Gray
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 124 
Registered: Jul 2, 2021 10:00:37 GMT -5
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Post by Gray on Dec 6, 2022 15:59:25 GMT -5
There came a slow nod from the white-haired man; the only sign that he agreed with Alden's opinion on questions, or indeed acknowledged his existence. Yet to ask a question of his own took Gray much longer. It was a pleasant night, Gray thought. He pulled his log-bench back in place, and went out in the cold breeze to recover the bowl. Alden was a courteous guest. With someone like Nina's friend, Theodosia, Gray thought, with most people, mentioning that the travelling painter might just stop breathing would elicit a useless emotional response. Not so with Alden. Oh, he was an insightful one, though. Gray held his gaze as Alden returned from glancing at the Tower. How much did he see? Magic that Gray could no longer feel. There was an ember in his chest, and Gray couldn't tell whether it was jealousy or pain. Alden was the person he should have been. If only Gray could have been stronger... 'You would be dead,' a thought revolted in him. 'But not weak.' Gray took his time fiddling with the log, feeling that if he couldn't place it in precisely how it was in before, then all the little order in his life would come apart. He turned over the fish, to cook on both sides. Afterwards, he raised a finger...And remained silent. For it was never as easy as just asking a question, was it? There were dangers to consider. He watched the flames. Already, he had revealed too much of Nina's weaknesses; too much of his. There was the Tower, in its dark gloom, watching them. Any question would have to consider these factors, and a thousand more. Yet, to his dread, Gray realized that he couldn't hold all these ideas in his mind. When he tried, they slipped his focus, like balls through the fingers of a half-paralyzed juggler. One thing at a time. That would have to do. He was forced to trust, he realized, throwing the sleeping Nina a deadly glare, the assessment on Alden of someone with the social intelligence of a porcupine. Eventually, his hand slipped down. The crackling of the fire rung loud in his ears. He spoke: “Did you ever believe in what was done to you...to us? That it was...the right thing?” |
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Alden
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 266 
Age: 53(?)
Appearance: The reference image is a commissioned piece and is accurate.
Alden is 6 even, with shoulder-length messy black hair, and several days worth of beard stubble. He is handsome, with a powerful jaw, mid-set cheekbones, and a perpetual grin that makes him seem younger than he really is. His bright green eyes, constantly sparkle with barely contained mirth. He has the lithe well-muscled body of a swordsman, and he moves with considerable grace and dexterity.
If one were to do a more thorough examination of Alden's eyes they may notice a further detail. Around the outside edge of his iris, there's an intricate series of minuscule grey runes.
Underneath his shirt, Alden's skin is a mass of scar tissue. Starting from just below his neckline, there is very little space that does not sport some relic of a past injury. A particularly observant person may also note that among these scars, some are a bright scarlet. These scarlet scars form an intricate series of runes hiding amidst the rest of the scars.
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Equipment: Alden's general loadout when he goes fighting consists of the following:
A twin set of enchanted shortswords. The simple straight blades are unnatural dark, absorbing rather than reflecting light. Giving the enchanted steel an appearance closer to cold iron. The guard has the Isran sun emblem emblazoned in a medallion shape just above the guard, which is wrapped in simple leather. The enchantments increase their sharpness and durability, as well as being able to ignite the blood of anything that he has pierced with either blade.
Numerous braces and hidden throwing knives all over his body. At one point, these were also enchanted but when the calamity struck he didn't have time to grab his original set. So these are all well-made but ultimately mundane weapons. Still, with his strength and skill, they can be quite deadly.
Unfortunately, at present, he is also missing his armour. His preferred armour is leather dyed in mottled black and greys, with strike plates sewn between layers for added protection. His old set was also enchanted for increased protection from physical and magical attacks.
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Skills and Abilities: Alden is, for lack of a better term, a weapon master. He has been trained to use almost any weapon you can think to name. Relentless daily training with each, with extraordinarily demanding expectations on performance and harsh incentives for failure giving a level of skill with most of them that make him formidable.
However, his preferred style involves twin short swords. While he is skilled with all of his weapons thanks to training, he discovered a natural talent with the blade. His level of skill when wielding his short swords is on another level entirely, nearly transcendent in his skill.
On top of that, he is a living magical enchantment. Carved into his body are a variety of runes that grant him numerous innate abilities. He is inhumanly strong, around three to four times stronger than a man in a similar state of physical fitness would be. This also applies to his endurance, speed, reflexes, and other physical traits. He also has regenerative abilities exceeding human normal, able to heal from even broken bones in a matter of days rather than weeks.
In addition, he is immune to most poisons and resistant to the rest. The runes etched into his eyes ensure he can see the same no matter the level of light and reveal magical auras to him. Runes along his back make him impossible to scry on directly and provide him a measure of resistance to magical attack. This, combined with training, also makes him immune to magical mental influence. Finally, runes on his feet dampen any sound he might make taking his already considerable stealth abilities to another level entirely.
Speaking of his training also included all of the skills one would think an Assassin should have. He knows how to mix poisons, move without being seen or making noise, scale walls, lie or disguise himself, pick locks, pick pockets, just for starters. He is also quite skilled at clerical work and he has some diplomacy ability after thirty years leading the Sun Marshals.
Beyond all of this, Alden also possesses an incredible amount of willpower. If Alden decides that he will do something, there is very little that can stop him from doing it. In fact, at present, the only thing that could deter him from a course of action is Captain Naoki. The former Empress is the only person he has any loyalty to and he often values her judgement on matters above his own.
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Biography: Alden was born to a small farming family in an out-of-the-way village. His parents named him Toan and until he was five his destiny was most likely to live and die on the same farm he was born. However, that all changed when Pride arrived.
The leader of a criminal group known as The Set, Pride offered his parents a sum of money that would make any poor farmer's heart stop. Enough money to change their lives forever and all he wanted was Alden, one of nearly a dozen children. A child that wasn't even old enough to help with chores around the farm yet. And the man as so nice, he wanted a ward that he could train to be a retainer how bad of a life could that be?
The answer to that question was basically Hell. Pride was a potent alchemist, enchanter, and scholar and he had but one goal in mind. To create a superior warrior. Alden was subjected to hellish daily training along with six other children. Forced to learn to fight with every weapon, against any foe, in any condition. His limbs were broken deliberately and he was forced to continue to fight and train in constant agony. And this was among the mildest of the ways he was trained.
The culmination of the training came when he was twelve. When he and the six other children were locked in a room and told that the only one who got to leave... was the only one to survive. Of course, surviving was hardly a reward.
Once Pride had only the strongest of the children left he proceeded to the next step of his plan. Alden's memories and identity were seared away as Pride carved runes into his flesh and his very soul. Transforming the young man into a living magical artifact and keeping him on a drug that suppressed all of his emotions.
From there Alden became the new Wrath of the set, a weapon meant only to slay those he was told to. That may have been all he would be but Pride made a miscalculation, Alden's runes helped him to build an immunity to the dosage meant to keep his emotions in check, a weakness made worse by Pride having let him keep his anger thinking it would make him a better weapon. Eventually, events conspired and Alden snapped when the only member of The Set to be kind to him, Sloth, was killed for threatening to expose Pride.
Alden, driven into a deeper rage than ever before killed Envy, Lust, Gluttony, and even disembowelled Pride. Greed manage to escape and Alden slaughtered everything in his path trying to catch the man. Eventually succeeding in his goal. Bereft of a target for his rage and the chase having left him in the middle of nowhere Alden finally collapsed the trauma and coming off of the dosage causing him to bury most of his memories.
He wound up in Isra where his talents and skill soon earned him the eye of the then, criminal Madam Naoki. She recruited him as one of her enforcers a role he continued as her power expanded and grew until she finally became Empress. His reward for his loyalty? Appointment to the head of The Sun Marshals her special police force, effectively making him her right-hand man.
During this time he also uncovered his own past and learned that Pride had survived, the man had made preparations for such an eventuality and his death only saw his soul moving to a phylactery as he became a lich.
Pride created a new Set, this time making each member just as he made Alden. Eventually, this culminated in Pride attacking Isra and his eventual, final defeat.
Decades have passed since that time and Alden, whose power kept him at his prime for years continued to serve Isra until the new calamity took him to The Island of Mists, his empress reduced to a captain and he now serving as her first mate.
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Allegiances: Naoki and Port Argentum
Place of Residence: Port Argentum
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 13:21:25 GMT -5
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Post by Alden on Dec 7, 2022 12:13:42 GMT -5
Someone looking at the scene from afar would have probably found it a strange sight. Alden did not break the silence as Gray spoke and the silence that existed between two master assassins was a heavy one indeed. Only the crackling of the fire and the lapping of the waves broke the peace of the night. Two living statues sitting across from each other as a girl slept in their midst. Then the silence broke and the question hung in the air for a moment before it was responded to in kind.
"The right thing?"
Alden repeated the last three words slowly, carefully, as though he was exploring the shape of each sound as his lips formed them searching for meaning. It was a rhetorical question, one that Gray could appreciate. After all, what was the right thing? It meant different things to different people, its shape changed depending on where you viewed it from. When someone dwelled in the light it was easy to be certain what the right thing was, after all, it was hard to see into shadows when surrounded by light. But from the darkness, more could be seen, the light was easy to peer into and the abyss around was not as unknown.
"I do not know if I once thought it was the right thing."
Alden said in the same considering tone as he hefted the blade he had on his lap. He brought it to his eyes and examined the length, clean despite all the blood it had almost certainly spilled over the years.
"When I was in the middle of it, there was no thought given to right or wrong only the next mission, the next life to take. Merchants and lords, knights and wizards, kings and princes all died by my actions but I was the blade that Pride wielded. In exchange for wealth and power, he sent me to rearrange the pieces on the board, take one person out of the castle so another could sit on its throne. In the doing, more than just one would die as people resisted the inevitable change. Only for it all to repeat again a few years later and for what? All that death, all that suffering, and in the end those castles were made of nothing more than sand that was swept away with the tide."
Alden laid the blade back across his lap and turned his attention to Gray once more, fixing the old man with that strange runic gaze.
"I do not know if I once thought it right. I do know what I think now."
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Gray
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 124
Registered: Jul 2, 2021 10:00:37 GMT -5
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Post by Gray on Dec 11, 2022 4:55:55 GMT -5
The silence felt comforting, like talking to an old, favourite book. “I was made for the role you later took up. Maintaining order.” Gray spoke. Whatever it took. That was unspoken – there was no need. It was the way that their shared experiences made for something that was not quite trust, but more than mere knowledge, like the act of looking in a fairground mirror. With out as much as a nod, Gray's eyes suggested he was familiar with the numbing effects of their work. When Alden lifted the sword, Gray knew that the man would not drop and scratch it. If he closed his eyes, he'd nearly smell the clove scent of old pages. He did not, for he did not trust Alden just yet. “It may have been worse for me, had I not been chosen.” Gray said. “The half-bred son of a whore had few chances in my land.” Fear and love combined made for exquisite loyalty. He could see how it was crafted, and yet be unable to uproot it. Why was Gray sharing that? Perhaps to build rapport with a powerful person that could later prove useful. Perhaps to start figuring out why their deepest secrets had been literally thrown to the dogs. Perhaps all were just excuses, and he was a lost, lonely man. “When my older sister died, it occurred to me that our master was wasteful.” His voice was level, and he nodded towards Nina's sleeping form as if to reference the memory. “Therefore, he was stupid. A weakness in the system.” Weakness was unforgivable.
“A perfect system. So I thought. I went on to do the same to others. Better, I thought. Kinder. Improving each time. One died.” Gray folded his fingers, and seemed surprised to discover blood on them. As if he had forgotten. 'One thing at a time.' “The problem with teaching, Alden, if you do it right, is that you learn.” Wearily, he reached for one of the pieces of cloth that Nina had taken to sneaking into his sleeve-pockets. “I started seeing the loop.” He gazed into the fire. “A pattern that repeats only because of itself...is it a facsimile of life, or merely a living death?” A meaningless question. Yet one that had the old-paper feel of having been handled many times. He trickled ash over his palm, to staunch the bleeding, then removed most of it and tied the bandage around. Only a careful eye would spot the tension in his movements from the earlier kick. “There are skills that I should consider myself thankful not to pass on.” Gray spoke. “For to do so would be wasteful to perfectly serviceable humans.” Learning how to resist torture; if there was any who would remain unchanged, Gray wouldn't trust them. His eyes turned to Alden, awake. “Yet you cannot deny that we are efficient, if nothing else.” The ageless assassin counted on his fingers. “Nine times out of ten, I could be replaced by a dozen accountants. Nine tenths of the remaining, guardsmen could do a decent job. But it is that one in a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand cases, that people like us have the upper edge. That we become necessary, or even represent the only option.” “Do we have a right to a moral compass, Alden? Or is it but a hobby, an extravagance for times of peace?” |
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Alden
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 266
Age: 53(?)
Appearance: The reference image is a commissioned piece and is accurate.
Alden is 6 even, with shoulder-length messy black hair, and several days worth of beard stubble. He is handsome, with a powerful jaw, mid-set cheekbones, and a perpetual grin that makes him seem younger than he really is. His bright green eyes, constantly sparkle with barely contained mirth. He has the lithe well-muscled body of a swordsman, and he moves with considerable grace and dexterity.
If one were to do a more thorough examination of Alden's eyes they may notice a further detail. Around the outside edge of his iris, there's an intricate series of minuscule grey runes.
Underneath his shirt, Alden's skin is a mass of scar tissue. Starting from just below his neckline, there is very little space that does not sport some relic of a past injury. A particularly observant person may also note that among these scars, some are a bright scarlet. These scarlet scars form an intricate series of runes hiding amidst the rest of the scars.
-------------------------------------------
Equipment: Alden's general loadout when he goes fighting consists of the following:
A twin set of enchanted shortswords. The simple straight blades are unnatural dark, absorbing rather than reflecting light. Giving the enchanted steel an appearance closer to cold iron. The guard has the Isran sun emblem emblazoned in a medallion shape just above the guard, which is wrapped in simple leather. The enchantments increase their sharpness and durability, as well as being able to ignite the blood of anything that he has pierced with either blade.
Numerous braces and hidden throwing knives all over his body. At one point, these were also enchanted but when the calamity struck he didn't have time to grab his original set. So these are all well-made but ultimately mundane weapons. Still, with his strength and skill, they can be quite deadly.
Unfortunately, at present, he is also missing his armour. His preferred armour is leather dyed in mottled black and greys, with strike plates sewn between layers for added protection. His old set was also enchanted for increased protection from physical and magical attacks.
-------------------------------------------
Skills and Abilities: Alden is, for lack of a better term, a weapon master. He has been trained to use almost any weapon you can think to name. Relentless daily training with each, with extraordinarily demanding expectations on performance and harsh incentives for failure giving a level of skill with most of them that make him formidable.
However, his preferred style involves twin short swords. While he is skilled with all of his weapons thanks to training, he discovered a natural talent with the blade. His level of skill when wielding his short swords is on another level entirely, nearly transcendent in his skill.
On top of that, he is a living magical enchantment. Carved into his body are a variety of runes that grant him numerous innate abilities. He is inhumanly strong, around three to four times stronger than a man in a similar state of physical fitness would be. This also applies to his endurance, speed, reflexes, and other physical traits. He also has regenerative abilities exceeding human normal, able to heal from even broken bones in a matter of days rather than weeks.
In addition, he is immune to most poisons and resistant to the rest. The runes etched into his eyes ensure he can see the same no matter the level of light and reveal magical auras to him. Runes along his back make him impossible to scry on directly and provide him a measure of resistance to magical attack. This, combined with training, also makes him immune to magical mental influence. Finally, runes on his feet dampen any sound he might make taking his already considerable stealth abilities to another level entirely.
Speaking of his training also included all of the skills one would think an Assassin should have. He knows how to mix poisons, move without being seen or making noise, scale walls, lie or disguise himself, pick locks, pick pockets, just for starters. He is also quite skilled at clerical work and he has some diplomacy ability after thirty years leading the Sun Marshals.
Beyond all of this, Alden also possesses an incredible amount of willpower. If Alden decides that he will do something, there is very little that can stop him from doing it. In fact, at present, the only thing that could deter him from a course of action is Captain Naoki. The former Empress is the only person he has any loyalty to and he often values her judgement on matters above his own.
-------------------------------------------
Biography: Alden was born to a small farming family in an out-of-the-way village. His parents named him Toan and until he was five his destiny was most likely to live and die on the same farm he was born. However, that all changed when Pride arrived.
The leader of a criminal group known as The Set, Pride offered his parents a sum of money that would make any poor farmer's heart stop. Enough money to change their lives forever and all he wanted was Alden, one of nearly a dozen children. A child that wasn't even old enough to help with chores around the farm yet. And the man as so nice, he wanted a ward that he could train to be a retainer how bad of a life could that be?
The answer to that question was basically Hell. Pride was a potent alchemist, enchanter, and scholar and he had but one goal in mind. To create a superior warrior. Alden was subjected to hellish daily training along with six other children. Forced to learn to fight with every weapon, against any foe, in any condition. His limbs were broken deliberately and he was forced to continue to fight and train in constant agony. And this was among the mildest of the ways he was trained.
The culmination of the training came when he was twelve. When he and the six other children were locked in a room and told that the only one who got to leave... was the only one to survive. Of course, surviving was hardly a reward.
Once Pride had only the strongest of the children left he proceeded to the next step of his plan. Alden's memories and identity were seared away as Pride carved runes into his flesh and his very soul. Transforming the young man into a living magical artifact and keeping him on a drug that suppressed all of his emotions.
From there Alden became the new Wrath of the set, a weapon meant only to slay those he was told to. That may have been all he would be but Pride made a miscalculation, Alden's runes helped him to build an immunity to the dosage meant to keep his emotions in check, a weakness made worse by Pride having let him keep his anger thinking it would make him a better weapon. Eventually, events conspired and Alden snapped when the only member of The Set to be kind to him, Sloth, was killed for threatening to expose Pride.
Alden, driven into a deeper rage than ever before killed Envy, Lust, Gluttony, and even disembowelled Pride. Greed manage to escape and Alden slaughtered everything in his path trying to catch the man. Eventually succeeding in his goal. Bereft of a target for his rage and the chase having left him in the middle of nowhere Alden finally collapsed the trauma and coming off of the dosage causing him to bury most of his memories.
He wound up in Isra where his talents and skill soon earned him the eye of the then, criminal Madam Naoki. She recruited him as one of her enforcers a role he continued as her power expanded and grew until she finally became Empress. His reward for his loyalty? Appointment to the head of The Sun Marshals her special police force, effectively making him her right-hand man.
During this time he also uncovered his own past and learned that Pride had survived, the man had made preparations for such an eventuality and his death only saw his soul moving to a phylactery as he became a lich.
Pride created a new Set, this time making each member just as he made Alden. Eventually, this culminated in Pride attacking Isra and his eventual, final defeat.
Decades have passed since that time and Alden, whose power kept him at his prime for years continued to serve Isra until the new calamity took him to The Island of Mists, his empress reduced to a captain and he now serving as her first mate.
-------------------------------------------
Allegiances: Naoki and Port Argentum
Place of Residence: Port Argentum
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 13:21:25 GMT -5
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Post by Alden on Dec 13, 2022 21:19:13 GMT -5
Gray had quite a lot to say and Alden sat in silence as the old man talked. Some of what was said might have been an attempt to add commentary from Alden, perhaps Gray probed for some insight. It was equally likely to Alden's mind that Gray mused aloud to the universe at large in the vain hope for some insight. In either case, Gray was bound to be disappointed by the reality as he finally leveled a true question at Alden.
"Is it right to kill a father of six because he is a soldier on the other side of a war? Is it right to poison the general who leads the battle the night before to prevent it? Is it good to assassinate a usurper in order to end a civil war? Is it worth it to smother a babe in its crib so it never grows up to try and take the throne in the first place? Each time you take a life, what is the measure you take to decide if it is worth it? These are questions of morals and ethics for philosophers to debate over, we are killers Gray, and you should know the truth as well as I."
Alden got to his feet the sword came with him. He walked over to Nina and bent down next to the girl, he rested the blade on the sand next to where she slumbered. Close enough that she could easily grab it though Alden didn't get close enough to her for her to grab him.
"You can justify much if you say it is for the greater good. But the truth is, your moral compass points toward what you consider the greater good, whatever or whoever that might be. Its not so easy to cast it aside and if you do things that you know are wrong well enough you could have set your path to avoid them, then its not hard to deduce who's greater good you actually serve. Good night Gray."
With that Alden straightened and stalked off into the night. It was that or kill the old assassin for a person Alden had never met in a sandcastle that had been washed away. All that was left behind of the structure was a curse, its keeper, and a ghost, at least they had an octopus to keep them company.
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Nina
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 289
Registered: Apr 4, 2021 10:46:08 GMT -5
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Post by Nina on Dec 20, 2022 14:45:38 GMT -5
It felt to Gray like he'd tripped, having guided his steps by a mirror that turned out to be flawed.
Was the flaw in him, or in Alden?
Didn't matter. Gray stared at the other man, and marvelled at his own insanity as Alden's pupils seemed to sketch out runes. There was a sound in his ears like ripping cotton paper. The only one in the New World who could understand Gray-
Didn't.
“To know the truth without thinking on it...not all of us can be so brave.” Gray spoke.
He regretted it. Almost immediately, the man regretted it. For Alden approaching Nina with Gray's own sword reminded him that words have power.
So heavy those steps felt.
Like words that bear the weight of life.
But it wasn't to be. Alden left the sword just close enough to Nina that Gray's sleeping protege could just about maul herself on it if she really tried. If she woke up...Which she did, leaping up from her cocoon of blankets like one of those strange ashika seashore creatures with flippers. Staring at Alden, Nina sagely let him know:
“Penguins.”
Afterwards she fell back, too exhausted to register the blade, Gray thought, or perhaps wise enough to realize there was nothing she could do about it.
Was the sword a message? Gray could no longer tell.
Soon there was nothing left but the dreamer, the crackle of the fire, the scent of the sea. Gray lifted his palm in front of him but, once again, like before, it did not feel real.
“Don't listen to the Clocktower.” He spoke. Alden was far enough by then, but Gray did not have the strength to be louder. “If it speaks to you.”
Later, Gray would kneel at the seashore and offer Alden's dinner to a curious tentacle.
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Rainier Fletcher
Established
Roleplay posts: 15
Age: 42
Appearance: Rainier towers above most of his peers, standing at 6'7". His rather thin body, caused by years of abstinence, is hidden underneath the folds of his cassock.
His thin and angular face hides his true nature, making him appear stern with his roman nose, high and sharp cheek bones, thin lips, and prominent jaw. His green eyes twinkle with intelligence and humor known only to him. Like the other natural born members of the Fletcher clan, he was born with white hair, that would grow thick on his head if it wasn't tonsured.
Equipment: Rainier is a priest of the Church of Varafel by vocation, and thus is equipped like one. He has two cassocks, one white, and the other black, and he carries the spare in his satchel. He tries to keep his black leather shoes glossy for all occasions, but that often proves impossible as he walks everywhere. For rainy weather, he has a dark gray robe to go over his robes.
His personal belongings are stowed in a grey canvas bag slung across his body, and include: his prayer book, his ink and spare quills, a journal, a pen knife, and his gold wire rimmed spectacles for when he has to read.
He also has a quarter staff he uses as a walking stick, and if needs be, for self-defense.
Skills and Abilities: Rainier is a natural born preacher, able to draw great crowds with his fiery sermons about the wicked ways of man. That translates over to his writings on history and the cultures of people he meets in his journeys. He's a natural born tenor, and often leads choirs in his spare time from evangelizing.
Though he doesn't like to, he can use the quarterstaff in effective self-defense, though he is far from being a master with it.
Biography: Cousin to most of the Fletchers, Rainier doesn't quite know how exactly he is related to everyone, other than he simply is. His eldest sister is Regina Fletcher, and is the youngest of that brood of children. His vocation is the Priesthood of Varafel, and travels as an itinerant preacher and scholar, recording local histories and cultures.
Despite appearances to the contrary, Rainier is rather warm hearted, more willing to give a smile than a frown. He does look down upon his cousin's sinful ways, but will attempt to bring them back to the folds of the faithful through humorous chiding instead of pure fire and brimstone.
Registered: Sept 11, 2023 16:51:51 GMT -5
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Post by Rainier Fletcher on Feb 25, 2024 20:50:18 GMT -5
How many miles?
How many miles had he wandered, he mused silently to himself, since he had landed on the shores? Or perhaps, how many miles since he left home all those years ago to become a priest? Partly in grief, partly in youthful rebellion, mostly to leave the shattering world around him where all that had been comfort was now thorns and walls crumbling down.
There was no telling the miles, and while one could count the years they would not be an accurate tally of how long his spirit had moved within that most mortal of inventions. The Mother of all had no such use for the adding of years, Her plans and signs followed their own cycle that few could surmise. And he was not among that most blessed of Saints or wretched of sinners.
He tended the fire with the end of his walking stick, covered in wet sand from their journey of... five days? Six? He had lost track with the overcast conditions and the steep sides of the cliff on one side and the roaring sea on the other. But now that the tide was high he had found his way to an escarpment that mostly blocked the wind blowing off the waves, allowing the meager fire he huddled over its own small life to keep his own going from the cold air.
Why was he here? The crackling of a small fish on a stone baking on the fire asked him.
Because there were no others. At least, none that he could recall. He had been in a small community of huts and fishing nets giving a sermon about the glories of The Mother (which felt somewhat hollow in the scent of fish guts) but none could remember worshipping such a figure. Or knew of anyone who had who had washed up on shore alive who kept to the old ways.
That was until he felt a hand on his sleeve, a whisper in his ear. "Follow the cliffs until you meet... The Master. He will speak to you the Truth." He turned and there was no one there, but a coracle no one remembered being there was tied to the pier. He had bobbed for a few days on the small hide and reed boat, until it finally run aground on soft sand under a towering cliff. Trusting in Her he picked a direction and started walking. And that was why he was here he thought to the fish as he cut it open with his pen knife and speared a small flaky piece into his mouth.
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Nina
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 289
Registered: Apr 4, 2021 10:46:08 GMT -5
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Post by Nina on Mar 18, 2024 15:02:11 GMT -5
“E-yoo!” A girl's voice reverberated against the cliffs.
She stood there, in clothes the blue of cornflower splashed with salt, with a bucket in one hand, and the other hand open in a gesture of greeting. Her loose robe-like garments were caught with cords above her elbows and knees to help with wading through water, because – although it was not mentioned – assassins design the best clothes.
“We don't get many people coming from that direction.” Nina said, regarding the small coracle with a narrowing of the eyes that bordered on the familiar. She tilted her head. And...“Do you need help?” She asked.
Because one still got new castaways washed upon the shore in need of aid.
“Mhm.” Having come closer to the tall man - even taller than Gray, she thought! - and his campfire, Nina shuffled on her feet, and fidgeted with the bucket. There was something about his voice – the intensity, the genuineness – that bordered on the uncomfortable. Looking for wisdom, was he now? “The best I can do is freshwater,” she said, handing the man a small water-skin.
She stared at the blue sky, pondering.
“The town of Port Argentium isn't that far. They got a library now,” she said, and added under her breath, “though spirits forbid you question the cat.” Blinked. “Are you persilosophical? My...mentor, Gray is persilosophical.” The girl rubbed her temples. “If you ask him the wrong questions he talks about the nature of truth, pain and existence, and I end up wanting to stab him which is, arguably, a bad idea.” She shook her head. “Although I wonder...”
She spun around, as if trying to find the way she fit between the sand and the sky.
“I think you might be looking for Anselm.” She spoke.
Stopped.
“Anselm is...a hermit. He settled with us recently in the Azure Coast. Are you...?” There was a burning question lingering on the tip of the girl's tongue. She shook her head. “No, nevermind.”
Hesitation. She looked back to where she'd come from, then to where she'd been going, then to the empty bucket. There was the sensation that she didn't quite wish to leave the stranger on his own, and the way she looked at him, as if she was not quite sure if he carried weapons or disease.
“I can tell you how to find him. Just...don't...cause...trouble, all right?” She spoke softly.
Nina pointed with the bucket.
“ 'Bout half a watch that way – until you see the tower on your right, and the cave on your left. There's a path going up the cliff. Don't eat the berries, don't bother the octopus.” She stepped onto a rock to gesture. “'t's a touch steep. If you wait for me to return, I can show you a walk-around.” Nina pointed to the sky. “Well, Anselm lives in a cave, more of a nook in the rock, really, almost all the way up. Though at this time I imagine he might be working in the clifftop garden.”
The girl straightened her back.
“He is a valued member of the Azure Coast. Just...” Once more, those burning words. Once more, the silence.
“Take care.” Nina whispered, and, should no more be required of her, went back on her task.
She did look back, once.
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Rainier Fletcher
Established
Roleplay posts: 15
Age: 42
Appearance: Rainier towers above most of his peers, standing at 6'7". His rather thin body, caused by years of abstinence, is hidden underneath the folds of his cassock.
His thin and angular face hides his true nature, making him appear stern with his roman nose, high and sharp cheek bones, thin lips, and prominent jaw. His green eyes twinkle with intelligence and humor known only to him. Like the other natural born members of the Fletcher clan, he was born with white hair, that would grow thick on his head if it wasn't tonsured.
Equipment: Rainier is a priest of the Church of Varafel by vocation, and thus is equipped like one. He has two cassocks, one white, and the other black, and he carries the spare in his satchel. He tries to keep his black leather shoes glossy for all occasions, but that often proves impossible as he walks everywhere. For rainy weather, he has a dark gray robe to go over his robes.
His personal belongings are stowed in a grey canvas bag slung across his body, and include: his prayer book, his ink and spare quills, a journal, a pen knife, and his gold wire rimmed spectacles for when he has to read.
He also has a quarter staff he uses as a walking stick, and if needs be, for self-defense.
Skills and Abilities: Rainier is a natural born preacher, able to draw great crowds with his fiery sermons about the wicked ways of man. That translates over to his writings on history and the cultures of people he meets in his journeys. He's a natural born tenor, and often leads choirs in his spare time from evangelizing.
Though he doesn't like to, he can use the quarterstaff in effective self-defense, though he is far from being a master with it.
Biography: Cousin to most of the Fletchers, Rainier doesn't quite know how exactly he is related to everyone, other than he simply is. His eldest sister is Regina Fletcher, and is the youngest of that brood of children. His vocation is the Priesthood of Varafel, and travels as an itinerant preacher and scholar, recording local histories and cultures.
Despite appearances to the contrary, Rainier is rather warm hearted, more willing to give a smile than a frown. He does look down upon his cousin's sinful ways, but will attempt to bring them back to the folds of the faithful through humorous chiding instead of pure fire and brimstone.
Registered: Sept 11, 2023 16:51:51 GMT -5
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Post by Rainier Fletcher on Apr 9, 2024 20:03:22 GMT -5
Her looking back would only catch the back of the Priest, his cassock billowing and pushing him forward from the breeze off the sea, walking slowly but surely along the beach leaning heavily on his staff. He left the coracle to her care- if she even was real and not some sort of hallucination from eating that strange fish the night before- and carried with him her strange words and instructions.
"What on earth even is Persilosophy? If that is a school of wisdom that is one I have never heard of." But he countered mentally that since he had washed up on these shores there were many things he had not heard of. Like of the whole world being drowned, the Church of Varafel disappearing from the face of the earth without nearly a trace, and to leave the octopus to itself. What bother could he potentially present an overgrown squid, he was naught but skin, bone, and gristle and would make a very poor meal.
Perhaps it was a school of being very talkative, the opposite of Laconicism. That by creating volumes of nonsensical speech that slowly it would become a babbling brook of incoherency that would lift the soul beyond the realm of words and to the realm of being. Chanting would sometimes provide that effect when done for long enough and was often used by the monks to meditate.
Half a watch onwards and he was climbing upwards. Past the berry bushes, past the squid (he was half tempted to throw it the remains of the fish wrapped in dried seaweed but thought better of it), but patience was not his strong suit today. No, he wanted some answers, none of which had been given to him by means of prayer to a silent and withdrawn Mother. He needed to see...
"I wish to see Anselem." He stated at the mouth to a cave, out of breath from climbing near all the way up.
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Nina
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 289
Registered: Apr 4, 2021 10:46:08 GMT -5
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Post by Nina on Apr 19, 2024 13:23:39 GMT -5
“Come in.”
Inside the cave, the wind was kept at bay. The sudden quiet made it feel like crossing a threshold. The one who had spoken was a man perhaps thirty years of age, perhaps younger, though it was hard to tell from the dim light reflected from the white stone. His expression seemed open and kind; his cheeks were sunken. He shifted aside to leave Rainier space to enter, but otherwise remained kneeling on a woven reed mat. Between his hands, he held a half-completed basket, or woven bowl, which he seemed to be working on.
Even as one's eyes adjusted, there would be little to see in his room. A rolled-up blanket in the corner; twigs for his craft; a shelf in the rock with a comb and a piece of bark on it; a broom. The end of the room was covered in darkness. The walls were rough, and the floor was barely even, but everything was clean, and there were fresh scented herbs strewn on the ground. Pinned up on the wall, there was some sort of icon – a small, winged figure crudely crafted out of pieces of sea-whitened wood and mismatched feathers.
“Would you like to join me in prayer?” Anselm asked, gesturing to the free space on the mat. Regardless of what the visitor chose, it was something the man seemed to need. There were no words to betray his thoughts, only a deep focus as he wove another twig through the spikes of his basket. Once, he gazed up at the winged icon. Every now and then, his fingertips touched the ground.
After a few minutes, the man would bow his head, as if in gratitude, and turn to his visitor. He remained unobtrusive, however, until the other seemed ready to engage.
“What is weighing on your mind?” The hermit asked.
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Rainier Fletcher
Established
Roleplay posts: 15
Age: 42
Appearance: Rainier towers above most of his peers, standing at 6'7". His rather thin body, caused by years of abstinence, is hidden underneath the folds of his cassock.
His thin and angular face hides his true nature, making him appear stern with his roman nose, high and sharp cheek bones, thin lips, and prominent jaw. His green eyes twinkle with intelligence and humor known only to him. Like the other natural born members of the Fletcher clan, he was born with white hair, that would grow thick on his head if it wasn't tonsured.
Equipment: Rainier is a priest of the Church of Varafel by vocation, and thus is equipped like one. He has two cassocks, one white, and the other black, and he carries the spare in his satchel. He tries to keep his black leather shoes glossy for all occasions, but that often proves impossible as he walks everywhere. For rainy weather, he has a dark gray robe to go over his robes.
His personal belongings are stowed in a grey canvas bag slung across his body, and include: his prayer book, his ink and spare quills, a journal, a pen knife, and his gold wire rimmed spectacles for when he has to read.
He also has a quarter staff he uses as a walking stick, and if needs be, for self-defense.
Skills and Abilities: Rainier is a natural born preacher, able to draw great crowds with his fiery sermons about the wicked ways of man. That translates over to his writings on history and the cultures of people he meets in his journeys. He's a natural born tenor, and often leads choirs in his spare time from evangelizing.
Though he doesn't like to, he can use the quarterstaff in effective self-defense, though he is far from being a master with it.
Biography: Cousin to most of the Fletchers, Rainier doesn't quite know how exactly he is related to everyone, other than he simply is. His eldest sister is Regina Fletcher, and is the youngest of that brood of children. His vocation is the Priesthood of Varafel, and travels as an itinerant preacher and scholar, recording local histories and cultures.
Despite appearances to the contrary, Rainier is rather warm hearted, more willing to give a smile than a frown. He does look down upon his cousin's sinful ways, but will attempt to bring them back to the folds of the faithful through humorous chiding instead of pure fire and brimstone.
Registered: Sept 11, 2023 16:51:51 GMT -5
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Post by Rainier Fletcher on Apr 28, 2024 16:48:49 GMT -5
Rainier hesitated for a moment. The wind certainly was trying to push him through the threshold, but he couldn't bring himself to lift one weary foot after the other. Even with all his fluster and not wanting to wait for the hallucination down on the beach to lead him here he still could not. An image presented itself to him: a small child, bashful and timid with curly grey hair hiding behind their mother's dress.
Himself, at a party with all his cousins if he recalled correctly. It was someone or another's birthday and the Fletcher clan had all reunited onto an estate to celebrate. He was a young lad and surprised by the raucous nature of his extended family. There was the hope that they would reclimb into their carriage and return home and he would not be forced to suffer through the day and night.
But, then as now, a hand reached down to his back. The warmth and tenderness that only one could feel from their mother, reassuring patiently that though the situation in front of you was intimidating that there was but one way to proceed. And that was a gentle push forward that would only propel you to the edges of the fray and make you think you made the decision all your own. And with the sudden cessation of wind now longer billowing on his cassock did the Priest realize he himself was now fully committed.
He studied the rather bare room for a heartbeat before he noticed the hermit. The darkness of the room took some adjusting to but as his eyes focused he could quite clearly see that this man was much like himself. Though he had made his home on the road and the hermit in this cave; still brothers to the need to understand and find meaning bigger than themselves and try and show the world a part of it. And in this brotherhood Rainier gladly joined the man, laying down his staff and bag to kneel next to the hermit in prayer. Though he kept his hands clasped together, eyes reverently closed as his head bowed forward gently, and stayed upright while the man bowed down they were in a small communion of souls. The Church of Varafel was one that encouraged their priests and monks to seek communion with other faiths, to perhaps find within them that they were brothers or cousins in thought and deed.
Sitting back on his haunches with the closing of the prayer Rainier opened his eyes again slowly. They could see better now than before, the darkness of his closed eyes helping readjust them. He could see the hermit was several years younger than he but that was no negative, faith found all despite what years they reached or trails they walked down. Softly he answered, "There are... many, many things weighing on my mind. Foremost...," he paused, and looked up towards the idol that the hermit had been praying to, "who are they?"
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