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Hero falls, tyrant rises. Can the crestfallen find their lost valor to aid a new idealist? |
| [Introduction]
A tyrant rules the land with an iron fist, a hero rises up from the ranks of the people full of vigor, ideals, and charisma. Brave heroes rise up to join his quest to free the land. His name is Myr Isaiah Hydall. Unfortunately... They fail. Their leader, the man on the forefront is killed on his journey to stop the tyrant. As Myr fades so does the flame of their vigor. Their morale is crushed, torn asunder, and buried like their leader. Myr's head is thrust upon the top of their highest tower as a message. The other members of the party grow disheartened and eventually it all falls apart. However... Inspired by their trials and their progress another group shines though and riding the momentum and the damage to the tyrant's forces sustained trying to crush the first rebellion this second group succeeds and their leader takes the throne. As a reward and to show recognition for those who paved the way to the throne for him, the failed heroes are hired under his employ in high ranking positions. His name is Abner Caskull Oran. Of course... This Abner is eventually corrupted by his power, or perhaps he always was? Regardless his rule sours and eventually his reign becomes even more intolerable than the last. The people lose hope and many begin to simply settle into poverty, fear, and pain as a part of life forever. Now... Another young idealistic man decides that he's had enough. His childhood stories of the first failed group of heroes inspire him respecting and adoring their trial. These men and women are the bravest he believes in so he sets out to recruit them for one more journey. These 'retired', jaded, and generally complacent heroes are his only hope. His name is Eziel Roland Harwick. But, will that name ring in the ears of a free people one day, or simply settle among the dusts left to be cast away by the winds of time? It is the victor that writes history. It is the triumphant who tells the tale. How shall this story unfold? .............................................................................................................................................. I will play the part of Eziel and perhaps a few of the other heroes. For the rest of you it's time to don the mantle of a washed up brooding has been hero long since gone from the ways of the radiant. Soon enough, Eziel will meet up with your character and recruit you somehow which mainly depends on you. Please please please feel free to message me about this for more information :) PS: We will start with a bio block. |
| Eziel Roland Harwick "Ezi" Age: 19 Height: 6'0" Weight: 183 lbs Hair: Blond of the brightest shade of gold Eyes: A dark yet lush forest green Tone/Build: Tan from working and training outside since he was young. His build is lean and compact. Taught young muscle with little bulk save the shoulders and calves. His hands are rough from swordplay and horse riding. Residence: New Ordellia (Central City of Imyr) Social Standing/Education: Noble. Well bred. Eziel was raised a knight albeit a spoiled one even if it was against his will to be coddled so. Occupation: Eziel is enrolled in military school and is being groomed to be a military officer which he hates. When not in class he is essentially a 'beat cop'. On patrol and making sure things are running smoothly. Given his attitude towards the laws of the tyrant, he's pretty crap at this job. Luckily it isn't taken into much consideration. Hobbies: He participates in any and all tournaments he can enter involving a blade. He has never lost a match and has yet to be pushed to his fullest efforts. History/Motivation: His father blindly follows the orders and dictation of the tyrant. He has killed, tortured, and terrorized just to fulfill orders. Eziel knows his father doesn't agree with these things or necessarily want to do them, but for all his strength he refuses to act out of fear. Eziel hates that fear. He feels his skills are worthless if he doesn't use them to change things for the better. Eziel's strongest motivation came when he was very young. One of his best friends was the son of a priest from the local temple and constantly pushed the concept of actions as right and wrong on Eziel who took a strong affinity to the concept that seemed lost to so many in the city. When the tyrant outlawed religion the temple and his friend's home were burned down. He has never again seen that person. Powers: None to speak of aside from almost unnatural skill with a blade that seems divinely mandated as if the gods themselves crafted his body to wield a sword. Timing, accuracy, strength, speed. All of them are at the peak of the perception of all but the most masterful of swordsmen. His knowledge of magic is atrociously shallow. |
| Name: Lyn Mariah Oran (nee Hydall) Age: 17 at time of original rebellion, 19 when she married Abner, 37 at time of story Height: 5'8 Weight: 150lbs Hair: Dark brown, wavy, braided as a young woman, but now bound in more intricate styles. Eyes: Black, with flecks of blue Tone/Build: Naturally pale, but tanned from years outdoors. Long limbed, with ample curves balanced by lean muscles earned from years of training. Perhaps those curves are a bit more ample now (after giving Abner a male heir and three daughters), but she is still in fighting shape. Residence: New Ordellia Central City of Imyr Social Standing/Education: Born to a working class family (Myr is her elder brother), Lyn was educated better than even her brothers in order to attract a husband as far above her station as possible. She was very pretty and very smart, so the education only added to the appeal. Occupation: Now she's the Queen/Empress, depending on which title Abner wants to use at any given time. In her youth, she was essentially trained to be the perfect wife. Reading, writing, poetry, sewing, riding, numbers (in case she married a merchant), cooking, embroidery, archery, falconry, etc. All the "feminine arts". Lyn also served as Myr's training partner, which is how she learned the sword. Hobbies: Swordplay. Not just swordplay, but all swords of blades. Anything with a sharp edge, Lyn is quite fond of. She has also maintained her archery skills, and quite enjoys reading and going bird hunting. History/Motivation: Lyn was born to a very poor family, but once she was born, everyone knew that she was their ticket out of poverty. She was a beautiful child who grew into a beautiful young lady, and began attracting the attentions of much wealthier men. As such, her family had her sent to a wealthier cousin to study all of the womanly arts. She took to these like a fish takes to water, and entered her teens as quite easily one of the most sought after young women in the city. What no one knew was that her elder brother (Lyn's favorite sibling, whom she practically worshiped, and whom she looked almost exactly alike) Myr was training to be a true swordsman, and it was Lyn he practiced with throughout the night (especially after he was caught and beaten at the palace). Her skills with the sword came to match his, and she even began working on her skills with other weapons whenever she had a chance. As he became ever more disenchanted with the world, Myr began learning tactics and leadership, and Lyn, determined to be of some use to the brother she worshiped, learned every skill she could to support him. When their father was executed for a crime he didn't commit, Myr decided he needed to leave. He got precisely one day out of town before Lyn caught up to him. And no matter how much he tried, he could never get rid of his little sister. She followed him through thick and thin, the big brother she worshiped and loved. When his rebellion failed, when he was taken from her and his head mounted on the tower, Lyn's heart broke. Some said *she* broke that day, and never fully recovered. It was not long after this that Abner, the young man who finally finished Myr's struggle and toppled the Tyrant Eirgyle, came into her life. He was young and handsome and, while he definitely couldn't replace her brother in her heart, Abner and Lyn fell in love, and Abner took her for his Queen. For many years, they were very happy together. And then Abner changed, becoming more and more tyrannical, and more and more distant. Their marriage fell apart, and Lyn's heart broke again. Losing her brother, losing the man she loved, and losing the ideals that Myr had died for all proved to be too much for Lyn to handle. She slipped into depression and took up drinking as a hobby, though she manages to hold it together for her children. Most people consider her a broken woman. As for the children, there are three daughters and a son. The son is the eldest child at seventeen, and he is named Mykel. The daughters are Lisbet, 15, Lydia, 12, and the youngest is Beatrice at nine. Powers: Lyn shared Myr's intuition in battle. In fact, she has the ability to foresee what her opponent will do in the moments before he does them. It allows her to prepare her next move. This does not negate her hard won skills, which she has maintained and added to over the years. In her time, she was an even better swordsman than her brother, acting as she did as his bodyguard. She has also learned something of alchemy from her husband. |
| Name: Makaelum Laroché (Kale for short) Gender: Male Age: Thirty-Seven Hair: Falls to jaw level in the front and is around two inches long in the back. Color is honey-red blonde. Eyes: So green, people wonder if his mother fooled around with a cat. Golden sunbursts at the center. Education: He can read quite well, and he can write though not terribly well. Occupation(s): Dragon Rider, or was until his dragon was murdered during the war. Now he feels half-empty due to the emotional bond that he had with the dragon that was severed. Marital Status: Bachelor (though technically celibate, but everyone thinks otherwise), acts like a man-whore but hasn't had any intimate relationship since his dragon died out of fear of those strong connected feelings and of course the eventual losing of another partner. Ethnicity(s): He's of a Hume race. Though his people have always had an affiliation with Dragonkin. Skin Tone: Pale yet coppery skinned. Physique: Broad-shouldered, and slim at the waist. Height: 6’9” Weight: 240 lbs. Language(s): Common-tongue, and Dragon-tongue Birth Date: The Spring Season Origin: Anatolie, Bronwynn Dragon Bond: Talyn: Moderate in size, Talyn was a vicious creature, or at least often seemed to be. Jade scales littered his body, amidst golden fur. His face looked quite feline, his neck guarded by a mane of curling spikes the color of his scales. Tall as a Clydesdale and shaped like a lion, this beast used to jump right into battle slashing about before once again retreating to the sidelines to make another decisive attack. Its tail ended in a tuft of fur littered with short, nearly unnoticeable spikes. Even his feet were much like a lion’s though armored in scales, and claws strong and sharp like steel; teeth falling to below his elegant chin like a saber-tooth of old. There were legendary rituals that would have been able to save Talyn's life, or even return it but the entire elder temple of dragon riders was decimated in the war including all records of old rituals including those on how to bond with new dragons. Only those things able to be passed down by teacher to student is left. Weapon(s): Chainbow, A solid oricalcum bow with three anchor-sized arrow and chains. A useful weapon against large enemies able to pierce and tether down monstrous creatures. Clothing: Tends to where light looking but very sturdy leathers in the style of an french gentleman's elegant wear, minus the fluffy collars and puffy shorts. He wears long pants and thigh-high riding boots. He also tends to wear reds and golds more often than any other colors. Possession(s): He often wears a tooth of Talyn's on his belt. It's useful as a last resort weapon as it's the length of a long dagger. He keeps Talyn's bones locked away in hopes of one day reviving him. Recreation: Running, Something he learned from Talyn and his bond with him actually allows him to run faster then almost any other human other than other dragon riders who had land speed dragons. Obsessions: The restoration of the Dragon rider's temple, He's be slowly restoring the building with his own hands but he wants to restore the brotherhood as well. Persona: He's rather stand-offish with new people, always holding himself back even though he's in desperate need of physical touch and conversation. He's become accustomed to driving people away to keep from attaching himself to them. Fear(s): Losing more loved ones. Power(s): Speed, strength, and emotional force (meaning he can literally make his surroundings appear so oppressive that people will run away, or he could make them so inviting as to lure in enemies or unsuspecting prey when hunting). |
| Name: Lucian (Luc) Aissoue Age: 35 Height: 5'8 Weight: 160lbs Hair: Short, balding salt and pepper hair. Also has a salt and pepper full beard. Eyes: Faint blue, almost gray Tone/Build: Solid build. Was much stronger when he was younger, but now age has caught up with him. He has a very light tan. Residence: New Ordellia, more specifically the church. Social Standing/Education: Part of a Priest Class. He was raised by the church and received some of the finest education as the result. He is an avid reader and is highly respected by all due to his religious endeavors and his compassion for the common man. Occupation: Priest Hobbies: Reading. Lucian is considered one of the wisest men of his time. He also has a strange bond with the spirit world. Some suggest that it comes from his devotion to the gods, but he has never revealed his methods. History/Motivation: Lucian was left at the church's doorstep when he was just a baby. The priests took him in and raised him to be a follower of the church. They gave him the best education they could offer, and tailored him for the priesthood in every way possible. Lucian played his part. He read every religious book in the library by the time he was twelve years old. He still remembers most of what he read. As a fifteen year old teenager, he became aware of the suffering of the common people. His fellow priests (corrupted by greed from the government) assured him there was no issue, but Lucian knew better. He stepped up and joined the militia as one of the youngest members. During his time, he continued his close devotion to the gods and was returned to the city a changed man. He gutted the churches of its greedy clergy and replaced it with well-meaning men. He also had begun his interest in the spirit world. As more corruption came over the new government and people, Lucian grew tired of the constant rebellion and eventually surrendered his crusades against the government. He decided that the kingship offered too much power for one man. Regardless of how sincere he was when he took office, he would soon be overcome by the new power he obtained. He now simply runs the churches a shell of what he once was. Powers: Lucian is incredibly smart due to his love of books. He knows anything about anything, and has great philosophical ideas as well. He is also able to summon spirits to do bidding for him. Although he has not used that power in quite some time. He only summons spirits casually anymore... |
| Name: Alina Laroché Age: 17 Height: 5'0 Weight: 110 lbs Hair: Thick, curly, and true red. Eyes: Roundish and green. They give her an innocent, youthful appearance. Her pupil is vertical and almond shape like a serpent’s, but one must be close to see this. Tone/Build: Lean. She has a narrow waist and slender hips. Alina is somewhat lacking in the breast department. Residence: Originally from Anatolie, Bronwynn, she is migrant at the moment. Social Standing/Education: Within her own home, she is fairly well connected through her mother’s side. Out in the world, she’s just a talented girl with a bow that can read and write too well. However, she can be a bit naïve about the world beyond Anatolie’s borders and often sticks out. Occupation: She can hunt but she is obviously unused to manual labor, although she can and will do it without complaint. Hobbies: Reading, hunting, napping. History/Motivation: Alina was born to Latimer Laroché and Valencia Laroché, half dragonkin. Her mother is one of the few dragons that can and does take human form and she carried Alina to term as such. It is believed that Alina can take dragon form, but if she can then it’s something she’s never done. She grew up happy and well loved. She received martial training from both her mother and father (her mother moreso with hand to hand, she being a mercenary and all). Recently, her father has left this world for the next and tasked her with finding a man she hasn’t seen since she was a child. Alina doesn’t know what she’s carrying in her hip satchel, but she’ll see her father’s dying wish fulfilled. Powers: Alina has limited skill with fire. It doesn’t burn her skin and with a great deal of concentration, she can control it. Since neither of her parents gave her much training with such things, she doesn’t know her full potential. It is also believed that she might have some sort of dragon form. She has remarkable talent with a bow. |
| Name: Zen Harbridge Age: 16 Height: 5' 6" Weight: 135 Hair: Short and brown Eye Color: Natural color unknown. Always changes color depending on what spell he cast. Build: Has a light frame. Not much muscle. Residence: Original home unknown. Currently living in an old chapel in the center of the four elven regions. Social Standing/Education: Always finds time to help the elves of all four regions when he's not studying at the chapel with his mentors. An old human couple who seem to have a great knowledge of magic. Occupation: Odd job mercenary. Helps out the elves whenever he can find the time and enjoys helping others in their time of need. Also does magic tricks for kids birthday party's. Hobbies: Reading. Leaning. Teaching. History: Not much is known about his past, not even he knows much about his past. The only connection he has to his past is a birthmark on his back that seems to glow when he's in mortal peril. Was taken in by an elderly couple in the center of the elven territory's. Zen has spent most of his life there helping with the chores. When one night, Zen went into the library and found a spell book, and transmuted the book into solid gold. Ever since then, he's been training to become the most powerful wizard in the world. Powers: Has a knack for magic of all kinds. He doesn't know every spell in the world, but one day he hopes to. |
Name: Hamhir Thorongil (AKA Hama) Age: 44 Residence: Luche (said Lu-kah), a small town west of Central Ordellia towards the boarders of Imyr and Zule. Occupation: Blacksmith & Farrier Social Status/Education: He comes from a successful family of horse-breeders, all of whom (including his three sisters) were given a basic education. However, as the second son he trained with the local blacksmith in order learn a second trade. He has now taken over the local forge despite still having strong connections to his family’s business. Five years ago, he became mayor of Luche by election. Personality: Some might call Hama a simple soul, he’s comfortable in himself and is very in tune with nature. His almost instinctive understanding of people, of knowing their character, alongside his strong sense of justice and morality, put him in good standing with the people of Luche and lead to his mayoral candidacy. He’s considered to be worldly, wiser than the majority of his kin who have yet to leave Luche, or travel beyond the borders of their county of Lothlocrie. He can sometimes be stubborn, sometimes be too lenient, but his temperate nature hardly ever breaks. When it does, it is usually in dire situations where harm has been done to the undeserving. He enjoys riding, making weapons (particularly unique weapons such as the Boomerang carried by Songstress Lara Lakyra), and fishing. He also likes adventures, though you’d be hard pressed to hear him admit it. Very dutiful and careful to the point of steadfastness. History: When Hamhir was young, his life was simple. He had a large extended family because his father was the eldest of seven brothers and then in his own family he has an older brother (Corhir), three younger brothers (Svenhir, Lorhir and Grehir) and three younger sisters (Lorwyn, Aewyn and Baena). When he turned thirteen, his father apprenticed him to the local blacksmith, thinking he’d have his son learn a useful trade. However, apprenticing him to a popular local figure meant that he also began to learn more about his family. His mother was actually his step-mother, his mother was rumoured to be an elf or zarii or some half-breed of the two. The townsfolk had never quite known her, they just knew she was extremely beautiful and that when she disappeared, his father was bereft. Still, Hamhir inherited his father’s heart and most of his looks, only his eyes and his peculiar abilities hinting at the unspoken misfortune. By the time he was 16, Hamhir was known and loved in Luche. His easy-going practicality and instinctive understanding of his fellow men made him a popular figure, much hunted by mothers for their daughters and much envied by fathers when looking at their sons. Around this time, his youngest sister, Baena, withdrew from the family. Concerned, Hamhir took it upon himself to find out why and swiftly discovered that the new governor of Luche, placed there by the Tyrant King, had a son of twenty-five who had inherited the usual Ordellian scorn for women and abused Baena. Feeling helpless, Hamhir plotted revenge, but Baena thwarted his attempts when she stabbed first her rapist, then herself. The tragedy shook the town but no one was on the side of the governor. They sickened of Eirgyle’s restrictions on trade and tradition. Myr found Hamhir in a pub when he was nineteen. Though older, Hama was the open-minded, congenial country boy that he’d always been, but Baena’s death had opened his eyes and he was drawn to the stranger, this revolutionary. They continued to meet until Hamhir swore himself to Myr as his comrade. Their friendship was strong until Myr’s death and when Abner took over, Hama felt obligated to continue in memory of Myr. After Abner’s success, Hamhir returned to Luche, the townsfolk nodding their understanding as he settled back into his life. Secretly, he always made sure to keep an eye on Lyn after Myr’s death, vowing to keep his promise to Myr through the ties of blood. Appearance: Cutting an impressive 6’6, Hamhir has always dwarfed the majority of his kin. His physique is well built: broad-shouldered and muscular after years of working with horses and metals. His chest and abs are defined, his arms thick and strong. Generally considered to be quite dashing, his skin is browned by the sun and his hair dark with grey flecks about his ears and tipping his sideburns. His large hands are scarred from the irons as much as from blades. Reflecting his nature as well as his past, his face is open and jovial with crinkles around his eyes from laughter, although the odd line exists from worry. His lip has a scar where it was gashed open too deep to heal properly and another scar runs down his jaw, hinting at his time at Myr’s side. Beneath his clothes, his body shows more scars that suggest his past though they’re not as bad as some could be. His eyes are mismatched, one a deep green, the other a birdlike golden-yellow. Powers: His is a witchy sort of power, though he keeps it under wraps, only letting Myr know when they were almost captured by Eirgyle’s men in their first few months. His magick is based on runes, stones and cards though most spells are limited; for example, imbuing particular weapons with greater strength or accuracy than normal weapons, but not guaranteeing omnipotence. On the other hand, creating certain travel bags meant that roads bent for them and shortened their journey. It takes time to work this brand of magick, but his father gave him the books his mother had left and he studied them well, rending him a handy guy to have around. |
| The land of Imyr was a war ground and the central city of Ordellia center of the continent of Vergelle had been born in blood. King and Future Emperor Eirgyle Salesh had made his claim by taking the previous king hostage. An outsider who sought false refuge and did the impossible. He made the land his own in just a year with the force of an iron fist that crushed any that opposed leaving their smear of gore in his path to power. As the central power in the land he had drawn the eye all the surrounding nations looking to expand. The thought that his armies would be weak was the demise of many a soldier. Eirgyle himself expanded absorbing his original home of Ashamarus adding even more land to his future empire. Soon all of Imyr was his pride and completed his personal quest to godhood. Any church that did not worship their new deity was cast into fire. His pride gave them no chance to convert. Men have a way, however; of bringing even their gods to justice. One such mortal was Myr Isaiah Hydall. Myr's rebellion was not widespread. Most were too afraid to fight with him, but those who were not became heroes along with him. He inspired hope and brought strength to the cause of removing a corrupt tyrant from power in the interest of saving the lives of those who were losing the preciousness of living in a land where you were permitted to pursue happiness for yourself and your family without fear of death. Several men and women rose up to join his cause and those people believed in him and thus believed in themselves. The rebellion reached a head when Myr and company reached the castle's gate pushing its armies back, but in some crucial moment he was betrayed and with an abrupt halt the rebellion was at an end. He was dragged into the court hall on bleeding knees and lead before Eirgyle who slew the maimed hero in single combat. Ordellia's hero was laid to rest on the steeple of the closed temple and for a time he was spoken of no more in anything but ghastly awe. His surviving party retreated into obscurity and it seemed that there would be no salvation. Fortunate for the people of Ordellia another had taken great inspiration from Myr. Someone had held the hope that was instilled enough to use it. Enough to follow it. Enough to again seek to bring the Tyrant God to justice. That man was Abner Caskull Oran. Myr's struggle had lit a fire in the young man and that same fire ultimately drew in his own companions and followers including the fair lady Lyn the Gilded Blade and sister to Myr, Makaelum of the draconic people of Bronwynn, and even Hamhir "Hama" Thorongil referred to as Hamhir the Oathbrother in some lore for his and Myr's sibling like companionship and rumored blood oath to brotherhood. These people took up Abner's cause as a way to fill the emptiness that Myr's failure left inside them. Abner Oran took up the throne and was married to Lyn Hydall and for a time the land of Imyr was great with the tale of the Hero King Abner and his New Ordellia. But all good things must come to an end. Something changed inside the Hero King. It was subtle at first, but the changes grew steadily over the years. Twenty years have passed since Myr's death and eighteen since Abner's ascension to the throne. The Hero King's bright image withered and rusted like so much pure iron soaked in tears as the years moved along. He grew not sick of body, but his restlessness showed there. There was some unshared illness of his mind at work ravaging his temperate demeanor and slaughtered his patience and peaceful countenance. His wife has turned from him, his servants subjects fear him, the very land writhes beneath him. The Hero has become the Tyrant. Abner has fallen on from grace leaving the people to wonder yet again. Is there no salvation? It was the first day of the first month and the new year was ushered in bringing some celebration into New Ordellia. Not much as only the rich had anything to smile about. Even then so many had lost children to the birth rate policies, and spouses to the harsh laws and harsher times. Smiles were in short supply in New Ordellia, but loss...loss was ubiquitous. Ezeil had spent his own dawn of the new year in the slums handing out rations. Illegal ones. The slums were a depressing sight but they did keep him focused on his goal. An older man covered in dirt and soot came up to him. He was the last delivery. Eziel smiled at the man who returned a genuine grin of his own regardless of his lack of a full set of teeth. "Sorry, it's not much." Ezeil said handing the man the small sack. "Bread and cheese mainly, but there are a few potatoes and some flour as well. I milled it myself. I'd tell you where but it's a secret." The man bowed a few times to him taking thanking him. "Oh it's plenty sir. Thank you. Thank you so very much." he said. His voice was soft and weak even though the man himself didn't look to be too frail. There was a good chance he could be sick though, and for that reason Eziel handed out everything at arm's length. He couldn't do much good if he was in lying in bed weak and fevered. Still, his heart went out to these people. Most of the citizens had lived through so much. Eirgyle's reign, Myr's death, and King Abner's descent into madness. For him, he had little memory of the times before the king's madness. As a young child he didn't really understand it. Things seemed fine for a while. People were hopeful and talking about how things would change. It seemed like for a while everything was fine. He often wondered if the king himself had taken their hope away or if he'd lost the will to make things better. After all, according to his mother things never got any better really. Eirgyle's ruin passed to Abner and the king was just not driven for long enough to make difference that was needed. Ezeil quickly packed up his things and made his way back home up the stairs into the square that lead through the Noble's District. The slums lay on the outskirts almost not looking like a part of the city at all. Further in at what the residents called the Junction there was a large wall separating the Noble's District (also called the Pristine) from the slums. There was really no in between. The Pristine itself was raised above the Slums so that there was a set of stairs that lead up into it from the slums. Sometimes guards would patrol the area and keep the poor from moving up into it. This was only ever ignored when the market was open which was rare for the slum dwellers. A guard walked just past him and stopped. Slowly his head turned to catch the noble carrying several previously full sacks. Here, in this city; that was enough proof. The guard turned calling him to halt. Ezeil froze and cursed under his breath. He had made it all the way to the last step into the district. The guard walked up to him and looked him up and down briefly having too look a little harder in the waning light, but seemed to recognize him as he smiled. "Good luck on your tourney tomorrow there Godhand." he said strolling off. Eziel smiled a little bit thinking he'd seen the man. Eziel himself was used to that same job since he'd been doing it for a year now. The people had taken to calling him Godhand for his swordplay though he insisted on how little of it was his hands and how much of it was in his footwork and agility, but the digression was short lived. This would be his record fifteenth tournament victory at only nineteen years old granted he won. It would also be the third one in a row where he would send a letter to the Queen. A letter he doubted she shared with anyone as he'd yet to be arrested for treason or plotting the death of a noble. Not that he was, but King Abner would doubtful take it for what it was. It was a formal challenge. It was no secret that Queen Lyn was Lyn Hydall sister of legend Myr Hydall often called the Gilded Blade. In fact it was said Myr's skill with a blade was unmatched among men only because it was his sister -a woman- who surpasses him instead. If that were the case then what better case to make for himself than defeating her in a tournament? He knew that if such a thing were found it was likely he'd be accused of something worthy of the headsman's axe which didn't take much. He'd seen men lose their arms for miscounted coin, legs for trespassing, and heads for just about anything not as mild. In truth at Ezeil's standing, given his family; the first letter likely would have demanded punishment, but not death or dismemberment. After all, he was the future of the royal guard, King Abner's elite military force. No punishment -broken ribs or otherwise- came after the first, and so he continued. Should two or three be found out however, he would likely not be spared. Still, he did not worry. There really was no danger. It was not a well guarded secret that the Queen was very much disillusioned with her groom and took to fairly strong and expensive drink religiously to cope. This was lucky for him as her letters went directly to her and she likely simply read and disposed of them. At least he was pretty confident that's what was happening. Making his way through the tall buildings he finally reached his home looking through the window and seeing no one in the living room. A sigh of relief and he slipped inside quietly making his way to the pantry to stash the sacks away. When he closed the wooden door and turned he found his father standing there. Eziel stood still and met his father's eyes. The briefest falter in resolve gave him away. "What have you been up to?" his father asked with direct suspicion. Both pairs of green eyes shared their gaze, but the elder's were fierce and stern while Eziel's were not so sure of themselves in that moment. "Father...I...I was just going to find something to eat." he said. His lie was transparent. "Then perhaps you should have been here for dinner." "Yessir." Eziel said hoping that had resolved the argument. His father did not move his eyes away. There was silence for several seconds before Eziel sighed and the tension moved into his shoulders. His father already knew. They both knew what fight was coming. "They're starving father." he urged, but Dynus immediately slammed his fist on the table next to him angrily. "It's not your responsibility to take care of them Eziel! If you get yourself arrested or worse I won't be there to help you. Act like the adult you're supposed to be Eziel. I can only do so much to dig you out of trouble when you get tangled up in things that do not concern you. If you bring down the wrath of this city I can't help you boy." That was Dynus Harwick. Ever the subservient member of the Royal Guard and at times Eziel's father. He commanded a great deal of respect from the city at such a high standing and yet he really did nothing for them. In fact his job was a detriment to what the city really needed and that was to be rid of King Abner. It was Dynus who's will drove Eziel through military school and through the rigorous training in the martial arts and how to lead soldiers. It was Dynus who's will was still serving to keep Eziel in the schooling to start him off as a field officer for the coming expansion of New Ordellia. Dynus had not disclosed the target of the expansion to Eziel of course, but his son knew it was on the horizon. "I never asked you to. I'd never ask you for anything. Everything you do you do for King Abner." Eziel said with harshness that surprised even himself. His breath shuddered at the heat behind his words when he saw his father's slight recoil. Dynus opened his mouth once behind his great mustache and closed it shaking his head. "Eziel, one day you'll finally grow up. When you do you're going to figure out that just because someone does something does not mean they believe in it." he said sternly. Something in his eyes told Ezeil that these words meant something to his father. That they meant something more than they said. The moment he opened his mouth to respond he felt himself crush whatever was hiding beneath those words. "That's a weak thing to say father. If you don't believe in it, then why are you doing it? Why dedicate your life and swear an oath for it? Why draw your sword in the name of someone...something that you don't even-" "Ezeil Roland Harwick that's enough!" he father bellowed. Whatever softness that was in his eyes was gone as he jerked his head to the hallway at his right toward Eziel's room. "Get out of here." Eziel felt his mouth tighten and his fists did clench. Heat built in his face and chest, but in the end he obeyed. "Yes father." ..................................................................................................................................... Eziel sat on his bed in his room twirling a dagger between his fingers by the handle. Some days he couldn't believe that man was his father. Sometimes he wished he wasn't. He was just glad that he had a few other sources to which he owed his knowledge than that stubborn, short sighted, boar of a man. There was a small pub in the taverns that had been built over a church that was razed during before Eziel had been born. In the basement of that church was a place he called the Lost Archives. Bards, poets, and writers had scribed several works about Myr and his uprising. Some were details of his travels, some his philosophies. Some were tales or songs of his companions and their feats. It was his sanctuary. Eziel had learned more from the dead hero than he'd ever learned at the academy. He owed his blade skill to quite a few of Mir's lessons and notes from the Queen before her days of royalty. There were some notes he'd kept and some left by his companions. Eziel had learned a bit about how to survive in the wilderness, bits and pieces about other races and lands, and several weak spots of creatures like the Axehead and the Great Ox. Still, he'd been on a relatively tight leash as of late and hadn't been able to get there. He sent the dagger sailing into a thick plank of wood on the wall letting it stick deep and stay lodged. With a harsh sigh he flopped to his back. He was nineteen now, closer than ever to finishing his schooling and being thrust into full fledged service to the tyrant king, and yet what would he do with his life? Keep fighting in tournaments? Make a name for himself here in New Ordellia? That would accomplish nothing. Nothing he really wanted to do. At the rate he was going he'd end up just like Dynus. Doing things he didn't believe in. He held his hand in front of him slowly clenching a fist. The muscles in his arm pulsed with strength. The tight pact muscle designed perfectly for the dexterity needed for his swordplay. "What will you do with your strength Eziel?" he asked. He couldn't help but wonder if Myr had times like this. Times not written of before his crusade. Times of wonder and doubt. Asking himself why. He wondered how deep inside the hero had to look within himself to find that courage. To find that motivation. Eziel wondered yet again if he had that drive. "What will you do?" |
| There had been a time, once, when Lyn Hydall believed in something. She had been a woman defined by her belief—in her brother, in her husband, in a world free from tyranny. Her blood had been idealism, her flesh had been struggle, her heart had been faith. She had believed in herself through believing in her brother, through believing in his world and in his vision for their own. And she had given all that she had to see it happen. That woman was dead now, and buried, along with her beloved brother. Along with the man that had once been her husband. That a body remained, that a flesh and blood woman haunted the halls of the Eternal Domicile, was irrelevant. Lyn Hydall was gone and in her place was a bone and sinew simulacrum. A breathing facsimile of such striking verisimilitude that someone could almost believe she lived after all. Lyn was good at pretending. She'd had to be, in the world that her husband had created. Her husband, who'd been her savior when Myr had died. Who'd swept into her life and healed her wounds, taken her heart and fused it with his own that she might survive. Who'd promised to give her the world that her brother had died for. That she had given her life to see. If there was a precise moment she had died, Lyn didn't know it. She had not woken one day to find her belief gone, faded away into nothing, a shriveled knot of dystopian nothing. It had been nothing so stark, so quick. Hers had been a slow, pining death; a corridor she had walked one excruciating step at a time, a dilatory peeling of layers until only stark disillusionment remained. Until the fire had quenched in her eyes and a hollow lassitude had set to rotting her soul. If Lyn did not know the moment, she certainly knew the cause for her corrosion. Abner had betrayed her. Her husband, the one-time love of her life, had turned away from the cause that had so bound their hearts. He had looked her in the eye, knowing she was all that was left of her brother in all the world, and he had laughed. Abner had derided her vision—Myr's vision—and become no better than the tyrant he had fought to defeat. A tyrant he had defeated and in defeating, had won her heart. Power had driven him in the way that it drove all tyrants. It had stolen the love from his heart for anything but power. It had stolen Abner away from her forever. When Lyn had finally turned her back on him—when it finally became too much for her to bear—it had been to save herself. It had been a matter of survival. She had given her heart to a man only to watch him become what she hated. How could she be a Hydall—how could she be sister to the Great Hero, the Gilded Blade herself—and love a tyrant? It was unconscionable. Unpardonable. So she had died. Because the loss of two great loves is too much for any heart. Too much for any one person to handle. It was so much safer to be dead. So much...safer. “You have received another letter from that commoner, milady.” Lyn stared at the fire, the flames dancing in her dark eyes, masking the rampant decay in their sunken depths. Her hair was loose, as was her wont when she had retired to her rooms of a night. She had managed to stay out of the court today, free from Abner's searching gaze, his pained expression when she refused to meet his eye. Such things confused her. They stirred things within her that she would rather dampen. Guilt, shame, self-reproach. The sense that perhaps she had been party to the destruction of her marriage. That she was equally to blame for the tyranny of this world. That Myr would meet her in whatever Afterlife awaited them all and turn away, too ashamed to meet his younger sister's eyes. Too ashamed by her betrayal to greet her into eternity, and to save a seat for his 'sweetest Lyn'. She quieted the sob that forced its way past her defenses, a haunting ghost from a time of pain, a place within her that she had numbed for some time now. Closing her eyes, pulling them away from the image of her brother and his disappointment, Lyn gulped down her wine and held out her glass. “Another. Now.” Her glass filled, a shape unfolding from the shadows with a decanter. Lyn put the glass to her lips and drank, desperate to banish the pain, to dismiss Myr from her presence. She could not bear to see her brother now, when she had failed so spectacularly. When she had promised him to finish what he started. When the last words she had spoken to him were to swear her undying allegiance not to him, but to his cause. Lyn wondered sometimes, when she let the drunk wear off just long enough to break the surface of awareness, if Myr had known he would die. If he had extracted that promise from her because he'd known someone had betrayed him. Had she been his hope? Had Myr gone to his death firm in the belief that Lyn would be his salvation, his legacy? If so...what a legacy she had been. “Another!” Lyn threw the glass into the fire. “None of this piss! Bring me something stronger, you hissing harpies!” Her cavalcade of nannies descended upon her then, handkerchiefs at the ready, another glass appearing as if from nothing, filling with the whiskey she had confiscated from the guards. Simpering subservience, wrapped so carefully, so thinly, around pity. These women pitied her. Pitied her! The Gilded Blade! The sister of Myr Hydall, who'd lost everything for this nation! Pitied her because she had lost. “ENOUGH! Begone, all of you! If I so many as see any of you in my presence again until I call for you, I will have you beaten and discharged into the streets! Go, go, go!” Lyn screamed, pushing herself from the cushions of her chair and throwing her circlet—the symbol of her rule—at the spineless sycophants Abner had seen fit to saddle her with. Shrieking, the women hiked their skirts and ran from the room, fear mingling with pity in their eyes. Finally, she was blessedly alone, only the flickering of the fire to keep her company now. Pouring herself another glass of whiskey—the first had gone flying into the wall—she knocked it back, desperate to calm the shaking of her hands. This was a bad night. They happened sometimes, these nights when nothing helped. When nothing could quench the feelings of failure and loss that threatened to squeeze her dry. When the ghosts of the past danced before her eyes, stealing from her her youth and her faith. She wondered where her friends were. If they were withered like her, old before their time and wallowing in failure. She wondered if they remembered her brother, or if he had faded from their minds in the intermittent years. If they had set Abner upon the throne and gone off into the world, their job done, their lives fulfilled. Did they see her husband's failings and blame her for doing nothing about them? Did they hear about her mood swings, about her drinking, and shake their heads in shame? Were they dead? Had Abner done as he'd threatened and killed all those reminders of Myr's rebellion? The original rebels who'd come so close only to fail, who'd carved the path of blood, laying the groundwork for Abner's brilliant rise to the throne? Had that threat been empty, meant to get a rise from her, to cause her pain because he liked causing pain and she was an easy target? Gods, she missed Myr. With every day, she missed him more and more. Her beloved brother, cut down in his highest moment, so close to everything he had always wanted. She wanted nothing more than to pick him from her dreams and fall into his arms as she had done in their childhood. To hear his laugh for real instead of only in her memories of him, a ghostly ringing joy that was probably more hope than reality. She would give anything to have him now; his voice, his wisdom, his warmth. To follow him on an adventure and never be parted from him again. It was no good. He was gone, and she had moved forward with her life, such as it was. She had found a man to love, a man who worshiped Myr with as much fervor as she and more, because to him Myr was a god. And she had birthed four children who loved her unlike anyone had ever loved her before. Lyn loved them as much as any mother loved her children; she would give her life for them. It wasn't their fault their father was a tyrant. She tried not to blame them for looking so like Abner. She tried not to see Myr in her son, who tried so hard to make his father love him back. She was not very good at it. A symptom of being a dead woman, she supposed. A woman betrayed by her idealism until it hardened into hatred. That man she loved was gone, and her children were as abused as the victims of war, caught between a tyrant father and an alcoholic mother. Lyn sighed, her eyes alighting on a letter. One of her chambermaids had dropped it when running from the room. Another challenge from that commoner, she supposed. The one they called Godhand because of his skill with a sword. Ezi something. Ezio? No, Ezeil. This was the third such challenge he had offered her, and the third she would have to turn down. As much as she wanted to accept—she was still the finest blade in this nation, and spent as much time with a sword in her hand as a drink, and more—it wasn't seemly. She was the Empress of Imyr, and meeting a commoner in combat was simply not done. More, it would put the boy in danger. And whatever was left of the hero in Lyn could not let that happen. Such a challenge was...more than presumptuous, it could be construed as wishing harm upon the royal family. And Abner would most definitely see it as such. A threat to the family was a threat to the realm, and while Abner felt no love for his family anymore, he would defend it vociferously. With torture and execution if need be. It was a shame. Lyn would very much have liked to meet this Ezeil. He intrigued her. There was something of Myr in him. Diluted to be sure, but there. And with just the slightest bit of coaxing, the fire that had defined Myr's life—the drive that had almost toppled a tyrant—might be brought to life in this boy's chest. Lyn frowned, tossing the challenge into the fire, where all the others had gone. She did not know if Abner had her roomed searched, but she assumed he did and this letter was a death sentence for its writer. Crossing her room, Lyn leaned at the crenelation—there were no windows in the palace, only arrow slits, by Abner's command—and stared out into the night. Stretching out into the night was the darkness of the King's Forest, where Lyn hunted often. Seeing the forest gave Lyn an idea. Perhaps here was a way for her to meet this most intriguing Ezeil, after all. She turned to the door of her chambers. “Guard! Attend me!” Within moments, the captain of Lyn's guard was in attendance, saluting smartly. “Your Highness.” “I have decided that I am not as much apart of the world as I should be. I am Empress of this realm and I cannot hide behind stone forever. As such, I have decided to amend the prizes for the tournament tomorrow. The winner shall accompany me on a hunt in the King's Forest. Alert the List Master, if you will.” Lyn stood tall and firm, nary a tremor in her limbs as she commanded the man. The idea had come alive within her. A chance to help a young man whose idealism had not yet left him, and to do it behind her husband's back! For the first time in weeks, a smile tugged at her full lips and lit her beautiful face. “And send to me my children. It has been too long since I spoke to them.” Within her, the chains stirred, loosening almost imperceptibly. And Myr's eyes met her own. |
The world seemed larger... once. When heroes rose against kings and hope was burning bright in the hearts of the people. Makaelum's light of hope had long since dwindled to nothing more than embers in the dark. He had become used to this emptiness in his heart. The melancholy that filled his heart was nothing new to him now. He held it tightly within himself afraid that even that he would lose if he didn't keep a firm grip upon it. He sat in the rags of a ne'er-do-well against the side of a rundown shack in the slums of Ordellia. The Grey Acre was what many people called it do to they complete lack of color in the district. Makaelum didn't mind the lacking. It suited him his mindset to not have to peer upon the pretty things anymore. Beauty was for those with hope. He tugged at his hood as a man passed by. Young, and obviously of the wealthier class if not a noble dressed down. The man often came to the Grey Acre with sacks of food for the poor. Makaelum never took from him even though he was starving, but he never could stay away from the man when he would venture down the stairs from the Pristine. The man was a star in this grey place. Blonde and green eyed, the man reminded Makaelum of himself when he rode on the back of his dragon, Talyn; rode beside Myr. "Myr..." he whispered and looked away from the man as if looking at the bright sun and could no longer take the light. Still the embers inside stirred until he squashed them down. His stomach roared so he pushed himself up the wall to his feet. He was weak these days. Not the strong man he once was. Not since Abner took his mission from him. Forcing him to abandon the Dragneelian. He was making such progress. The reconstruction of the temple was reaching completion and he had done it in so few years with the help of many aspiring dragon riders from his village. Then the King's men came with declarations of treason. Siege weapons sacked the towers, Soldiers rampaged killing anyone that resisted, and anyone that didn't. Makaelum's brother lost his life before his eyes. His brother's bride, with child, was shot down moments after. He could not get to either of them. He had to run. Running was what he did best after all. Thanks to his once bond to Talyn he could run without measure in the land of men. He left the others to die. His heart broke the moment the towers crumbled for the second time before his eyes. He pushed from the wall pausing a moment when the young man was halted by a guard on his way back to the pristine. He had a surge of strength, he would distract the guard so the man could escape. He took a step up the stair and the guard turned and walked away. Makaelum's strength drained instantly. Less then it was before, he stumbled like a drunk towards the closest thing the Grey Acre had to a tavern. Perhaps it was the whiskey he had downed the night before but he doubted it. He took the last coin from his pocket and kicked open the doors to the "Drowned Rat." His last silver, but it would pay for plenty of the horse piss they sold in this place, and a cozy floor to sleep on through the night... |
| "Excuse me, Father, but I do not find it appropriate for you to enter the slums," the guard said as he blocked Lucian's path. "Excuse me. Haider, right?" "Yes." "Well the Lord does not judge those in the slums for living in the slums. We must follow the Lord's example and reach to the unreachable. Now if you will excuse me, I have some important matters to take care of." The guard stood in silence as Lucian walked around him. Lucian shook his head in disappointment as he wandered away from the guard at the Pristine. Have they learned nothing from history? As Lucian walked from house to house muttering a prayer of blessing to each household, crowds gathered to follow the holy man. It wasn't often that Lucian prayed through the slums, but when it did happen, the poor people were grateful. Lucian couldn't help but wonder if those in the slums were those truly blessed from the gods. After all, they were the ones who could truly see the Lord's blessings. Lucian looked around at the small crowd that had gathered behind him. People of all ages tried their best to the great priest in hopes that he would offer them a personal blessing. Lucian walked to one of the young girls in the front and knelt before her. "Hello, my child. What is your name?" "Bella," the little girl replied. Her blue eyes gleamed in the sun. The rest of her face dirtied and her clothes were worn. "Bella, how would you like to receive a blessing from the Lord?" The little girl smiled weakly as she nodded. Lucian muttered a simple prayer for the girl and rose to his feet. "And your parents? Where are they?" "I... I don't know." Lucian's eyes widened at the little girl's response. His heart ached as his mind brought him back to his own childhood. The only difference between him and this girl was that he had the church. He knelt back down beside the girl and put an arm around her. "How would you like to see what life is like on the other side of the Pristine?" The girl's mouth opened to reveal a dirty grin. She let out a quiet giggle. "Well, if you promise to be a good girl and honor the Lord, I would love to show you." Bella hugged Lucian tightly for several minutes. When she finally let him go, Lucian saw tears in the girls eyes. He felt his eyes water but blinked back his tears. There was something special about this girl. *** "Sister Martha! I have a guest who will be joining us for dinner!" Lucian yelled out as he and Bella entered the dark cathedral. An older woman walked into the hallway and looked down at Bella. She smiled a sweet smile and she approached Bella. "And who have we here?" Martha asked. "Bella." Martha looked over at Lucian and thought for a moment. "Father Lucian, are you sure it is okay to bring a child from the slums to this side of the Pristine?" "Sister Martha, it is important that we show the grace of our gods to all." "True, but it is also important that we honor, respect, and obey those who the gods have placed over us." Lucian let out a slow exhale. Sister Martha was always a little too supportive of the government for his taste. "Well, we can at least let her stay for the night." Martha smiled. "Of course." Martha turned on her heels and disappeared down the hallway. Lucian looked down at Bella, who hadn't let go of his arm since they had left the slums. "Tomorrow I will show you around New Ordellia, but right now, I believe we have a feast waiting for you." |
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