29-04-2013, 12:03 AM
in Game Name(IGN):
Crayeon
Why do you want to join?
I was told about this server, sounded great with in-depth roleplaying.
Do you have any RP'ing experience?
Not too much, Used to run a campaign in AD&D (paper and pencil), Wanted to get a feel for a real rp server, I have been on a few but they were glorified pvp servers with little or no point. (very dull very quickly basically).
Tell us a bit about yourself:
I am a bored human being, who works at HomeDepot. Computer takes up pretty much the rest of my time, Whether its video games, youtube, or coding. I enjoy having fun and would like to improve my RP.
Character Biography:
Name: Arron 'Kyle' Cypress
Age: 31 Years old
Gender: Male
Birthday: 2nd of every month
Race: Mesalian
Character BackStory:
"Tell you about me? Why? Well.. If you must know, I'm Aaron Cypress. But you can call me Kyle."
There is a brief pause, a curious tilt of the head.
"Kyle? That was the name the Xitians gave me back when I labored on their farms during the war. Before we were free.. "
Another pause, shorter this time - his gaze wandered briefly about the room, admiration for its structure evident on his face before an errant question caught his attention once more.
"What? No, I didn't fight in the war. I was six - are you touched in the head?"
A nail escapes the pouch on his belt as he shifts his weight, dropping to the floor with an audible ping before rolling under the desk and out of sight.
"Alright - I suppose there's no way around this. You want to know how and why I'm here? Let me tell you.."
Leaning back in his chair, he propped his boots up on the desk in front of him, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.
"It all started when I was a small boy - it's a bit hazy mind you, but as far as I can figure, I was about 3 when the Xitians came for me. I was told that my parents had been enslaved - and even after the war, they never came back for me." Anger and guilt flicker briefly across his features, there and gone. "I wasn't old enough to do much, but I could pick and plant and did both for three long years. I still can't tell one plant from another, but I can certainly keep it alive. I made a few friends then, other boys, working alongside me. Hmm.. Robert? Roger..? No.. Rook! Yes, Rook.. and then there was another boy, though.. he didn't make it out of the fires. While the Xitians knew Lucin soldiers were on their way to reliberate the farm, they didn't want anything useful to be left behind. They burned everything - crops, livestock, and those who could be used to fight against them."
His gaze dipped downward as he gave a small shake of his head.
"Monsters, it feels like ages ago. And then the Lucins came during the final stages of the purge and the farm was retaken and I was faced with a choice; stay, or leave? Now I may not be the brightest of torches, but I was roughly six then and staying on a farm - or even running off alone - didn't strike me as the wisest decision and frankly, after being forced to farm for three years, it wasn't high on my list of things to continue doing. No, it wasn't a hard choice to leave.. I went with the Lucins originally because I wanted to help them to stop the Xitians but on the way, well.. my fortune changed. The Lucins had all sorts of people with them at the time - not just soldiers, but civilians - farmers, builders, healers. I was adopted by a family that specialized in carpentry and masonry. walls, houses, fences, you name it, they did it. Da was a carpenter, an expert at creating miraculous things out of wood; Ma was a mason, sculpting stone and gravel."
A look of fondness crosses his features as he continues.
"I owe them everything. 'Course, I couldn't do much as a tyke. I fetched my fathers tools while he worked on houses, or brought my mother stone - a brick at a time! - in my attempts to help them, to be an active member of the family. If nothing else, the consistency of the work made me physically stronger and broader in build. When I turned ten, I formally apprenticed with my father, learning the basics of proper structure, measuring boards, erecting framework. I didn't neglect my mother's trade either, learning the proper consistency for mortar, just how to strike a stone to create the perfect brick and the best ways to then lay them. The older I became, the less I dealt with supply running, instead shouldering a good portion of the work. The values they instilled in me - hard work, dedication, attention to detail, and the most important.. learning to let go. Of a project, of my anger or guilt, of hatred - starting over and rebuilding from the foundation up - that was the important thing. They curbed my hatred of the Xitians - though don't get me wrong, I can never forgive them - and set me on a better path than eternal revenge."
He let out a deep sigh as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest before continuing.
"'Course, I wasn't always so great at my work. My fourteenth birthday, I was helping my father tear down rotting shingles when I fell from the scaffolding." He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, gaze averted as if he were still embarrassed over the incident. "Like an idiot, I'd piled too many materials on the board holding me aloft; it was late, it was my birthday, and I wanted to be done and home to celebrate with my parents. The board broke, and I fell two stories to the ground - fractured a rib and broke my left leg. My father was furious that I'd been so careless; I could have been permanently crippled, or worse - dead. He carried me home after a healer saw to my leg and bandaged my chest - and of course, that's when the punishment came down. Though my injuries were only to keep me physically limited for four months at best, my parents suspended my building lessons and supplied me with a desk and a chair; I was informed that for the next six months, I would remain inside staring at blueprints of all things."
A visible shudder swept through him, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he explains.
"I build by sight - show me a blueprint, a rough sketch, a toothpick house, and I can build it for you without having to consult the thing ever again. Staring at all of those documents was torture; I chafed at being inside, and I wanted to tear every last scrap of paper into millions of shreds and toss them into the fireplace. .. But I didn't. I scrutinized all of them for the tiniest of building errors and reported back to my parents on what could have been done differently to make the structure more sound, safer, that sort of thing. Six months."
He grunted, lifting his gaze towards the ceiling as if silently asking, 'Why me?'
"In any event, after my accident I was much more diligent in my work. I took my time - without rushing - to complete my projects, all under the watchful eyes of my parents. I had learned my lesson from the fall, though the experience left a lasting impression; I can always tell when it's going to rain.." He trailed off, briefly rubbing the top of his left leg for a moment as if it still pained him.
"When I wasn't working, my days were spent out on the dock fishing." A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Would that I could call it catching, but alas, in the beginning I caught very little. Aside from my folks, I was very much a loner. The boys my age were intimidated by the size I'd achieved through working with stone and wood; only got into a scrap with them once. I was walking past the blacksmith's place on my way to the dock, and they invited me on an 'expedition' to search through the unwatched barrels and boats around the docks; I declined - politely, even! - and of course, the whelps took offense." His grin widens as he continues, "One of them threw a rock; hit me right in the jaw and left a very dashing scar, I'll have you know. Anyway, the rock sent me over the edge; I could hear them laughing and it made me.. angry." And here his eyes glittered as he remembered the offensive boy, one hand clenching and unclenching. "I grabbed the rock-thrower by the leg, yanked him off the ground and had him by the ankle; it didn't take much effort - the boy was about as light as a half-stuffed scarecrow. I was thisclose to throwing him when the smith grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and demanded I quit bullying them. I dropped the boy and was summarily dragged to the edge of the forest and made to chop wood for a week solid - to blow off steam."
Another grunt, an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Straightening in his chair, he swept a hand through his hair.
"Aside from that I was a good lad, with not (another) spot on my reputation by the time I reached seventeen. I'd studied with my parents for years and had even begun to take small, odd jobs on by myself to lay a few bits of gold to the side in preparation for my departure. Thus, with a string of fish, my builders tools, and my meager savings, I bid my parents farewell - promising to visit or at least write on occasion - and struck off on my own."
"From there? I headed to Provensia, naturally. 'The Greatest City of Opportunity', or so everyone had said. I found plenty of work, though initially it was not of my trade; most of its people were secretive, preferring to pay in goods under the table for things like 'package' delivery. It was on one of these runs that fortune smiled upon me; one of my clients complained about not having a secure compartment in which to place the items I had just delivered. I offered my services as a carpenter, and word of mouth spread quickly. I can't tell you how many 'hidden' compartments or secret rooms I was made to build to protect the - oft ill-gotten - valuables of these city folk."
He leaned back in his chair once more, a harsh bark of laughter escaping him and setting the fine bits of sawdust trapped in his close-trimmed copper beard adrift.
"I don't know what the bigger farce was - the guards pathetic attempts to protect the commoners, or the men whose politicking was akin to a puppeteer pulling the strings behind the scenes."
He shook his head, his bangs drifting into his eyes once more. His voice lower now, and perhaps a tad strained, he continues his tale.
"I spent the next twelve years as my own employer. Taxes were harsh, and occasionally were collected a mite more often if my trade was particularly profitable. Around my twenty ninth birthday, I managed to acquire a contract with a cathedral dedicated to the worship of Isohel, the Mesalian god of wisdom; put new floors in, rebuild the crumbling bell tower, that sort of thing. It was a good bit of work and would net me a tidy profit." His lips pursed briefly, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "One afternoon, I'd been laying a floor; used the edge of my hammer to straighten the boards and smashed my thumb something good. Amidst a maelstrom of cursing, my thumb had swollen up and was bleeding like a stuck pig; all over the hammer, the floor, and my clothes. It would take a good few hours worth of work to make certain there was no lasting stain to the floor and that was if I acted quickly. I got to my feet and searched the room for a cloth - any cloth - to staunch the flow. An embroidered white cloth was neatly folded over a podium; I grabbed it in my haste and darted toward the washroom to clean myself and the hammer off. When I entered.." He trailed off a moment, his eyes distant as if recalling the scene. "There was a woman lying there in the middle of the floor. I.. I don't know if she was dead at that point, but she must have been close to it. One side of her head had been bludgeoned and there was a slowly growing puddle of blood spreading beneath her. It had to have happened recently - perhaps my cussing had muffled the noise? In any event.. I was properly scared, and in a panic over what to do. Reason told me to stay and explain myself - but then I had done nothing but stumble upon her. I took an instinctive step back into the hallway - and backed into a priest who had obviously just come from a council. He placed a hand against my back to steady me, and then looked past me to the woman lying on the floor. His gaze whipped back to me and a growing horror overtook him -- " He stopped, took a slow breath and murmured, "Have you ever had anyone look at you with such horror and terror that you wanted only to die on the spot rather than face them? I know now what it's like to be looked at as a murderer. He pointed a shaking finger at my still-bloody hammer and then stared at the cloth I'd used to wrap around my thumb. Following his gaze, I'd looked down to see their holy symbol on it's once-pristine cloth, smeared with my blood."
There is a long silence, punctuated only by the slow in and out of breath being drawn before he continues in a harsh whisper.
"I did the worst thing I could do in that sort of situation - or perhaps it was the best? I ran. I grabbed my tools from the cathedral floor and then sprinted back to the room I had been renting. In my haste, I took only what I deemed necessary: the tools my father had given me, a golden pocket-watch, a blanket, some parchment, the fish I'd had dried and salted, my fishing rod, and a leather pack. Tucking my fathers iron axe into my belt, I fled the city. At the first river I came to, I shaved the impressive beard I'd grown to be further unrecognized and took to wearing a dark cap to cover the distinctive copper of my hair. I bought passage on a ship out of the area a week later, heading towards the forbidden lands. The conditions on the boat were less than favorable - but it had been the first ship away and what choice did I have? The weeks passed by slowly, punctuated with the chores necessary to run a boat of that size; even though I had paid for my passage, the captain was adamant that everyone work and work hard, else payment would simply be extracted and you'd be tossed overboard. I couldn't keep anything down - it took nearly a month for me to develop my "sea-legs". Perhaps my favorite chore was to fish from the side of the boat when the water was calm to supplement our dwindling food supply; in fact, I broke the rod I'd brought with me in the process of this. After six weeks, we came to what appeared to be an old, plundered outpost. Captain Dylan apparently knew the area and wanted to go on an excursion into the desert to retrieve something he'd left on a prior voyage. Since I'd nowhere in particular to go and the land was not familiar to me, I volunteered my services; after all, who wouldn't need extra muscle for supplies? I regret going, now - almost baking to death in an overgrown ocelot's litterbox is a life experience I could have lived without."
Leaning down to pick up the nail that had fallen out of sight, Aaron tucked it into the pouch on his belt and glanced up at the question asked of him.
"No, I wouldn't have survived a week out there on my own. I'd never had to survive in such harsh conditions before. Truthfully, I'm not sure I could do it again even with fate and luck on my side. We loaded a wagon and a few pack mules and set off into the desert." A rueful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "The crew weren't very keen on the whole trip.. they were hopeful it would only take a few weeks and then we'd all be out. Dylan either didn't want to admit the truth or perhaps had forgotten had long it actually took. We followed these eerie stone pillars, as if they'd been erected purposely for this trip though I knew that to be false. About a month in, I realized this was no three-week jaunt in the desert; I'd had to trade my pocket-watch for a robe and a burnoose to keep from being completely cooked by the sun. As it was, I was much darker than the pale man I'd been. The days took on a repetitive quality: walked from twilight until high sun, pitch camp to escape the intense sun, fall into exhausted slumber, Until the sun started setting and going until dusk, at night we would build fires to sleep and keep warm. It felt like an achievement merely to survive and see the sun rise the next morning. I remember one evening, I'd felt restless and unable to sleep. Staring up at the stars overhead, I heard shuffling and my gaze quickly found a silhouette moving slowly towards the men sleeping behind the wagon. At first I thought it merely another sleep-deprived crew-mate who'd needed to take a leak - but then the scent of rotting flesh hit my nostrils. Up I went as it shambled closer; I grabbed my fathers iron axe and struck the creature once, twice - finally embedding the axe so firmly into its head that I honestly thought it would expel an ingot. The creature collapsed and I could not get the axe free. I left it. It was the first such creature I'd encountered and I felt myself lucky that they were as susceptible to a good iron weapon as we were."
A small glass sat on the edge of the desk, filled to the brim with water. He eyed it and greedily lifted it to his lips, guzzling the contents and clearing his throat.
"Remind me when we're done here to send a letter to my father; he saved me twice, after all. Anyway, we finally made it to the Oasis after traveling in circles for what felt like ages. I was more excited about the water than fresh food at that point; I hadn't had my thirst properly quenched in a long time. While the Captain and the others bathed and resupplied, I explored the edges of the desert, taking care not to wander too far away. I remember coming across a severed hand, picked clean of flesh and muscle, and a bit of torched tent fabric scattered about; puzzling, but seemingly no cause for alarm. Captain Dylan set off with a few men a day or two later, and this time I refrained from joining their little expedition on the grounds that it would only be a week before they returned. I admit, I spent those days enjoying naps in the shade and writing my travels down up to this point. When the men returned a day or two later, it was with a panting pack mule hauling an old metal box behind it. I didn't particularly care about whatever was in the box - I was more interested in the pillars that had gotten us here, and spent a day pestering the Captain with questions until he spoke what he knew. Centuries old, back when there were great migrations of people -- there wasn't much he knew, but I ate up what he did. We lounged in the Oasis for another week before the Captain announced he was heading back to the ship. I purchased one of the mules from him at half cost, considering the beast was not particularly healthy, and also managed to acquire several extra waterskins. A day after they left, I carefully packed the mule with what I hoped would be enough coconuts and filled waterskins to get me to the other side of the desert. I chose to follow the pillars, hoping they would lead me out of that abominable wasteland; they did, though the mule did not make it. By the time he passed on, I could see over the last ridge of the desert. I stripped the mule of what I could, adding his meat to my dwindling rations and began traveling through the wilderness until I found myself here. To tell you the truth, seeing civilization does bring a wave of relief to this weary carpenter. Thank you for the extra rations - and for explaining to me the way out of these forests. It was late and I must have wandered off the trail; like I said this wilderness life isn't my thing. If you need anything else, well.. you'll know roughly whereabouts to find me."
He smiled and departed from the small structure deep in the woods, beginning to make his way back on track towards the city. A day and a half later, he stumbled across the beginnings of a beaten path; his hopes rose further when he came across the first sign bearing the name 'Ravenna' on an old post. As he walked further up the path, the light glistened on the newly fallen snow beneath his feet.
Skills:
Little Fishing (Childhood and Boat)
Novice Wood Chopping (Working with foster parents)
Advanced Carpenter (19 years, Worked with Foster Father Until 10-17, Then on his own until 29)
Novice Mason - (Only really foundations and chimneys)
Did your character bring anything to the setting (part from clothes)?
Leather Backpack
(Clothes, Wool blanket used as a bedroll, Small amount of rations, Old quill)
Thick leather belt with some carpentry/masonry supplies & tools
Anything you'd like to add:
I am a slow typer. *sad face*
Timeline:
Born........................................0
Parents killed.............................3
Brought into slavery.....................3
Meets Rook and Tes.....................3
Slave life!.................................3-6
Freedom!..................................6
Foster parents............................6-17
Apprenticed by foster parents..........10-17
(Carpenter / Basic Masonry)
Moved to city as Carpenter.............17-29
Fled from city..............................29
Lost.........................................30-31
(Followed beacons by chance in the hopes of finding a new settlement)
Crayeon
Why do you want to join?
I was told about this server, sounded great with in-depth roleplaying.
Do you have any RP'ing experience?
Not too much, Used to run a campaign in AD&D (paper and pencil), Wanted to get a feel for a real rp server, I have been on a few but they were glorified pvp servers with little or no point. (very dull very quickly basically).
Tell us a bit about yourself:
I am a bored human being, who works at HomeDepot. Computer takes up pretty much the rest of my time, Whether its video games, youtube, or coding. I enjoy having fun and would like to improve my RP.
Character Biography:
Name: Arron 'Kyle' Cypress
Age: 31 Years old
Gender: Male
Birthday: 2nd of every month
Race: Mesalian
Character BackStory:
"Tell you about me? Why? Well.. If you must know, I'm Aaron Cypress. But you can call me Kyle."
There is a brief pause, a curious tilt of the head.
"Kyle? That was the name the Xitians gave me back when I labored on their farms during the war. Before we were free.. "
Another pause, shorter this time - his gaze wandered briefly about the room, admiration for its structure evident on his face before an errant question caught his attention once more.
"What? No, I didn't fight in the war. I was six - are you touched in the head?"
A nail escapes the pouch on his belt as he shifts his weight, dropping to the floor with an audible ping before rolling under the desk and out of sight.
"Alright - I suppose there's no way around this. You want to know how and why I'm here? Let me tell you.."
Leaning back in his chair, he propped his boots up on the desk in front of him, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.
"It all started when I was a small boy - it's a bit hazy mind you, but as far as I can figure, I was about 3 when the Xitians came for me. I was told that my parents had been enslaved - and even after the war, they never came back for me." Anger and guilt flicker briefly across his features, there and gone. "I wasn't old enough to do much, but I could pick and plant and did both for three long years. I still can't tell one plant from another, but I can certainly keep it alive. I made a few friends then, other boys, working alongside me. Hmm.. Robert? Roger..? No.. Rook! Yes, Rook.. and then there was another boy, though.. he didn't make it out of the fires. While the Xitians knew Lucin soldiers were on their way to reliberate the farm, they didn't want anything useful to be left behind. They burned everything - crops, livestock, and those who could be used to fight against them."
His gaze dipped downward as he gave a small shake of his head.
"Monsters, it feels like ages ago. And then the Lucins came during the final stages of the purge and the farm was retaken and I was faced with a choice; stay, or leave? Now I may not be the brightest of torches, but I was roughly six then and staying on a farm - or even running off alone - didn't strike me as the wisest decision and frankly, after being forced to farm for three years, it wasn't high on my list of things to continue doing. No, it wasn't a hard choice to leave.. I went with the Lucins originally because I wanted to help them to stop the Xitians but on the way, well.. my fortune changed. The Lucins had all sorts of people with them at the time - not just soldiers, but civilians - farmers, builders, healers. I was adopted by a family that specialized in carpentry and masonry. walls, houses, fences, you name it, they did it. Da was a carpenter, an expert at creating miraculous things out of wood; Ma was a mason, sculpting stone and gravel."
A look of fondness crosses his features as he continues.
"I owe them everything. 'Course, I couldn't do much as a tyke. I fetched my fathers tools while he worked on houses, or brought my mother stone - a brick at a time! - in my attempts to help them, to be an active member of the family. If nothing else, the consistency of the work made me physically stronger and broader in build. When I turned ten, I formally apprenticed with my father, learning the basics of proper structure, measuring boards, erecting framework. I didn't neglect my mother's trade either, learning the proper consistency for mortar, just how to strike a stone to create the perfect brick and the best ways to then lay them. The older I became, the less I dealt with supply running, instead shouldering a good portion of the work. The values they instilled in me - hard work, dedication, attention to detail, and the most important.. learning to let go. Of a project, of my anger or guilt, of hatred - starting over and rebuilding from the foundation up - that was the important thing. They curbed my hatred of the Xitians - though don't get me wrong, I can never forgive them - and set me on a better path than eternal revenge."
He let out a deep sigh as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest before continuing.
"'Course, I wasn't always so great at my work. My fourteenth birthday, I was helping my father tear down rotting shingles when I fell from the scaffolding." He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, gaze averted as if he were still embarrassed over the incident. "Like an idiot, I'd piled too many materials on the board holding me aloft; it was late, it was my birthday, and I wanted to be done and home to celebrate with my parents. The board broke, and I fell two stories to the ground - fractured a rib and broke my left leg. My father was furious that I'd been so careless; I could have been permanently crippled, or worse - dead. He carried me home after a healer saw to my leg and bandaged my chest - and of course, that's when the punishment came down. Though my injuries were only to keep me physically limited for four months at best, my parents suspended my building lessons and supplied me with a desk and a chair; I was informed that for the next six months, I would remain inside staring at blueprints of all things."
A visible shudder swept through him, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he explains.
"I build by sight - show me a blueprint, a rough sketch, a toothpick house, and I can build it for you without having to consult the thing ever again. Staring at all of those documents was torture; I chafed at being inside, and I wanted to tear every last scrap of paper into millions of shreds and toss them into the fireplace. .. But I didn't. I scrutinized all of them for the tiniest of building errors and reported back to my parents on what could have been done differently to make the structure more sound, safer, that sort of thing. Six months."
He grunted, lifting his gaze towards the ceiling as if silently asking, 'Why me?'
"In any event, after my accident I was much more diligent in my work. I took my time - without rushing - to complete my projects, all under the watchful eyes of my parents. I had learned my lesson from the fall, though the experience left a lasting impression; I can always tell when it's going to rain.." He trailed off, briefly rubbing the top of his left leg for a moment as if it still pained him.
"When I wasn't working, my days were spent out on the dock fishing." A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Would that I could call it catching, but alas, in the beginning I caught very little. Aside from my folks, I was very much a loner. The boys my age were intimidated by the size I'd achieved through working with stone and wood; only got into a scrap with them once. I was walking past the blacksmith's place on my way to the dock, and they invited me on an 'expedition' to search through the unwatched barrels and boats around the docks; I declined - politely, even! - and of course, the whelps took offense." His grin widens as he continues, "One of them threw a rock; hit me right in the jaw and left a very dashing scar, I'll have you know. Anyway, the rock sent me over the edge; I could hear them laughing and it made me.. angry." And here his eyes glittered as he remembered the offensive boy, one hand clenching and unclenching. "I grabbed the rock-thrower by the leg, yanked him off the ground and had him by the ankle; it didn't take much effort - the boy was about as light as a half-stuffed scarecrow. I was thisclose to throwing him when the smith grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and demanded I quit bullying them. I dropped the boy and was summarily dragged to the edge of the forest and made to chop wood for a week solid - to blow off steam."
Another grunt, an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Straightening in his chair, he swept a hand through his hair.
"Aside from that I was a good lad, with not (another) spot on my reputation by the time I reached seventeen. I'd studied with my parents for years and had even begun to take small, odd jobs on by myself to lay a few bits of gold to the side in preparation for my departure. Thus, with a string of fish, my builders tools, and my meager savings, I bid my parents farewell - promising to visit or at least write on occasion - and struck off on my own."
"From there? I headed to Provensia, naturally. 'The Greatest City of Opportunity', or so everyone had said. I found plenty of work, though initially it was not of my trade; most of its people were secretive, preferring to pay in goods under the table for things like 'package' delivery. It was on one of these runs that fortune smiled upon me; one of my clients complained about not having a secure compartment in which to place the items I had just delivered. I offered my services as a carpenter, and word of mouth spread quickly. I can't tell you how many 'hidden' compartments or secret rooms I was made to build to protect the - oft ill-gotten - valuables of these city folk."
He leaned back in his chair once more, a harsh bark of laughter escaping him and setting the fine bits of sawdust trapped in his close-trimmed copper beard adrift.
"I don't know what the bigger farce was - the guards pathetic attempts to protect the commoners, or the men whose politicking was akin to a puppeteer pulling the strings behind the scenes."
He shook his head, his bangs drifting into his eyes once more. His voice lower now, and perhaps a tad strained, he continues his tale.
"I spent the next twelve years as my own employer. Taxes were harsh, and occasionally were collected a mite more often if my trade was particularly profitable. Around my twenty ninth birthday, I managed to acquire a contract with a cathedral dedicated to the worship of Isohel, the Mesalian god of wisdom; put new floors in, rebuild the crumbling bell tower, that sort of thing. It was a good bit of work and would net me a tidy profit." His lips pursed briefly, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "One afternoon, I'd been laying a floor; used the edge of my hammer to straighten the boards and smashed my thumb something good. Amidst a maelstrom of cursing, my thumb had swollen up and was bleeding like a stuck pig; all over the hammer, the floor, and my clothes. It would take a good few hours worth of work to make certain there was no lasting stain to the floor and that was if I acted quickly. I got to my feet and searched the room for a cloth - any cloth - to staunch the flow. An embroidered white cloth was neatly folded over a podium; I grabbed it in my haste and darted toward the washroom to clean myself and the hammer off. When I entered.." He trailed off a moment, his eyes distant as if recalling the scene. "There was a woman lying there in the middle of the floor. I.. I don't know if she was dead at that point, but she must have been close to it. One side of her head had been bludgeoned and there was a slowly growing puddle of blood spreading beneath her. It had to have happened recently - perhaps my cussing had muffled the noise? In any event.. I was properly scared, and in a panic over what to do. Reason told me to stay and explain myself - but then I had done nothing but stumble upon her. I took an instinctive step back into the hallway - and backed into a priest who had obviously just come from a council. He placed a hand against my back to steady me, and then looked past me to the woman lying on the floor. His gaze whipped back to me and a growing horror overtook him -- " He stopped, took a slow breath and murmured, "Have you ever had anyone look at you with such horror and terror that you wanted only to die on the spot rather than face them? I know now what it's like to be looked at as a murderer. He pointed a shaking finger at my still-bloody hammer and then stared at the cloth I'd used to wrap around my thumb. Following his gaze, I'd looked down to see their holy symbol on it's once-pristine cloth, smeared with my blood."
There is a long silence, punctuated only by the slow in and out of breath being drawn before he continues in a harsh whisper.
"I did the worst thing I could do in that sort of situation - or perhaps it was the best? I ran. I grabbed my tools from the cathedral floor and then sprinted back to the room I had been renting. In my haste, I took only what I deemed necessary: the tools my father had given me, a golden pocket-watch, a blanket, some parchment, the fish I'd had dried and salted, my fishing rod, and a leather pack. Tucking my fathers iron axe into my belt, I fled the city. At the first river I came to, I shaved the impressive beard I'd grown to be further unrecognized and took to wearing a dark cap to cover the distinctive copper of my hair. I bought passage on a ship out of the area a week later, heading towards the forbidden lands. The conditions on the boat were less than favorable - but it had been the first ship away and what choice did I have? The weeks passed by slowly, punctuated with the chores necessary to run a boat of that size; even though I had paid for my passage, the captain was adamant that everyone work and work hard, else payment would simply be extracted and you'd be tossed overboard. I couldn't keep anything down - it took nearly a month for me to develop my "sea-legs". Perhaps my favorite chore was to fish from the side of the boat when the water was calm to supplement our dwindling food supply; in fact, I broke the rod I'd brought with me in the process of this. After six weeks, we came to what appeared to be an old, plundered outpost. Captain Dylan apparently knew the area and wanted to go on an excursion into the desert to retrieve something he'd left on a prior voyage. Since I'd nowhere in particular to go and the land was not familiar to me, I volunteered my services; after all, who wouldn't need extra muscle for supplies? I regret going, now - almost baking to death in an overgrown ocelot's litterbox is a life experience I could have lived without."
Leaning down to pick up the nail that had fallen out of sight, Aaron tucked it into the pouch on his belt and glanced up at the question asked of him.
"No, I wouldn't have survived a week out there on my own. I'd never had to survive in such harsh conditions before. Truthfully, I'm not sure I could do it again even with fate and luck on my side. We loaded a wagon and a few pack mules and set off into the desert." A rueful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "The crew weren't very keen on the whole trip.. they were hopeful it would only take a few weeks and then we'd all be out. Dylan either didn't want to admit the truth or perhaps had forgotten had long it actually took. We followed these eerie stone pillars, as if they'd been erected purposely for this trip though I knew that to be false. About a month in, I realized this was no three-week jaunt in the desert; I'd had to trade my pocket-watch for a robe and a burnoose to keep from being completely cooked by the sun. As it was, I was much darker than the pale man I'd been. The days took on a repetitive quality: walked from twilight until high sun, pitch camp to escape the intense sun, fall into exhausted slumber, Until the sun started setting and going until dusk, at night we would build fires to sleep and keep warm. It felt like an achievement merely to survive and see the sun rise the next morning. I remember one evening, I'd felt restless and unable to sleep. Staring up at the stars overhead, I heard shuffling and my gaze quickly found a silhouette moving slowly towards the men sleeping behind the wagon. At first I thought it merely another sleep-deprived crew-mate who'd needed to take a leak - but then the scent of rotting flesh hit my nostrils. Up I went as it shambled closer; I grabbed my fathers iron axe and struck the creature once, twice - finally embedding the axe so firmly into its head that I honestly thought it would expel an ingot. The creature collapsed and I could not get the axe free. I left it. It was the first such creature I'd encountered and I felt myself lucky that they were as susceptible to a good iron weapon as we were."
A small glass sat on the edge of the desk, filled to the brim with water. He eyed it and greedily lifted it to his lips, guzzling the contents and clearing his throat.
"Remind me when we're done here to send a letter to my father; he saved me twice, after all. Anyway, we finally made it to the Oasis after traveling in circles for what felt like ages. I was more excited about the water than fresh food at that point; I hadn't had my thirst properly quenched in a long time. While the Captain and the others bathed and resupplied, I explored the edges of the desert, taking care not to wander too far away. I remember coming across a severed hand, picked clean of flesh and muscle, and a bit of torched tent fabric scattered about; puzzling, but seemingly no cause for alarm. Captain Dylan set off with a few men a day or two later, and this time I refrained from joining their little expedition on the grounds that it would only be a week before they returned. I admit, I spent those days enjoying naps in the shade and writing my travels down up to this point. When the men returned a day or two later, it was with a panting pack mule hauling an old metal box behind it. I didn't particularly care about whatever was in the box - I was more interested in the pillars that had gotten us here, and spent a day pestering the Captain with questions until he spoke what he knew. Centuries old, back when there were great migrations of people -- there wasn't much he knew, but I ate up what he did. We lounged in the Oasis for another week before the Captain announced he was heading back to the ship. I purchased one of the mules from him at half cost, considering the beast was not particularly healthy, and also managed to acquire several extra waterskins. A day after they left, I carefully packed the mule with what I hoped would be enough coconuts and filled waterskins to get me to the other side of the desert. I chose to follow the pillars, hoping they would lead me out of that abominable wasteland; they did, though the mule did not make it. By the time he passed on, I could see over the last ridge of the desert. I stripped the mule of what I could, adding his meat to my dwindling rations and began traveling through the wilderness until I found myself here. To tell you the truth, seeing civilization does bring a wave of relief to this weary carpenter. Thank you for the extra rations - and for explaining to me the way out of these forests. It was late and I must have wandered off the trail; like I said this wilderness life isn't my thing. If you need anything else, well.. you'll know roughly whereabouts to find me."
He smiled and departed from the small structure deep in the woods, beginning to make his way back on track towards the city. A day and a half later, he stumbled across the beginnings of a beaten path; his hopes rose further when he came across the first sign bearing the name 'Ravenna' on an old post. As he walked further up the path, the light glistened on the newly fallen snow beneath his feet.
Skills:
Little Fishing (Childhood and Boat)
Novice Wood Chopping (Working with foster parents)
Advanced Carpenter (19 years, Worked with Foster Father Until 10-17, Then on his own until 29)
Novice Mason - (Only really foundations and chimneys)
Did your character bring anything to the setting (part from clothes)?
Leather Backpack
(Clothes, Wool blanket used as a bedroll, Small amount of rations, Old quill)
Thick leather belt with some carpentry/masonry supplies & tools
Anything you'd like to add:
I am a slow typer. *sad face*
Timeline:
Born........................................0
Parents killed.............................3
Brought into slavery.....................3
Meets Rook and Tes.....................3
Slave life!.................................3-6
Freedom!..................................6
Foster parents............................6-17
Apprenticed by foster parents..........10-17
(Carpenter / Basic Masonry)
Moved to city as Carpenter.............17-29
Fled from city..............................29
Lost.........................................30-31
(Followed beacons by chance in the hopes of finding a new settlement)
