• Solo • Weary/Wandered

Zevan "dreams"

This is a city located on the coast of western Idalos and stands as a pillar of light against the dark cliff faces surrounding it. Ne'haer is considered a port city for ships as well as the last stop for most seafarers adventuring to locate the Iulure Isles. For this, it is nicknamed "Death's Door". In contrast to its nickname, this city focuses mostly on religious values and rituals for the protection of the immortals watching over their city. Ne'haer is also a city booming with trade and nobility, as well as jobs and plenty of opportunities to advance in skills and crafts.

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Zevan
Approved Character
Posts: 34
Joined: Mon Jan 08, 2018 2:45 am
Race: Mortal Born
Profession: Traveler
Renown: +30
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes

Wed May 16, 2018 4:01 pm

Traveler

2 Ashan 718

The seas churned, their frothy tongues licking the lichenwood ever higher. Sounds rang out, metal on metal, scream on scream, flesh on flesh. Across the gangplank swung a man, tall and bald and ugly, brandishing a cutlass far too old to be of use. Still, with force it could be made to wreak havoc. A woman, Biqaj from the looks of it, came quickly behind him, dancing on quick feet to avoid the arrows and swords of the opposing crew. She laughed out loud, sharp like the cry of a gull, before thrusting her straight sword into the chest of one of the defenders.

The ship was doomed, they all knew, but sailors fought to their last breath. It was an unspoken truth that a ship that surrendered to a pirate without dying to the man would be put to the torch, and there was no reason for it to be burned at sea. Ikimi spun quickly, her lithe form delivering another brutal blow that severed the sword arm of the Nashaki native rushing toward her. Ebony skin splashed the smooth wood with crimson, and Ikimi planted a foot in the man's chest and shoved. Shark food.

Her first mate, a man named Dahvid, arced a mace over head and crushed the skull of another sailor, one whose path would have intersected with the pirates' before long. He may have even saved Ikimi's life, though it would not have been the first time. She wasted no time thanking him, rushing off to bury her sword into another sailor waiting to meet Vri that trial. There was red everywhere, the deck was slick and sticky at the same time. She stabbed and ducked, bobbed and thrust, totaling her personal kill count at thirteen, and the leaving the rest to her crew. Slain to the man, and that was how Ikimi liked it. The words of ships disappearing without a trace, that was her legacy. Her story was that of the ghost, silently gliding onto enemy ships and making off with all the souls onboard.

Her saber facing downward, she surveyed the double masted vessel, admiration creeping slowly through her adrenaline-fueled limbs. Doubtless her crew would rape the ship bare then send it on its way, allowing the sea to take it wherever it pleased. Such was their way, and she was certainly not opposed to it. Leaning back against barrel, a slender form leaped out like a shadow, taking the pirate queen by surprise. A small dagger, no more than a meat knife, stabbed into Ikimi's side. The woman, slight of form but determined, thrust the blade as deep as it would go, looking to bury it to the tang in the marauder's gut. Looking down in disbelief, the dirtiness of her shirt disallowed Ikimi to see the spreading blood. When she looked back up at the woman, a wicked smile crept across her face.

'You've taken a good shot, lyat, but I'm afraid it's all you'll get,' she said to the woman, whose defiance burned in her eyes. She stood steadfast, the two of them hidden away from the crew of ravagers.

'You have to the count of ten before I pull this out. Take that time to get away from this ship. And ly'akor? Next time, you'll want to be faster,' Ikimi said, allowing the woman to rush from the ship and into the seat. Watching her go, Ikimi just smiled.


The blade Epilogue stood before her eyes, dancing with her own blood in that strange light. She was she, that was all she ever wanted, ever since she had become Not She. Mortality was such a sweet gift, one taken too seriously by those granted it. The blood of her own body, that was her parting gift to the world. Hence had she Been and now was Not. She fell, and there she died.

Finally.[/i]

Zevan sat bolt upright, the sweat dancing down his suns-kissed skin. He brushed the sleep from his eyes, blinking against the darkness that surrounded him, suffocating. He hadn't dreamed in arcs, so many arcs, but he knew the significance of this one. In Cylus, one of his Divine Parent's aspects had died, finally freed from her blood oath by the death of her story... Ikimi, pirate queen. Dead.

He should not be surprised. To be Story was to end eventually. No story ever went unfinished, not to Cassion, who knew their endings but delighted in their middles. More concerning was how he found out about Ikimi and her release.

The last time he'd dreamed, he'd interwoven with Kova Rain. She could not be far.

He hoped he was wrong.











"The past beats inside me like a second heart."
John Banville
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Zevan
Approved Character
Posts: 34
Joined: Mon Jan 08, 2018 2:45 am
Race: Mortal Born
Profession: Traveler
Renown: +30
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes

Wed May 30, 2018 4:04 am

Traveler

2 Ashan 718

"He bloody well did, crazy bastard," the sailor said. Moor, they called him, but for a reason Zevan could only fathom. He was large and tattooed, bald of head with the ink running up his neck and onto his pate. A starling sat in roost on his crown, for gods and crows to see, but Zevan saw only the goateed face, snarling into his ale. He spit on the floor, thick green globule landing with a splat, and the three sailors joining him added their thoughts as well. Zevan frowned, but said nothing from a few tables away.

"Fucker'd likely have drown us all, if Gorm hadn't kicked him in the arse," another said, this one named Kelven. Gorm, third of the four at the table, hoisted his goblet and chugged the liquid, foam floating down his clean-shaven, pockmarked face. He smirked as his massive tongue flopped out and lapped up the alcohol, the other men hooting. The last, a quieter man, simply observed his crewmates with a small smile. He knew them, and he knew where this conversation was going.

"Yeah, if I hadn't, he'd've drowned us for sure. And just off port, too," Gorm added, rousing the other two. They all hoisted and drank, long draughts that gave rise to massive belches. They guffawed and continued on.

"Prancing about, talking mad about his poor old dad having gone to the grave," Kelven chuckled, "If I had a son like him, I'd've gone off too. A mediocre sailor and a whiny one at that," he laughed, the others nodding in agreement. From behind them, strange eyes peered through dark bangs, catching Zevan's eye for only a moment. He knew why she was here. To direct.

"And that fucking iron box... It should have been the weight dragging him to Chrien's slimy cunt, if you ask me," Moor said, spitting again. The spot on the floor was rather slippery now from their errant saliva, and Zevan was glad he was not the poor sod who had to clean the puddle.

"Poor Pavel and his iron box with a lock," Moor continued, and this caught Zevan's attention. No key. Kova's eyes shone with an ethereal light from behind the men, staring through them, directly into Zevan's. A coy smile danced on her lips. It reminded him of that night.

"Kicked his arse out in Bayward, and better to be rid of him. The Captain's Ire can't use no more bad luck, and that green-haired son of a carbuncle ain't nothing but bad luck," the fourth man said. His eyes met Zevan's, and it was as if the two knew each other. They hadn't met, but he certainly recognized the son of Cassion. Zevan stared back, but the sailor broke eye contact quickly. Zevan felt something pull at his flesh, the faintest prickle of a spider's legs on the back of his neck. He knew this man. Or this man knew him... Well.

Zevan knew he was being sent to Bayward, to find this green-haired sailor named Pavel. He understood his quest, his part in the story. But he didn't understand hers... Why she was there, why she was guiding him. All those arcs ago, she had told him his fate, unwanted and unasked for, and now she was here to steer him. Perhaps the story wasn't his to tell, but hers and he was her protagonist.

Or antagonist.

He rose from the table and walked by the men, each of them sensing him as he passed. They were transients, never to settle but always to be at sea, and his passing was one they would note. Zevan, they knew, his name was. Stopping, he dropped a few nel on the table.

"Next round is on me," was all the Mortalborn offered before pushing from the doors of the Crest Break, sailing out into the evening air just as it began to cool. Spring in Ne'haer, what a beautiful array of sights and smells. The toast to Zevan rose in the tavern behind him, but Zevan's path was away.

"You should have stayed to drink with them," the silken voice of Kova Rain chided him. He need not turn to see the desert witch's body beside him. She was the wind he heard in the trees, and she always would be that.

"They have a great many stories, I am sure. But I know when I am being called to adventure," Zevan added, lightly, "It's in my very soul."

He could sense Kova's delight.

"You were never good at stopping to enjoy the lows before the highs, Zevan," she purred, close enough that he could smell the dust on her. Or perhaps
that was himself.

"Three lives I've lived. I'm sure I stopped at least twice," he laughed, the joke falling on silent winds. Kova was gone, and so too was Zevan's elation.

She was right, he often did not stop to smell the roses. He floated from story to story, never pausing to consider the time in between. Rest and relaxation were not for the son of Cassion, and were he to find his way, no longer be lost and wandering, perhaps he could do so. Perhaps one day, he would stop and enjoy the scenery, take revelry in the cast of characters.

But he himself was wandering, always the traveler. Perhaps that was his character.











"The past beats inside me like a second heart."
John Banville
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Doran Cooney
Approved Character
Posts: 459
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
Race: Human
Profession: Performer
Renown: +40
Character Sheet
Prophets' Notes
Plot Notes

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Wed May 30, 2018 10:01 am

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Zevan al Myros, Son of Cassion
Knowledges
Detection: Spotting visible signs of those you're looking for
Endurance: Maintaining focus after a restless night
Storytelling: Colouring a story with minor details

Slake: Those lusting for adventure know you
Slake: Feeds the thirst for adventure

Loot: -2GN
Injuries: N/A
Renown: N/A

Points 10
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A neat little snapshot into Zevan's journey - or the start of one. While his influence in the thread was pretty minimal, I enjoyed the clear and distinct characterizations of the NPCs, their dialogue, and your clear descriptions!
Please edit your grade request, thank you!
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