Djinne

Through closed eyes, a dark-haired man with gaunt, tired eyes observes his surroundings. A bright, overbearing light. The good-natured sounds of good men... Holy men. This is not correct. He should not be here. His back aches. He is slumped against a wall. A prison, of men from a holy order, perhaps? But something is not right. He can't put his finger on what it may be, but he is sure of it. Laying his right hand on the cool floor beside him, he opens a sharp-looking eye a crick. Before he can open it any wider, however, a searing light promptly blinds him, turning all vision to white and red. The man of medium build persists, however. He forcibly, but slowly opens his burning, watery eyes. Eventually, they adjust to the harsh light, and he is able to get his first glimpse of his immediate surroundings. He is in no cell. He is slumped at the beginning of a corridor. Men in robes are bustling about, their robes swirling about them as though they were some great court magicians of old. Rythion spits out a single, harsh word from his sore throat and parched mouth. "Monks." Pushing himself to his feet with his weak arms, propping himself upright on weak legs, he tries to recall the last thing he can remember. A sudden sense of foreboding comes across him, but he pushes it aside, as he tries to solve the mental jigsaw of what events have conspired to put him in this position. Without warning, his left leg gives out and he stumbles to his left, using the wall to his left for support. He feels a strong sensation of pressure at his waist, but no pain. Curious. Some manner of anaesthetic, perhaps? Feeling about his back, his fingers brush the hilt of a dagger. He freezes. He knows why he had felt uneasy, now. A lone tear rolls down the cheek of the man with olive skin. His face contorts, briefly into one of rage and anguish before he masters it. Seeking to find his equilibrium, he moves a little away from the wall, hearing the familliar sound of a fingerless glove softly gliding actoss the floor as he moves. Suddenly, all semblance of control is lost. The man yells savagely, wildly swinging a gloved fist towards the wall behind him in pain, and despair. When his fist connects, he feels no pain, but the fact is no longer curious enough to draw his attention. He has lost it. He has lost it all. In one quick motion, Rythion draws the curved dagger, which is tied to his back in a sheath, and places it before him, to observe that which had belonged to one he had loved so, so much. The dagger doesn't look like the dagger of a woman. It doesn't look pretty. The wicked-looking thing is black steel, with a matte finish so as to not reflect light. Well made, with an edge serrated similarly to a saw, though the serrations are angled with their tips pointing towards the hilt. The dark hilt is simple, but perfectly made for his palm. The small pommel has something coming from it. A thin rope, of an expensive silk material that gives it a tensile strength above even the best climbing ropes. The dagger had been the most valuable thing to him in his family, except for the one thing he had lost... The black rope continues to the floor, where spare rope is coiled, and ends in attachment to an equally dark fingerless glove. There is only one path, now. His world is pain, but his world is clear. He whips up the glove using the rope, and slides it on. Tossing the dagger back into a reverse grip, he slams it back into the sheath behind his back, without needing even so much as a glance behind him. Those days were long gone.

As you, moving with your small group of other random travelers pass down the road to Arethor, a face seems to gaze from some nearby trees for a second. When you look back next, the alpha purple eyes are gone, but footprints lead into the jungle. Djinne trudges through the jungle, nature fleeing within a five meter radius of his approach, and his footfalls heavy on the ground. He turns sharply to the left upon finding a dark-red tree, and seems to disappear into a cave. (Going to leave lotc for a while.)

My submnission will be posted on saturday, in light of the recent push-forward of the deadline.

((AH you posted my defeat publicly. So humiliating. :( Haha. Was great rp.))

Is the video contest still on?

Something is wrong here, it would seem.

Since Availer left, is this still on?

*Djinne looks over at Kalenz, the usually graceful elf stumbling on the stairs, his eyes not so sharp and proud as they once were. "Kalenz? Need something?"

Could there be further clarification on how much roleplay is needed before minecraft running away? Also. If somebody runs away, and you initiate PVP, is the runner then allowed to turn around and fight?

Not all lore needs to be accepted before use, from my knowledge. Many times in a character biography, there has been that there character learnt how to fight from a certain place, and this isn't much different, except it is a unique fighting style. I like this lore, and I like what you are trying to do; to enhance the quality of roleplay fights.

*Djinne sits atop one of the trees, directly above where the conversation is taking place. Assuming a comfortable postition, he begins to listen intently to the conversation, perhaps hoping to gain a measure of information that he does not yet know. His eyes snap suddenly to the staff of the old man, and his own alpha purple eyes sharpen in question. He leans forward, beginning to perhaps take this situation more seriously.

MC Name: Djinnebeta Duty you'd like to apply for: Honeybee, natural dungeons. Concepts: Sewers, Hidden treasures and trials which require more than one person to complete, Risky caves too hard to be manned by less than a party of people. Increased mobspawn, hard to find your way around. Rewards at some places. Hidden mazes. Polishing work, and wood design. Other works: I don't have any screenshots of my work on multiplayer servers, but my singleplayer worlds are just for sketchy ideas. In any case, these are my main builds: Nether fort, Stone fort, Museum Do you have teamspeak?:(Microphone not required.) Yes, with microphone.

Djinne raises from his slumber, shortly after Polgrath, and cracks his neck clockwise, and then vice-versa. Midway after beginning his short walk to the docks, he passes the noticeboard, hoping to keep a track of The Delver's assigned plots, and building plans. He reads the 4 short notes pinned, and then Polgrath's, and sighs. "Let's see what this 'Maehrir Lirrame' has got. Better be made of tougher stuff than some others who seek Polgrath." *Djinne takes a walk towards The boat to Oren, hoping to fill his day with interest before returning on the morrow.

I can't believe you stole my catchprase. I have had that since... Forever.

Time to show LoTC who is boss.

Good to see you back. I had left by the time you were kicked, and susitsu explained to me what happened. Heh, I look forward to The Wandering Wizard events again.

Actually, I think that's rather cool. Yeah, let it be discovered by those who apply with lore, rather than a traditional 'A guy discovered this and died but left books behind'.