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Draiden

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About Draiden

  • Birthday 10/23/1997

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    Draiden#5098
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    Draiden_Kaid
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    Draiden Kaid

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Interests
    Medieval weapons and armor

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Aedan Faretto
  • Character Race
    Highlander

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  1. Dearest Cousin, It appears as though you are operating under a few misconceptions that I feel need to be clarified in order to better the discourse. Firstly, I noticed this as a common problem with the contemporary faith, viewed both from inside and from the laity - a Keeper and a Purifier are not equivalent things. A Keeper ought to be considered a capstone rank within the clergy, since they are always most likely one of if not the most senior person in the room and hold the highest authority. Even you said afterwards in your reply that Purifiers of old go on to become Keepers. To compare and contrast a lesser rank to a senior rank as if their duties and responsibilities equate one another is unfounded at best, and a gross error in concept at worst. You also seem to be operating under the assumption that I believe Castellan and Scholars are separate ranks instead of equivalent ranks of separate specialization. I am not - and I understand the latter to be true. There is also a matter worth addressing when you say that my goal is to try and destroy the Faith from the inside-out by somehow turning entry into an administrative nightmare. That is simply not true. For the Purifier and for the Priest alike, the criteria for joining is roughly the same, albeit that, like you said, a Purifier wishes to fight. To say that placing clerical and administrative duties onto the Purifier as their would-be mentor (The Lord Purifier) deemed necessary speaks volumes concerning your own personal opinions regarding the duties and responsibilities of your station, because I personally do not feel that clerical duties are in any way, shape or form a burden as you seem to think. Though here is also an incongruity that I feel important to point out - that your perspective is slightly off because of the special nature of your station in particular. It is not rare knowledge to know that you are mentored by the High Keeper, and have to perform all of the administrative tasking for the High Keeper in her late age. This arguably puts you head and shoulders above someone like me, who is mentored by someone who is still capable of performing his clerical duties. This is in no way meant to offend you, but to point out that if you made a Flamebrand right now, you would probably succeed the role of Luminary, because you are performing well above the station of Hearth Sister. To us regular Hearth Brothers and Sisters, however, the task of performing any sort of clerical or administrative duties does not exist beyond assisting the Keeper performing them as they see fit. This brings up an interesting dynamic that I would like to point out - This means that a Hearth Brother/Sister has the distinct chance that they never perform any clerical duties whatsoever before undergoing their Keeper Trials. You also say that the Purifiers are not meant to uphold the standards that a Keeper does, yet this is also demonstrably false upon reading the duties and responsibilities of the Scholar - which explicitly says they should become Keepers. Not to mention that you have also written that Castellans may become Keepers as well. I am curious as to what you think the standard is for a prospective Keeper, because that is something that has yet to be defined. From your own words and from the words of those more senior to our station, Priests and Purifiers alike have the potential to become Keepers. I would argue that if any of them want to become a Keeper, then they must learn at least some of the duties and responsibilities of every station, as per the station of the Keeper, and do not necessarily need to specialize in any field but their own. After all, we need Keepers that are capable of a varied and diverse amount of studies - a Jack of all Trades, master of one. Of the changes suggested, nothing actually changes for a Purifier or for a Priest in their day-to-day lives unless dictated by the Keepers and the Lord Purifier. They will continuetheir respective studies in their respective fields as 'specialists' as you so aptly put it. It is only when they wish to take the next step - Keeper Trials - that they will actually need to learn the responsibilities of the other stations at all. Since you like to compare the clergy to a military; think of it as a high-ranking footsoldier or archer beginning to try and command multiple forces in battle. They need to understand the strengths and weaknesses of the other soldiers in order to effectively command, becoming a dabbler in all fields of combat; not just their own Again, this is all merely a suggestion. Your passion and dedication is likewise commended, and I look forward to seeing how the correspondence develops. Hearth Brother Aedan Faretto
  2. Open Query to the Hearth Council A Keeper Trial Written 18th of Snow’s Maiden, 2A46 Foreword In my experience with the Order of the Purifiers and the clergy proper, I find myself grasping for reason to pursue the career of my forebears other than my sense of obligation to the Father and my personal beliefs of the Three Tenets. The current ranks and recognition for both the Purifiers and the clergy proper, the doctrine by which both operate, and the perceived differences between the two orders imply a few precedents that I hope to address and to have clarified by the end of this missive. Observations of the Clergy Queries Recommendation to the Hearth Afterword Ultimately, a fire burns brighter and burns longer if it is concentrated into one spot. Similarly, in my opinion, we must stand as a united front instead of a fractured religious body operating independently of one another. What I have posed are simply a few questions for clarity and a suggestion for a more unified front. If you have any questions, I will most likely be drunk in Varhelm’s tavern. Writ av Hearth Brother Aedan Faretto
  3. Aedan would stare down as his stump legs in his wheelchair, anger welling up inside of him. Was he angry that his countrymen closed the gates on his shins, leaving him crippled and forever changed? No, he knew that if the gates had been shut any later there would have been more bloodshed. Was he angry that he spent the latter half of the battle firing a crossbow while strapped to the back of his king? No, he had taken down many Svarlings with his aim. No, what he was mad about the most was that he knew in his heart somewhere a Svarling was dubbing himself "the Crippler" and they were eating his legs and feet. This blow would hurt him more than any blade could. "... When I am able to stand and walk again, I am going to find that captain... and I'm going to cave his head in."
  4. Aedan would sit in the isolated comfort of his backalley Barrel Court, his fingers gingerly touching the stitched cuts and gouges on his face where his mask had shattered and cut him in the battle. He felt the pain of his cracked and broken ribs with every heave of his chest. With all the pain his body endured, the Highlanders achieved what they had set out to do, and the day was won. "... An age of heroes."
  5. Permanent hot chocolate - coming to a frozen wasteland near you!
  6. Tavish would stare blankly at the note that Solomon had written for him, an odd flurry of emotion swelling inside. It seemed apparent to him that the dead had nothing but sweet words on the final chapters of their lives. He didn't know Solomon when he was Sohoro, and only through vague statements did he understand the man's past. He knew Solomon as a troubled soul looking for redemption in an unforgiving world. Tavish folded the missive and set it down on a nearby table. Through the scope of his faith, and of his own life experience, he felt that a guilty conscience would seldom allow itself to feel redeemed, no matter how far it had come. It happened all too often for it to be a coincidence. What terrible atrocities did Sohoro commit early on in his life? Tavish couldn't say. But to Tavish, Solomon was kind and earnest. He was gentle, despite his size and stature. Even in his last words,, he encouraged people to be happy and to love one another. He tried, which is more than what could be said of most... and Tavish could appreciate that. Killers, reapers, saviors, defenders, good, evil... the distinction eventually becomes lost in translation. Lines shift, lines blur, and meaning is meaningless. Was Solomon a good man? Had he redeemed himself? Tavish would say so. Solomon was a friend. He was a brother who understood things Tavish would spend his lifetime trying to grasp... Yeah, Solomon was good man... And Father help anyone who told Tavish otherwise. He'd throw the note into the fire, the last words of a man with two names burning into Tavish's mind forever.
  7. The Barrel Court By the Barrel King The Barrel Court resides in the heart of Norland, often taken as a jest made in the taverns throughout. Those who are unlucky enough to find themselves within the contempt of the people or breaking the just laws dictated by his his beloved Fatherland, however… They would find themselves dragged by the courtiers of retribution and brought before the Barrel King. They will be brought to his court - not like the filthy squalor of the Norlandic sewers, but rather a clean and well-kept alley stocked with booze, foodstuffs, warm fires and beds plenty for the weary travelers and loving members of his council. It is in these alleyways that they will find their fate decided. The Barrel King is a monarchal title originally intended to be an insult to the chieftain of the Faretto clan, for he cared not for the so-called comfort that came with cities and taxation, choosing instead to reserve himself to backalleys and rough living in the wild. Being a chieftain, a Keeper, and taking the title as a badge of honor, he has the distinct pleasure of conducting a number of official tasks while fashioning himself the Barrel King. These would include visiting and receiving foreign diplomats, conducting trials for the accused, performing marriages and executions, and sitting councils to decide on major political decisions. Over time, his title became one of great importance of the people of Norland as synonymous with a man who knew not only the callous, reptilian laws and customs of Norland, but also the red-blooded sensibilities of practicality as well as a firm belief in his convictions. Today, the Barrel King is passed down from generation to generation to the members of the Faretto clan, and the Farettos to bear the title of Barrel King are tasked with the distinct responsibility to uphold and enforce not necessarily the laws of Norland, but to teach, uphold and reinforce the ethics of the nation to his faithful subjects. Their Court’s jurisdiction is vague and undefined, but can be roughly equated to Norland’s borders and wherever the Barrel King will frequent. Executing the whims and fancies of the Barrel King is considered the moral responsibility of every Father-fearing, red-blooded Norlandic patriot. The courtiers of this council do not carry titles and do not wield official authority, as the title of Barrel King has transformed to be a title that mocks and falsifies any other title and undermines authority as a rule. They know in their hearts, however, that their Barrel King loves them, and that they are always welcome in his court. Yours sincerely,
  8. Jager and Tyr would become extremely mad at this decision from their posts in the Father's afterlife, starting fights with random faithful souls at random and shouting at the top of their lungs incoherently. Tavish, on the other hand, could care less.
  9. "Aw hell, I got specifically invited." Tavish would remark, looking down at the invitation. "I guess I have to go, then."
  10. IGN: Draiden_Kaid RP Name: Tavish Nation/Settlement/Charter: Norland
  11. Tavish would return from his monthly hunting trip, sweat heavy from his brow despite the freezing cold. His armor was heavy, his pack laden with the pelts, meats and fish he had caught in the week. He'd find the missive stabbed into the Barrel Throne. much to his surprise and dismay. After a quick read-through, he'd let out a sigh. "Iron from Ice. Looks like I'll take my armor off some other time."
  12. Keep Your Dreams Simple "I've survived so much worse. I can't die here. Not like this." Jager noticed about a year or so ago that he was slowly dying - At first it was just fatigue. Then it was his poor appetite. He had been able to cover that up well enough - denying his deteriorating health and masking those symptoms with quartz powder… Then he started coughing up blood. Everyone noticed almost right away. After that, quartz wouldn’t give him energy anymore. He’d lost his appetite altogether. He could hardly breathe at night, leading to countless hours of sleep lost. At first, he tried to play it off, and that everything was fine… but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Everyone knew right away that Jager was a dead man walking. After much resistance, he’d finally given in to hospitality - staying in his clanhall vice the outdoors of his Barrel Court. He let his family make for him odd poultices and herbal teas to calm his chords. They soothed the hurt, but it didn’t stop anything. His time was rapidly running out. After his body laid on that bed, he found it harder and harder to leave it - eventually resigning to stay in his room all days. Day by day in that room, his conditioned worsened quicker than he’d seen when he was still up and about. He knew that would happen. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not anymore. Not ever… But that was just his thoughts getting the better of him when he was alone. Those dark thoughts that perhaps he had made irreversible mistakes in this life, and there was no hope of redemption. Thoughts that his illness was punishment from the Father for leaving his flamebrand in a doomed world to come to this new one. Those thoughts eventually subsided, though. He felt he’d done better. To think of all the times an errant slip of a blade, a quarter inch of difference in placement, a slightly different angle of view, could have brought his life to what most would call a fitting end to die in combat just… didn’t happen. Why didn’t it happen? He always figured he couldn’t die there. Every time he felt as though he had to stay alive for something. Someone needed him to live, and he was gonna ******* do it. And he did, for as many times as his life was tested up until that point. But he was out of people to fight. He was out of reason to persist. They’d fought off the Inferi, they’d landed in the new world. Every one was safe and sound, his children were grown, and his body decided it’d had enough.And now here he laid in his bed, staring at his feet covered with heavy furs and blankets. His body would be withered and emaciated, and he could only guess what his face looked like, haggard and worn with shallow cheeks and dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His breathing was coming in with great effort, and oft followed by horrid hacking coughs that put flecks of blood onto his blankets and sheets. He’d think he wasn’t a great man of his time - great men didn’t die in their beds from illness He had a few final thoughts before his last breath escaped his lips. He did his best, maybe more than his best. He made sure that whenever folk needed him, he was there. By some, it was a damn sight better than his own father did for him - or for anyone for that matter. He made sure that those who needed guidance were guided. He fought the evils that came to his doorstep - Beowulf, voidal magi, cultists, harpies, Inferi and all the other horrid things he couldn’t put a name to. Maybe he was kept alive all these years because he still had a job to do. Maybe he was dying now because he finally finished his job. Jager had done his duty. He’d done it better than most. He spread his flame - not only would he be survived by his three children and two grandchildren, but all of the Keepers, Initiates, Hearth Brothers and Sisters that he had mentored, the young orphaned children of Norland he’d acted as surrogate father to, and all the others whose lives he’d touched. He’d certainly suffered not those unworthy - even to his detriment. Even to his death. He thought about this, gingerly touching the scarring on his neck where a dagger and fire has made their mark. Time and time again he had cheated death fighting what he thought was the good fight - and his survival only implied that it was the good fight, and that he was righteous in the Father’s cause. He killed as many agents of the darkness as any of his colleagues and compatriots could boast, and he did it without loss of limb or loss of life. He was still alive, and he was whole. He supposed one could either say one of two things about that - That he just got lucky several times, or that he was one of the best monster hunters that’d ever lived. “... ****.” The following missives would be found within the Barrel Throne, stuffed amid empty bottles of liquor and other random things. They seem to be goodbye letters addressed to several people in no particular order.
  13. ... Jesus, you really didn't mess around with this.
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