Posted by Myrr on February 10, 2000 at 01:33:37:
--Myrr is an Arial warrior trying for Battle. I did my best to avoid making the same old tired hate mages backstory... Anyway, here's what I have so far. This was originally going to be a role submission, but ended up being too long...-- The son of a merchant living in Arial city, Myrr lacked for little Even in his youth, more than anything he loved reading, especially As Myrr grew into his middle years, he began to find joy in writing simple Myrr went down to the local recruitment office and signed on as a In the next several weeks, Myrr showed a real talent for the arts of The day finally arrived when Myrr was to end his studies in primary After a lavish celebration supper, to which all of the most important Myrr was somewhat dismayed by this, but attempted to show a positive outlook Compounding Myrr's rather deserved apprehention at his chosen fate was the fact After a few somewhat uneventful weeks had passed, a return scroll from The confrontation was not a pretty sight. Thankfully, Myrr had gone to his The journey took around three weeks by foot, rising with the dawn and making Myrr kept himself rather well fed throughout his journey, dining on some travel As the days wore on, and his objective drew closer, Myrr found himself more fit,
in his youth. He played with the other children, and was well liked
at school. He received a fine education, and was described by his
teachers as a bright, talented young man. His parents being rather
wealthy, decided to send him off to a magic academy when he came of
age, as having a mage in the family would increase their position
within Arial society. Being that they didn't think Myrr would like
this much, they didn't tell him. They worried that, like many children
of the wealthy, that he had seen a glamorous side to the "simpler life,"
that of manual labor, and barely getting by on small wages. Such an
insult to their house was unthinkable, and they would rather force Myrr
into a respectable position that have him sink to such a level.
historical accounts of great military actions. He took to studying
tactics of the great Generals, and at times even diagrammed the battles
on paper, playing them out as he might have if in charge. Raised as he
was to be a cultured lad, Myrr was trained in the use of several musical
instruments, and though the natural quickness in his fingers produced a
fine sound with any of the instruments he was required to learn, he never
had much love for the lessons. He continued his studies into the military
on his own time, as any such curiosity to learn beyond the very basics of
such disciplines was frowned upon in many circles.
narratives of the battles he had so often played out in his head and on
paper. This talent was encouraged by his instructors and his parents,
thinking all that he did fiction. Unsure how they might react if they knew
that his stories were based in fact, not fantasy, Myrr never disputed their
beliefs. Unbeknownst to Myrr, several samples of his writing were sent to
several Magical Academies for evaluation, thinking that such creativity would
serve him well in spell research. Several schools showed interest in the boy,
and his parents set about making the selection they thought best for their son.
At about this time, Myrr had taken to playing with a group of rougher
youngsters. Being naturally strong and quick on his feet, he was of
value to any team in the games they played. As the lads grew older,
they began taking up sparring with swords and the like, pretending
they were famous heroes of old, as adolescent boys often do. In their
mid-teens, some of the more skilled boys began signing on with the
local militia. Myrr saw how good their training made them, on the
rare occasions when they still had time off to spar. His friends
often bragged about how much they enjoyed fighting alongside the more
grizzled veterans and hearing their stories of old. They were also
full of boast that their parents were proud of their finding jobs at
so young an age. Myrr was not under the impression that his parents
would even approve of such a course for him, but the words of the others
went a long way toward swaying his decision. After a while he decided
that this was something he wished to do too.
junior guardsman. This would allow him to train at the barracks, and
take light guard shifts from time to time, and still live at home.
The prospect of learning to better use the fighting skills he was
already beginning to cherish excited the young man a great deal, as
did the extra bit of pocket money he would be earning from his small
salary. Myrr enjoyed the challenge of his new duties, though he did
not tell his parents, who took a dim view of such folk as served in
the militia. Being of the self proclaimed "Upper class," they viewed
anyone who did any sort of physical labor for a living as a "commoner,"
and therefore inferior. While Myrr vowed never to be ashamed of who he
was or the things that he loved, he decided that biding his time and
waiting to let his parents find out was the path that would cause less
difficulty.
battle, especially swordmanship. An older guardsman, who had taken Myrr
under his wing, so to speak, suggested that he leave the Militia to study
elsewhere. He told Myrr that he had the potential to be a truly great
warrior, and should not waste his life as a member of the Militia. A
scroll was sent via carrier pigeon to an older man named Miskis who had
been a past war hero, and occasionally took on students with great
potential, molding them into true masters of their craft. Myrr knew he
would miss his friends, both those from his childhood and those he had
made within the Militia, but he knew that this was to be his destiny.
school. He had acheived fine marks, and his parents were very proud.
For one reason or another, this "wonderful surprise" had never been
revealed to him. Obviously his parents had guessed long ago that such
a path would not appeal to their only son, and had opted to wait until it
was too late for him to back out. After all, this was an agreement that
had been made many years before, and a sudden break in it would not do
wonders for their family name.
people in the city had been invited, his parents finally made the
announcement that he was to attend the Magical Academy they had chosen
for him long ago, the Es'Du hei Magica, located well to the southeast of
Arkham in a magically protected glade. Oddly enough, the Es'Du hei Magica
was known more for its research in the fields of Sorcerous arts, Necromancy
in particular. Whether his parents desired this path for their son for some
reason, or they were simply too success-minded and foolish to know the true
nature of the place was never discovered. In a long-winded speech, Myrr's
father spoke of the glories of the school, speaking of many past mages who
were rumored to have had their beginnings there. Not left out were words in
praise of his own wisdom in selecting such a fine school, and completing the
contract for Myrr to attend.
about it, not wanting to upset his parents. He spent the evening relying on
the courtly manners that had been drilled into his head while he conversed with
older, minor nobles, and shook hands with other children of those with wealth
and stature within the community. Confusion twirled about like a storm in his
mind, as well as a certain degree of fear. Myrr had had occasion to read of the
'Magica,' as it was called by soldiers without the training to decipher the
correct pronunciation of the school's full name. The school's other, less
prestigous reputation had reared its ugly head in the accounts of many assaults
on the castles of Evil Sorcerors, and battles with legions of frightening undead
warriors.
that he had, of course, not even told his parents about his job with the Militia,
let alone his desire to pack up and go live with old Miskis. He had run across
writings by many old generals on the true nature of magic, its use to opress the
unlearned with fear. Some even went so far as to claim that magic was stolen
from the gods. Myrr was unsure as to how exactly one stole something from a god,
yet he was in agreement with much of what the old warriors said. A general
contempt for things magical had already begun to form in the depths of the lad's
soul, and this part of him, consciously or not, positively detested the idea of
magical instruction. Myrr decided, at some length, to let the excitement of the
announcement die down a bit before he began to gradually alert his parents of his
views. After all, it was a full 6 months until he was to be shipped off to the
academy, and a lot could happen in that time.
Miskis confirmed what had been all but promised to the lad. It was stated
that the man had not had a student of any sort of potential in some time,
and was beginning to worry that such people were gone from the world. He
said that he would gladly take Myrr on, provided that the lad helped out
around the small farm to earn his keep. Myrr was excited, yet worried at
the same time. Now that his path had been set, the time had come for the
confrontation with his parents, something he had been dreading for quite
some time. He set off toward his home, scroll clutched in one hand, looking
apprehensive, yet determined...
room to pack a light travelling bag before talking to his father about his
chosen course in life. The man exploded, and Myrr was sure it would have
come to blows had the man not had the restraint to realize the folly of
attacking his warrior-trained son. In short, Myrr was told that he was
stripped of his birthright and any ties he had ever had to his family. As
far as his parents were concerned, they had no son. Myrr held his emotions
firmly in check, but inside he was crying to see his father so angry. He did
not approve of many of his parents views, but he loved them as all children
do. He knew that this was his destiny, however, so with a heavy heart he
began the long trek to Miskis' farm deep in the mountains of Udgaard.
camp just after sundown each day. He took a little longer, taking a wide
path around the city of evil, Udgaard, not wishing any contact with the city's
inhabitants. Myrr had heard many stories in his childhood of the terrible
things that reside in Udgaard, the ghouls running about, Sorcerors practicing
their dark magic in the streets to anyone who happened by. He gazed down from
a high hilltop at the evil city some miles away. Truly, Udgaard resembled a
sore on the face of Thera, or at least a bruise. An invoulantary shudder ran up
Myrr's spine, and he quickened his steps into the hills as the shadows grew long
behind him, not once looking back over his shoulder at the shadowy den of Evil.
rations he had been given, as well as supplementing the dry, bland stuff with the
occasional rabbit or fish. He was by no means an expert survivalist, but had
learned a few basic techniques as part of his standard militia training. In the
unlikely event that Arial city was actually involved in a major war, they could
expect to be drafted, and as such, need to survive in the field. In his few
moments with time for leisure, Myrr would occasionally work on one of his stories,
this time a fictional one about a haunted battlefield.
the journey hardening his body. He was by no means in poor shape, but no amount
of working out can substitute for walking and flying over rough terrain day after
day. As Myrr approached the valley where the old man said he lived, he felt a bit
nervous. Supposing Miskis didn't like him? Would his loss of his family name and
birthright be a waste?