Keating Ash

[Keating Ash]

Keating Ash Basic Information: Race: Human Age & Birthday: 31 Years of Age, Born Summer 479 AV Gender: Male Height: 6’1” Weight: 190 lbs Physical Description: With eyes and hair the colour of darkest night, Keating Ash resembled the rest of the Ash clan. His once curly locks had long ago been shorn out of a misguided attempt to deny the unruly, inner man that burned to be free from society’s moral conventions. And while the physical labour of farming left Keating’s large frame toned and muscular; his face and hands were rugged from the elements. Yet still, he was considered a handsome and desirable man. Standing over six feet in height, he was neither small nor skinny. And upon his right forearm is Bala's Gnosis Mark of Culitivation, its dark colored roots intertwining along the tanned skin of his thick arm. Picture credit goes to: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=hot%20farmer&order=9&offset=96#/d1c3req Character Concept: When Keating Ash fled the Ash family farm, and the unplanned, brutal murder of his father, he swore never to return. But after ten long years the firm resolve to stay away finally crumbled under the weight of his one unrelenting obsession, his sister. Rose! Remorse over his father’s death weighed heavily upon him, but the habitual thoughts of his sister had become so predominant in his mind that they drove all else away. Memories of Rose and their illicit love haunted Keating, and he vowed to find her once again, as recollections of their intimate love became too intense to ignore. Keating has a tendency towards violence. Guilt and sorrow from his past still cling to him, their weight heavy, as he tries to forswear them. Denial has formed him into the man he has become. Violence disturbs him and stirs the old memories, and it is then that Keating turns to the bottle to drown out the aggression within him. But the memories of his father and Rose and all the family who perished by some god’s ugly whim, still persist. Educated by his father, it was his legacy to run a small family farm, and Keating’s boyhood was filled with crops and dirt and farm animals. It was a rough and bitter life, but the young Keating cherished the work that he did and praised Bala, goddess of Harvest, in his boyhood way. During his ten year absence from the farm, he occasionally received the opportunity to work in a field as a manual labourer. But often, during this period of self-imposed exile, he found work as a general guard, or as a tavern bouncer. His solid build and intimidating look were not considered out of place for these sterner occupations. Picture credit goes to: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=hot%20farmer&order=9&offset=96#/d1kdoqu Bala's Gnosis Story : From the time he was a small boy, Keating was in the fields almost as the sun rose. It was necessary, for there was so much work to be done up until the sun set. Always the livestock waited before first light, milking and watering, cows, horse, pigs and chickens. By the time the boy was finished with the animals, he was headed to the fields. The muck of animals covered him, and he was already sweaty from his labors. Others might have complained of the hard labor, others did complain of it. Too much, he thought they complained, but not him. Keating worked hard, but to the boy it was not work as others defined it. From his harsh labors, the boy’s muscles had built into those of a much older man. Fences were always in need of mending and the barns in need of residing, and the never-ending the work of the fields, there was never rest. He learned it all and more under his father’s tutelage. His Pa worked the land to survive, and to keep food on the table, and Keating worked to help him though to the boy, it was more than survival. A sense of satisfaction lay in each planting and every harvest. Keating worked for love of the land and the earth of their small farm, and to see the bounty of the harvest. That time of fullness gave him something his trying life lacked. In the fields, he felt nurtured, and he felt love fulfilled at each harvest. And though he was only sixteen, Keating knew farming was what he was meant to do. Restless boys of the surrounding farms wished to escape from the backbreaking drudge of manual labor in the fields. Keating had held no such wish, and to leave the old farm to become a Knight or a city man was no dream of his. He would stay forever with this land; it was in his soul as much as Rose was, but without the darkness of her spirit. Every day his chores kept him busy, but the Ash family farm would never have been considered prosperous. As Keating drifted off to sleep at night, his boyhood desires of making a thriving, prosperous farm filled his dreams. Images of the earth turning green and lush with foliage, rich with enough food for all made him smile sweetly in his exhausted sleep. The expression was more honest than any he ever shown during the day surrounded by his weary family. But harvest had begun and the whole of the family had worked the rows tirelessly to bring in the grain and corn. There had been a small celebration afterwards and now everyone was winding down. It was late when Keating snuck away, out into the fields as the others readied for bed. A great, orange harvest moon hung high in the sky. Keating watched its glow as it shed magical light onto the now empty fields littered with debris. He almost he wept to see what had just so recently been filled with the beauty and fullness of the waiting crop. And to him, the fields were still full, though what life it held now resided back within the earth. He had taken a small portion of the yield from the barns, and brought them out into the field with him. During their small family celebration, he felt not enough honor had been given to Bala, so he took it upon himself to remedy the slight. Taking a dirty rag from his back pocket, Keating wiped his face and hands as best he could, and then tried to straighten out his wrinkled and sweat stained farmer’s clothes. They were all he had, poor as they were, though if he had had better he would have put them on. There was nothing to be done about the dirt caked in his fingernails, or the grit in his teeth. The earth was his constant companion and often his comfort. Slowly, with large hands he had not quite grown into, he unwrapped the stained cloth; it was the cleanest he was able to find. Lifting the beautiful stalks of grain into the air, and towards the harvest moon, he offered Her the bounty with his rough hands. Bala had been his solace from his troubled family, Bala had brought them the harvest, and with youthful vigor, he attempted to praise Her. “Goddess Bala, blessings for… this, this bounty. Thank you…” he held a portion of grain up into the air towards the moon in his impromptu ceremony. Then he set them down and held up three full corn husks, “Blessing for this…” But he faltered when a woman’s voice sounded behind him. He had not known there was company. “You give thanks when you have so little?” the voice asked. Keating heard her step closer and turned surprised. The woman stood in the dirt, not seeming to mind. She was beautiful to him, but not in the way the country girls were, with their flirty ways and red blushed cheeks. She was womanly and infinitely more and the boy stared awkwardly, trying to remember his manners. “But this is everything,” he replied simply, honestly. “It feeds us…, my family I mean. And others too.” The almost man looked upon her with sincerity in his gaze, “If there wasn’t this, nothing could take its place...” He didn’t know if he was making sense, rarely did he share his feelings about the land. The moon shone brighter on her face as she smiled, “You love this land?” she asked wondering. Keating nodded, he had not uttered the words, not even to his overworked family, they would not have understood. But this woman, he felt did understand. Already, the boy’s body held a man’s delicate pride, but she compelled him to honesty by her presence. “Yes.” He answered, “This land…, these fields,” his hand went out to them. “I want never to leave.” Keating looked down embarrassed, as she stayed silent. “It is as I thought,” she said finally, her words compassionate. Suddenly, she stood before him, though he didn’t know how she had gotten so close. The boy was frozen in place as her hand reached out to touch him. Keating’s dark eyes filled with liquid, she touched him so gently, and knowingly. Had he ever been touched thus? And then he felt the mark grow upon him, and his eyes widened in awe. He whispered then, with a voice already deep in adolescence, “Bala... You are here?” But he was only a boy after all, and the immenseness of the visit overwhelmed the young and simple farmer, and his thickly muscled legs gave out then and he knelt at Her feet and wept at the blessing She had given him. History: Life had not been easy for the Ash family and living on the small farm outside of Syliras, Keating’s life was no exception. The harder life became, the more relentlessly he threw himself into his chores. He was a selfless worker who desired nothing more than to see the crops grow and the garden flourish. Praises to Bala, of the Autumn Harvest! Being a modest young man, his wants were few, namely, a good yield and a quiet life surrounded by family. But the family struggled, and toiled, and laboured. Fate was cruel and many of his siblings perished at an early age, or by untimely and often gruesome deaths. Out of fourteen children born to his parents, Agatha and Harold Ash, only three survived: himself, being the eldest, Rose and little Daisy. Surely, the family had been cursed by the gods themselves! Such tragic and suspicious circumstances for so many dead siblings, though no one could deny the hazards of living on a small, rural farm. And through it all Keating tried to hold the pieces of the family together. As the eldest and only surviving son, he threw himself vigorously into farm work, filling the empty hole left by his father’s bouts with depressive drinking, and the surprising, suicidal death of his mother. A number of times he had the opportunity to be free of the farm with its smothering melancholy and mournful family. Several of the neighbouring girls held Keating in their fancy, and they hoped to snag the young farmer in marriage. Many were the times, he had taken out his considerable lusts on the hopeful women, but always his mind returned to the girl he was unable to possess. Beyond satisfying physical urges, Keating could never bring himself to settle for any of these aspiring brides, so he stayed put. Normalcy did not thrive in the Ash house, and it certainly was not for one such as him. For Keating Ash carried a shameful obsession. If his family had indeed been cursed by the gods, Keating felt himself to be cursed tenfold. For Keating loved his sister, Rose. He loved her not as a sibling ought, but with affection that surpassed the norms allowed by society. Always, he attempted to hide and suppress these unnatural feelings, but a burning passion filled and overwhelmed his senses. When Rose was present, his eyes were upon her, and if she was near, he found some excuse to touch and feel her delicate skin. Younger by five years, she was the focus and meaning in his grim life. When exactly the sordid feelings began, he could not remember. But he had been under her dark spell for a great span of years. It was not from any one particular thing she did, or by her words or actions. It was the flame within her that stirred him, wild and untamed. When he looked upon her matching black hair, a fire raged in his heart, and his loins throbbed as heat filled him. He wanted nothing more than to lie with her, and feel his large, rough hands on her pale, cool skin. These thoughts drove him to distraction and he found ever more reason to be near her. She did not complain, nor push away his touch. Instead, she led him further down into ruin, and he was helpless against her wishes as their trysts grew ever more physical, until at last Rose and Keating became furtive lovers. Rose was neither nice nor kind, and Keating often wondered about the thoughts that flew in her head. She was self-serving, egotistical and impatient, but he rationalized her bad behaviour away. She was meant for a better life, better than the scratching existence of life they led on the farm. The farmer’s dirty world was beneath her. If only he could shield her from this world, and make her happy. Anything! Anything he would do for her! To satisfy her... But he did not know what she desired or needed, and a small, suspicious part of him wished never to truly know. Rose! Though her actions were often contrary to his beliefs, it was not in his power to judge her and Keating could never stay angry at her for long. She needed him, he knew. Rose needed him to protect her from herself. He was her guardian. That Rose was trouble, there was no doubt. And it was no surprise it was she and not him who set the unspoken terms of their relationship. He was a helpless boy in his devotion. After time had passed, and the thrill of their elicit couplings had worn off, Rose found new excitement in leading him onto their father’s bed. In a passionate, yet unholy embrace they rutted and Keating, full of heady pleasure did not see their father enter the room silently. The discovery shocked and outraged the elder Ash, and his attack on Rose was swift. Keating, unwilling to allow any harm to come to his dark, beautiful Rose, felt forced to brutally murder his father to save his love from the man’s drunken wrath. Unbelievably, Rose was pleased by this horrific outcome. Dumbstruck, and heartsick, Keating was in shock. And there, in the doorway, stood little Daisy. Gods! She had seen everything... What had he done! Sweat broke out upon his naked body; he could not bare the thought of yet another death, this one by his own hand. He had been bewitched. Rose! His mind reeled; he could not stay in this house of death any longer. Truthfully, he only wanted to clear his head in the cool of the outside air. But once away from the oppressing weight of the Ash legacy, he felt an urge to be wholly free of the pressures of the farm and his remaining family. Keating walked for miles and miles without rest, trying to flee from the horror of his actions. His only thoughts, “I will not return! I will never see her again!” And though the idea was unbearable, onward he trudged, never looking back. He wandered for years, far and often, finding odd jobs where he could. His work ethic combined with his farming background, suited him for field work and manual labour. But the times he passed through cities or towns, he often found work as a door guard, or a bouncer, due to his solid stature. People judged him on his build, and prospective employers approved of the intimidating look he carried at times. Intimidating? At the thought he would laugh. Rose was never intimidated by him, or anyone else. The gods! How he missed her! Regret haunted his actions wherever he went, and anger followed. His obsessive love for Rose…, the loss of Father, Mother… all the sick siblings, why did this mad chaos have to happen to the Ash family? In his heart, Keating blamed Rhysol for the excessive chaos in their lives, and he was sure the dark god was laughing at him from his seat far away in Ravok. Though never did he speak of his feelings to anyone. And his tendencies towards violence built slowly over time and surfaced sporadically. The feelings frightened him as he thought of his father’s death in the bedroom. And then he drank, alcohol dousing the worst of it in its fiery fumes and he became slow and melancholic. Always he searched for a balance between the two states, but as yet was unable to find it. The desire to see Rose, to touch her once more became too strong and he knew he must find her again. He wanted to beg forgiveness for abandoning her, but no, he cautioned himself. He could not see her, he did not trust himself. If he could only view her from afar, he would have need of nothing else. Words would not be necessary, and she need not even be aware of his presence. Just to know she was well and healthful, that was all he desired. She was out there somewhere… it was time to find her again.

[Keating Ash]

Picture credit goes to: http://pename.deviantart.com/ Skills, Lore and Knowledge: Skills: 37 Brawling (+15 RB, +12 SP + 1xp +1xp +1xp +2xp +2xp +2xp +1xp) 21 Intimidation (+14 SP + 1xp +1xp +1xp +1xp+1xp +1xp + 1xp) 20 Seduction (+10 SP + 2xp +4xp +2xp + 2xp) 14 Farming (+9 SP +5xp) 5 Interrogation (+2xp +3xp) 5 Animal Husbandry (+5 SP) 4 Body Building (+3xp +1xp)) 3 Socializing (+1xp +1xp +1xp) 3 Rhetoric (+1xp +1xp + 1xp) 2 Teaching (+2xp) 2 Storytelling (+2xp) 1 Observation (+1xp) 1 Medicine (+1xp) Lore: Lore of Running a Farm (SP) Lore of Bala, goddess of the Harvest (SP) Lore of The Feeling of Being Watched (No Hope for the Dark Brother) Lore of How to Sweet talk a Whore (No Hope for the Dark Brother) Lore of Beer Goggles (What they are) (No Hope for the Dark Brother) Lore of The Feel of the Right Woman (No Hope for the Dark Brother) Lore of Self Control (Self Service) Lore of How to Drown Your Sorrows (Self Service) Lore of Straight to the Point (Dark Connections) Lore of Haunted by the Passed (Dark Connections) Lore of Taking Control (Dark Connections) Lore of Uncharacteristic Kindness (Dark Connections) Lore of Gracious Host (Dark Connections) Lore of Giving in to One's Urges (Dark Connections) Lore of This B#@%h is Crazy! (Dark Connections) Lore of Bad Luck with Women (Dark Connections) Lore of Desire Overcomes Reason (Dark Connections) Lore of Getting Some (Dark Connections) Lore of Longing of the Ethaefal (A Lady and A Farmer) Lore of Dealing with trespassers (Breathing Life into Earth) Lore of Returning to your roots(Breathing Life into Earth) Lore of A good day's work(Breathing Life into Earth) Lore of There are some respectable Squires(Breathing Life into Earth) Lore of Treating Cassandra like a Whore (Confessions) Lore of Spanking Cassandra with a Belt (Confessions) Lore of Vexation (Basic) (Confessions) Lore of The Sake of Fighting Lore of Aello's Dagger Lore of Female Hissy Fits Lore of Picking Out a Syliran Accent Lore of Sensing Something is Wrong Lore of When Opposites Meet Lore of Controling Emotion Lore of Offering Sound Advice Lore of Attempting to Decipher the Drunken Haze Lore of Being Kicked Where It Hurts

[Keating Ash]

Picture credit goes to: http://browse.deviantart.com/photography/?q=cowboys&order=9&offset=24#/d1lg6wb Equipment and Possessions: Pair of Thick Work Pants One Shirt, now worn Faded Coat Dark, Black Work Boots 1 Waterskin 1 Backpack 1 Comb 1 Brush 1 Razor 1 Bar of Soap Food for a week 1 Eating Knife Flint and Steel Heirloom: Keating's Father's Diary Concerning Crops Housing: Ash Family Farm The farm consists of a burned out and dilapidated house, and a barn of which only half still stands. The fields are overgrown and the animals long gone. Ledger: TBD -1gm Mug of Silver Sliver (Self Service) Thread List: 70th of Winter, 511 AV - Caught in the Middle (Keating goes to a Party) 60th of Summer, 511 AV - Let Me Toy with You (Keating Stumbles Upon A CatFight) 68th of Summer, 511 AV - Ignorant Farmers and Smart Men (Keating meets Hadrian) 12th of Spring, 511 AV - Confessions (Cassandra fesses up) 80th of Spring, 511 AV - Let Your Eyes Wander (Keating meets Aello) 5th of Fall, 510 AV - Dark Connections (After-hours Excursion with Cassandra) 5th of Fall, 510 AV - Self Service (with Cassandra) 10th of Summer, 510 AV - No Hope for You, Dark Brother (with Amorette) 29th of Spring, 509 AV - A Lady and A Farmer (Flashback with Callisto) 20th of Spring, 508 AV - Breathing Life into Earth (Farming Flashback with Dimitri)

[Valkyrie]

CS Intervention Keating Ash, before you can continue playing or receiving grades you will need to fix the following: 1. Please list your equipment and possessions. 2. You will need an up to date and accurate ledger. Please let me know when you have made the appropriate corrections and I will lift this intervention. Thanks!