Posted by Nivek on April 13, 2000 at 06:22:22:
In Reply to: Rager role. From reading all the rp logs, I'd really appreciate your opinion, Dhaevor. posted by Nivek on April 12, 2000 at 16:27:39:
> Description. > Standing before you is a bedraggled- looking feathered creature. As you step closer, it looks up at you and grimaces painfully. Closer examination reveals it to be, in fact, an arial. Great patches of seared skin show through where its feathers are absent. They will never grow back, not after what happened. Though the feathers are gone, the pain remains. Yes, the pain. When it is of the physical nature, it is easy for this creature to endure. The pain that shrouds his mind is another matter entirely. > Role. > I was born in Galadon to a moderately wealthy family. My childhood days were filled with fun and games, being spoiled rotten, and much idle time - a typical “rich kid’s” life. My parents earned their bread by performing “services” to local lords and ladies. Indeed, I am now ashamed to say that they were mages.
> Though its face does not change, alternating expressions of hatred and sadness flicker across its eyes. This arial repeatedly clenches and unclenches the hand upon its swordhilt. With one last considering look in your direction, it shambles on along its chosen path.
> They used their powers to weaken a client’s enemy, or slay them outright. Sometimes they would aid in the construction of a building about the city. On other occasions, my parents would aid questing adventurers. No assignment was turned away if the money was right. It was their magic which fueled our coffers and provided me with luxurious toys and many friends. I am abashed to say that I enjoyed every minute of it.
> It was during one of my days of idleness when I happened upon the city blacksmith. At first, I scoffed him for being “common.” I taunted him, remarking that his ignorance of magic made his tasks all the harder and more time consuming. This went on for many weeks, but a strange thing began to happen: I noticed the pride and love and effort he put into his work. I realized that it did not matter that he sold equipment substandard to weapons and armor forged by magic. His work had more value to him because he created it unaided. We soon became fast friends.
> When it became time for me to train in the family business, I began with some resignation. Although I did not hate the craft, I recognized that hard, honest labor was infinitely more valuable and rewarding. My father, of course, did not approve of these views, and regular magical beatings were the result. That, and I was forbidden to visit the smithy.
> So, my magical training continued. For months I practiced the hand motions and arcane phrases. Every day brought more and more skill, along with more and more emotional discomfort. There came a day where my parents were called to aid in the construction of a tower in the city. Although they took me along to help for the first time, I had no happiness in my heart.
> During the construction, my mother took ill and I was called upon to raise a heavy load of blocks to an upper floor. Disaster struck, and twelve men were crushed to death when the blocks plummetted to the earth. My father, once confident in my abilities, witnessed the event in its entirety. “You are no son of mine!” he screamed, and suddenly I was engulfed in flames. Writhing in agony, I was near death until cold water splashed over my body, extinguishing the fire. The blacksmith I had befriended had saved me.
> He carried me away to the sound of my father’s screams of hatred and rage. I was nursed back to health, though the scorched feathers never fully grew back. “Magecraft is not for you; not for anynone, save the Gods,” he said. Face still contorted in pain, I swore vengeance upon the thing that had deformed me, the thing that had beaten me, the thing that was the easy way out. The blacksmith taught me the basics in sowrdplay, and enrolled me in the school of warriors with his own money.
> It angers me to look upon myself in this state. My thoughts turn to voiolence and revenge towards magic-users, specifically my father. One day, I will become strong enough to challange him. Though it saddens me to think it, I cannot stop myself from smiling grimly as I imagine my blade slipping between his ribs.