Cosmik

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Seventeen pigs in the pen. The Keeper sighed. He was one short, and his patience was thin. He knew the culprit instantly - a younger breed, shorter than his brothers but rippled with fat. White hair. Black spots. A good candidate for a roast, not only by virtue of his body but because of his attitude. He hated the thing, but begrudgingly raised it. The Keeper wished he could strangle the pig now, but instead, he walked up the hill and surveyed the open fields. His shadow spread wide over the grass, black against fading sunlight. There. He saw the pig walking into the woods, following a green glow. A glow from eight round eyes. His breath caught. He watched the pig as it was led further into the wood, undoubtedly to that hole in the ground half a mile out. He knew this day would come soon, and rather than solve it, he put it off. Now the beastie had grown bolder. It had taken from his stock. And it would lust for more. The Keeper shivered as memories floated back to him, thoughts of skittering and screaming and fangs ripping his skin like tissue paper. He banished them with a grunt. The aged Dark Elf had let his nerve lead him astray. As he returned to his house, his fists shook in contempt. As he later emerged, he didn’t bother locking up. ——— ——— Beasties, as he’d learned, came in all shapes and sizes. No one could anticipate what life lurks beyond the walls of civilization. These beasties in particular carried a horrible power. He approached an open clearing in the wood and stomped his foot. Slowly, the earth before him moved, and he heard clicking. For a moment, he almost lost his reserve. Then he was bathed in green light. A hulking creature rose from the earth, smelling of decay and dirt, its mandibles shifting as it surveyed the Keeper. The plate of false earth was glued to its abdomen with a foul grey substance. It’s eyes shined with hypnotic influence, swirling with an empty insectile glare. It was accustomed to waiting until its prey was properly befuddled, then it would reach forward with those eight hulking legs and drag its meal into the depths below. The spider searched for the Dark Elf’s eyes, as instincts demanded. This one’s eyes were quite strange. Flat. Shiny. A strange color. The spider weaved his head back and forth, slowly inching closer. He raised his bow, and three arrows met three eyes. The beast reeled, screaming in a boiling cry as its light flickered. Its hairy legs scraped against the leaves as it tried to disappear into the ground, as life ebbed from its horrible body. The light slowly faded. The Keeper exhaled, shivering, as he adjusted the large spectacles bound to his head. The world was pink through the tinted glass, but it was better than green. He walked backward twenty paces and returned with a burlap sack, which he tucked under the spider’s corpse. He pulled a long fuse free from its coil. Grunting, he struck it alight. The Keeper ran for cover. ——— ——— The smell was revolting. The elf walked toward the smoldering hole, sidestepping bits of flaming spider. The ground was splattered with muck, some of it hissing through the foliage, but his path had been cleared. A much larger hole lied before him. Over his long lifetime, he’d had plenty of time to hate things, but spiders carried a special place in his hating heart. At one point, they had been more than a foul beastie... they’d been a symbol. A pet of a people most foul, who raided his township day and night, who wore coverings to avoid the punishment of sunlight. Those warriors taught him the meaning of suffering. When the Bane broke, they did unspeakable things to him. He stooped down and collected a flaming branch, holding it over the dark shaft. As it fell, he saw a corridor that widened with depth, covered in thick grey webbing. It dropped maybe 50 meters before thudding to the earth, smoldering but still maintaining a flame. Through his pink goggles, he could see the corpse of a pig. His pig. Little piggy had a hole where its head should’ve been. The Keeper glanced sideways at a fragment of the spider’s face. “You’re not the only beastie.”, he said in a gravelly tone. It did not reply; it just kept burning. When he looked back into the hole, he didn’t see the pig. He saw forty green eyes, heard the thunder of muscled legs against the walls, heard their mouths chittering in rage. The elf began to tremble, and he ran for his life. Five large spiders gave chase. ——— ——— The spiders sounded like angry cattle, thudding against the earth as they pursued the Keeper. He frequently glanced back in terror, watching how they gained on him. Their legs expertly maneuvered the brush that he had to sidestep. There was no subtle hypnosis at play. Their eyes shone with a beastly anger, and they lusted for elven blood. All else was forgotten. He broke free of the tree line and hurried through the grass. Multiple shadows danced before him, cast by the green light that loomed from behind. He cleared into the mud pit, and felt his legs splashing against something that stuck to him like syrup. As he neared the torchlight of his home, he looked down at himself. His legs dripped with black oil. The Keeper had learned much in his lifetime about monsters, and more often than not, they could usually be burned to death. The elf dropped his bow and ripped a torch off his wall. He turned, facing the beasts that were splashing through the puddle of oil he’d prepared. With a primal roar, he threw the burning stick at them. Pigs scrambled and screeched from their beds as the night’s second explosion rocked their stable. The Keeper slammed against the wood of his home. Groaning, he blinked away the stars in his eyes and watched through cracked pink lenses. Searing heat was consuming the monsters. Their bodies crackled in the fire as they screamed, curling up into balls against the grass. When the noise had died down, he slowly approached the spreading fire, drawing harsh breath. One. Two... there’s three. No, four. Four bodies. “Where’s—“, he mumbled, right as the last beastie flanked from his right, its legs pinning him to the ground. The spider rammed its head into his belly, and fangs pierced through his worn clothes. The Keeper screamed. ——— ——— Vomit swelled in his mouth as the Keeper lashed out, striking the spider’s eyes with his fists. It blinked and screeched at him, veering off for a few moments. The elf’s vision swam and wavered as venom coursed through his body. That, coupled with the pain, would’ve sent a normal man directly into unconsciousness. The Keeper, however, clung to life as desperately as he could. He clawed at his side for a dagger. The spider returned and loomed over him, blinding him with a ghastly light that rivaled the sun. He cursed and plunged the knife at that sun. It went out. Angered, the spider bit him a second time, pumping his body full of that sickly purple venom. This time, the Keeper did vomit. But he kept stabbing. Both elf and spider roared at each other, lashing out in agony, until the spider’s movements slowed to a halt. It tried to puncture his belly but only managed to fall atop of him, and the multiple holes in its head finally took effect. The Keeper vaguely tried to get out from under the crushing carapace, but failed to do so. Like certain times in his past, the spider’s poison overcame his resolve, and his scarred head hit the ground. His body stopped twitching. The elf passed out, his mind sinking back to an island cave, where he last felt such a poison. Where the Mori strung him up like a pig and butchered him. ——— ——— The sun rose, and set, on a burnt field in the middle of nowhere. The Keeper leaned on his staff and watched as the fifth carcass burned where it lied. His robes were open, exposing a set of bandages that encased everything from his nipples to his hips. Despite the Balance, and the beasties, the Keeper lived on. He slowly limped to the stable he’d built with his own two hands. The pigs approached him, eagerly searching for a table scrap, or bit of sugar. He scratched one behind the ear, and it happily grunted at him. The dark elf wept.

Name (And Username): Kabini Ithnan (Cosmik) Position Applying For: Full-Time Barista Previous Experience: Drank coffee once or twice Can cook Can farm Can read Can write Will show up on time Won't invite women with questionable morals into the break room Where do you see yourself in five years?: I'll be five years older! Probably better at cooking. Also farming. Maybe I'll own a house. (Skype Name): cosmik_lotc

It’s generally agreed upon by the public that enchantments are bothersome things. They make killing tools better at killing. Evil warlock armor becomes more protective. They add unnecessary drama to the furniture. Your toothbrushes become soothsayers. Perfectly innocent roses become plot devices, cursing the noble knight into beasthood unless he can woo some tramp from the local village. Enchantments are bothersome things… but that hasn’t stopped the Library from collecting them. -~- It was a cold winter morning. Snow drifted across the face of the Library of Dragur. Not quite cold enough to stick just yet, but just the perfect temperature to ruin your morning and aggravate that head-cold of yours. The lights were dim, save for a study above the north wing. In that study, an old elf sat in his chair and stared at a crystal. The elf’s coal-black skin was riddled with scars, showing that his past life had been very pleasant and not too bothersome; just peachy, in fact. His dulled green eyes never drifted from the emerald for a second, for fear that he’d miss some cue, some signal. A worn tobacco pipe dipped from his chapped lips. Smoke curled up into the air. After an eternity or three, the emerald began to glow with a disgustingly chipper light, and to Ashur’s chagrin, it spoke. More accurately, it screamed. “GOOOOOOOD MORNING! I AM THE CRYSTAL OF ETERNAL MADNESS, AND LEMME TELL YOU OLD-TIMER I AM JUST BURSTING AT THE SEAMS TO BE HERE TODAY.” “That’s nice.” Ashur replied in rumbling monotone. “You’ve said 20 words and I already want to die.” His hand danced across parchment, noting the date and time of the conversation. “Why are you happy?” “BECAUSE RIGHT NOW YOU’RE MY BESTEST GREATEST FRIEND, OLD-TIMER, AND I LOVE TALKING TO FRIENDS! I KNOW SO SO SO SO SSSOOOOOOOOOO MUCH! WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR SOME HUMAN FACTS?! I HAVE MY TOP 10 FACTS FOR BEST FRIENDS. #6 WILL LITERALLY KILL YOU!” “In time. Why don’t you tell me how you know so much?” The crystal ignored him. “HUMAN FACT #3024: THE VEGETARIAN DIET AROSE FROM ASULON-ERA FOLK WHO WERE SHITTY HUNTERS AND HAD TO FEND FOR THEMSELVES. THIS IS BECAUSE THE KING DIDN’T SUPPORT WELFARE.” Ashur took a long puff from his pipe as the jewel’s shrieking echoed in the chamber. Not only did its speech flow loudly, it flowed quickly, like a traveller’s diarrhea in a two-bit tavern. This was the third interview in as many weeks, and every time he neared some conclusion about the thing’s creator or function, it would divert at the last moment. Was this intentional or just misfortune? Ashur couldn’t tell. “HUMAN FACT #2053: FROST WITCHES ONLY CORRUPT WOMEN BECAUSE WOMEN DON’T HAVE SOULS TO BEGIN WITH. BASIC BIOLOGY!” “Do you have a soul?”, the elf probed. “WHAT YOU SCHOLARS CALL ‘THE SOUL’ IS A FAR MORE COMPLICATED CONSTRUCT THAN YOU THINK, FRIEND-O! IF I TOLD YOU HOW ‘SOULS’ WORKED THEN YOUR BRAIN WOULD INFLATE AND DEFLATE AND INFLATE AND DEFLATE AND THEN IT’D POP AND YOU’D PROBABLY DIE! WOWZERS! THAT’S DARK ELF FACT #6374.” “...What is Dark Elf Fact #1?” “DARK ELF FACT #1: DARK ELFS BE BLACK.” “That’s a terrible fact.” “YOU’RE A TERRIBLE DARK ELF. THAT’S ASHUR FACT #1: ASHUR UILOSSON IS A TERRIBLE DARK ELF. WHAT KIND OF DARK ELF USES A BOW? CULTURE SAYS THEY USE A SWORD. WAY TO BE DIFFERENT, HERO. ASHUR FACT #2: ASHUR GOT HIS GENITALS MUTILATED BY MORI AND SOUNDED LIKE A GIRL FOR THREE WEEKS. ASHUR FACT #3: ONE TIME— AAAAAA WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU--" "AAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII" -~- "... Summary: Results inconclusive. Artifact shelved and testing halted until further notice. I would heartily recommend new Scholars resume study when available..."

BASIC INFORMATION « OUT OF CHARACTER NAME » Cosmik « IN CHARACTER NAME » Kabini « SURNAME » Ithnan « CLASS » C1 « GENDER » Male PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION « DATE OF BIRTH » 2nd of Amber Cold, 1564 « HEIGHT & WEIGHT » 6'0", 167bs « EYE, SKIN & HAIR COLOR » Gray eyes, white skin, brown hair « CULTURE » n/a « MARKINGS » One scar, curving from the median of his right temple up into his hairline. PERSONAL INFORMATION « HOME ADDRESS » N/A « PROVINCE » Savoy « OCCUPATION » Farmhand CITIZEN'S OATH « ALL CITIZENS » I, Kabini Ithnan, hereby swear my loyalty to the Emperor of the Holy Orenian Empire entirely by my free will. I swear to read and obey the laws of the Empire and understand the punishments and penalties that will be incurred should I violate the law.

The application smells thickly of something... recreational in purpose. The handwriting is neat. So neat, in fact, that it appears machined, painstakingly fashioned with each letter's curve and edge painted carefully. Despite all this, the below rant was produced in 5 minutes on the back of the application. -~- I hardly see WHY you would make a FORMER SCHOLAR reapply for the SAME POSITION. Without uniforms. Without proper order. Gods, you might as well have a mage daycare in your halls. Come here, self learn! Blow yourselves up! We facilitate DEATH BY MEDIOCRE MAGIC! Gods be damned. All of them, both sides In MY time we built a W E A T H E R C A N N O N . We could launch that damned blue rock into the sky and EXPLODE IT and create toxic snow! WE KILLED 14 SHEEP IN ONE DAY results were inconclusive -~- RP Information Name: Ashur Age: Somewhere between 900 and 1,200 Race: Mali'ker Title and topic of book for application: Archery by Ashur. All 3 volumes, mind you OOC Information MC Name: Cosmik

Smoke curls up from a worn wooden pipe. Within the catacombs of the Grand Library of Dragur, an older 'ker pulls his chapped lips from the wood and blows a ring of smoke into the air. He'd mentioned the topic to every man of his kin since he arrived at this institution: "Where are our kin hiding?" And after a year of waiting, word of a settlement finally reaches his desk. Ashur rises from the table, his crimson robes swishing, and douses his pipe. Above his head lie the quarters of the Harbing-- Librarian, he mentally corrects himself. As he makes his way up the spiral staircase, he forms the forthcoming speech in his head. "I've decided to take leave for a week or so..." ((Skype: Cosmikornia))

OOC In-game name: Cosmik Skype: cosmikornia RP Homunculus name: Vub Key Symbol in the homunculus: Water Race: Primarily Wood Elf, with the deformities described below. Appearance of homunculus: Vub's skin resembles the sky on an early summer morning, or a cleaned shard of lapis - a stark blue. His body is impossibly slender and wiry beyond malnutrition. Because of this, he suffers from a distinct lack of strength, simply because of a lack of muscle or fat. Vub's bones would jut out from the thin layer of skin concealing them, and in some places (such as the elbow), you could feel the texture of their surfaces if you pressed hard enough. His 6'4" frame would amount to 90, 100 pounds at best. Grey-blue eyes would regard you from sunken eye sockets. His thin lips are nearly concave. Loose brown curls of hair fall to the collarbone. The fingers, long twigs as they are, are spaced far apart on his large palms, so much so that the pinky finger would be fairly close to the carpals of the wrist. They remind you of starfish. When standing in the anatomical position, the first knuckles of his index fingers would be parallel to his kneecaps. Personality of Homunculus: Vub is a homebody. Since his form is fragile and thin, his personality would initially be one of sheer terror and confusion as he learns to operate his body. As time would go on, he would slowly learn to appreciate the quiet and simple things in life. Maybe he'd be lurched over the dinner table, studying the way the varnish has brought out the rings in the cedar. Or he'd be sitting on a bench outside, watching the funny way that one of his companion's head bobs straight up and down when he speaks. Vub would be concerned with household tasks: the cooking, the cleaning, the potted plants, the half-dead goldfish. When he /does/ speak, it'd avoid any conflict at all. All Vub wants is a quiet, peaceful, fulfilling life for him and his friends, like a still lake. Are you aware of the PK cause and do you agree that your character will be PK’ed if one of conditions are met?: Mhmm.