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 Posted: Thu Sep 17, 2009 12:37 pm
Blargh.
Name: Janden Markim
Age: 29
Race: Human
Talents/Skills: Janden is a bard of no small skill, and so he has quite the repertoire of songs and stories to share. He's picked up bits of skills here and there, how to pick locks and how to hunt and how to hide. He has some training in the blade; enough to get buy, but he's no swordsmaster. Aside from that, the only truly remarkable skill Janden possesses is his natural gift at mixing materials into various potions, oils, poisons, and the like. A minor, mostly nonmagical form of alchemy.
Gifts: Janden has magic in his blood, though he's currently not sure where it comes from, or how to completely control it. His magic is an extension of his views, thoughts and feelings, and so because of his methods, they focus mostly on fear. He almost constantly radiates an aura that causes most people to be uneasy around him, nervous; and not entirely sure why. They know that Janden is what's making them nervous, but not what it is about him that's doing it. With a bit of will, Janden can turn this uneasiness into true fear in a person's mind, though the willpower and mental stability of his target does have a lot to do with the precise effects, which can be anywhere from just wanting to hurry and leave to downright terror.
Unfortunately, Janden hasn't yet learned to control it completely, and so he sometimes finds himself in situations where he's making everyone uneasy when it would really be better if they were calm. Playing an instrument seems to help him control the fear better though, because it has always been soothing for him.
Weapons: Janden wears a good quality longsword at his belt, and keeps a dagger in his boot for emergencies or surprise attacks. He's also adaptable enough to be able to use other objects lying around the place, though of course, these makeshift weapons aren't as effective as his blade.
Appearance: Janden stands at a decent enough height of 5' 10" with a lithe build and skin just a few shades short of truly being called pale. His face is a little thin, with brown eyes and blue-black hair that he keeps (in the style of his homeland) hanging down at about the level of his chin. His mouth is most often set in a wry smile that barely hides his teeth, though the smile does (more often than not) reach his eyes.
His dress is a little more odd, especially for a bard. Instead of the flamboyant gaudy things of most of the minstrels who share his profession, Janden dresses in a somber outfit of pitch black leggings with a dark grey shirt over the top, with a black cloak hanging from his shoulders and ending just an inch or so below his knees. He wears a thin belt (also black) that holds his sword sheathe, a money pouch specially designed to thwart pickpockets, and a few miscellaneous things for his "alchemy".
Biography: Janden was born to be the son of a court mage for a minor noble who shared good relations with Lord Riless, before Turtia had ever come to the kingdom and established himself. He grew up in the lap of luxury, though for most of his childhood his parents thought him woefully without any form of magic. Even the simplest of spells would not come to his call, even though both of his parents had backgrounds in the study and practice of magic. Eventually, Janden caught on that his parents were disappointed in him, though it hadn't been his fault, and he spent more and more time around the lords bard, a man by the name of Rinev. Rinev, being a kind hearted soul, took the boy under his wing and showed him all there was to know about being a bard, and so when Janden finally became an adult, he began travelling the world to collect stories and fame, planning on retiring to become an esteemed Court Bard long after he had grown tired of traveling the world.
Of course, life on the road wasn't as glamorous as he had hoped, but he soon grew to adapt after picking up some skills in swordsmanship. One night when he was traveling with a caravan of merchants, Janden awoke to find that the camp was under attack by a large contingent of slavers. Terrified, Janden leapt up and defeated the first two slavers that went for him, simply because of the terror that gave him more quickness than he had ever thought he could possess. That was the night that he acknowledged the usefulness of fear, and after defeating several more of the slavers with cunning ambushes (the night was quite dark) and the vocal skills necessary of a bard, he came to believe in the powers of trickery as well. Since then, he has learned of his magic, though not exactly how it works or why he has it, and has continued to travel in search of fame and fortune.
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Posted: Thu Sep 17, 2009 12:42 pm
Username: Mr. Charles
Name: Gûldúnё
Race:Half-elf
Age: 150 (~20 in the human age-scale)
Talents/Skills: He generally possesses the skills of an
above-average elf, being skilled in archery, swordsmanship,
horse-riding, etc. He also has always displayed a natural aptitude for picking up tunes,
and fashions himself something of a ad-hoc bard, principle composing
short ballads for the lute. He is charismatic in the sense that he doesn't
exude an air of elven pretentiousness when he speaks, and is also
fairly intelligent; he doesn't speak terribly often, though.
Gifts: Nothing particular, although the
magic of the elves lingers somewhere within him.
Weapons: A
nondescript longsword, and an elven short-bow of yew.
Appearance: He wears a dark-green leather vest on his chest
and a light-blue cloak around his shoulders to shield him from the
weather. His face is elegant and noble although his expressions
convey a humility that is seldom found in elves. His eyes are round, and his mouth is
somber. His dark hair falls lightly in curls to his neck.
Biography: Born to a human father and elven mother, Guldune was sheltered from society by his loving family to shield him from the hate that is typically exacted upon half-elves. He was taught by private tutors. His father was a human nobleman in a prosperous but
rather small city whose house fell out of favor, his brother being accused of
treason and subsequently executed. Fearing punishment themselves, the
family fled in secret, donning humble raiments and searching for
somewhere to wait until the ordeal ended. It was then that Guldune
was told of his father's secret defection, which had occurred long
before he was born, although his brother was falsely accused. His
father had previously been part of a group that meant to seize power
over the city, although their plans had languished for quite a
while. A subset of the secret group that his father had been involved
with had recently decided to go ahead with their scheme, targeting a
member of Guldune's father's family to warn him to leave, and to not
tell anyone. They planned to later, though political maneuvering
which pertained to the previous members of the group, gain power.
His father's relationship with the government of the city that he was
born in would thereafter have a huge effect on the life of Guldune,
although he was a child when these things occurred, a boy of 15.
He would ponder these things when he grew of age, and they would eventually
weigh upon his mind. Anyhow, They hid with a friend of his father's for many
months. His father eventually began to meet his friends in secret,
him having become, in the years before, a gentle and sociable man.
He was eventually ambushed during such a meeting by one of his comrades who
had, unbeknown to him, defected, and was taken to the court and used to
further the devices of his betrayers. Guldune and his mother fled to find a safe haven,
for the allies of his father's enemies pursued them. They eventually
found their way into the hidden community of elves that his mother
belonged to, and their secret city was a haven for Guldune and his
mother for many years. It was during this time that he trained in
their ancient military order, fighting the last battles with the last remnants of
the dark powers that lingered in the mountains and guarding the
city. Although he excelled, he felt a fundamental schism between the
mind of himself and the rest of the elves. He felt a deep urge to
exert himself in some spectacular fashion, and perhaps to
adventure. The elves that he came to know were languid, and
contemplated, as in their fashion, the mysteries of the world that
were largely irrelevant to the current age, when the ambition and the
iron machines of man began to flood the land.
When they, at last, joined their brethren and departed
into the far West, Guldune stayed behind, and convinced his mother to
do the same. They went to live with the same man who had taken them
in before, but soon Guldune grew impatient and guilty at his mother's
reminiscing, and left her to seek adventure in the chaotic lands to
the East. It is at precisely this point that he enters the current
adventure.
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Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2009 8:31 am
The wet elven fellow appeared out of the gloom on a tired-looking, although not altogether demoralized, horse. Either reaching the end of his long Elvish Quest, or merely getting sick of the rain, he had stopped at the tavern, and inquired as to the availability of food and rooms, and the like for his horse. He had been carrying a queer little square umbrella that looked as if it had been haphazardly fashioned out of a few sticks when the rain started, at around 8 o'clock, and wore a blue cloak that had become rather waterlogged. The man at the front was a bit excited when he learned that the man was an elf.
"Well, pinch me blue booties! We haven't had any elven folk in here for...nigh 20 years or so!"
The elf bowed, introduced himself as a Mr. Bryce, and, smiling wistfully, briefly recounted his immediate past;
"My kin have long become reclusive - now, they are all marching out, to die in the West. I am young, you see, so I chose not to join them, being still attached to this sweet world ere they became committed to their exodus. What I will do now, I know naught..."
He paused hesitantly, then smiled and remarked, "but it will certainly be in need of a hearty meal, and a good rest. Even a sturdy roof over my head would do for now; I suspect that with any more water in my cloak out there, I would have turned over my tired old Adam."
He affectionately patted the neck of his noble steed, who now looked rather desperate.
The innkeeper laughed appreciatively, and led him into the tavern. "Well, it's great to see your folk out here all over again - there's dark forces been rising over in the North, strange tales comin' out of that place from the royal guard. You folk have been protectin' the borders of the kingdom from your hidden kingdoms for practically ever, so...I hope that them leavin' hasn't let anything go unwatched, if you know what I mean."
"I'm unsure...that's interesting." said the elf, changing into a few dry clothes that the innkeeper had supplied. "I'll try to find out what I can - my people can be careless and self-absorbed in times like these."
"Well, why don't you come down and sing us a nice elvish song, after you're done gettin' ready and whatnot? I haven't heard naught of that beautiful stuff since I was a child...at least, if it's true what they say; all elves can sing!"
After the man had left, the elf sat awhile in thought, considering the prospect of enacting an investigation into matters in the North. He had nothing better to concern himself with, and perhaps he would find some way to get payed. His mother, though, would still have to wait in the back of that dismal tavern for him, unless she had, by now, found some other hiding place. He wondered if she still needed to hide. He resolved to find some place for her to stay before embarking on any such life-endangering adventure, and lay the matter aside for the bright Tomorrow, which would undoubtedly arrive shortly if he didn't sleep soon. He was, however, obliged to make an appearance downstairs, and he was grateful for the hospitality of the man who had asked him, so he went. The tavern was mostly empty by now, with only a few tired-looking men making plans, or jokes, and a couple of them singing some old songs by the fireplace in the corner. All looked rather drunk. He didn't actually plan to sing, but he had to at least make an appearance. He looked over at the man and ordered something to eat and drink, and sat down, resting his head on his hand in bemused contentment at the warmth of the room.
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Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2009 12:58 pm
Janden leaned back in his chair, content as he was to wait out the storm in the comfort and warmth of the inn. He had paid for a room already, but didn't feel like sleeping at the moment, and so he had stayed in the common room, even though his last drink had been an hour ago. He watched a sodden elf enter the establishment and pay for a room, grinning at the tavern owners reaction to the sight of one of the feyfolk in his building, so far away from elven land. Idly, the bard reached up and placed his fingers on the lute resting on the table where he had left it after he had finished playing some time ago, plucking a few strings simply to hear the noise.
A few men singing in one corner of the room rose to the last crescendo of the song, then stopped to a round of applause from most of the patrons still left conscious. The song had been a lewd one about a barmaid who was a bit too free with her goods, and it was an old tavern favorite; one of the songs advantages was that it required almost no talent to play and less to sing, so even those who couldn't keep themselves standing straight could go along with it well enough. "Hey!" One of the men bellowed, and Janden winced at the loud noise - he was a bit too close to the man for such shouting to really be necessary. "You... You're a, a, a bard." He continued, pointing about two feet to Janden's left. He nodded his ascent, which elicited a grin from the drunk as he spread his hands out wide and leaned back dangerously far in his chair. "Well, he, here's a crowd. Play some, somethin." The bard sighed good naturedly and picked up the lute, pausing a moment to consider what to play, before picking up a tune, his fingers dancing over the strings of his finely made lute.
The song itself was a rather sober one, but Janden didn't really want to play any of his more crude songs at the moment. It was more fun to play a serious song among drunks - they always overreacted, if they were able to understand the words. The song was about the exploits of an old mage known as SilverHand, an elf who was as well known for his escapades and adventures as he was for his hatred of his kindred and his penchant for getting other people killed. Janden had chosen a song about SilverHand's later life, specifically the adventure that had ended in his demise some four hundred years ago, when he had become so enraged that his magic had escaped him and the blast had torn apart the castle he had fought his way into. His fingers plucked faster and faster as he reached the climax of the story, the great battle between the dark knight Valren and SilverHand, as Valren taunted the mage, swords and spells crossed and both parties began to grow desperate for some way to end the conflict. Steam had begun to pour out of the mage's mouth and eyes, and soon the room was so thick with the mist that it was said that neither Valren nor SilverHand could see the other. SilverHand, in a last attempt to slay his enemy, had grabbed hold of the knights armor and no amount of force could make him let go, and then the steam had turned to fire. Still, the stories said, smoke could be seen rising from the wreckage of Castle Valren.
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