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Gaius Marius

Lore Master
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About Gaius Marius

  • Rank
    Maester of Fables, Lore, and the Mythic

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  • Location
    Birthplace of Muhammad Ali

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Gaisorix hal'Daelduron
  • Character Race
    Highlander, Cingedoz Tribe

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  1. 𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 Hawthorns and yews flanked both sides of the narrow passage that Gaisorix took step by step. The passage, narrow and steep, climbed what felt like miles through rugged elevation that was typical of southern Norland. The environs was silent save for the occasional birdsong or small rodent passing through tufts of tall grass. Gaisorix decided to travel at first light and had much of the remaining dusk poured into the lows of the valleys to conceal his passage. He learned in Varhelm about aboriginals who lived east of Dunrath and he had no intention to cross paths with these indistinguishable foes. The trek upward, over, and down from the mountain ridge left Gaisorix's thighs tight and feet throbbing from wear. The town of Dunrath looked like a slab of stone in the distance, its greys overpowering the blues of its tartan banners, but it was a welcome sight and proved enough to will Gaisorix the rest of the way to his destination. The portcullis came into distance within a half hour and the racket of the Rathonian townlife came within earshot. "Tha thu Dailach!" called a prominent voice from the guard post positioned adjacent to the portcullis. Gaisorix's forehead creased with confusion, but snapped up to hide his consternation. He couldn't help but loll his tongue for a moment as if trying to taste a response. "Ehm Gaisorix lad, well met, ehm' only tryin' t'visit an' learn enough t'decide whether eh'll be stayin' an' livin' in t'ese parts," Gaisorix mustered, a woeful response lacking any Rathonian vocabulary. "Aye, Daelish you must be!" the interrogator announced. Gaisorix's eyes widened at the correct approximation of his origins which earned a satisfied guffaw before letting Gaisorix through. Gaisorix uncinched his baldric and turned in his baldric with falx scabbard attached. He turned on a heel, looking down each street to orient himself. On one end, a forge coughed and a tavern rattled with raucous laughter; on the other end, houses remained closed and shuttered in the early dawn. "Lad, welcome to Dunrath. You are a welcome sight for sore eyes waking this morn," a man greeted as Gaisorix turned back towards the still-raised gate. A blonde-haired man, ten years younger, stood before Gaisorix in red uniform save for the blue beret rested on his head. "T'ank ye' fer' warm welcomes an' din' mean t'stir ye' from yer sleep seh' early," Gaisorix replied warmly. "It is a non-issue Daelander," the man affirmed. Gaisorix realized that the man before him was the same man who gave him entry and thanked him. "How goes t'affairs ov' Dunrath? Eh' mean to possibly make residence 'ere," Gaisorix inquired. "We have our peace and suitable lands in this valley, though the aboriginals just past the mountains to our east give us trouble kidnapping and harming those that travel beyond the walls," the man answered, pausing before adding, "I am Dughlas by the way, best a name go with the face." "Aye, eh've left t'Dael an' wish to move to a more populated town seh' eh' can help. If ye'd like, eh' can raise a small dun from t'lake to yer' stables facin' that mountain ridge ye' mentioned," Gaisorix suggested with growing enthusiasm. Dughlas looked at Gaisorix, his eyes darting left and right as if comparing words in midair. He placed a forefinger on his lips, weighing his response. "Err- The town is already basically a fort what with our high walls and all," Dughlas expressed slowly. "Neh', a dun in my tongue means wall. Eh' speak Sprækjom, t'e tongue ov' t'Cinged," Gaisorix interjected. "And a dun is a fort in my language," Dughlas quickly added, resolving the verbal impasse. He continued, "Your language sounds very similar to a second language spoken here called Sveasspräk!" The two of them laughed away the abstruse matter of the word carrying different meanings. The languages being so similar cannot be mere coincidence. The two men continued their dialogue as they began to walk past the open gate and towards the loch east of Dunrath.
  2. Gaisorix hal'Daelduron found himself perusing this latest compilation in the library at Karosgrad contently. He thumbed through the pages, captivated with the lengthy histories and rich detail.
  3. [Starts at 00:24] Lector _Snatch is happy to see vampirism done away with and did not mind whether his earlier suggestion constituted a part of the cure.
  4. Good to see an oldhead keep the faith of MC-RP equivalence. On a more serious and productive note, I've noticed #2 often, typically the 2nd time (and thereafter) upon visiting a city. Essentially, you earn the guard's trust and he/she will let you slide by with simply emoting taking weapons while letting you keep your MC items and not have to park between builds tossing items and collecting them. Honestly, I see no big deal with this and definitely agree with #3. If anything, I welcome workarounds that permit players greater expediency to get to their destinations and actually engage in entertaining roleplay. #2 is essentially the selfless gate-guard giving you a workaround so that you don't have to get into a tangle tossing and retrieving MC items and waste minutes of your gameplay time. We all have our preferences on what "forms" of roleplay is the most aesthetically pleasing to our subjective views, but taking a sh_t on guard-gate roleplay is breaking decorum where we don't troll or trash others' preferences. If we want to maintain decorum and not bash on furries, ERPers, and the like - we have to give the same decorum and decency to people who play peasant, gate-guards, and other roles.
  5. Just learned what a Bugman is on LotC, am disappointed.

    1. Ford


      if theres one thing youre gonna learn its that lotc is saturated with racists




      unless bugman refers to smthn else 

    2. Shady Tales

      Shady Tales

      23 minutes ago, Ford said:

      if theres one thing youre gonna learn its that lotc is saturated with racists




      unless bugman refers to smthn else 


      bugmen are npc bots

    3. Ford


      nvm then 😭 

  6. The dusty oft-trodden path between San Luciano and Niseep saw the most foot traffic; Gaisorix supposed out loud as he gave his warhorse over to the Daelish stableman to be disrobed of its tack and saddlebags. He learned of the Argent Legion in recent days and decided to pen a response personally to be delivered through Freimark to whichever of the many buildings littering San Luciano's square served as the post for the Savoyard army. A young boy bounced and scrambled across the perilous bridge from the Freimark peninsula to the Daelish Isles; the missive tucked underneath his armpit and chafed plenty by boiled leather and flaxen tunic. In black ink, clearly legible and thoughtfully written, reads: "My name is Gaisorix hal'Daelduron- of the Daelish Homes- and I belong to the Cinged tribes that are part of the Daelishmen whole. I write to you not to seek a rank nor a path to knighthood, but rather to inform you of my common patrols on the Savoyard thoroughfares and that you can reliably reach me if you ever need an extra man in your ranks come time to assault or defend. I frequent the more commonly travelled routes including those entering and leaving San Luciano and those around Daeland, Niseep, and Caer Raewyn. If you ever need me, I am often on my warhorse and can cover short distances quickly throughout the countryside or towns littering our bountiful South. God watch you, Gaisorix"
  7. Good reading for your brunch



  8. 𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 Porcelain tiles, painted black over white, clinked against the roof's rafters like the presses of a piano key. Gaisorix trotted across the rooftop and peered down over the street below. He repeated his movement of leaping from eave to eave, then trotting across a roof until he arrived at a cherry blossom tree that offered a sturdy trunk leaning towards an open-faced balcony of one of the more prominent kabuki theatres in Yong Ping. The smell of brewed tea wafted from the interior of the building and mixed with the scent of partly-blossomed sakuras dangling from the cherry blossom. Gaisorix had bound his scutum shield to his back and kept his cloak tucked beneath it to keep his francisca axe free from entanglement across his belt. He eyed the distance from the thickest offshoot branch of the cherry blossom and the balcony and bent his knees; he prepared to get a running start to his leap and looked through the open doors of the balcony for any motion. In an instant, he bounded across and covered the short distance without brushing the balcony's railing with his feet and landed with arms outstretched to catch himself against the wall adjacent to his landing. He immediately pressed his chest against the wall and leaned enough of his head across the doorway for a single eye to peer through and inside the stately performance hall. "I am glad that you've met someone fit for you. . ." The gossip, from a distinguishably female voice, floated up loudly enough to give Gaisorix pause. The kabuki theatre had multiple floors and he couldn't be certain which floor he crept across and which floor the unassuming partisans occupied. He began to pivot and enter the interior, his eyes alternating gazes between passageways spaced irregularly throughout the hall. He made it halfway into the interior before a female, swathed in a pink and purple gown whose stitching and form seemed foreign to him, burst through one of the passageways and met him eye to eye. The two of them stood there a pause before the hallway erupted in noise. Woman gave chase to man in this instance. Gaisorix swiftly turned and ran back towards the balcony with the female close on his heels. He gave a small leap, enough for his feet to plant firmly on the balcony's railing, then jumped with greater force to propel him back to the cherry blossom tree he had climbed earlier. The tree shuddered and tossed some of its looser sakura blossoms and buds in the commotion. The branch beneath Gaisorix's feet moaned with the agony of his weight and started to give when the female launched herself in pursuit. He managed to bounce off of the branch before its bark fissured and the female dropped down below with the branch tangling with her gown. A thud called for people to peer through window shutters and through propped doors, though they could not see Gaisorix scrambling along the rooftops. His female pursuer ran parallel with him along the roadway, powdered face flush with anger enough to color the white foundation scarlet. Ceramic and porcelain tiles from the rooftops shot out over the gables of certain roofs and broke against the road like clay grenades. Gaisorix looked back to notice the female slowing her pace as her feet dodged tile shards and shrapnel ricocheting upward. The welcome sight of a port pier greeted Gaisorix as he continued along the rooftops. The water below the pier required a daunting vault through the air to land with a splash as opposed to a back-wrecking thud against cedar plank or road masonry. His eyes traced the distance and helped him line up an appropriate leap so that he could return back to the Southern Sea; he looked back one last time for any cause for reconsideration. The female had continued her pursuit, but this time with a pair of guards with swords unsheathed and demanding his acquiescence to be arrested. He returned his attention back to his chance for escape and broke out into a steady run; he noticed how the seawater invited him with a gentle tide enough for him not to break neck or be swallowed in stormy current. "Devil, back to the sea!" the female exclaimed as Gaisorix leaped from his last eave with a heave and dropped down inches away from port pier and into the seawater below. Water spat up and onto the pier as he dived and the trio slowed until they looked into the water in a vain search for any glimpse of Gaisorix.
  9. 𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 Banter, quarrels, and pleas echoed from wall to wall within the study. Many men and women packed the room, nearing shoulder-to-shoulder capacity, and engaged in all sorts of animated discussion with Marib seated at his desk. He clutched his hands together with knuckles interlocked and white from squeezing; it looked like the spine of a small rodent draped across his forearms. With the anger visibly written across his face, it made for a fitting simile. Across the desk and sitting with his back hunched and head hung low, Miqdad didn't dare reflect back the glare that Marib tried to lance through his forehead with. "He was under your eye boy, have you any idea what this might mean for our kin?" a swarthy man, nondescript and dressed in a likewise unnoteworthy grey turban shouted at Miqdad's hunched back. "You might have rung our dirge, the dirge of our great complex fool!" a woman, hair covered with a sheer purple veil, shrilled with melodramatic emphasis. Marib seemed to line all of the mob's barbs in a row like a line of lances that he wanted to drive through Miqdad. He kept his hands together, but tapped them lightly on the desk to get Miqdad's attention. Miqdad looked up with a face that was as white as one could expect a tawny complexion to get. Marib stood and finally unclasped his hands; he decidedly used them to recover order in his study by lowering them from shoulder-height to his sides. He began to address Miqdad, acrimony tinged each word he spoke. "Miqdad al'Lakhm, we've known you to be soft of heart and soft enough to let a fool child into our complex. We've known you to be trustful enough to let a bear bury its snout in your meal and trustful enough to not take notice of his whereabouts at all minutes of the day when he visited. Now you put me in the predicament of how best to ensure our complex's safety after the damn child found our terracottas and happened upon the frozen bodies of salt." Marib looked up, noticing his students' eyes all on him now. He fumbled his tongue between his teeth and bit down, trying hard to keep a coolness about him that confirmed confidence and not concern. He looked back down at Miqdad and continued, "The Black Elvellyn child who poked and prodded might go recount his memories as all children are want to do. I have no doubt that most will blow him off as an embellished tall-tale teller who might make a good storyteller for the taverns some day, but I cannot rule out that it might attract unwanted attention." Commotion broke out once more with calls for execution, exile, and all manners of punishment. Miqdad fearfully observed Marib's face, hoping that he didn't receive the suggestions with agreement. Marib looked with pity at Miqdad and gave the slightest shake of the head; Miqdad fell against the backrest of his chair with relief. Marib repeated his earlier gesture to dictate quiet in his study and waited until all that could be heard were murmurs that confided doubt in its content. "Miqdad, with Qahtan's agreement, you will be spared punishment," Marib furrowed a singular brow to dare those standing shoulder-to-shoulder packing the room to protest, then continued, "but we will need to make a. . . show of force if you will. Sumfaya Il'Tariq, one of my students, has made it clear that one of the counties bordering us has seen mass migration out of its town. We will strike the town and raze it as a testament of our strength and hope it'll make any reconsider an easy assault on our complex." Those gathered exchanged looks ranging from confusion to excitement to indifference. Miqdad couldn't spell out how he felt about the plan, but looked back for the first time to find a mixture of spear-bearing soldiers, geoturgist students, and Qahtan himself. He looked back to Marib, leaned forward, and asked, "Marib, mind you the rationale seems fair, but we may be flanked in our approach against Erwinsburg." "Boy, you aren't getting away without repayment owed for the trouble you caused. You'll be clearing a ridge facing those isles and preparing a place for a set of mangonels," Marib replied matter-of-factly. He crossed his arms with a sense of satisfaction as he watched Miqdad hang his head again sullenly.
  10. 𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 Gaisorix disembarked the boat first before the keel met the beach, arching his back as he pulled the boat to shore. Sand filtered through his toes as if strained through a sieve, granules of sand separated further by the hairs of his feet. Uortigornos and Arminius leapt from the boat and gave a helping hand as they skipped ashore. They dragged the boat to a lengthy thicket of bamboo and reeds and left it at the foot of the copse before resuming their march through and out to the other side. They approached a farm that opened up with a series of elegant, but humble cottages constructed in Oyashiman style flanking a narrow street running north to south. Gaisorix and his companions paced between houses, hiding out of view of the street and peaked past sidings and flapping window shutters made of bamboo. They shortly found that the farm was empty with nothing but panda bears and mules loitering the bamboo copses and tilled farmland. They kept far and away from any of the animals to avoid creating a stir and held shields overhead as they marched closer to the wall towering over Yong Ping. Arminius and Uortigernos saw, barely lit and far in the distance, an open portcullis at the city's eastern gate. We'd be identified by either guard or notable if we entered so indifferently through the main thoroughfare. Gaisorix found a port of many piers walking out in the ocean along the southern wall and motioned to return back to their boat. With little effort, the men had embarked again back into the sea and rowed slowly and quietly to the nearest pier and floated beneath it. Paper lanterns and metal ones were spaced decently across the piers and along the raised lip of the port facing south; the men used the lanterns to spy and row from pier to pier until the ended up at the westernmost part of the port. Whereas most ships seemed unique to the Oyashiman style, one low-hulled ship striped in black and grey provided an immediate means to climb aboard. The three men took their time to carefully feel their way along the ship's side and onto the deck with night hiding them. The ship had a row of cannons on either side and the three decided to let the youngest, Uortigornos, leap from the barrel onto the pier and catch the remaining two on their descents. The three successfully landed onto the piers and loitered little before finding the drydock and making their way to one of the shipwrights' structures. Gaisorix was the last to enter, kneading the ache from his knees and peering out different windows to keep an eye on foot traffic. The drydock stretched from sea to the western quarter of the city with no closed gates along the way. Arminius and Uortigornos made their way through the drydock and drew crude maps in a small book, or rather, a crude scrawl explaining turns and landmarks one needed to take to access the city. They returned after a half an hour to find Gaisorix leaning back against a chair in such a way that he sought to pop his back. "Glad we din' take ol' bad-back wit' us," Arminius chimed in as he entered the shack. Gaisorix shot him a rude glare and motioned for the book. Arminius slapped it inaudibly into Gaisorix's left hand and began brushing away graphite residue from his hands. "Alrigh', t'is looks legible enough. Ye' two need t'get t'is back to Gowther," Gaisorix expressed intently. He looked between Uortigornos and Arminius and offered the book to the quickest to ****** it back. "Wot? We leavin' ye' 'ere Gaisorix? We dun' need ye' gettin' caught while we are absent," Uortigornos remarked with unease. He paused to recollect his thoughts before continuing, "Eh' already remember ye' gettin' caught in Ephesius an' eh' dun' t'ink ye'll be meeting good luck 'ere." "You two 'ave nothin' t'worry 'bout. T'is city is a maze enough t'at they'll be lost if they happen upon me and make me out for who eh' am. T'e memory is strong wit' me an' eh'll remember a dozen escapes if t'ey give chase," Gaisorix boldly impressed on the two. His cheeks folded with his smile, giving him an air of mischief and thrill. Arminius and Uortigornos glanced at each other with a look that belied their concern and then made their way out of the shack; they each slapped and gripped Gaisorix's shoulder to drive home the point that they worried for him. Gaisorix turned and tucked his tongue against the side of his cheek as if weighing whether to part a cheeky response in farewell, but decided against it. He turned towards the drydock and inspected the entanglement of scaffolding that presented a means onto the towering rooftops of Yong Ping.
  11. [Edited to avoid triggering libertines]
  12. https://docs.google.com/document/u/0/d/1w_JGmbohDcJx-sM10VU9DLf_NVeyg6FNgpjcRiisQ-w/mobilebasic I sent this to Heero & ScreamingDingo a month or two ago. This will hopefully lend your recommendation some more rationale and refuting common disagreements around your jdea.
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