sky before heading out the front gate of Caras Siol and into the wilderness. The Wind called Vesryn forth; it always did. The element was his favorite to learn as an apprentice, it felt natural and free to use despite his mentor's warning of its difficulty to control. He had become so attuned with it that he swore that it whispered to him sometimes. Not unlike his own family's traditions, they might pretend to hear voices in the wind of those past. But Vesryn truly did, and so he listened. “Go North.” The Cloak over the Maehr’s shoulder kept him warm from the elements for a time, but as he ventured deeper into the snowy mountains, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he should find shelter… CRACK Vesryn heard a tree branch fall under the weight of the snow piling on top of it before more and more fell at an alarming rate. Something was wrong. The Diraar glanced to the side as a barrage of snow and ice rushed down the mountain at an alarming rate, seeking to trample him and his horse in the process. He’d command his horse forward as they ventured deeper into the forests to escape the incoming avalanche. Hours passed as he eventually came to a stop at a small open patch of the woodlands, suitable for setting up camp. Months had passed in the blink of an eye, time seemed to be something Vesryn didn’t keep track of anymore, out in the freezing conditions where he decided to set up camp. “How long has it been since I left the East…?” He’d ask himself, looking down at his journal as he tried to trace through entries, eventually landing on his answer with a frown. “2 more months left to go.” A sharp exhale was given in frustration, so many things had happened recently that it just didn’t feel right leaving his family unprotected, but this was for the better. He’d set a target on a nearby rock, practicing his Archery in the early morning, as sunlight broke through the trees. He was used to ranged combat, considering his abilities, but he always found a Bow to be a difficult weapon. As he loosed arrow after arrow, the Mali’ker turned to take a break, turning his back to the rock, before suddenly a rumbling sensation shook the nearby land, and something awoke. A Towering Beast with a back of stone and ice stood before him as it was woken up by the sounds and movements of the nearby Mali'ker, and he had trespassed on its territory. Vesryn quickly turned, grabbing his bow and quiver hanging from his make-shift shelter before almost instinctively connecting to the Void. The feeling had become second-nature at this point, but he didn’t want to rely on just his magic anymore, despite what he told people. He hated his abilities, it felt more like a Curse than the Blessing his mentor had led him to believe it was. And so the Spellblade continued forward with a determined stride. The Beast circled The Maehr's camp, seemingly studying its enemy as did Vesryn as he kept a focused gaze on the creature before eventually deciding to strike first, unleashing an arrow, hoping to pierce its eye, but it fell short as it turned and used its horns as a mighty shield to shatter the incoming projectile. Its gaze then snapped over to its target, charging forward as it sought to skewer Vesryn with those same horns. The Spellblade swiftly ran to get out of its path, looking around the nearby area for anything that could help him. He spotted a nearby cliffside that seemed to be close to collapsing in the distance. “Over here!” He’d shout to get its attention, and the horned creature turned with rage in its eyes before continuing its chase, shaking the ground with each step towards the Greye. He’d nock an arrow as he ran in case of emergency, before stopping just below the collapsing rock, staring down the charging beast as a plan formed in his mind. As the Earthen Creature aimed to pierce him once again, Vesryn would dodge out of the way as it rammed into the side of the cliff. A loud crackle could be heard overhead before the loose stone fell upon the creature, causing it to unleash a resounding groan of pain as it was buried under the mass of ice, stone, and snow. Blood covered the white landscape around it as Vesryn’s eyes adjusted after the snowy mist cleared. The Arctic Beast was pinned and no longer a threat. A sense of guilt welled in his chest, and he decided to walk over and end its suffering. The Greye targeted the weakened skin next to its neck, plunging a dagger swiftly through. “Forgive me.” Vesryn murmured after a brief moment of silence before breaking off one of its horns as proof of his survival. The Mali’ker stood, uttering a silent prayer for the fallen beast and departed for his camp. He was going to survive this trial no matter what it took, for them.

Eyvind Colborn picked up the missive from a nearby shop, reading it over before looking at the name given, "Isn't that Cassian's family...?"

+1 This is sick

Vesryn Greye received the missive as an Owl landed on his shoulder, several bits of metal sat across the forge before he opened the seal on the letter. "I suppose I should attend, huh?"

Vesryn Greye received the missive after forging a certain blade, looking over its glowing surface with pride. "About time that old man passed down the torch." He'd grin, looking up at the moon in prayer. "Mother-Moon, Guide Augusta in her new duties, as you have guided all others." The Maehr murmured as he reflected on every event that led to this point.

Hello! Favorite Dark Magic?

Wow! 3 years is a long time. I've always enjoyed roleplaying with you, and so I present you with a question! What is your most memorable CRP moment

Eloir Drakon starts cheering!

Vesryn Greye rose from a night of hunting, an owl landing on his shoulder as it handed the Mali'ker a missive "...Oh wow, she's gonna go far." A smile, finding him a moment later.

Vesryn scanned over the finished studies of his student, a grin plastered across his face. "So that's what he was writing..."

Vesryn Greye sat in front of the moonlit shrine, one dedicated to Luara. The Mali'ker knew that he would have to attend so many of these in his future; it still stung to know he would outlive all those he knew. "Luara, guide this family as you have I. For I do not know that I have the strength to." He knew Sybille mattered to many people as he scratched a name off the blade he carried. The Vel'luah rune, fading silver, a step towards Adrian Greye's room, he knew his Uncle needed help during these times.

Basil hadn't known that much about his siblings, he'd run away young and traveled the world. It cost him everything, and gave him everything. The Half-Blind Temesch received the news late in the night, and quiet sobs echoed through Edrica's guard quarters before he plunged a dagger through his chest. Vesryn Greye could swear that the Air changed when someone he knew passed. The Mali'ker hadn't known Sybille all that well, but he knew she mattered to several people in his life. "Luara, guide her, as you have guided all others." The Scion got up, off to send a letter of comfort to one who would truly need it.

“Why?” “Why!?” “WHY DID YOU RUN!?” A constant reminder stabbed into his brain every single day, allies turned enemies, and a Scar is all he had to show for it. Friends and family keep telling him that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t have done anything more than he did. But the Scar remained, as did a singular grave. Vesryn had been too optimistic; he saw his family start to gray while he remained the same as fear set in. “Boys, I don’t have much time left.” A coin was flipped across the room, landing in the Maehr’s palm. Heads. It was rusted and probably older than him, but it was a keepsake, probably one that would be better left forgotten, but one all the same. Vesryn turned to a familiar face next to him, thinking they both knew what he meant. Vesryn sat under a full moon, blade sat beside him as he was deep in prayer, or what he wished he was doing. He didn’t have the faith left in him to keep up his devotion. “Helun-Velulaeya hon laht.” He muttered, grabbing the blade on his right, attaching it to his hip as he stood. He was Oathed into a Diraar. This should be a time for celebration, but only emptiness followed as he looked at the blade gifted to him. “Dragon’s Claw.” He was handed yet another weapon. Memories began to manifest across the reflection of the onyx blade, ones he wished would leave him. “What are you saying, sign this or.. What?” Aedric questioned “We’re having your people moved to the Capital, this is better for all of us.” “No.” Chaos erupted throughout the meeting room as two armed men closed in on Vesryn, raising a dagger as the Maehr instinctively tried to connect in time. Pain shot through his nerves as a warm feeling ran down his arm. Anger rising in his voice as he became reckless, using any ounce of strength to fight back, forsaking his honor in exchange for survival, a familiar voice called to his left, a Knight of ginger hair. Someone he was supposed to trust. “Stand down, Vesryn.” He commanded as if he were blind to the situation at hand. “STAND DOWN? THEY’RE STABBING ME, YOU STUPID ****!?" A rageful tone cut through the clattering of plate armor throughout the hall as Adrian and another Fellow Maehr cut through the chaos. “Let my cousins and I leave.” Adrian bargained as Aethermaw raised menacingly, amethyst flames flowing off of the blade as he cleared his way through the two attacking him, and a hand grabbed him by the cloak as he, Adrian, and another rushed out and downstairs. He watched paintings fly by in his vision. He wanted to go back and save whoever he could. But that wasn't an option. “Run while you still can, Knife-Ear.” A voice called from upstairs, bitterness rising in his chest, before a familiar voice called from the upstairs meeting room. Fear then rose alongside his bitterness as he could tell by his tone that the voice was injured. “TELL VETA I LOVE HER!” Aedric Greye called to the fleeing Greye’s and allies alike, the last words they would ever hear from him. Vesryn traveled towards Kurai-Kuni, determined to meet a friend on a nearby island and see the new bastion of his people. The Maehr left his Evaran Armor at home, instead traveling with some light armor he had forged previously. The warm wind was a nice change of pace from the constant rain of the East. The Maehr looked around the brilliant temple, seeing shrines and statues of figures he had only read about as a boy. He had almost forgotten why he had come there, snapping back to his objective. He stood in front of a shrine of Luara and knelt in prayer. Hoping to get his faith back, but it seemed that he would need a miracle. How could he believe in a higher power if he can’t even believe in himself? And so he moved on, deciding to take the walk back home to Caras Siol instead of by horse. A twig broke behind him as he walked through the towering forests, and an instinctive hand flew to the pommel of his sword as he shouted “Reveal yourself!” A rustle came from the bushes before an injured Mali’ker, looking to be about ten, stumbled out of the forest. Vesryn rushed over to check her wounds, offering a comforting smile, despite every muscle in his body being fatigued, and the lack of sleep didn’t help either. He quickly addressed some bruises on the young girl’s face before asking “What is your name, little one?” “Aerith, Sir.” She responded weakly; it was clear she hadn’t eaten in days, and her injuries were left untreated. The Spellblade reached into his rations, handing over a piece of bread that he was saving for himself, but.. They weren’t far from Caras Siol, he could always make more later. Memories rushed back to a story his mother often told him, of how she found him in a basket hanging from a tree and took him in. He always found it a bit strange that she would do that, especially in the mental state he would come to find out she was in during her life. He snapped back to reality, looking at the Mali’ker staring at him with a curious expression, making a decision after a long breath. He didn’t seem ready to raise a child, but he also refused to allow another to fall to the same fate that he’d seen time and time again. It would be different this time. “How would you like to come with me, Aerith?” He asked, extending a hand to her as she was gnawing on the piece of bread he had given previously. Aerith paused, looking up at him with confusion, before hesitantly taking his hand. “Okay, Mr.” She responded Vesryn had found a new purpose, a reason to keep going as he whistled for his horse, making his way back home. He was determined to break the cycle that he was convinced was set in stone.

Vesryn Greye side-eyed his wardrobe

"I don't want to be like him, please God." A phrase often said by the young Leif Elio Whitewood, praying at Lemon Hill. Being one of the youngest and the only son of Ledicort's late wife was hard for the young boy; he was always different from the rest of his siblings, like his older sister, Arowyn. Black hair as opposed to orange... he had grown to hate orange. "So.. Pa is evil?" Leif asked, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, next to Aurelia in Balian's Cathedral, Arowyn towering over the two, even at a young age, he could tell she was barely holding it together as she told the two what had happened at court earlier that day, their father was banished and disowned. War was on the horizon, and they had to pick a side. Years passed like seconds, and Leif found himself at Balian's aviary clutching a letter from Lenora, fear taking hold in the young boy's heart. The feeling never left him. "Please, Leif, you have to leave. They're marching!" And so he did, a quick trip to where his mother lay, only to find her grave missing, a silence hanging in the air as he gritted his teeth and ran as far as he could. Lenora found him near the Kingdom of Burgundy, wandering. The two had each other. That's all that mattered to the young Whitewood, but it wasn't enough. He had to protect. "I want to be a Knight, a... Templar, I think they called it in this book, father." "My Boy.. A Knight? Let's head over, I have just the place." Leif found himself sitting in front of a man of silver hair and piercing gaze as he was questioned in that small tavern room. "Why do you wish to be a Knight, lad?" "To protect my family, no matter the cost, Sir." A fiery look in the Silasian's eyes, though fear still lingered. A deep red scar on his left hand in the shape of a claw mark kept reminding him as he looked over to his father, as he asked "Are you sure about this? You'll be away from us for a long time." What choice did he have? He didn't want to feel that helpless ever again. Bitter resentment found its way into his heart throughout the years, even through his training in honor, chivalry, and the makings of a Knight. Leif began to notice a difference between Ledicort's treatment of him and his siblings. It was a stark contrast; he sat on the benches of Numendil, watching people go about their days. Wishing his father would treat him the same, like he actually mattered. And so he distracted himself from that truth. He found love, earned titles, and glory. But it was never enough, none of it ever was for Ledicort. "The Brave of House Whitewood...? What a joke." He often thought to himself that he hated the title. It defined him. He wasn't brave; he couldn't even look his father in the eyes. "What do you mean, Cosima is dead!?" The Knight shouted at the top of Lemon Hill, the distant birds' song disrupted by his voice. Anger filled his heart as he got a letter from Cosima, someone he saw as a mother figure when he didn't have one growing up. "Your stepmother has accused me of being Darkspawn. I must leave. I'm sorry." The Letter read. He didn't believe it, not for a second, as he grabbed his spear off the wall and headed to get answers. He had seen Helena take a heavy blow to the head, fighting the Demon that would eventually lead to his downfall. -- He stayed by her side as she received medical treatment, and a silent prayer under his breath resonated. He would never truly forgive Helena for what she had done, but they were still family. That was something he couldn't change.

Eloir Drakon felt a change in the soulstream, a familiar warmth as fragmented memories rushed back to him. "Anyone but her.." The Fallen Fenn lamented for his adoptive mother before all fell silent.

Vesryn sat in the Paladin's keep, the missive being delivered through a white owl landing on his shoulder. He'd marched with Avistra previously to discuss the plan regarding the kidnapped squire. "About time we get to work."

This is genuinely so cool!

Vesryn walked through the Tundra before he reached a small town, his hair filled with snow as he glanced over at a nearby bounty board. The headline caught his attention as he translocated the missive over to himself. "Coward." he muttered before throwing it into the wind.

A Mali'ker prayed in the deep night for Cathal's protection in the coming years.

The letter arrived late at night, an owl perched on his windowsill as it extended the letter to Vesryn. Shortly after the letter reached his hand, he felt a sharp pain in his finger. The side of the paper cut a small wound. "By the Light.." he'd sigh as he washed the wound in a nearby water basin, the missive set on the counter out of sight. The Mali'ker opened the letter as a list of bounties sat before him, rage began to build in his voice as he teleported his armament to himself, hanging it on a nearby display. "I should've killed you when I had the chance, Lorandil." The Spellblade murmured as he went to protect, as duty demanded.

Eloir Drakon watched from the afterlife as 'Fenn banners were placed across The Witch Kingdom's borders "About damn time."

A Mali'ker glanced up at the moon, something he hadn't done in ages, as he saw two stars vanish from the night's sky. "Go in Peace."

Vesryn of Caurost, Clanless, signs this settlement's charter. (IGN: Spellblades)