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 Post subject: Sahaquiel the Geluroise
PostPosted: Thu May 01, 2008 1:40 pm 
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Joined: Tue Mar 04, 2008 2:51 pm
Posts: 42
Location: Paris
Sahaquiel of Gelure

I never knew my father; neither was I ever certain of where he came from. From the South, that was certain, most likely from Otamarluk or one of those strange and far away places. That much was easy to guess from his colouring, you don’t find people so dark in these parts, except strangers and bastards like me. My mother was a peasant girl from Gelure, beautiful but not very virtuous. She let herself be seduced by this dashing young adventurer from afar, this fighter who promised her a life of beauty and luxury in his arms. He took what she gave him and left her the following day. She heard later that he had been killed, shot in the back by soldiers after killing an official of sorts in a dual. It happened in a neighbouring town, apparently not a week after I had been conceived. There is only one thing I keep from my father now, his dark skin and black eyes, though I retained somehow the ivory hair of the Geluroise.

After I was born, no man wanted to marry my mother. Many were happy to find her bed, full of promises, but none of them kept any. The woman was bitter and lonely, I knew that, even as young as I was. To avoid her wrath that would often turn against me, I spent all my time in the streets. The atmosphere at home made me a very angry child, a violent street urchin among many. Brawls and street fights were my lot from very early on, and I rarely came home without a nosebleed, a black eye or a cut lip. It infuriated my mother who accused me of ruining her reputation and that it was my fault if she didn’t find a husband. She didn’t want to admit that it was her fault I was here in the first place.

I grew up a violent youth, and my life in the street gave me the looks of a brawler, with deep-set eyes and a strong jaw. I was no different from any other kid in my gang, yet. I was no leader, it wasn’t my lot, I was a right hand man, the guy who does the job for the boss, and I was satisfied with my condition.

One day, I was about twelve, a scarred man, armed and armoured up, stalked me in the streets. He had a dodgy, unhealthy look to him. I tried getting away from him, but he cornered me in an alleyway. I told him I had no money, he said he didn’t care. He grabbed me, heedless of my efforts to fight him back, and pinned me down. I felt his hands on me and finally understood what he was after. A blind rage came on me and the rush of adrenaline was so high and powerful that I blacked out. When I found my feet again, the man was lying on his back before me. I didn’t know if he was alive or dead. What I could see was that around his sternum, his mail shirt had melted with his skin and flesh, and hideous fumes reeking of burnt pig rose from his twitching body. I didn’t understand what had happened. I rushed back home in tears, terrified at the carnage I had wrought. My mother welcomed me with words of anger and frustration at my violent ways. She couldn’t get any words from me except that I thought I had killed a man. The moment I said that, I saw a change in her eyes. From anger it turned to total indifference. She grabbed a leather bag, stuffed it with the few things I possessed and threw it at me.
‘Get out!’ she said. ‘You can ruin your life, but you have ruined mine long enough. Leave this house, I don’t ever want to see you again. You are not my son.’

Fiery as I was, I snatched my stuff and left, not knowing what I was going to do. I begged for survival for a while, and then they found me. At first, I thought they were noblemen, in their fine clothes, riding their fine horses. One of them dismounted and took my face in his hand. He turned to his companions and said:
‘He is the one.’
Another rider came towards me and pulled me to my feet.
‘You are coming with us, young man.’
At this moment I thought these were Imperial officials come to put me into prison for murdering that man in the street, though how in the high heavens could I have done such a thing, I still didn’t understand. I tried to run for it, and then realise I wasn’t running at all. I was walking towards them.
‘Spirited youth,’ said the first rider. ‘Good.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘You will find out soon enough.’

They put me on a horse and took me to the castle. My limbs seemed to ignore my orders entirely, and I sat there like a deadweight. It was then that they revealed to me the truth of my condition:
‘Sahaquiel,’ they told me, ‘you are a sorcerer. The powers of the Gods is yours to wield as you see fit. You can raise mountains or slay entire armies, but before you can do that, you need the proper training. You have talent, the condition in which we found the man you killed the other day bears witness of it.’
So he was dead; I had killed him. With sorcery. The idea started to grow on me, but at the time, it was only the lust for power that appealed to me; I had not yet found my faith and my path to enlightenment. I accepted their offer, which, I am sure now, was not an offer but an order. They taught me so that I could harness and control my powers. I was treated well, they gave me decent clothes and food, a clean room that I shared with other students of the arcane. I finally had a life of my own.

However, one does not change the person they are overnight, even for a bauble as shiny as the one I was presented with. I was still as violent as ever, and I became famous in our school as a troublemaker. I also skipped many classes and escaped my tutors to go train in weaponry with the Geluroise soldiers. It made my instructors furious, and I received many punishments. I tasted the stick and the whip, but it only hardened my resolve, stubborn bastard that I was.
When I was sixteen, my mother died. I had heard that after she’d thrown me out, she had turned to what she had almost been all her life: a whore. The only difference was that now, she charged for it. She died of syphilis I heard, or another whorish disease, I did not care. I didn’t attend her burial.

At the age of twenty-one, I sat the test to upgrade to the higher teaching. I failed miserably, and so, I was summoned by General Mosseb, leader of our order, a very wise old man, a sorcerer of great power. He met me alone, and spoke to me thus:
‘Sahaquiel you are the shame of this academy. You ruin our teachings, you laugh at our laws, you defile our authority, you spit in the face of the Emperor himself. You are not a sorcerer. I mean, just look at you. Bruised and scarred, you look like a worn soldier, and you’ve already aged more than you should have. You are on a slippery slope.’ He took a few steps towards me and looked up into my eyes. He was smaller than me but I felt minuscule in his gaze. ‘You should be so thankful of what we’ve done for you. But no, you dishonour us. Should we throw you in the streets, like your mother did?’
I remained silent.
‘Ah, you disgust me,’ he said.

The General had not realised how he had pushed on my limits, and hot-headed as I am, I could only hold on so long. I laid him down in one punch. Great sorcerers wield great power, but they are not worth a damn in a fist fight. I knew however, that from this moment my life was forfeit. I had to escape, die or witness my brain being melted by one of my fellow sorcerers. Neither options appealed to me so I ran for it. I was in the stables, freeing a horse, when the alarm was rung. A young captain, probably a noble’s son considering how green he was, came out of a nearby pen and saw me.
‘What are you doing here, this is not your horse. Horse thief!’

I was taller and a lot heavier than him, but the boy had some courage and he drew steel. I had to defend myself. As I jumped on him, he hesitated and pulled back, he received a gash across the throat for it. Seizing his sword and belt, I jumped on the horse and rode out at full speed, with soldiers hot on my heels. I lost them in the countryside where I walked my horse through a river and then alongside it to drown the trail. Apparently, it worked, for they never caught up with me. Before I left the river bed, I threw the noble’s dagger in the river, for it was too easily recognisable, but I kept the sword, a sturdy and serviceable cut and thrust sword of the Geluroise army, my weapon of choice. To confuse my pursuers more, I fled to the most unlikely place they would think a sorcerer would choose: Stahln.

I remained there for a while, working the fields, for it was harvest time, they needed hands, and lending them my horse earned me a few extra coppers. I didn’t make any friends there, not being good with words, and short tempered too. But I used my time better than I ever had. I found myself studying the arcane on my own as much as I practiced with the sword. I formalised some of my spells and created my cipher, that I called the Sah, like the first letters of my name that I could write with one symbol of my secret alphabet. It was a long alphabet that worked with sound-symbols rather than letters or ideograms. I learned the transcription off by heart and then destroyed it so that no one but me would ever know it. I used up all my wages buying vellums and ink. After the harvest, I enrolled in the military of a Stahlnish noble, Pennath Tankred. We didn’t get a chance to fight that winter, but I had a roof and meals, it satisfied me. I remained there a while, and fought one battle. Looking back now, it was more like a skirmish, no more than two hundred men altogether, but at the time, it was the most terrifying thing I had ever experienced: the heavy horses shaking the very ground, the thunder of steel against steel, the whistle of the arrows blotting out the sun. It changed me.

It was at this time that I started to walk ithe path of the Riddle. Steel was the power that could take your life and that of your opponent. But the Riddle was to learn how to never be on the wrong side of it, how to tame the steel and bend it to your will so that never again it could harm you. On my second winter serving Tankred, I started putting into writing my thoughts and ponderings on the Riddle, all in Sah. As it matured, I started to understand. Sorcery is Steel too. It is the same double-edged power that wields life and death. Sorcery is another, deadlier sword in my hand and in the hand of my enemy. Finally I had found my path. By wielding the storm and the sword I would find the answer that so few had reached. I found myself blessed with those gifts which opened my path to enlightenment.

When I wrote those words in my now bound vellums, it was late summer, I had been with this army for two years. I ended my service and left. Finally, I had a clear path in front of me. I took to the road, with very little money in my pocket, but the whole world and a life of excitement in front of me. I hired my blade for a living, I defied swordsmen and took their money when I defeated them. My aim in finding the answer was to balance my sorcery with my blade. Therefore, I kept count of how many people I had killed with magic and how many with the sword. Usually, I killed with magic those I had been hired to kill, and I killed with the sword those I had chosen to kill. It also happened a few times that some fighters I could not defeat with the sword, and so, I had to blast them into smithereens with raw magic. That is why I always tried to set up my duals in quiet places where none would know what had happened.

I have lived this life for years now. I should be in my mid-twenties, I have lost the exact count, but I look like I am in my thirties. It is my destiny to age before my time, it cannot be avoided. But life for me holds a promise that a few years cannot quail. Once I open the path to the Riddle, I will live forever.

Character informations:

Name: Sahaquiel (often shortened to Sah)
Philosophy: "I walk the path of the Riddle, and with storm & sword, I shall find the answer."
Faith/Creed: The Riddle of Steel
Personality: Grim and sullen, violent and unforgiving. Socially inapt, introvert and metaphorical.
Gifts: None
Flaws: Bloodlust (major), Addict (tobacco, minor) Dependant on gestures (minor)
Allies: Baron Beckett of Alstrem (Cyrinthmeir, earned through play, Sah saved his nephew and heir), Count Wulfgar of Glaubwald (Ouestenreich, earned through play, helped him be restored to his Duchy of Umberland)
Enemies: General Mosseb of Gelure, Duke Eanmund of Umberland (Stahln, earned through play, helped in bringing his disgrace by exposing his links to the Church of Xanar)
Race: Human
Social class: Commoner
Nationality: Geluroise
Concept: Fighter, sorcerer & Riddle seeker
Age: about 24-25 (looks in his early thirties)
Height/weight: 5'11 for 11 & 1/2 stones
Eyes: Black
Hair: Ivory
Skin: Dark
Appearance: Grim and weathered looking, Sah has deepset eyes, a strong, jutting jaw, long, loose, shaggy hair and a beard. He is thin and wiry, all muscle and bones, with large shoulders and long legs.

Spiritual attributes:
- Destiny (discover the answer to the Riddle through sorcery & combat) 3
- Drive (walk the path of the Riddle) 3
- Luck 3
- Faith (Riddle of Steel) 2
- Passion (Hatred of general Mosseb) 1

Attributes: ST 4, AG 5, TO 5, EN 4, HT 4, WP 6, Wit 7, MA 5, Soc 2, Per 5
Ref 6, Aim 5, KD 4, KO 8, Move 6
KAA 7, Form 6, Art 4, Discipline 5, Draw 5

Proficiencies & Vagaries:
- Cut & Thrust: 5 (CP 11)
- Dagger: 3 (CP 9)
- Brawl: 3 (CP 9)

- Movement: 2
- Conquer: 2
- Vision: 1
- Summoning: 1

Skill packets: Ritualist 7 / Fighter 8 (or thereabouts)

- Cut & Thrist sword
- Buckler
- Chain shirt (w/o sleeves)
- Leather breeches
- Boots (w/ metal shin guards)
- Metal arm guards
- Stiletto
- 2 sets of clothing (poor freeman)
- Cloak
- Travel pack
- Steel cop (essential!)
- Iron collar
- Bronze arm-band (for decorative purposes, not protection)
- Purse (1g, 16s, 36c from mixed Geluroise, Ouestenreicher, Stahlnish & Cyrinthmeiran origin)
- Horse (named Mosseb after his favourite enemy)

Note: This character was just too much fun to play. :mrgreen:

 Post subject: Re: Sahaquiel the Geluroise
PostPosted: Sat Jul 26, 2008 4:34 am 
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Joined: Sat Jan 19, 2008 1:07 am
Posts: 953
Location: Melbourne, Australia
Very cool character, I enjoyed reading his story, sounds like he'd have been fun to play, though I often find characters with low Soc don't last too long.


"It was hard-fought, a desperate affair that could have gone badly; if God had not helped me, the outcome would have been quick and fatal" (115) ~ Beowulf after defeating Grendle's Mother.

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