[NC-H] A Brutal New World (Sword & Sorcery)

Started by Mr Self Destruct, August 06, 2009, 11:56:51 AM

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Sonne

#25
Username: Sonne

Character Name: Arieneh

Race: Elf

Age: 29

Sex: Male

Appearance: Naturally androgynous, his unique appearance allows him to be a perfect master of disguise. Standing at 5’ 9” and with the beauty of Michelangelo’s David, Arieneh hides his adonic appearance behind a black woolen cloak. Under the shade of black, his clothing is made of the finest cloth and the light armor which he wears covers his fine clothes as his cloak’s hood conceals his striking gray eyes.  Along with his attire, he often wears a pair of leather gloves upon his pale hands and a pair of reliable boots that have seen many days of turmoil.


Weapons/Talents: Sufficient in the skill of hand-to-hand combat, Arieneh rarely uses the skill and often makes up for it with his excessive use of dark magic. Occasionally; when the situation demands it (or when he pleases), he will use a sword to defend himself.

History: While still a fetus, his mother, Athalia, was sold into slavery. Once the harem leader, Orelen, bought Athalia he was appalled by her beauty and she soon became his favorite. When the leader heard the news that Athalia was with child, he was ecstatic because he thought the child was of his blood. On the day Athalia conceived Arieneh, it was the same day she died. Orelen was bereaved by the death of his favorite, but at the same moment he was enraged to discover that the infant was not his son. Arieneh neither had the green eyes of his mother nor the dark blue of Orelen. This was the truth that scarred Orelen’s heart, and almost sent Arieneh to his death. But Orelen’s agenda changed; if Athalia could not pay for deceiving him, then Arieneh would carry his mother’s punishment.

So as Arieneh grew he was treated worst than the dogs of the house. Orelen made Arieneh his personal slave. From the day Arieneh could speak to the day he began to write, he was constantly beaten and was a subject to sexual & mental abuse. To Arieneh, Orelen was God and the Devil combined, and the house remained Hell until a rare time when he could dream of other realities or when he could be with Aria. Aria was Orelen’s daughter, but she acted opposite to that of her father and her other siblings. Since they met as children, there was a secret friendship between Arieneh and Aria. She was the only angel in the world to Arieneh, and the only reason that kept him wanting to see another day.
When Orelen learned of their friendship, he was quick to order the death of his own daughter. Then Arieneh witnessed Orelen’s guards execute Aria. There was nothing left for him there, so he ran away with a plan to come back and get his revenge. The young Arieneh soon found solace with a band of elfin warriors. They taught Arieneh the art of combat and ways of the elf warrior kind. Vire, the leader of the warriors treated Arieneh like his own son, and Arieneh accepted him as a father. When they learned of Arieneh’s past, Vire insisted on killing Orelen. Before they departed to gain revenge, Arieneh met with a sorcerer who could bring the dead back to life for a considerable fee. Arieneh hired this sorcerer, and set off to obtain Aria’s corpse and his revenge.

When they arrived, Orelen’s guards were caught by surprise. In seconds, total havoc unleashed upon the estate. Arieneh searched for Aria’s grave while Vire was engaged in a sword fight with Orelen. As soon as he took her body from cold earth; the fighting was all over, Orelen was defeated. They left the estate with a bounty of gold and pride in their hearts, there was one less demon in the world. When they arrived back to their camp, Arieneh met with the sorcerer again and the magician brought Aria back to life, but not the way Arieneh imagined. Aria could not speak and she did not remember anything, she was more zombie than human. The sorcerer explained that she was dead for too long, and even his strength could not bring back a soul, but a certain rune could. The golden rune was a lost artifact of great value, and the sorcerer stressed the important of finding the rune sooner than later. The more time Arieneh takes to find it, the more Aria’s body will slowly destroy itself in its current state.  So without the help of his friends, Arieneh set off to find the rune and now his search has led him to another port, and another adventure.     

Mr Self Destruct

Good character, Sonne.  The backstory fits perfectly into what we have going on.  You're approved!  Feel free to toss up an introductory post in the game thread with your character coming into town and maybe overhearing the group's discussion, however you want to do it. 

Crovonovin

Hello there everyone!  Just posting here to declare my interest.  As I'm a bit late to the game, I figured it would be for the best if I were to ask what sort of roles might still need to be filled.  I'm terribly flexible when it comes to designing a character.  In the meantime, I'll be reading through the events of the IC thread to get my bearings.

Mr Self Destruct

We don't really have any requirements for characters aside from those listed in the first post.  However, making it plausible for your character to travel with/join the group might be stretching things a bit, especially with Sonne's character having just showed up.  Think of ways to introduce your character, and work up a profile.  We'll see what we can do. :)

Mr Self Destruct

We're starting to get an uneven balance of male and female characters.  The group is growing, which is good, but we could use some more female characters.  If anyone is interested, PM me with your ideas. :)

Crovonovin

Username: Shihong
Character Name: Warden
Race: Human
Age: Unknown. 
Sex: Male
Appearance:



Weapons:

The man known as Warden dresses simply, and carries precious little.  A simple sword hangs from his waist, dull and unassuming as the product of any beginning swordsmith.  It has the smell of old dust about it, as though the blade has never been shown the kindness of a clean cloth and a deft hand.  Not a sound is made as its owner moves, as though the quality of the weapon is so little as to make it literally insubstantial. 

Beyond his tattered robe there is nothing more, except for the banner held firmly in his right hand.  The flag has long since dissolved away into featureless scraps, and the high wooden pole looks as though it may turn to ash under a particularly hard stare.  When asked of it, the Warden states that he does not know whose sign was once woven into the cloth, nor why he chooses to bear it.  The herald for an army long since lost to the depths of time, he wanders without apparent cause or purpose to guide him.

Talents:

For such a wear-seeming traveler, the Warden is rarely seen to be walking anywhere.  Few are there to mark his arrival to a town, and fewer still are present to note his leaving it.  His steps are silent, and movements too slow or too fast to take note of.  He simply is or is not, a shadow of a thing that stalks the oldest roads and crumbling edifices of the world.  There are many who say he is but a wraith, a haunting spirit that appears and vanishes as eyes blink and heads turn away.  That is one of the tamer theories.

History:

There are very few things in the world that can shake Thaddeus Filch, most namely because he possesses the massive and indomitable frame of a hairless grizzly bear, and works the bar in one of the more repulsive taverns to be found in the reaches of Gothir.  He has served flagons of liquor so blackened and thick that tar would have been a convincing substitute, both in look and in taste, to things with more pustules on their face than hair on their head, wrestled down particularly rowdy drinkers with more than a mite of ogre blood crawling in their veins, and has dealt with so many vampires that a stake is never outside of arm's reach.  That such a thin and average man as the one who now entered through his doors could send such chills through him was laughable.  He was far from the only man to have thought so.

Until that point, Filch had been blessed with an unusually calm evening.  The drink was still plentiful, a decent percentage of the occupants smelled as though they had bathed recently, and the only person who had been shanked had had the decency to fade off quietly and cleanly instead of shrieking spraying like a disrobed banshee.  It was enough to put a bit of a smirk on the old man's face. 

Then he came.  Thaddeus had been staring right at the closed door, plain as day, but somehow he was standing there and the doors were slamming shut, as though the barkeep had been stricken momentarily blind and completely forgot about it afterwards.  Though the tavern was nearly collapsing with age, the usual symphony of creaking floorboards was absent as the stranger made his way to the bar.  It was as though the sound had been sucked out through the same door he had entered from, broken only by a sudden inquiry.

"You will pardon me for my forwardness, but I require directions.  Do you know the path to the Beshnir Caverns?"

It was a voice barely above a whisper, but carried such weight that everyone in the room reacted almost immediately by staring into their drinks, resuming conversation in artificial tones, or otherwise attempting to distract themselves.  At least one person left by the front door without so much as a word.

There was simply a quality to it that caused one's heart to skip a beat without explanation.  It wasn't as though there were multiple voices or echoes.  Those were common enough amongst the more devilish sort of patrons in that part of the world, to the point where they were nearly laughable in their attempts to seem dramatic.  Nor was it that the chords that plucked those words seemed inhuman or deformed.  No, it was far more subtle than that.  It was as though they hadn't come out of a throat at all.

It had taken Thaddeus several moments to reply.  Unfortunately he had never even heard of the place the stranger was seeking, and was secretly glad of it.  The less he had to speak with him the better.  The man left after thanking Filch for his time, but not before placing a ruby the size of the larger man's fist on the tabletop.

---

Thousands of similar tales exist.  The nation may change to another, the tavern may change to a shop or even a home, and the ultimate goal of the stranger is never the same, but nearly every age had men and women with such an encounter locked firmly into their memories.  Few have lived long enough to see him a second time, and even fewer have ventured to question him about his journeys.  Those that have take the details to their graves, wishing that they hadn't.

Though the truth behind the Warden remains a mystery, that has not stopped legends and wild guesses from cropping up over the years.  Most state firmly that he is some sort of apparition bound to wander the world, perhaps unaware of his own demise and cursed by a loathsome former life.  Others are not so quick to assume his heart has yet gone cold, suggesting that he is a demon disguised in the flesh of man.  Pseudo intellectuals are particularly fond of the theory that the Warden never truly existed, and that the stories came first.  The words themselves gradually shaped the being and gave it a sort of half life, constantly shifting between the real and the imaginary.  Still others say that everyone else would do well to shut up about it and let them get back to their drinking.

Mr Self Destruct

Welcome aboard Shihong.  We're close to being ready to for your post.  Until then, feel free to jump on into the OOC Thread!