- ROSARY, RiseofZalman's Plague

[Der Pestdoktor]

- ＤＥＳＣＲＩＰＴＩＯＮ -
A rosary whose symbol representing your Holy One has been devoured wholly by shadow, and leaves only a strange beads of dark in its place that only foretells one thing.
- ＡＬＩＧＮＭＥＮＴ -
The Sun (Male)

This journal is for RiseofZalman and his Plague-- please do not post here without his permission!

 

[RiseOfZalman]

xxxxxxxxxx

Ⅰ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTable of Contents
Ⅱ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.Contact
Ⅲ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.Updates
Ⅳ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxGrowth Tracker
Ⅴ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.Kyros Leonora
Ⅵ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHistory
Ⅶ xxxxxxxxxxxxxx.The Plague
Ⅷ xxxxxxxxxxxxxx.Its History
Ⅸ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.Relationships
Ⅹ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.Art Gallery
Ⅺ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx...
Ⅻ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx....
ⅩⅢ xxxxxxxxxxxxxx....
ⅩⅣ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxCredits  

[RiseOfZalman]

xxxxxOpen for PMs!
xxxxxAIM: GundamInsanityX
xxxxxMSN: LagElectronics@gmail.com  

[RiseOfZalman]

 

[RiseOfZalman]

Stage I ➠ Stage II

▶ Set up journal ☑
▶ One Mission ☐
▶ Two RPs ☐☐
▶ Two Solos ☐☐  

[RiseOfZalman]

Name: Kyros Leonora
Age: 38
Intended Faction: The Fellowship of Mages
Region: Shyregoed

Personality: He is an outwardly friendly sort, treating most everyone he meets as someone he has known for years. Be they plagued or criminal or anything else, he is often willing to extend help and a friendly hand to them. Given his shady past, he believes all people deserve a chance at redeeming themselves. Though in these times, it can often cause him to be naive to the dangers before him.

In his travels, he has taken a liking to wine. Combined with his naturally jovial nature, he more than willing to share a drink with most anyone. Though the more ascetic among his order would view this nature disapprovingly, Kyros believes one must experience the world to truly understand it. He is not entirely adverse to indulging in worldly pleasures here and there. This tends to lead him into trouble at times.

He often has trouble with members of the fairer sex as a result. Spending most of his time getting by in his younger years, he had little time for romance. Obviously, this was even less so once he formally became a monk. Now that he is out in the world proper, he is easily swayed by a sweet face and a little drink. He is especially fond of strong willed women who provide good conversation. With enough wine in him, he turns into quite the enamored school boy around the right women, making many innocent flirtations.

That is not to say he always prefers things loud and wild. He is quite fond of the calmer times, where he can simply sit and enjoy the world around him. Caius taught him how to whittle in his time with him, a hobby he continues to observe. It's come to be a favorite pastime for him, as it reminds him of the monastery and his friends there. Caius, in particular, had come to a mentor to him, and he reflects fondly on their time together.

He also has a love for story. Meeting folk along the road from town to town offers him the chance to sit around a fire and share tales, both tall and true. It is times like this he gets a feel for other people and how they think. He is particularly given to humorous tales. Nothing delights him and causes him to roar with laughter as a well told anecdote. In these dark times, he finds it important to laugh and help others laugh with you.

With a strong sense of right and wrong, he is often quick to aid those at a disadvantage. Some people need to solve problems on their own, and he understands this, but there are times when there are things they just cannot do alone. He has learned to recognize as such, and only step in if necessary. He can make a stalwart friend and ally to any who can share in his compassion for others.

Amongst friends, he delights in offering sage words and careful insights, even if they are not especially desired by the recipient. Though he is not above preaching to others, he reserves this for those close to him and usually in jest. Despite being a believer, he can easily understand why others are not, as his own faith has been shaken many times throughout life. Especially in these dark times, he has trouble understanding why the divine leaves the people's prayers unanswered.

Even those of other faiths, he does not begrudge them. They too are pilgrims on a journey of discovering the nature of the divine. Though they have differing fundamental beliefs, they still seek the same enlightenment. He is often welcoming of friendly discussion and sharing of ideas about faith and more. Living so long in a monastery, learning more about the world around him is ever important to the success of his journey.

The only people he treats differently are those of the Obscuvian Cult. His Abbot was very prejudice against them, believing they freely distort the original belief in Panyma. This would be an attitude he would eventually take on as well. Seeing them as mistrustful and suspecting they are up to no good, Kyros will treat any he meets with caution. Though his smile might not leave his face, he is sure to watch their every move to learn what it is they are after.

He is also wary of running waters. Growing up in Shyregoed, running water was not a thing he usually encountered. As such, he has never learned to swim. Though with his large size shallow waters prove not a problem, it still fills him with unease. He is particularly prone to seasickness, feeling queasy when aboard most any kind of craft crossing water. He will go out of his way to find a bridge to cross if possible.

Additionally, The military makes him particularly uncomfortable when they are around. Though it's been two decades, he is still a fugitive. Though his crime has likely been long forgotten with the onset of the plague, he remembers what happened to his childhood friends and secretly fears his past will catch up with him one day. As such, he tends not to linger around any place with a heavy military presence. He is comfortable enough dealing with lesser military personnel, but the less he deals with any of importance, the better.

Appearance: Kyros is a large man, with a deceptively thick frame usually hidden beneath aged and patched robes. He typically keeps his hood down, exposing his face, appearing slightly gaunt with a clearly defined bone structure. A smile on his face is not uncommon, as he looks at you with rather bright amber eyes. Said smile is framed by the rough beginnings of a beard, in contrast to his completely bald head.  

[RiseOfZalman]

Kyros was born the sole child of a poor family in Shyregoed. His father worked whatever labor work he could find. His mother never quite recovered fully after his birth, and thus was unable to do much beyond care for him. His father was a large and hardy man though, and despite the harsh nature of their region, he managed to scrounge enough together for them to live off of. It was not the best of conditions most of the time, but it was home.

As the years went on, things got harder and harder for them. His father was getting older and weaker from his years struggling to afford for the family, and his mother's health seemed to decline ever so slowly each passing year. Wishing to do something to help, Kyros looked for a way for him to contribute, but he could find none who would have work for a child such as him. It seemed hopeless.

He met some other youths struggling with similar family issues and they taught him what they did: steal. It was extremely petty theft at first. An apple or a loaf of bread here and there. As the weather got harsher, so did their needs. They started stealing basic medical supplies and other such necessities. Kyros would lie to his family and tell them he had taking up doing odd jobs for the shop keepers for the small bits he would bring home. They suspected something was amiss but they were in no position to turn such things away.

Alas, it was not to last. One harsh winter finally came and took his father away. With the main support in the house cut, Kyros was desperate to make ends meet. He began to make even bolder thefts with the aid of the small gang he and boys had put together. They had become like a second family to him and he trusted each of them implicitly. Together they looked out for one another, ensuring none were caught and all had plenty to go around. Truly, despite being an only child, Kyros was surrounded by brothers.

He knew what they were doing was wrong. His parents were traditional Panymesian folk, and raised him as such. But, he hoped Panyma would forgive him. If he didn't turn to such things, they would not make it. He couldn't turn his back on those around him depending upon him. But it was getting more difficult though, as Kyros reached puberty he shot up in size. He had inherited his father's hardy nature, and grew to match. As he grew over the months and years, his size made it much more difficult to discreetly lift items. He began to rely more on the other boys to do the lifting while he would play as the distraction, or even muscle if the task required it.

Finally, despite his best efforts, his mother, too, would pass on. Kyros was at a loss of what to do now. He had spent the past several years of his life stealing for her sake. The other boys, now young men, came to him with an idea. They were no longer children, they had to think of their future. The thievery had worked well so far, so most of the boys piped up and said they should go bigger. And so their bandit gang was born.

It was somewhat successful at first. They stayed to a more isolated and mountainous section of Shyregoed and only harassed merchants on the roads and extorted small nearby villages for "protection" fees. Kyros, in particular, was well suited for this given his large, intimidating size. A few winters passed, and things seemed to work. Until the boys attacked the wrong merchant caravan. Unbeknownst to them, a prominent merchant from Mishkan had sent a trade mission to the deep mountains looking for rare and unusual goods. Upon hearing of his caravan's demise, he brought his case to Queen Valhalla.

The bandits did not stand a chance. They were lured into a trap by another merchant caravan, but instead of goods, its wagons carried armed soldiers. The young men were no match for trained warriors. Many of them fled, but those who did were hunted down. Kyros watched as many of his friends fell or were captured around him. He kept running though, knowing his fate, should he stop. Those among them not dead or in custody succumbed to wounds or winter's chill until Kyros was alone.

At this rate, he would not be far behind them. For days he had fled with little rest, no food, and as much warmth as the clothes upon his back granted him. He dared not stop, he had no clue if the soldiers were still after him. As his strength began to fail him, he happened upon a monastery tucked quietly away at the base of a mountain. Knowing he would be dead soon either way, he entered, hoping to at least confess himself to the divine before death took him.

The monks took him in, and the abbot, Caius, listened to his confessions. Kyros told him his whole story, how it started out innocently enough. He only wished to help his family, and once they had left him, he knew not what else to do. As his story concluded, Kyros asked the abbot to send word to the authorities that he was turning himself in, there was no sense in prolonging the inevitable. The abbot pondered on this a moment and asked him to tell him once more the year of his birth. Kyros, confused, replied as he had asked, the way he had begun his tale.

The old abbot nodded, and said, "I see." He then informed Kyros that he was not, in fact, quite a man yet. Kyros' 17th birthday was still a few months away. As such, he was still eligible to be taken in as an oblate, and provided asylum in the monastery. Though Kyros was against this at first, wishing to be done with it all, Caius told him they would not be able to send word to anyone outside the monastery for weeks until the worst of the winter storms lasted.

And so Kyros remained there among them. At first, he merely bided his time, but several of the monks persuaded him to join in prayer with them. If he was truly ready to face his crimes, he should bring them before Panyma first. Slowly but surely, the monks indoctrinated him into their way of life. Days turned to weeks, and weeks into months. Every time Kyros asked the abbot about sending a message, Caius would respond in a vague way.

One day, Kyros simply stopped asking. Before he had realized it, he had come to accept his place among the monks, and in some measure, come to peace with himself. Panyma had guided him and kept him alive until he had reached that monastery for a reason. He had been given a second chance. Having reached this revelation, Kyros spoke to Caius. He thanked him for opening his eyes to this opportunity and that he wished to stay among them and live as they did. In celebration, Caius presented him a gift: a bright white rosary made of bleached bones from the animals of the mountains.

And so Kyros remained amongst them, living as a monk for the next twenty years. He would not set foot outside the monastery grounds until the plague came, and with it, came many poor souls who needed Panyma more now than ever. His monastery did what they could, offering care for those afflicted. Fate was not done with Kyros yet, however, for his encounter with one particular plagued individual would forever stain his rosary with the plague's corruption. A simple gesture, touching upon the monk's rosary and offering him a word of thanks before passing on. Little could he know the plague would spread to the rosary.

Taking this as an omen, Caius would send Kyros upon a pilgrimage. A long time detractor in the Obscuvian Sect, Caius had heard rumors that they were gathering such objects for nefarious means. Fearing this rosary was now one of the items they sought, he would send Kyros to visit the holy grave site of Ada and find a way to purify the rosary before it fell into Obscuvian hands. Thus, his journey begins...  

[RiseOfZalman]

 

[RiseOfZalman]

The plague was getting worse. Even in their monastery in the cold lands of Shyregoed, more and more of the sick and invalid would be brought to them. Offering them asylum, the monks diligently oversaw their last days with what comfort and prayer they could provide. Travelers on the road, exiles from the nearby villages, and more were filling up the once quiet priory.

As the older arrivals were reaching the end of the plague's effect upon them, one of the monks would offer them personal prayer and perform last rites for those about to pass. Kyros was among the monks to perform such a task. One such night, he was performing such a service for a particular soul whom he had become quite friendly with. As Kyros recited the passages, the man gave to a fitful cough, trying in vain to stifle it by covering his mouth with his hand. The poor plagued man's strength began to wane, and he knew his time was approaching. With his last bit of strength, he reached up and tugged lightly on the white rosary hanging from Kyros' grip. Pausing in his prayer, Kyros looked down to the man, who could only mouth his words, "Thank you." Kyros nodded gently as the man closed his eyes one last time, and was gone.

The man's grip slid off the rosary, but something lingered. The stain of black bile dripped from it. The man's hand that tugged at it had been covered in plagued excrement from his own coughs. Though Kyros would try as he might, the once white rosary was now forever sullied. When the abbot had heard of this development, he orderd Kyros to carry the plague to Ada's Ascent. The holy grave site where Panyma's son was said to have saved humanity, casting his human shell aside, and ascend to join his mother in Heaven. Kyros was to find a way to purify the rosary before those would use it for their own gain could obtain control of it.  

[RiseOfZalman]

 

[RiseOfZalman]

 

[RiseOfZalman]

 

[RiseOfZalman]

 

[RiseOfZalman]

 

[RiseOfZalman]

Plague concept © Zanaroo
Story concepts © ex o ex Snoof, Ravina Loki, Slanndalous, & Zanaroo
Art © Respective artists
Kyros © RiseOfZalman