Post by NiNeLiVeS on Dec 25, 2009 12:53:34 GMT -5
You wander the docks of Port Royal when Destiny whispers.
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Username: Ninelives
Is This Character Canon?: N/ALink to Audition Thread:N/A
It’s not a nice part of town – there’s a small colony of vagabonds and beggars crowding the waterfront, desperate to get away from the infernal heat. You are looking for one of them.
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Name: Fitz Thessaly
Race: Human
Age: 27
Gender:Male
You listen, but Destiny is fickle and leaves you to sort between them. He’s hidden amongst the filth and shadows, dressed in rags and leper-bandages. You take some flashdust, cast a quick cantrip and spot a tattoo on a weather-worn hand, and lean closer, muttering,
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A magpie tattoo… but is the rest of his appearance-?
Ye really wanna ask that question?
…
Ah, ye gasped. So ye weren’t really expecting me. Nice trick there, with the light. I didn’t even notice the smell until now.
So, come to look at the filth of society have ye – like what ye see?
Go away mageling. We have no use for ye.
...
Ah.
So ye want something from me, do ye, mageling? A bit of teaching from an old wannabe pirate?
Heh, let me try one of those on you. A trick o’ magic. I’ll read your mind.
Let’s see…
A thought’s going through your head right now - Oy, he’s hiding his eyes – and ye be wann’n te know if I ken tell that you’re sort of hesitating between being prim and proper and indulging yer curiosity - and curiosity’s getting the upper hand. Here’s the result kiddo: I ken.
Funny, real funny. Watch me a split a gut laughing.
Yours, preferably.
No, I ain’t not touchy about it, why d’ye ask?
…
Yeah, I suppose. Let’s get moving. I need something to moisten my lips anynow.__________________________
Ah goddamn. S’been so long since I had a brew.
What?
Ah, so ye want a better picture an’ that, huh? What’s to tell, what’s to tell…
Besides stories, of course.
Hrmmm. I guess I’ll start with the eye bit. It’s what everyone wants to know, and as far as I ken tell, you’re nay any better than the rest o’ the lot.
So, eyes.
Or lack thereof.
…
Ah, no reply? I like that. Not everyday someone shows you what lies behind a blindfold ain’t nothing more than skin and more skin. Yeah, that’s part o’ the curse. I ken’t get my eyes back no way, no how. Sockets have been removed – it’s just face. She took away vision savvy? – I ain’t getting it back even if I do find another eye to replace the ones she took.
Not that I’d settle for anything less than me own.
Who…? She? Ahaha. Good try, kid. Try that again without more than a handful of spare change and I’ll gut ya. Don’t think I can’t.
For the rest, why, I imagine you’d know better than myself. There ain’t much a blind beggar does but sit in his own piss and blood and filth. My hair used to be dark – it still is? Heh. – and I haven’t washed nor shaven in more than a handspan of years. I’ve wasted away, I know. Life isn’t kind on the blind. I imagine it isn’t a pretty sight.
...
AGREE WITH ME DAMNIT.
Ah. Sorry, did I scare you? I can’t stand hypocrites.
Heh, that was a lie.
So, what else ye want?
His PERSONALITY strikes you as a bit… off. There’s too much confidence, too much swagger. He’s a short, reedy little man and he’s blind. But the way he holds himself – so comfortable in his own flesh, so incontrovertibly content with his lot... He has a certain feral charisma to him, but the sight of those eyes… there’s much unnaturalness you’ve seen but the pale fleshy white still seems wrong. You order another ale and ask another question, jittery:
•What do you think of your general… persona?
My personal? Ye magelings have such odd ways o’ talk. Use simple words, damnit. I don’t got no truck with fancy-pant talk.
Right, right. I like to think of meself as – whatchamacallit – incorrigible. Sort of like incorruptible, but turned sideways and wearing plate armour. No hell or high water gonna be changing me if I dun wanta be changed.
Gotta admit, the whole eye thing is a testing the patience but I’ve never thought myself strong – just stubborn. I’ll push that boulder up the hill no matter how often it comes down. S’not gods nor demons that are going to switch meh up.
•And your Inner Thought Process?
Heh. Trying to read me, are ye? It’s hard without the window to the soul, and that be a fact. And like I’m letting you in on that sorta stuff. It’s dark and grimmer than the grimmest pool of Grims. But I’ll tell ye this: ye can’t trust no one. Me especially.
•Fear anything?
Getting me vision back.
Why? Well, that’d be telling, wouldn’t it?
•Pleasures?:
Answering fool questions such as these. Oh, and while we’re on the topic of pleasures get me another brew. What kind-? I don’t care. Something mild- that was joke damnit.
…
Ah, that’s the stuff.
And here’s a pleasure: answering questions with questions. Hate it when it happens te me, but te ye? Bliss. Pure an’ simple.
•Quirks?
Save for the eyes and the so on, I’m completely normal, thank ye kindly.
For a moment you decide to stop talking. He is not like those you’ve seen before. For all his appearance of a beggar, he knew you were trying to read his mind and you are not sure of what he is… capable.
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Character Class: N/A
Stats:
•Strength: 10
•Cunning: 10
•Agility: 10
Abilities: Link
Weapons:
Weapons: Leather fingerless gloves
Primary Weapon Name: Leather fingerless gloves
Primary Weapon Type: Melee
Primary Weapon Description: You bend your head down to examine his magpie tattoo. Either his senses have dulled or the last time he noticed you, it was sheer luck because he doesn’t move away. He’s wearing some sort of makeshift glove – at first you had dismissed them as being nothing more than beggared items – there are holes everywhere but now you notice that it is slightly more intricate than that despite its poor condition and its age. Without fingers, and a hole at both the dorsal and palmer aspects one could have mistaken it for a makeshift item – but the stitches are too precise – they seem to frame the magpie on the back of his hand perfectly. Coincidence…?
Secondary Weapon Name: Leather Boots
Secondary Weapon Type: Melee
Secondary Weapon Description: Your gaze (or perhaps your nose) is drawn downwards, past the raggedy old cloak that he hides his entire body in, to the boots below which, you notice, are emanating a rather foul odour. These seem to be genuine leather boots. Still, despite the hole where his dirty toenails are poking through, they seem mildly serviceable.
Secondary Weapon Name: Boot daggers
Secondary Weapon Type: Melee set
Secondary Weapon Description: You start talking again. mention security. You mention secrets. How you could protect him better than his anonymity could. He smiles serenely, reaches down to rub his foot and then there`s a dagger held at the big artery on the inside of your leg. He has no eyes – but he was close enough to grab your knee and feel along the inside of your leg. The dagger’s blade is about three inches long and easily concealed in the palm of a hand - you can't tell how long the hilt is, but it can't be much. It’s quality is such that it is really only effective in a sneak attack. But held right there, it’ll bleed you out before you could even get off one spell.
Items:
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Life’s Too Short, you hear him mutter as he takes the dagger away and downs his fourth (or is it fifth) brew. And that’s as much of an opening you need. You ignore the near-death experience. He wouldn`t have killed you – it’s not your Destiny to die here.
[/b][/size][/center][/u]Wh- What’s your story?
…
…
That’s what you’re truly here for, arentcha?
Not the feeble minded whims of an old man with no eyes, but the path to the land of the dead.
Or maybe you want to know out? How to escape that dread place when the bell chimes for thee?
Or maybe you’re running late already, hm?
So, a story.
‘ere was once a childe. He made many vows – te be true to his God, te respect his father, to love his mother, to lead his brothers, to protect his sisters, to stay true to his wife, to become rich and strong and successful. And with each vow that he didn’t break, his pride grew and grew until he was more Hubris than Man.
…
Ahurk. Pft.
Ah’ll tell ye a secret. Fate don’t care more about arrogant men an’ humble, but the arrogant cry unca’ louder. And the rest o’ ye are all schady-frood.
…
Anyhow. This man, he died. He died cursin’ and wailin’ and dyin’ in the most wretched manner ye could conceive, without e’en his eyes te guide him – not knowing who kilt him, but having the most wonderful ideas. Deadly things, ideas – all mix-mashed paranoia and grey skies o’ pleasure.
He lived like a king, worked like an ox, died a slave.
But his spirit, yeah, his spirit held a Grudge. So he bargained with Thanatos, the dread lord himself. And this is the part where ye be interested and I tell ye – nothing in the world of the dead be what it seems. Not the water, not the boats, not meself.
Ye see, I could see and I couldn’t. I wouldn’t be able te draw ye a map, but tis’ not important that. What’s important is this:
Te get into the land o’ the dead ye need a token. Some had a piece o’ silver, some a scrap o’ parchment others some rawhide or horn. Some gave away pieces o’ themselves.
But if ye ken bargain yerself in, ye can bargain yerself out.
Even Thanatos has desires. There are things out there that he wants. Have them, and you be safe from Death itself… at least for a time.
Aheh. Not enough? Ye want more? Fine, but I need something in return, ye ken?
