Discord 100 Online
Jorick Member
Last Seen: 1 yr ago
Joined: 7 yrs ago
Posts: 1640 (0.64 / day)
VMs: 0
Latest 10 profile visitors:
Most recent → Holmishire, BangoSkank, Fiscbryne, Krasnaya, Rapid Reader, Shadow Dragon, Calle, Guild Mods, Snowman, Kuro
User has no status, yet
User has no bio, yet
In MASC Hall of Fame → 1 yr ago Forum: Writing Contests
MASC #2: Fear
Prompt Thread | Voting Thread
Winner: Alone by @Calle
Alone [+]
The temperature was just right, the sun gave off a pleasant warmth and a gentle breeze gave just enough cooling. The lawn of the picnic area looked like a soft green blanket, adorned with white daisies and yellow buttercups, and a few butterflies and bumblebees flew from flower to flower. It seemed like a perfect day for a picnic.
Why wasn't anyone here?
One of the slings on the playground creaked as it gently swung back and forth, as if someone had just jumped off. Mike stood on the sidewalk and looked at the deserted playground. Aside from the creaking there wasn't any sound. No cars driving, no birds singing. Nothing.
He turned his back to the empty place and examined the row of houses. After looking left-right-left, although he wondered why he even bothered, he crossed the street. He peered through one of the windows and saw a table with two cups of coffee and two small plates with a slice of cake on them. It looked like a couple had drunk from the coffee and eaten from the cake, but he couldn't see them. He went to the door and rang the doorbell, the shrill sound of it pierced the silence and he cringed.
Even though the bell was loud enough, no-one came to answer the door. After waiting for a half a minute he rang again. And again. He turned around and went back to the sidewalk, rubbing his arms although he wasn't cold. For a moment he stood there, looking at the area around him. How could no-one be here? He decided to go to the next house; the gravel under his feet crunched with every step he took and when he rang the doorbell a gently melody sounded on the other side.
No-one came.
Mike raked his fingers through his hair as he looked around. He couldn't be the only one here. "Hello," he called, "is anyone there?" His words sounded unnaturally loud in the silence around him, but after the sound disappeared the silence returned, seemingly more present than before he broke it.
He went to the next door, and the next. Soon he ran over the sidewalk, trying to find someone, anyone. When he stopped he found himself in a shopping street, but no-one walked the cobblestone road. He went to the nearest store and peered inside through the open door. The lights were on and shop was filled with clothes of the latest fashion, but that was it. He pulled up his shoulders and wrapped his arms around him as he continued walking through the street. This place should be filled with people shopping, but it wasn't. Only the mannequins stood in the windows, silently observing him.
"Hello!" Mike called out again. The silence was deafening.
His stomach felt as if it turned to stone and his nails dug in the flesh of his arms. He couldn't be the only one here. He continued to walk, slowly making his way to the other end of the street, his shoulders hunched, but his eyes frantically moving from door to door, from window to window. At first he hummed to break the silence, but that didn't help and soon he just walked in the overwhelming silence.
He cast his eyes to the ground and shook his head. His heart was beating faster and he felt both warm and cold. "Come on," he muttered to himself as he looked around him a final time, "I can't be the only one here…"
When he reached a bench he sat down, trying to keep his breathing calm. Slowly he lay down and covered his face with his hands. Maybe whoever took them would take him soon as well. He wouldn't be alone for much longer…
When he opened his eyes it was dark, and he was unpleasantly warm. He pushed the blanket away and looked around in the room until he noticed a digital alarm clock. He blinked a few times. "A dream…" he muttered, letting out a sigh of relief. "It was just a dream."
Somewhere in the distance he heard a car, a rare sound at this hour of the night, but a welcome one. He turned to one side, listening to the silence in his room. He turned to his other side. He turned on his back and looked to the ceiling, but soon he turned to his side again.
Maybe it had been just a dream, but the loneliness he had experienced lingered. And while he knew he wasn't alone anymore, the car he had heard was proof of that, he couldn't shake the restlessness that had built up during the nightmare.
He was still alone in his room.
He closed his eyes, telling him to go to sleep, that his parents were sleeping in their bedroom, so he wasn't alone. But he knew he was and he couldn't convince himself otherwise. And he didn't want to be alone. The silence wrapped around him like a blanket and he hugged himself. How he hated being alone.
After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, he got up, grabbed his blanket and opened the door of his room.
The house was dark, his parents were sleeping. He went to their room and opened the door. All he could hear was their calm breathing and he lingered in the doorway. After looking back to his room he went in as silent as he could, sat in the comfortable chair in the corner and wrapped himself in the blanket. It had to be a decade ago since he had last done this and he felt silly for doing it now that he was twenty, but knowing there were other people in the room made him relax. He soon fell asleep.
In MASC #2: Fear - Voting and Critique → 1 yr ago Forum: Writing Contests
Well then, those votes make this a pretty simple announcement post.
@Calle is our clear winner this month with all three votes going to Alone! Congratulations, and well done.
As for the extra challenges, both Old Dogs, New Tricks and Conqueror go to The Darkness Within. Aside from being the only entry to use traditional monsters, this entry managed to present them in a way markedly different from the traditional stories even in such a short time. The protagonist of this entry was also the one to most clearly overcome their fear, thus the double win on the extra challenges.
While none of the entries was blatantly comedic in nature, I'm going to name Journal of Alexi Kravinov as the winner of the Comedian challenge. The musing on suicide and how it's the process of buying a gun rather than the intended use that put him off of the idea was amusing in a very macabre way that I quite enjoyed, so kudos for making me chuckle despite the dark subject matter.
MASC will be going on a bit of a hiatus while I retool some things and play with the schedule. Keep an eye on the Writing Contests subforum and/or the Current Contest box on the sidebar of the front page to see when MASC #3 begins.
Alright folks, time for the voting and feedback period for the second month of MASC. Apologies for the delay, I got busy IRL and just now am getting the time to do forum things. Better late than never though, right? Let's get right into it. The prompt for the month was...
Write a story that involves the main character encountering their greatest fear. The source of fear can be as plain or abstract as you like, as traditional or strange as you want, so long as it is whatever your character fears the most. Send your entries via PM to @Jorick before midnight (in the Pacific Time Zone) September 12th.
Extra Challenges: These are optional. The entry that best fulfills each extra challenge (as decided by @Jorick) will be highlighted after the voting period ends.
Old Dog, New Tricks: Use a commonplace horror monster (vampire, werewolf, zombie, etc.) as the source of fear, but add a unique twist to how they work.
Comedian: Fulfill the prompt in an amusing or comedic way.
Conqueror: Have your character conquer their fear.
Voting Rules:
1. Submit your vote by posting in the voting thread before the deadline: before midnight (in US time zones) on September 22nd.
2. Submissions are posted anonymously for a reason. Revealing which entry was yours before the voting period is over will result in disqualification.
3. Contest entrants cannot vote for their own entry but are invited to vote for a competitor's entry.
4. Comments on and critiques of the entries are highly encouraged, but do keep in mind that criticism should be constructive rather than destructive.
5. The entry with the most votes in the end will be declared the winner. @Jorick will also highlight those who did the best job tackling each extra challenge.
6. All site and contest moderation rules are of course in effect.
And here are our entries for this month:
Journal of Alexi Kravinov [+]
Journal of Alexi Kravinov
I've often fantasized about putting a gun to my head. That isn't to say I would pull the trigger. In my current position within the world, I think I would just like to know that I was capable of staring down oblivion. It is more the mundanities of the action that prevent me from doing so. I would need to provide licenses, background checks, and hard-earned income into the purchase of a firearm. I would need to engage in inane conversation about "self-defense" knowing full well that I would be too much a coward to shoot anyone, or worse yet such a coward that I may shoot someone. The act of buying a gun itself goes so far against my being that the idea of standing there beside the counter sickens me. Politically I'm about as moderate as you can get on gun control, and I've fired a fair share of recreational weapons. However, the idea of buying a gun myself is inherently linked with oblivion.
I've been using suicide as a shortcut in many hard questions that I've asked myself. "If my life were less fortunate, and I was in the position that [a good friend] is in, what would I do?" A bullet to the skull I would reason. It is a sick joke disguised as pride, for me to think "If I ever fall that far it would be better to zero-sum". It is a prideful boast about my character, to say that I am such a good and upright human that I would sooner die than lose my humanity doing something reprehensible. However under the prideful boast is a cruel self-aware joke at my lack of resilience, or maybe my fear of lack of resilience. Suicide is the definitive answer to any moral quandary. A dead body is neither good nor bad, and therefore it is by its definition moral.
The self-violence that must lead to suicide, however, is in my view what makes it so abhorrent, and why the act of buying a handgun would sicken me. It is also the reason why destructive anxious thoughts bother me more than they ought to, as these thoughts are self-violence of the mind. To kill yourself is murder, consensual or not, and murder has never been about the death of the individual, but always about the value, the community has lost in the individual's death.
It is for that reason the death of children is often viewed as more of a tragedy than that of an elderly citizen, and why famous artists are often so venerated when they die. It is also why the murder of homeless vagrants attract less attention from society than that of citizens who are more well off. While we may hate the act of murder, it is its absolute permanence that wounds us. In other words, murder is an abhorrent crime not because of the act of violence, but because of the act of violence transcends eternity. A dead loved one will never hold you again.
In some fantasies, I never left my village. I may deal in drugs or work at the job I did in high school, but regardless I am fully aware that my life is going nowhere. This was a fear of mine well into my first years of college when I thought that such a life could be unlivable, and thus that failure at my studies was the same as embracing death. The fear of failure paired well with the mentality of achievement or thinking you can attain meaning through accomplishment. This fear was not triumphantly fought so much as it was just outgrown, as a child outgrows the fear of the dark. As a result, I felt a period of positive nihilism, I was at a complete loss for meaning, and I loved it. Nihilism, like cigarettes, gradually replace the peace initially given to you by anxiety and thoughts of death. To this day many take solace in their insignificance, and I wish them all the best. However, it takes no courage to resign yourself.
In other fantasies, it is merely my humility and not my ability that is tested. Perhaps I am in a coma, perhaps I am an invalid. These fantasies aren't ones I dwell on but are the result of offhand comments. "If I ever have to eat through a straw then make someone unplug me". While not new, these are becoming more common now that I assign some meaning to the contribution of goodness to the lives of those I care about. When one derives his worth from how he can benefit others, the net loss of being a cripple or invalid will morally horrify him. When one finds meaning in the service of living, then suicide is seen more like a rude gesture towards the world. A person should at least leave enough money for the bill before leaving the restaurant if one must leave early.
At any rate, I am tired and feel slightly better now. The Vodka has kicked in and my soup is warm. I've often fantasized about putting a gun to my head. However, I often fantasize about my future as well. I think of what I will drink, who I will drink with, and what we will sing. I think about meeting someone who worries about this less than I do and building a life with them. I think about bringing life into the world, and if I can think about that, surely there is some meaning hidden somewhere. Even if I am not smart enough to find it, I hope it might find me.
The Darkness Within [+]
The Darkness Within.
His eyes flew open, he tried to shake off the remains of his slumber. His heart raced. Fragments of dreams haunted him. At least he hoped it had been just dreams and not memories.
He didn't know how many nights it has been. Could be a week, a month, a year.
He was afraid of what was inside him, of what he would become. The fear kept him in his chosen solitude.
He still could feel it, the sharp teeth sinking in his neck, the wolf biting his leg, the blood dripping in his mouth. The spell the woman had chanted still whispered in his head.
Alder grabbed his head. Even though that fateful night was still blurry he knew what happened before the moment everything changed.
Some men of the town and him had gone to the forest to find a missing woman. Things had gone downhill from there. Hunted through the forest by strange very large wolfs. Luckily the full moon had lighted the path a bit more.
He didn't know what had happened to the others but he found himself at one point overtaken by the wolf and only moments later he got dragged by the wolf who, had his foot firmly between its teeth. He could feel a strange tingling in his leg besides the pain. He got dragged to a clearing where a larger then normal wolf and cat were at one side of a drawn triangle. On the other point two very pale figures were standing silently. He could have sworn their eyes lit up red and a strange white shine was near their lips. The last spot was taking by a male and female in robes and with a staff.
He had been lying dazed in the centre while some chanting started. He understood he was going to be a sacrificed for some ritual. He felt a wave of what he believed was magic wash over him.
A gasp and whispered arguing followed.
He heard some words like: power, light and dark, change. After that all hell broke loose and they all seemed to fight over him. Instead of sacrificing him they now all wanted to control him, let him be one of the three groups or at least whatever he supposedly had slumbering in his core.
He groaned and slowly got up. It was night, he could see that through some gaps in the cave.
It's a great night to hunt, find a human and feast on it.
Alder shuddered. He could feel the darkness inside him become stronger. His defences weakening. It became harder and harder to find reasonable arguments why he didn't want too, why he shouldn't.
He heard chuckling and wasn't sure whether he made the sound or whether it was in his head.
Alder was afraid that he was losing his humanity. He feared that one day he would succumb to the darkness growing inside him and rampage through the world.
Yes, let it out, let's rampage. Let's embrace who you are now. You are better than them.
"No!" Alder cried out. "No…I can't, I don't want to lose who I am."
But you are so much better now, stronger. You can be the King. You can reign the world forever.
Alder listed everything that made him human in his mind but at the same time he couldn't forget the things that made him a monster. Not just one monster or any monster.
The first night after he somehow managed to escape the clearing, he was led by his bloodthirst. He was sure he had fed.
Appalled by what he had done he had fled in the woods and hid away in a cave.
The first full moon a month later he changed in a beast and his memories were even more foggy but the taste in his mouth afterwards had not promised much good.
He had put the pieces together and was certain that it had been a vampire, werewolf and witch that wanted him and his power. Somehow it had backfired and he was changed. Alder wasn't sure but he suspected the power they had felt within him had helped somehow.
Since then he tried to overcome his bloodlust and tried to not go out when the moon was full even though the howling wolfs on those days made him yearn to join them.
While battling the demons inside him he stayed in the cave, surviving on small prey.
Alder felt lonely often but his fears made him stay. Bitterly he smiled when he thought about the fears he used to have as kid, as teen, as young adult. How trivial they had been compared to this. He had never been more afraid. Afraid of himself, what was inside him, what he could become, what his future would hold now. Fear was ever present and if the fear was not it was worry or loneliness.
Why don't you go back to you family? They must miss you. They think you are dead.
His heart rate went up and cold sweat formed on his forehead. Go back? What if he'd couldn't control himself, what if he had lost his humanity by then and they would face a soulless monster.
"No...I can't...I can't...I don't want to hurt them."
You could change them, your sister would love it.
"Datura.. no I got to keep her safe."
She'd embrace it, she likes the darkness. She loves the creatures of the night.
"NO! She would be strong."
Unlike you? You are strong too. You could harvest respect from your mortal minions.
You just have to accept who you are, embrace it. Live it.
Alder could feel his fangs grow and the bloodlust intensifying.
Surges of fear were going through him, almost suffocated him. He was losing his battle. He wanted to give in. Oh how he wanted to give in.
If only his sister Datura were here, she would understand.
His head jerked up. Datura could help him.
He wouldn't have to do it alone and she wouldn't be defenceless, she could stop him.
Turn her.
"No, I will not hurt her! I will keep in control!"
He felt the darkness retreating a bit, coiling around his core.
Alder stood up and watched the night sky. He found his anker to keeping his humanity and his sanity. He still was afraid of the darkness inside him but it wasn't a paralyzing fear like he experienced till now. As long as he would keep his head together and his loved ones in his heart he could stay in control. Yes even though he was some sort of weird hybrid form and it wouldn't be easy, he could do it. He would find a way to live with it and accept it on his terms. He would stay in control.
In MASC #2: Fear - Prompt and Discussion → 1 yr ago Forum: Writing Contests
@Jorick Voting thread should be up soon right?
@BrokenPromise
Yep, going up shortly. Got busy and totally forgot about it until today.
In The Elder Scrolls: Days of Night → 1 yr ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
17th Sun's Dawn
Daggerfall, High Rock
A methodical tapping, wood on stone, preceded Lywend as he made his way to the harbor. Magical and useful though it was, lately he'd found his staff to be of more use to him as a walking stick than a weapon. He'd spend the last three weeks in and around Daggerfall chasing old wives' tales only to end up finding that the vaunted 'ghostheart' mushroom said to be part of a ritual to return life to the dead was nothing more than a variation of the common white cap mushroom. The alchemist who had examined his findings was familiar with the plant and the superstition, and she was quite sure the plant wouldn't bring so much as a fly back from the dead. The woman had at least paid well for the basketful of a variety of white mushrooms Lywend had spent a couple days gathering from the countryside, so he'd been able to book passage on a ship out the city. Cyrodiil wouldn't have been his first choice of destination, but Anvil was the only destination on offer that he hadn't already scoured in his pursuit of some kernel of truth among folklore and fairy tales so it would have to do.
The Kismet was rather easy to spot along the docks, and he headed for it with no hurry in his step as he carefully navigated the crowded area. While he was no sailor, Lywend had spent enough time on ships in the last decade to appreciate the obvious fact that this one was a fine vessel indeed. If he was lucky, the exterior looks would not turn out to be a facade like the last ship he'd traveled on. He could tolerate rats and unsavory company well enough, but all things considered he would prefer cleanliness and a crew that knew better than to steal from passengers. There was no accounting for the other passengers, of course, and Lywend was already resigned to the need to keep an eye on his belongings at all times.
As Lywend climbed aboard, one of the sailors hurried over to help him up with the last few steps of the gangplank. It was an unnecessary helping hand, but the appearance of frailty was clearly a downside of using the staff like a walking stick. Rather than waving the man away, he accepted the assistance and murmured a few words of gratitude before the fellow scampered off to finish whatever he'd been doing with a coil of rope that had been left sitting on the deck. At the very least, that was a good sign as to the temperament of the crew of the Kismet. Lywend looked round for Captain Ravana, a fellow he had heard much about after asking in the common room of the inn he'd been staying at, but the man was nowhere to be seen. There would be time aplenty to speak to the captain, so he left off his searching and made his way down into the ship to claim a hammock for the voyage. Perhaps he could even get a nice nap in before the Kismet was due to depart. A quick question to a sailor heading up to the deck got him pointed in the right direction to the passenger quarters, and he left the man with a smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder before going on his way.
The simple quest for a place to catch a few minutes of sleep was violently interrupted as Lywend stepped into the passenger quarters. There was a woman present, dark-haired, and he almost spoke a name aloud before he caught himself. Keep your damned wits about you, fool. Of course that's not Birie. The mental self-admonishment was enough to push him to get a hold of himself and wipe the shock off of his face. That happened sometimes, and it was always jarring. Just the sight of a dark-haired woman could slam him like a cold wind, chilling his thoughts and bones as a little spark of hope flared to life that somehow, against all odds, Birie was actually alive. The sour feeling in the pit of his stomach as that hope curdled into painful memories of failure was never pleasant, and Lywend would have just as soon avoided it if possible. Apparently he was doomed to forever pine for his lost love such that her memory would never leave him. It was a bittersweet feeling, and he reveled in it as he made his way to an apparently unclaimed hammock and busied himself with checking to ensure it was properly secured and putting his weapons and pack underneath it.
As he worked, Lywend could hear the unfamiliar woman chattering with someone else, perhaps a sailor. If only his mind had given him a moment to think, there was no way he would have mistaken the woman for Birie. This woman was a cheerful chatterbox, whereas Birie was more reserved and serious in her mannerisms. That stark difference was reassuring: if he kept it in mind, perhaps he would be able to avoid feeling like his heart was jumping up into his throat every time he spotted this stranger on the ship. And when has life ever been kind enough to you to allow such peace of mind? The bitter thought brought a slight smile to Lywend's face as he settled down onto his chosen hammock. His eyes drifted closed as the swaying of the hammock slowed to match the natural rocking of the ship on water, but Lywend got no rest. Instead his mind was filled with memories coming to the surface unbidden, summoned by that cursed moment of empty hope, and he drifted on that roiling sea of mixed joys and sorrows as he waited for the ship to depart.
Lywend Jeseve [+]
Name: Lywend Jeseve
Race: Breton
Birthsign: The Lover
Family Origins: Shornhelm in High Rock
Image [+]
Image created by sun kai on Artstation.
From a distance, Lywend is nothing impressive to look at and is easily lost in a crowd. He's of normal height for a Breton, he's neither remarkably thin nor obviously overweight, his build would best be described as average, and his dark hair and beard are nothing special. His usual choice of clothing and gear somewhat mitigates his plain appearance: trousers and a long tunic of usually dark or earthy colors, well-worn boots, a blue cloak, a longsword at his left hip, a bow and quiver hanging from his back, and a staff topped by a pink crystal that is never far from his hand. However, there is one feature that clearly stands out to most who get close to Lywend: his eyes. Some would charitably describe them as the eyes of someone wise beyond their years, but the truth is that they are the eyes of a man haunted by his past.
Many people assume Lywend to be much older than he truly is, both because of his eyes and due to some of his odd mannerisms. His actions and responses tend to be just enough on the slow side to make folks think he's being overly cautious or deliberate, like an old man who is nursing so many lingering ailments of age that every movement comes only after bracing for the aches to come. Whenever he's sitting still for any length of time, Lywend more often than not closes his eyes and seems to take the opportunity for a nap, even among strangers and questionable company. He has a rather grandfatherly air about him, despite having no children at all and far too few wrinkles for the title, and more than one traveling companion has taken to calling him 'grandfather' or 'old man' even after learning his true age.
Personality: If one were to describe Lywend's general personality in a single word, 'remorseful' would be the best fit. He was once a friendly and almost gregarious man, and in his youth he was considered odd for being very open with strangers and willing to speak about damn near anything, but those who knew him a decade ago would struggle to recognize him now. Even those who have known him for mere minutes can tell that something weighs heavily on him. He isn't especially talkative nowadays, and he often falls into brooding silences, but the careful way he avoids speaking of his past in any detail is the most telling hint of all. Sometimes there's a tinge of anger amongst the sadness, but that usually only comes out when people press him on his past or he's had a bit too much to drink. That anger most often takes the form of severity and imperiousness, hard and sharp words rather than loud words or physical violence, but luckily for him the majority of people write it off as a reasonable response to nosy bastards or Lywend simply being an angry drunk.
Fortunately for those around him, Lywend is not entirely a sad and sullen fellow. When focusing on the problems of others, he comes out of that regretful shell and shows a keen interest in helping others. He's empathetic, gentle, and offers assistance and wisdom wherever he can. While his talents in Restoration magic could fetch a high price, Lywend is content to take merely whatever is offered for his services, and he heals the poor just as readily as the wealthy. Even when he's not specifically helping others, he makes an effort to have a smile and a friendly word or two for anyone who crosses his path, be they beggar or bandit. He has seemingly infinite patience for strange and terrible people, so long as they are not actively seeking to harm him and don't push certain buttons that might rouse him to anger. Lywend also tends to be willing to listen to anyone about anything, generally with his comments coming in the form of nuggets of sage wisdom or advice, and that tends to be the behavior that most often gets people calling him things like 'old man' despite his age.
Those who are highly skilled in reading people can see through the facade, to some degree at least. In both his moods of sorrow and sympathy, almost everything is tightly controlled in some way; only the general politeness and friendly greetings seem to come with the natural smoothness born of long habit. Lywend's behavior always seems to be highly calculated, and practiced enough to fool most people into thinking them to be genuine emotions. People with uncanny levels of insight might see that spite and anger burn hot at the core of these layered falsehoods, but they almost never come close enough to the surface to be glimpsed by most people who cross his path. When those emotions do surface, the imperious and commanding nature of his anger make him seem more an iron-fisted tyrant than a traveling healer until he calms down, which usually happens with the disconcerting speed of a candle being snuffed out rather than the long cooling down time most people require.
History: Lywend Jeseve learned magic in his younger years from some of the brilliant mages of High Rock, but he was not content to stay put. At twenty years old, he set out with a group of eager young men and women from his city of birth to find glory and wealth as adventurers, with his job mainly being to keep the others alive with his Restoration magic. They called themselves the Shornhelm Soldiers, and they earned a mildly favorable reputation in the western region of Cyrodiil for their successfully fulfilled contracts to take care of beasts and bandits plaguing the area. That was enough to get them a job from a wealthy Nord merchant in Bruma: rescue his daughter from Daedric cultists who had spirited her away in the night.
That job went very poorly, but in the end it was a pyrrhic victory. Lywend and the single other survivor of the original nine Shornhelm Soldiers carried the merchant's daughter, Birie, safely back to Bruma. While Lywend stayed and nursed her back to health, his remaining companion called it quits on the adventurer's life and went home. Over time, the healer and merchant's daughter developed a relationship, and after the better part of a year spent together while Birie recovered from both physical and mental wounds the pair ran off together in the night to avoid the displeasure of her father.
They only had two years together after leaving Bruma. Birie had some skill with a bow, and so Lywend continued his adventuring life with her at his side, sometimes just the two of them and sometimes joining up with other adventurers when it suited them. That happy life of excitement came to a screeching halt in an unremarkable cave in eastern Hammerfell. The pair had dealt with some ornery beasts, but in the end Birie was left lifeless and bloody in Lywends arms with wounds far beyond his ability to mend.
In the seven years since her death, Lywend has journeyed across Tamriel seeking any magic or miracle that might bring Birie back to life, doing whatever it takes to survive and gain knowledge that might aid him in his quest.
Biggest Regret: Lywend blames himself for Birie's death. If only he'd been better prepared, if only he'd been a better student of the magical arts, she would still be with him. That failure haunts his every moment, both waking and asleep.
Lywend's Goal: Lywend's sole purpose in life now is to find some way to bring Birie back. Not as some mindless corpse, which would be fairly easy, but as a living and breathing woman.
Expert: Conjuration - Lywend learned much of Conjuration magic from the mages of High Rock, but practical applications and further study have hone his skills considerably.
Adept: Restoration - As with Conjuration, a mix of education, practical use, and independent study.
One-Handed - Taught by his former companions of the Shornhelm Soldiers and used regularly in his adventuring life.
Speech - A natural talent improved by frequent use.
Novice: Alchemy - Learned mainly from books and a little practice, used to supplement his Restoration skills.
Sneak - A simple necessity for an adventurer, learned by trial and error more than anything else.
Archery - Taught to him by Birie, kept in practice more for sentimental reasons than practical reasons.
Dread Zombie (Expert) - Reanimate a corpse into a powerful undead servant.
Conjure Storm Atronach (Expert) - Summon a Storm Atronach.
Soul Trap (Apprentice) - Capture a soul to be stored in a soul gem.
Bound Sword (Novice) - Conjure a magic sword.
Heal Other (Adept) - Heal other people.
Close Wounds (Adept) - Heal oneself.
Greater Ward (Adept) - Surround oneself with a protective shield.
Staff of Firebolts, looted from a bandit in his early adventuring days.
Hunting bow and quiver with 16 arrows
Enchanted amulet (magicka regen), received as a reward from Birie's father for rescuing her.
2 potions of Cure Disease (made by Lywend)
1 potion of Invisibility (~10 seconds) that also damages magicka (made by Lywend)
Misc. Possessions:
Standard traveler's gear: a large pack, some clothes, bedroll, waterskin, rations, fire starting kit, and some rope.
Four soul gems, one filled with a common soul and three empty.
Mortar and pestle.
Three books, two filled with writing and one about halfway full.
A few quills and two bottles of ink.
Birie's skull and a black soul gem containing Birie's soul, both kept in a cloth bundle tied off with string and securely kept at the bottom of his bag.
Coin pouch with 28 septims.
In [Deep Core, 6 ATC 4] Mission: Harvest Moon → 1 yr ago Forum: Star Wars Persistent Galaxy Roleplay
I believe two of Embrus's apprentices, Tishombra Ferro and Kutar Zema, intend to accompany the Mando on the mission. You'll have to confirm that with Almalthia and Dusty though.
In Lannik, Neutral Archaeology Site → 1 yr ago Forum: Star Wars Persistent Galaxy Roleplay
Lannik Dig Site, Neutral Camp
The Felinx and Rodus Cantina
He's treating me like a scared child. The initial thought came with a mixed tumult of emotions, but embarassment won out in the end. That's fair. I guess I did sound like a frightened child when I introduced myself. Miarhi managed to quell some of her nerves as Airus spoke, especially after he made it clear he was not a perfectionist. That was a horror she hadn't even dared to contemplate: a perfectionist of a master who would point out each and every little flaw. The nervousness and embarrassment all got shoved to the side once her new master mentioned asked if she wanted to help him with research, and they were replaced with an eager excitement that she knew was probably also not fitting for a Jedi, but she was fully willing to embrace the less awkward emotions as a crutch.
Just as Miarhi was about to get into checking out the offered datapad, Airus stopped her in her mental tracks with another question and offer. Historical research was always fun, but learning about her new master was probably more important for the time being. "They did tell me a few things." She carefully weighed how much she ought to say and what was better not to mention, but curiosity got the better of her and she couldn't help pushing forward with the topic that sprung immediately the mind, never mind the fact that it would probably be better not to ask. "But I learned more in doing some research of my own while waiting for transportation to be arranged. Is it true..." Miarhi glanced around at the nearby tables before lowering her voice enough to be absolutely certain that nobody else would overhear her words. "Is it true that Miraluka can see through people's clothing? I read something once that said they can, and I just couldn't get it out of my head after they told me you were a Miraluka."
The ordered food arrived just moments after she finished speaking, and Miarhi took it with a smile and murmured thanks for the service droid. She belatedly realized that the way she asked her weird question probably made Airus think she was going to ask about, well, the thing that would've been the obvious quesiton from a normal person, so she hurried to add a clarification. "Oh, um, I did read about Dantooine and things that happened there, but I wasn't really concerned about any of that. Forgive me if I'm saying too much, but I was actually really relieved to find out my master was someone who wasn't a perfect Jedi with a spotless record. It, I don't know, makes me feel less worried about my own, um... less than perfect record?" A heated flush crept up into Miarhi's cheeks as she suddenly realized that her record on the datapad she'd handed over would almost certainly include explanations of the times she got in trouble for engaging in relationships with her fellow Initiates. The sudden return of embarrassment was compounded further as she realized her words may very well have sounded like she was saying that if someone who screwed up as badly as Airus could succeed, then she could as well, as if she was looking down on him despite being a brand new Padawan.
Rather than sticking her foot any further into her mouth, Miarhi picked up her cup and took a long, slow sip of the hot chocolate. At least this horribly awkward first conversation will make for a funny story to tell Ashyn. The amusing thought was enough to take the edge off of the negative emotions currently raging through her, but she still opted to busy herself with her cup in silence rather than to keep saying hilariously foolish things.
Welcome one and all to the second run of the Monthly Adaptive Storytelling Contest! Check out the Rules and Info thread for a general overview of how the contest works and to see all the rules and prizes. This time around we're going with something a little less restrictive. This month's prompt is...
Submission Rules:
1. Send your entry in a PM to @Jorick before the deadline: before midnight on September 12th in the Pacific Time Zone.
2. Submissions may have no more than 5000 words.
3. One entry per person. Entries are gathered for posting after the deadline, so feel free to edit, tweak, or entirely replace your entry with something new in the PM before the deadline arrives.
4. Submissions will be posted anonymously in the voting thread.
5. No poetry entries allowed.
6. Characters and settings used for this contest must be original works. No fanfiction or non-fiction entries allowed.
8. I can and will disqualify entries that violate the above rules or fail to fulfill the prompt. The extra challenges are not required, they're just there for fun.
BBCode Cheatsheet