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Found 4 results

  1. "It is time you held the flame in which your children may one day follow, my dear son. A Most Crucial Departure (a collection of thoughts, happening, writings and poems from Johun’s story to give you an idea of his past) Journal Entry, Malin’s Welcome, the day of Gavon’s departure. My father had left. After nineteen years to this day he has led me everywhere I have known and seen. My father had been raised with bones and blood, and arrows and sticks, yet he had not shown remorse or regret for those years past. He grasped embers and brands like they hadn't seen the light yet, cold to the touch it seemed. His hands are thick, like the bark of a tall, old tree. His faithful reliance on the warmth of the flame, I seldom slept without it's glow. I seldom slept without its guidance. Since his most crucial departure, I have found more than blessings and insights. The gods, they speak to me in the twilight, in the depths of my dreams. They speak to me at rest, and the air warms with each word. Stoking the flame each day and each night, grasping to its repentance for forgiving my mothers holy undoing. May the Long Dark find her when the time is right. Journal Entry, Malin’s Welcome, on year after Gavon’s departure. My father had left. One year ago today. My father had been raised from discipline, he was a man of honour and respect, not bestowed from other people, but honoured in the eyes of Mother Nature. He taught me how to hunt and how to truly take a life, granting the departed a peaceful end. I last saw him kill when he sent an oak and flint arrow through the chest of a doe, an arrow I'd whittled myself on that day. As swift as the arrow flew he ran for the marked animal, slit its throat, and hunched over it, peacefully praying. We skinned and gutted the doe and cooked it's meat over a flame my father had carefully kindled. It's hide hung over a makeshift rack, assembled from the branches of a Mountain Ash. A peaceful breeze scattered the smoke and sparkling embers among the trees, with a charred and inviting smell coming from the cooking Venison, I remember this night clearly. It was a calm and mild Amber Cold evening, there was scheduled to be a boat leaving Varhelm on Snow's Maiden, with traders and buyers who might appreciate a few pelts, so we hunted for the whole of The Deep Cold, and hiked4 back to Varhelm that evening, stopping at an Inn until dawn broke. Gavon met with his brother who I'd only met a few times since my Mother left. They sipped on mugs at the Inn until midday on the Snow's Maiden and I sat and whittled arrow shafts from a bundle of branches I picked up on the walk back. They spoke in a strange language I don't think I'd heard before, both leaning in and keeping their voices hush, close to the bar. I didn't know this would be nearing the end of my fathers presence in my life. Thenet and Gavon talk, Malin’s Welcome. OOC: (this section is meta, only Thenet and Gavon know the contents of this conversation, but it will give you an idea of this character's backstory, Johun doesn't know any of this yet.) *Spoke in Lakian* "These pelts are as dry as the bones it once wrapped Gavon, how will you sell them to the men on those boats?" Thenet frowns with a slight snort of a laugh, "This bag," he pats the leather satchel and looks at Johun briefly, "They'll never know that the pelts are useless, and they'll sell for a good few Mina if I can fool them.." Thenet nods and scrunches his face as he thinks of a response. Good game is lacking, as other more ferocious and less respectful hunters plague the surrounding forests. These pelts were from an older deer, less valuable. "A risk is not worth its weight in blood if you cannot give me a good reason for this decision, you know these traders don't play with steel for fun, I don't have the patience to-" Gavon cut him short "Listen, I mean to sell these last pelts and leave.. Johun can hold his own now" Gavon looks at his hands, then rubs his chin nervously. Thenet knew his brother as a lacking father at times, but he never thought Gavon would leave his son, or risk death to do so. Thenet stares at Gavon, as he sits back in his chair, tapping the bar with his fingers. "Gavon, what of the boy?!" He leans in closer now, and in a whispered urgency, "give me strength to understand your conclusion... Does the Father not heed your sin?" Thenet grabs Gavon's hands as if he were praying and shakes him, an attempt to rattle the man out of his delusion. "The Father has abandoned me Thenet, god knows the boy will find a way, I need to leave this place, I cannot support him.. and..." Gavon struggles for excuses. "Is it Seigrit? Has she been sending you letters again? Do not fall for her bewitched nonsense Gavon." Gavon shakes his head, his lies were crystal clear, he was talking to his brother after all. "She left with that lump of a man Gane, do you forget?" Thenet's tone turning deep and demanding, his eyes narrowing as he analyses Gavon's expression.. "It is not Seigrit, I have other matters to attend to also" Gavon says, puffing out his chest slightly, defensively. "Seigrit has repented" he adds. "Do as you wish then Gavon, I am but your brother, in blood. If my words cannot sway your stupidity then I fear nothing will cure you" Thenet stands and throws a few Minas on the bar, nodding to the keep. "That boy is fragile yet, and your leaving will only push him further, in which direction, only The Father knows." He looks at his brother for a few seconds, and shakes his head leaving without a goodbye, Gavon sits and twiddles his fingers, left speechless and pondering.
  2. Chapter 1: A journey begins "What?! Leaving?" Roger's face turns red as he throws his plate full with pork through the room. Altan dodges the attack and retains his determined frown. "Yes father, I have to do this on my own." Roger is taken aback by the surprisingly dapper words and takes a deep breath, calming himself down. His son takes a seat in front of him and explains to him why he wants to leave his paternal home. Altan has always had everything he wanted. Roger Carlier, his father, was a very wealthy merchant up in the north. With the move to Vailor, Roger had made some clever investments and had gotten hold of a large sum of money. He used this to purchase a large plot of land in the snowy plains and from there, he built a well-oiled empire. Shortly after the rise of his business, the economical mastermind already felt that his wealth meant nothing without someone to share it with. He sold everything and decided to live alone in a grand mansion near a small village. Every day he would buy his groceries personally in the town's humble market. It is there he met Veerla, a 30-something woman who had lost her previous husband in a tragic fire. She saw him everyday, wearing his expensive clothes and always tipping generously. But it was not the size of his wallet, but his look of confidence and an aura of wisdom that attracted her towards him. They married and Veerla gave birth to a single son, Altan Carlier. Shortly after Altan's birth, Veerla passed away. She lost too much blood during the procedure and fought an uphill battle for weeks. Roger saw his wife suffer and started to resent Altan for the death of his beloved. Altan himself never knew his mother and grew up in isolation. Roger barely spoke with Altan and almost never left the house anymore. He'd let his servants buy the groceries and the inhabitants of the town near the large Carlier mansion were starting wonder what happened to the once so cheerful Roger. In an attempt to make Altan useful, without having to do anything himself, Roger surrounded him with the most prestigious teachers money could buy. They thought him how to read, politics, geography, biology, rhetoric, basically everything that Roger found useful. But despite the many efforts to impress his father, Altan could never earn his love. He excelled in any intellectual challenge he took, but could never make Roger proud. This lead to many frustrations within Altan. He grew restless and angry. He started to hate everyone around him, especially his father. He felt like all his efforts were pointless and felt imprisoned in his own fatherly home. At the age of 18, he denounced all his teachers. Also Roger didn't see the need in further educating him. For a couple years they lived in the same house, but lead their own separate lives. One day Altan was walking through the small village near the mansion. He noticed a homeless man sitting against a lone wall, with the biggest smile upon his face he's ever seen. Cynical as he is, he approaches the man. "You have more dirt on your body than you have clothes. Why would you smile like you've won a prize bull?" The homeless person chuckles and shakes his head. Altan's face turns red "Answer me, filth!" he thunders. The poor man just laughs. Altan leaves, furiously. How dare this low-life mock him? He returns home, but the sight of the homeless man never really leaves his mind. That night, Altan can't fall asleep. He's more angry than he's ever been in his life. All the frustration in his body bottles up and he can't stay still for a split second. He decides to go for a nightly walk, as he's sure he won't be able to sleep anytime soon. -to be continued-
  3. -= The Legacy of the Thar Bloodline =- -= Iatrilemar Elervathar =- Basic Information Nicknames: Iat, The Caretaker, The Lynx Age: He was 16 when he left Aegis. He looks to be 18-20 in appearance. Gender: Male Race: High Elf, Mali’aheral Description ( A more natural-looking piece done by a friend and pixel art by me) Height: Just over 6’ Weight: ~140lbs Body Type: Small, wiry Frame & Slim figure but incredibly well toned muscle definition for his petite size. Eyes: A stark aqua blue. Hair: Wavy, curly white hair. Markings/Tattoos: A faint scar of an Ouroboros on his left palm. Indistinct, small scars on his back. Personality: Iat is socially awkward but means well. The times he is abrasive are not out of spite but out of the lack of ability to read social cues. He is narcissistic to a fault and thus is often seen as shallow or even child-like. Apart from this he offers a great amount of wisdom and holds a subtle but enormous power behind his words. He is often quiet and tends to say too much when he does speak. More than anything he yearns for adventure and action in his life. He despises sitting around and often battles with boredom. When tending to his own people, the mali’aheral, he takes on a much more Empirical nature and often chastises them for the little things. He believes that all mali’aheral should be continually striving for progression in all aspects of their lives and thus holds them to a much higher standard than all other races who he comes off as quite nice to. Life Style Alignment: Nuetral. Perhaps neutral good Deity: Iat believes that deities do exist and finds it silly when people deny that fact. However he simply sees deities as beings that have gotten a head start in accruing power and thus should are not figures that should be worshiped. The Creator, on the other hand, is a complete myth in his eyes. Alliance/Nation/Home: Haelun’or. Order of Magi Title(s): Maheral/Malaurir. The Lynx. Archmage of Arcanism. Arcane Mage Special Skill(s): He has two special skills that are non-magical. The first is a skill he has had much longer than he has had any magic. He is an experienced acrobat. His other notable skill is his designing skills, specifically in interior decorating. Flaw(s): He suffers from paranoia but trusts his friends to a fault. He is narcissistic. He can suffer from mental outbreaks and sometimes cannot control his magic. He has never slain any mortal descendant and thus tends to avoid absolute domination in combat. Magic Current Status: Arcane Prodigy. Not only reinventing an entire lost art but simultaneously discovering another. He is described as a true “Void Mage.” Meaning his magic is more connected to the actual concept of the void. Arch-type: Arcane Sub-Type: Arcanism, Voidal Shifting, Voidal Translocation, Warding Rank: #1 Arcanist t5, Voidal Shifting t5, Voidal Translocation t4, Warding t3 Weakness(es): He cannot outright block mental magics or anti-magic. Strength(s): He has two “forms” one is tank-mage where he focuses mainly on supporting himself and his allies with his mastery of shielding. The other is mobility-mage. Iat is rather quick, doesn’t carry much weight and has a combination of quickly casted spells that allow him to lay down impressive firepower while evading oncoming attacks. Along with this he stores a variety of true weaponry that while he is not a master of he can access should he need. Weaponry Fighting Style: With actual weaponry he uses shortswords. Trained Weapon: Shortsword. He is rather bad in other weapons. His Story
  4. (( As I've got a week of no school, I'm bored, and I feel like writing, I've decided to write this in memory of my first 'main' character and easily the one I had the most fun and memorable moments RPing as on here. This is a massive W.I.P thing, and I'm hoping to have segments out daily, so stay tuned and enjoy. )) 24th of Malins Welcome, 1430 “And… stop! It be alright, m’lady. Be at ease…” Bellona inhaled sharply. She had known long ago that when the day that her maidenhood was robbed from her and she too would ‘do her bit’ as a woman and birth another Human into the world, that it would be certainly a most painful and unpleasant experience. Though she had never, however, thought of the full extent of such. Even in the aftermath, her golden-eyes watered and she felt as if, to put it bluntly, she would explode any moment… She craned her neck toward her midwife, who was now cradling the newborn child in her arms, inspecting it over. She gave Bellona a reassuring smile. “Ahh! It be a boy, m’lady. A beautiful baby boy! Yeh want to ‘old ‘im?” Bellona simply nodded, both too pained, relieved and joyous to speak. She gently rocked the baby into her arms as it was lowered down to her, his cries and shrieks echoing through the room. She smiled; he had her skin, she lamented, and his fathers eyes, the distinct grey, haunting eyes accustomed to the Stafyrs. Small strands of thin, dark-brown hair sprouted from his scalp, a mixed trait of both paternal and maternal genes. Eyes turned to the door as Ser Alistier entered. Having been on an evening ride through the forestlands that separated Auvergne and Schattenburg, news of his wifes labour had come late to him. Alistier would move up by his eternals side, crouch down beside her as the boy is passed into his arms, the both of them smiling. “And what should we call him, m’love?” “Hmmm… how about… Ford? After my father.” Alistiers smiled widen, as he moved to plant a kiss on his beloved lips. “A fine name… Ford it is, then. Ford Stafyr.” ~ Though Fords birth was a time of great joy and celebration, Ford himself comes from no notable lineage or ancestry. His father was merely a distant cousin of the main branch of Stafyr, earning his own prestige upon earning himself a knighthood. Fords mother was merely a serving girl before her marriage to Alistier, her father and Fords grandfather before him having been a soldier of the White Rose. Though the Vallero namesake had bared much weight and fortune in lands distant and afar, it held little semblance in Anthos and Oren. Alistier had been struck by Bellonas beauty the moment he had laid eyes on her, and as the two grew closer, the knight would eventually ask for her hand in union, in which she agreed. The two would later wed, bed, and have their first son, Ford. The first part of Fords life was perhaps the most peaceful and happy it would be. He grew up under the care of both mother and father, and was showered with new toys and gifts. He grew close bonds with the other Stafyr children, namely his half-sister Katherine, born to Alistier by his first wife, an Elf, and Farley II. the (then) future lord of the house.
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