Hrukka
Committed
Roleplay posts: 79
Age: 34 years
Appearance: Large, burly and green. Nearly 7 feet tall. Wears ragged underclothes and large plate armor painted yellow. His inner self is only 7 inches tall.
Equipment: Heavy plated armor. Small bag of "snacks". Battle axe and near claymore-length sword he wields one-handed. Pocket knife (or rather, a dagger by a human's point of view) he uses for carving wood. Small wooden charm on a necklace his "Mudda" gave him.
Skills and Abilities: Skilled woodcarver and carpenter. Extremely strong for his size, as well as a high pain tolerance. (After all, his main body is fungi, with limited pain receptors.) The ability to regrow limbs of his large body after eating some of his "snacks".
Biography: A fairly simple git,(His words, not mine) Hrukka spent most of his life in his village in the outskirts of the town of..... "Grrharglakka". At the age of 21, he set out to seek his fortune, working as a combat engineer of a local warlord. He went home years later to see his ailing mother, only to find his village burned down by the very warlord he was working with. After he "krumped" the warlord, he built a rough ship, and sailed off to find his future.
Registered: Apr 8, 2021 12:29:02 GMT -5
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Post by Hrukka on Jul 19, 2021 20:16:28 GMT -5
"Aye, though I never was on the front lines. I got lucky in that respect." "Indeed you were. I was never on the battlefield of a war, I refused to out of principle, but I often helped protect villages from bandits. I take no pride in what had to be done in a few of those cases, but there was little choice otherwise." He laments."Ye were lucky then. The din of battle is a sound you never forget, the clash of blades, the screams of men as they writhed. The splurting of gore as it moved from your blade. It's horrible. Something that'll break a man."
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jul 19, 2021 20:34:38 GMT -5
"Indeed you were. I was never on the battlefield of a war, I refused to out of principle, but I often helped protect villages from bandits. I take no pride in what had to be done in a few of those cases, but there was little choice otherwise." He laments. "Ye were lucky then. The din of battle is a sound you never forget, the clash of blades, the screams of men as they writhed. The splurting of gore as it moved from your blade. It's horrible. Something that'll break a man." "And for what, the pride of some royal you will likely never meet, in a castle you will never see? Death and destruction, often without good reason. I have never been one to find pleasure in the concept of war."
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Hrukka
Committed
Roleplay posts: 79
Age: 34 years
Appearance: Large, burly and green. Nearly 7 feet tall. Wears ragged underclothes and large plate armor painted yellow. His inner self is only 7 inches tall.
Equipment: Heavy plated armor. Small bag of "snacks". Battle axe and near claymore-length sword he wields one-handed. Pocket knife (or rather, a dagger by a human's point of view) he uses for carving wood. Small wooden charm on a necklace his "Mudda" gave him.
Skills and Abilities: Skilled woodcarver and carpenter. Extremely strong for his size, as well as a high pain tolerance. (After all, his main body is fungi, with limited pain receptors.) The ability to regrow limbs of his large body after eating some of his "snacks".
Biography: A fairly simple git,(His words, not mine) Hrukka spent most of his life in his village in the outskirts of the town of..... "Grrharglakka". At the age of 21, he set out to seek his fortune, working as a combat engineer of a local warlord. He went home years later to see his ailing mother, only to find his village burned down by the very warlord he was working with. After he "krumped" the warlord, he built a rough ship, and sailed off to find his future.
Registered: Apr 8, 2021 12:29:02 GMT -5
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Post by Hrukka on Jul 22, 2021 7:37:33 GMT -5
"Ye were lucky then. The din of battle is a sound you never forget, the clash of blades, the screams of men as they writhed. The splurting of gore as it moved from your blade. It's horrible. Something that'll break a man." "And for what, the pride of some royal you will likely never meet, in a castle you will never see? Death and destruction, often without good reason. I have never been one to find pleasure in the concept of war." "For kith and kin? For one's one survival? Ye may not find pleasure in it, and that's a good thing, but there are good reasons for it."
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jul 22, 2021 17:42:40 GMT -5
"And for what, the pride of some royal you will likely never meet, in a castle you will never see? Death and destruction, often without good reason. I have never been one to find pleasure in the concept of war." "For kith and kin? For one's one survival? Ye may not find pleasure in it, and that's a good thing, but there are good reasons for it." "Ah, but is that truly war?" Azaran asks, realizing that he did not get across the point he meant to. "To defend ones self and ones family is not to make war. But to be brought to another land, raiding their towns and fighting their militia, because some king or duke wishes to change a line on a map? That is what I detest." He explains, as he helps with finishing up the perimeter they were marking. "My quarrel is never with those on the front line, stopping an invading force from taking their home. It is with those that lead the invasions and allow atrocities to be committed in their name."
Azaran found Hrukka to be a respectable man. He appreciated his honest, hardworking nature, and he respected his experience in war and in life. Perhaps he could learn more from this man before he moves on to new lands. He looked forwards to these future exchanges of ideas.
After finishing with marking out the perimeter, Azaran takes his leave, needing some rest after the long day. After saying farewell to Hrukka, he goes to the camp he had set himself up on the outskirts, taking a much needed sleep after the recent excitement and work.
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jan 2, 2022 17:23:32 GMT -5
Azaran leads Anathema away from the beach and into the forests it lines, taking the shortest way he knows towards the village the local people know as Ma’ar. Every so often he would stop and set the cask down, taking a few moments to rest, before picking it back up and continuing on his way. Soon, they would break out of the underbrush to a spot relatively clear of it, with a few small buildings dotting the ground. Here, Azaran set down the cask, letting out a deep breath, before gesturing up to the trees, where buildings were built around and between trunks, connected by the bridges of rope and plank, construction taking place on making more and on making more spiraling ramps around trunks to connect them to the ground. “Welcome to the village of Mar, as the locals call it.” He says as he recovers his breath. “They seem to love the trees, and I must say I can see why. Myself, however?” He points over to one of the few buildings on the forest floor, relatively small compared to the rest and not seemingly built to be a permanent structure. Other than that, the only defining mark seemed to be a simple symbol carved into the doorframe. As a few of the locals passed, Azaran waved, and they waved in return, seeming quite friendly towards him and their new arrival. “Hello friends.” He says to them. “Our new arrival has brought some wine and rations. Now, I would not be surprised if she wanted a small portion of both for herself,” He chuckles slightly. “But otherwise I believe she gifted the rest to you all. You can do with it as you wish!” He turns back to Anathema. “Now, would you like that cup of tea? It would not take long to brew, if you care to join me.” He smiled at her, taking his helmet off of the wine cask and tucking it under his arm.
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Jan 2, 2022 19:52:48 GMT -5
Anathema gazed up at the treetop village with wonder. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before, even in its fledgling state - as far as she was concerned, the ingenuity of this settlement's people was nothing short of genius. It made her even more confident that she did not in any way belong here. These were a people who were practically brimming with life, and she was... her.
Azaran's voice cut through her introspection yet again, bringing her back to reality. She took stock of her immediate surroundings, trying her best to shrink at the sight of the villagers of Ma'ar - a vain effort if ever there was one, considering her towering height. But still, they didn't cower, didn't flee... it was all so strange to her.
"I, uh... I don't drink the stuff." She mumbled, motioning to the wine with eyes pointed down to the forest floor. "You can take the lot of it."
The demon tried to smile at the villagers, but what she instead came up with would more accurately be described as something between a grimace and a sneer. The villagers responded with mixed expressions, but they smiled back all the same, if not laced with a minute hint of concern shared between them. Anathema returned her gaze to the dirt before she somehow managed to make even more of a fool of herself.
"Please," Anathema said plainly in response to Azaran's question, nodding at him weakly. The woman followed him into his home, ducking beneath the archway to fit inside.
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jan 3, 2022 14:49:31 GMT -5
The inside was similarly unspectacular to the out, with little more than a few low stools and a table, as well as a small bedroll in the corner, as well as a small place for a fire in another.
Azaran set his helmet on the table and pulled off the armored cuirass he wore, revealing the faded and worn, yet still quite well kept purple shirt underneath, setting it and his weapon and shield next to the helm. He moved to the windowsill to collect some white-petaled flowers that sat there drying and moved them to the table, next going over to the small pile of ash and heaping on some kindling, beginning to spark some rocks over it.
He sat at the far side, facing towards his guest. “Please do take a seat, I will have the tea started soon. In the meantime, is there anything you would like to talk about? I would love to learn more about you Ana.” He pauses for a second as the fire finally lights, stirring the kindling around some as he starts to look around for something. “Is ‘Ana’ alright? Or would you prefer your full name?” He asks.
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Jan 5, 2022 16:21:47 GMT -5
Anathema nodded, leaning her greatsword against the wall of the hut and taking a seat. The woman made a concerted effort to relax, forcing her shoulders down and reminding herself to unclench her jaw every so often. She observed Azaran's movements with curiosity. When the word 'Ana' met her ears, she felt her knuckles tighten in recoil.
"Just Anathema, if its all the same to you. To my people a name is something earned, not given." Her eyes wandered, staring absently out the window housing the white flowers. Maybe, once. But not anymore.
"I, ah... there's not much to tell. Just trying to survive, same as anyone else." Azaran's kindness did him credit - it was the only reason she had entertained this interaction as far as she had - but kindness was far from enough for her to spill her life's story at first request. If he had questions, he could ask.
Ah, but still... she could try, couldn't she? Make an effort. Give him something, something easy.
"I was a soldier, once. A long time ago." She flexed her fingers outward, looking at scars that decorated her skin; each old wound was the color of winter's frost. She didn't even think of them as scars anymore - they were just as much a part of her as any other part of her body. "Did you serve as well? You certainly dress like a soldier. Even if you aren't an ass like the ones I've met."
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jan 5, 2022 21:10:26 GMT -5
“Of course, Anaþema.” Azaran said to her, continuing his search as he listened. Finally, he seemed to find what he was after: A small, quite rough tea kettle, as well as a bucket of water. He dipped it in and filled it to a decent amount, before setting it over the fire, waiting for it to hit a boil.
A soldier? He turned to look at her as she spoke. It made sense. Her build definitely suggested she was a fighter, assuming the few scars he noticed and large sword she carried hadn’t given that away. Upon hearing her question and the comment that followed, Azaran let out a lighthearted chuckle. “An understandable assumption!” He said to her, moving his seat over and sitting down as well, a ways away from the jumpy woman. “But no. A warrior? Reluctantly, but perhaps. Yet I serve no army, nor any royal. I find that war simply creates many more problems than it solves.” He turns his gaze to the window for a moment, watching a bird pass by on the other side of it. “And I thank you for the compliment. I have met enough crude individuals in my travels to know being another will solve nothing.”
Azaran reaches over for the thin wooden plate holding the flowers and puts it on his lap, beginning to crush them into flakes. “As for my dress, I obtained the armor from an order of monks I trained with when I was younger, actually.” He says to her, taking his own turn to share some. “There are some parts I elected to leave behind, but what I do carry has certainly served me well the few times I have had to use it.”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Jan 6, 2022 20:09:33 GMT -5
Azaran's words were like water over seared flesh, making it easier and easier to feel at ease each time he opened his mouth to speak. It was just like it had been on the beach, and once again Anathema fought against the urge to turn away from it. She smiled at his answer, glad to hear of his opinion on warfare. She had decided long ago that she had seen enough of it for one lifetime, even a lifetime as expansive as her own.
"I catch your meaning. Just avoiding cruelty isn't enough to make you kind, though." Anathema slouched in her chair, adjusting her weight. "Kindness takes a lot more work."
The scent of the petals wafted into her nose - it was the best thing she had smelled in months, by a mile. Anathema hadn't had tea in ages. The fiend had always been amused by humanity's affinity for warmth, their association between and heat and comfort - that is, until she first tasted hot chocolate. Everything made perfect sense after that.
"Armor is armor. If it keeps your blood in your body, its worth holding on to." Anathema tilted her chin up at the resting helmet. "Interesting make, though. What kind of monks did you train with? Better yet, what kind of monks wear armor?" She had known a handful of monastic orders in her time. None of them good. Had a tendency to dislike the horns.
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jan 7, 2022 21:39:25 GMT -5
“I do not disagree.” Azaran says, picking up the last of the flowers and holding it on his finger, looking at it. “Cruelty is the easy path. It takes no effort to think only of yourself, doing damage to those who stand in your way. Kindness, however? It takes dedication, and there is much effort in that restraint. It takes much more effort to dam a stream than it does to let it flow.” He sets the flower down onto the plate and sets it aside, leaving it whole in the center of the flakes made from the rest. “Personally though, I find kindness to be much more rewarding. Entirely worth the effort.”
Azaran turns his head slightly as he hears the tea kettle begin to blow. Getting up, he takes it off the fire and scrapes roughly half the petal flakes off of the plate and into the kettle, before setting the lid back on. He then goes to look for cups as the tea begins to steep.
As Anathema looked at the helmet, the make would appear odd indeed. It seemed most likely made primarily from one piece of metal, with the possible exception of the uppermost part between the ridges, protecting the top of the head. Wherever the seam between them was though seemed to be covered by the black paint going up from the face opening and over the center of the helm. The opening itself would take a form reminiscent of a star, with the two bottom legs fused together to show the entirety of the mouth, and the top one drastically shrunk. More black paint seemed to stripe out from the two sidemost arms, wrapping all the way around the head.
“Perhaps surprisingly, some quite peaceful ones.” Azaran responds to her question, a smirk almost audible in his voice. “Their monastery sat on an isle quite coveted by those around it, and as such they had to find ways to protect it and themselves. Despite that though they were surprisingly sparing with violence. Even the art they taught me was more redirection than striking.” He picks up two crude stone cups, the inside looking almost to have been dug out with another, harder stone. “They worshipped a god said to have pulled life itself up from the sea with a fishing hook, and they helped me to learn how to properly use that.” He points to the black metal hook sitting on the table as he walks back towards it.
The man sets the two cups onto the table and pours the tea into it, steam rising as it lands in the cups. Before he grabs them, he delicately picks up the uncrushed flower and sets it upright in one of the cups. He walks over to Anathema and hands that cup to her. “And here is your tea, Anaþema. Enjoy!”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Jan 10, 2022 17:14:38 GMT -5
Anathema listened to Azaran's account of the monastery, noting quickly the nature of those who sought to take the order's home from them. "Greed, then. Sometimes it seems as though humans are motivated by little else - no offense meant."
But the demon stopped herself, holding her tongue from saying more. "Honestly, its... not something my people are exempt from either. Far from it, really," she admitted, her tone turning apologetic. "Still unlearning a lot of that."
Anathema took note of the care Azaran put into the teamaking process. His motions were methodical, almost delicate. When coupled with the way he spoke of kindness, of dedication... it made it difficult to picture the man using those same hands to cause another harm, to take another's life. Her eyes traveled once again to the black hook adorning the wall, the sight of it enough to make her skin crawl, and fill her mouth with the taste of rust. How much blood had the weapon gorged itself up before it found itself here, in this place?
"Its... certainly something." Anathema said with a glance at the hook. "Though if I'm being honest, I get the impression it doesn't like me very much."
She changed the subject. "Maybe sometime you could show me how all that redirection business works. Sounds useful. Its... not always easy to pull your punches." In fact, she was explicitly trained by her former superiors never to do so. That the time it took for a soldier to question the use of deadly force could be the difference between survival and death. It was a principle that she had grown to find abhorrent - one of many, at that.
She took the tea, staring at it for a moment before taking a tentative sip. Her shoulders slouched, a substantial amount of anxiety dissipating as the warmth of the drink spread through her.
"It's good. Really good." She smiled at him - a small one, but a smile nonetheless. "Thank you."
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jan 10, 2022 22:32:07 GMT -5
“No offense taken.” Azaran responded, taking a sip of his own tea. “Your words hold truth. I believe no people is free of greed. However, I would like to believe it is a learned trait, personally.” His mind wanders back to before the flood, to the many villages he passed through and helped. “I have seen children even in the worst scenarios being more kind and generous to one another than the most well off of grown men and women. And as a learned trait? Perhaps it is one that we all can unlearn as well.”
He eyed the hook as Anathema talked about it, contemplating what she said. He had never before considered that its past could be read so easily by individuals similar to those it was reforged to banish. Perhaps it was one of the effects of the blade he hadn’t been aware of? Or perhaps its history was simply written on its edge. If the latter, hopefully he could write a more peaceful chapter for it.
Azaran sipped at his tea again, happy to change the subject as well. He grinned at the thought of teaching her the art he learned. It was unfortunately possible that, as of now, he was the only person left who could show it to anyone, so he would gladly jump at the chance. However, his reaction tempered itself as he remembered his plans. Plans he didn’t want to deviate from much if he could help it. “I would love to show it to you.” He told her. “At least, as much as I can before I depart. I had planned to leave tomorrow morning, but I would be willing to stay an extra day or two if you would like to see some of what I was taught.”
At the sight of her smile and relaxation, Azaran felt a warmth in his own chest. It was obvious that opening up was difficult for her, and he couldn’t blame her for that, but he was happy to see her become more comfortable. “No,” he responds. “Thank you. For the compliment as well as the company. I find few things in life are as fulfilling as sharing tea and stories with a new friend.”
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Anathema
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: A tall, imposing demon woman with pale blue skin, yellow eyes, and curved horns that protrude backwards from her forehead. She wears her hair loose, reaching the base of her spine in length, and wears simple earth-toned vestments that suggest a modest lifestyle.
Equipment: Anathema's chief possession is her bastard sword, a heavy but otherwise unremarkable blade forged from good steel. Counted amongst the rest of of her belongings are a hunting knife and a pack containing various items useful for survival, as well as a small device of unknown origin.
Skills and Abilities: Anathema is adept both in martial combat and tactics. Her skill with a blade is bolstered by her demon strength, placing her physical ability above that of an average human.
Registered: Sept 9, 2021 22:36:23 GMT -5
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Post by Anathema on Jan 11, 2022 17:21:21 GMT -5
...Friend? Her fingers tightened around her cup, allowing herself to become lost in its currents and patterns. Don't be stupid, she scolded at herself in answer to the first feelings of reciprication. He can think whatever he wants, but he doesn't know you. You don't have friends. Or have you forgotten your name?
But as his previous words sank in, they snapped Anathema back to the present. She blinked twice, then raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Depart?"
She sized him up, trying to divine if Azaran was simply talking about a supply run, or a scouting mission. Something temporary. But...no, that wasn't it at all. The man had found a thriving village amongst the wreckage of the world, and he was leaving. Why?
"Thats... surprising. Wouldn't it make more sense stay here, with the people who built this place? Seems like they're happy to have you. And its safer than going out on your own." She took another sip from her cup, wearing a look of curiosity on her face. "Besides that, there's ah... well, there's tea here." She smiled nervously as soon as the half-hearted quip left her lips.
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Azaran the Wanderer
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 100
Age: Early 30s
Appearance: (Drawing commissioned, done by Griffith)
Azaran is roughly 5'7", with a muscular, athletic build. He has black hair, cut short to his head, along with a pair of purple eyes. His hair is usually hidden by his armored helmet, however, one with a star-esque face opening and black markings along the top of the head. He wears a purple sleeved shirt underneath a steel cuirass, with pauldrons going out over the shoulders. He wears tanned pants, as well as a pair of armored greaves.
Equipment: As well as his armor, Azaran carries with him few supplies, mainly a waterskin and a small pouch for some food and general supplies as he travels. To protect himself, however, he carries a basic heater shield and what seems to be a hook made out of black metal, sharpened to a short blade at the far end with sharp points on both ends, and a rounded point design on the back. Although it seems unassuming, it can also materialize what seems to be a translucent purple rope-like structure wrapping around the uppermost part of the hook, and extending out any length up to 20ft or so, with a barbed hook at the end. The rope seems extremely hard to break, and the hook seems to be sharp as a blade.
Skills and Abilities: Despite his hesitance to use it, Azaran is very skilled at fighting, and due to the copious amount of time he spends out in the wilderness he is an excellent survivalist, knowing how to spend weeks at a time on his own on travels between civilizations.
Biography: Growing up, Azaran Ðyáhmo lived in the lap of luxury, sheltered from the harsh realities of the rest of his people in the archipelago. His parents, Duke and Duchess of the region, kept him away from seeing that. However, as time went on, his curiosity got the better of him. One night, while his family was sleeping, he snuck out of the palace, to see the world outside. To his dismay, the people were struggling. His parents focused more on their party lives that the lives of the people they were supposed to serve. Disease ran rampant, people were starving in the streets, and bandits robbed in broad daylight. When he returned to his home in the early hours in the morning, he vowed to make his world a better place, one person at a time. He forsook his parents' name, and stole their most precious heirloom, the God Hook Déshimoh, whisking it away in the dead of night to wander the countryside, never staying in one place long, passing along the good fortunes of comradery to his people. Even after the flood destroyed everything, though, he didn't give up, and he plans to spread the same word around this world as well.
Registered: Apr 13, 2021 17:52:55 GMT -5
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Post by Azaran the Wanderer on Jan 11, 2022 21:30:19 GMT -5
Azaran chuckled. “It is true! There is some delicious tea here. However…” He looked out the window, his smile fading to a more neutral visage. “From what I saw when floating in, these islands are so vast. I find it hard to believe that the people here are the only ones to wash ashore. I know there are others out there, and they may not be as well off as the people here.” He gripped his cup tighter, looking down at the drink. “Perhaps it is not my place, but…I feel obligated to find and help them. If only to bring all of those who have found their way here into contact.
He continued to look into the liquid in his cup, staring at his reflection through the fine steam that rose from it. It was true that he wanted to help whoever else may be out there, but he felt there may be more there that he refused to delve into. He felt antsy the past few days, as if he had already been here too long. But there was still so much work he could help with, so many problems he could help to solve. And yet, the thought of staying even longer, of making more connections here or settling down.
It scared him, to some extent. But he didn’t know why.
He lifted up his drink and took another sip, disturbing the face he saw in its mirror. He lifted his gaze back to Anathema, a smile returning to his face. “And do not worry about me traveling alone. It is something I have done for many years as I traveled between towns and villages. Some things like that fail to bother you after enough time.”
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