Solo Future's Seeds

(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)

A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

Moderator: Morose

Future's Seeds

Postby Alric Lysane on March 12th, 2022, 5:11 pm

Image

15th Spring 522 AV – Alric’s Shack

He hadn’t had much sleep the night before, partly because he had been watching Lys to make sure she hadn’t stopped breathing, or something similar, but also because the young woman was using the only bed he owned in Sunberth. He had tried to curl up, close to the dying fire, using whatever he could find as a pillow, and his jacket as a blanket. To say he had slept was like saying he was still alive, there was a gradient of quality, all of its own, in such pointless statements. Still, his sparing rest had given him much time for thought, wondering upon himself and his feelings, upon why her staying alive meant so much to him. It wasn’t just the guilt of sending her away, without the miza she had pilfered that day, and likely causing the beginning of her ordeals – though he acknowledged that and felt its pang in his chest.

No, it was more than that. He knew what had happened to his parents, and alive or not still he had the hope of finding them, of getting past the darkness surrounding him and breaking free of fate’s yoke. He even remembered them, more of late as he tried to claw it all back with his meditations and other attempts – magical things included. He remembered how alone he had felt when he had not remembered, cast aside like a dirty and worn piece of clothing, consigned to the fire for no other reason than not being needed, or wanted, anymore. That pain was still there, despite his new knowledge, and would never truly be forgotten. What all orphans innately understood, that no others really could, was that they were outcast and they only every really had themselves to rely upon.

He wanted more than that for Lys. She could be annoying of course, in fact she had been downright purposefully hostile in her attempts to rile him altogether too often. Yet they shared the bond deep down and had always returned toe ach other as if things were born anew. Their lives had bene broadly similar, if years apart in their beginnings. She had never told him what had become of her parents, and he had never asked, but the anger he had seen in her suggested that it had not been a peaceful happening. Some at the orphanage had had parents that dies of disease or other things, they were the lucky ones. Other, like Lys and himself, were merely discards, left to rot wherever they were dumped. Entering his shack once more, supplies in his backpack, he looked down upon her and with one hand gently brushed the hair from her face, a soft look upon his own.

“You and me against the world Lys, I remember that fake promise a while back. You’ve probably forgotten, but I haven’t. I was the one who taught you, and those of your age, how to pilfer and sneak. Me and the rest of the older ones, back when it was just a game and laughter reigned over suffering. Seems only right that I try to make it right, in some way” he muttered, almost a whisper, as he put another log upon the fire and dumped his backpack upon the table.

He had purchased food and collected more water, retrieving the waterskins from the Outpost after making sure everything was secure and Twilight had enough water and food tossed about to survive for a number of days, he wasn’t sure when he’d be back there again. No other letters had materialised that he had seen, though he had read over the ones he had already to see if there were any mentions of this Tazrae knowing Lys, which had told him she probably didn’t. It was as if both of them had dropped out of his life and then returned within a score of days or each other. He didn’t know what to make of that, didn’t remember the one and the other was still in the midst of the battle for health and life. It was a strange synchronicity, but one he’d think upon another time.

Instead he busied himself with pouring water into his coking pot and setting it upon the table, ready for the food preparation. He had already boiled enough water to wash Lys’ wound with when the time came, leaving it to cool in another bowl to the side of the hearth. This one was now for food and he tossed out all of the things he had purchased upon the table, setting them all aside for now.

Turning back to see that Lys was still soundly unconscious he sat down and decided to tempt fate – he had to practise and she wasn’t likely to wake to see him do it.
Last edited by Alric Lysane on May 20th, 2022, 5:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
~ Thanks to Gossamer/Shiress for post Boxcodes ~
User avatar
Alric Lysane
Carry On My Wayward Son
 
Posts: 763
Words: 1010203
Joined roleplay: October 29th, 2021, 5:41 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Mizahar Grader (1) Overlored (1)

Future's Seeds

Postby Alric Lysane on March 12th, 2022, 6:47 pm

Image

He still had just a very rough control of his newest addition to magic – Reimancy. As with all of the other disciplines he had thrown himself into the whole thing, despite the fact that he couldn’t rightly remember how he had managed to become a Reimancer. He had written himself a letter, apparently, telling him the story but he still couldn’t quite believe the whole thing. He didn’t doubt the words of his won hand, or the other letters and drawings that proved the existence of a beautiful woman he had grown close to, but he remembered none of it. He had told himself the woman had said he was on his own, which seemed about right, he didn’t ever remember not being alone. He glanced at Lys and reconsidered that slightly, but the feeling was correct.

“Very well then, alone unto the war it is. But first…mastering the arts” he sighed to himself, closing his eyes and turning his hands so they were facing palm up on the table, the cuts still fresh though healing, cracking almost every day but already smaller than they had been ten days ago.

He summoned his focus, easing his breathing into a steady and deep rhythm, a practise almost drilled into him by now, and seeking out his ‘well’. He had noticed the difference almost immediately upon his first explorations after the initiation, the Djed…or Res…or both perhaps…shining a bright silver instead of a dulled one, the new iridescence clearly changed and indicative of his new abilities. He had yet to decide whether his ‘well’ was just everything magical about him, or whether half of it was each thing, or a strange quasi-formed liquid that was whatever it needed to be, so long as it got used as was its goal. Either way he reached out and concentrated, feeling the resistance in ways that he didn’t feel it with the magics he was now competent at.

He took his time, cajoling and corralling the Res, feeling it seep through him almost, different and more primal to the Flux or Shielding Djed, and almost sentient in its ardent need for use. The difficulty for him wasn’t in using it once it had gotten going, it was in…communicating with it, he supposed…at the beginning, convincing it that it was time for it to move. It was almost akin to when he had been trying to rouse Lys and she had been unresponsive, a mixture of powerful shakes and persuasive words were simply replaced with the mental efforts to the same with the Res. Eventually, once a small sweat had broken out across his temples, it started to seep out of his palms, using the cuts for easy exit but he felt sure when they were healed it would come out much like when he was using Shielding.

“That’s it…come on now, keep coming…very good, almost…almost there” he kept repeating the mantras softly t himself, under his breath, having no incantations or anything more specific at the moment, no process like with Tai Chi, or the moulding of clay method with Shielding.

It started by pooling into has palms and he began to cup them, bringing them together to merge the two pools together as had become his ritual, unable yet to form two separate balls and control them independently. This wasn’t about finer control, it was about getting the basics refined so well that he could use them without thinking, and the only way to do that was repetition, or at least that was what experience had taught him. His patina of sweat had turned into larger beads by the time that the two pools had merged and he had managed to put a stop to further extrusion of Res, instead mentally willing it to raise up into the air a few inches from his palms, easing it up by physically moving his hands up before letting them fall once it became apparent that it was going to stay there.

Turning around for a moment to See Lys still asleep, although murmuring and twitching slightly, he breathed a sigh of relief and returned his attentions back to the Res floating before him, wondering which of his musings he was going to try to put into practise with his exploration.
~ Thanks to Gossamer/Shiress for post Boxcodes ~
User avatar
Alric Lysane
Carry On My Wayward Son
 
Posts: 763
Words: 1010203
Joined roleplay: October 29th, 2021, 5:41 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Mizahar Grader (1) Overlored (1)

Future's Seeds

Postby Alric Lysane on March 12th, 2022, 7:50 pm

Image

He breathed a long, deep breath of strenuous concentration and frowned at the glistening orb before him, its silvery sheen reflecting the light of the fire as it rotated slowly, as if it were unable to stay still but had settled for a small rotation. He found he could move his hand and will it to remain above it, shifting his palm up, down, around and in all directions, the iridescent orb stay where it was supposed to. He gave a chortle of satisfaction as a small grin crept across his lips. Sometimes he wished that he could show people these tricks, there were quite the few pretty ladies in Sunberth whom it could be used to impress…if only they wouldn’t tear him apart in a more literal way than the way he wouldn’t mind them doing. His smile faded, replaced with a sad expression…he had no one to share his differences with, perhaps not even Lys.

Had he thought things through? What would he do, hide it from her forever? Would she understand? He shook his head, not even sure she’d survive let alone stick around, or even want to be around him after she had recovered. Sighing he scratched his chin, feeling that his beard was getting a little too long for his taste and making a mental not of that before deciding upon what shape he would be trying this time – something dangerous, offensive…a weapon. Frowning with the effort he tried to will the orb into a more elongated shape, teeth gritting as he watched it elongate into a shape like an egg, ever so slowly and roughly, its smooth form rippling and breaking. It took far longer than he was satisfied with but it did, in the end, take on a shape similar to an arrow, though roughed, mor rugged and jagged, one end elongated into what looked like a stone knife, the rest of the weight of the Res towards the back as if it might provide the force behind impact.

He focused, willing the Res to transform, converting to stone and after a few moments of trying to communicate that desire it seemed to pick up upon it and from the inside out, one end to the other, the shining silver became a rough granite like construct with its own sheen, instantly falling out of his control and clattering to the table with a loud series of thuds. He blinked, tiredness creeping over him and let go of anything related to his magic, knowing that for that small creation he’d have a day of tiredness and an appetite that would ruin his purse strings.

“Alric?” came the soft whisper of a question, so quiet that he didn’t recognise it at first, until he turned around and saw Lys’ eyes were open and her arm was starting to move weakly, as if reaching out to him.

“Lys!” he all but fell out if his chair as he turned, forgetting anything else and coving to kneel by the bed, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

“Whe-where…am…am I?” she said, coughing as he tested her forehead with the back of his palm as he had been shown, finding it warmer than before but still a bit cold and dotted with sweat.

“You’re in my home, but you should really be resting. You need slepp, I’ll make you a tea I was given”

“No! Don’t…go” she coughed, trying to sit up before he eased her back down with a gentle, firm press.

“I’m not going anywhere, but you’re very sick Lys. Honestly I wasn’t expecting you to wake up”

“Hurts”

“Yes, I know, let me go…go on…that’s it. I’m going to be here all day every day until you’re better, alright? Then you can go back to running around like a mad lass robbing everyone, no?” he let her go and took a few moments to face the chair to the bed and move the pot into the flames to get the water heat. He took his cup and placed it onto the hearth, herbal mixture in the bottom.

“What were you doing, I couldn’t see?” her question came from behind him and there was a perceptible pause in his workings as a small ripple of panic went through him and he licked his lips, searching for something to say and plastering a smile upon his lips.

“Cooking!” he said with as much confidence as he could muster, sweeping his hand across the ingredients upon the table, thankful he hadn’t packed them away yet.

“You? Coo---cooking? Al-ri-c…terrible…li…” she started coughing and he pressed a waterskin to her lips once she had it under control, making sure she got water into her whilst he had her awake, then wiping her brow with a clean rag and settling in at her leg.

“I know, I’m lucky I haven’t killed myself yet, but needs must when you live by yourself. Unless you know of anyone who wants to look after me for me?” he jested with a small smile, looking at her and seeing that she was still weak and putting on a brave face whilst still confused as to what had happened.
~ Thanks to Gossamer/Shiress for post Boxcodes ~
User avatar
Alric Lysane
Carry On My Wayward Son
 
Posts: 763
Words: 1010203
Joined roleplay: October 29th, 2021, 5:41 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Mizahar Grader (1) Overlored (1)

Future's Seeds

Postby Alric Lysane on March 12th, 2022, 10:32 pm

Image

“Carry me here?” she asked him, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t read.

“Yes. I found you” he said as he began to unravel the bandage around her leg, “this might hurt Lys. I’m going to clean and do the bandage again. Need to do it and might as well whilst you’re awake so I don’t wake you”

“How…long?”

“Brought you here yesterday”

“Know…medicine?”

“I know a friend who walked me through it, now hush, you need your strength. You can ask me all the questions you want when you’re better” he told her, trying to concentrate and put on a brave face but his fingers still trembled as he pulled and unravelled the bandages, letting them fall to the floor and peering at the wound upon her leg, swallowing and clenching his jaw.

“Always were squeamish” she tried to laugh and got the first few portions out before coughing violently, her hand over her mouth and her head raising with the rhythm.

“For the love of all the divines will you just…” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, controlling himself after a few moments, not looking at her when he opened his eyes but still they shone with emotion, “let me get through this. I need…I need you to get better so just…for once please stop barbing me and save it for when you’re better and can throw stolen pigs guts at me again or something”

He met her gaze then, silently pleading, and she locked them for a while before nodding silently and settling back to wait for him to be done. He poked the water out of the flames once it was boiled and filled the cup with the tea before waiting patiently for the water to cool, dipped in a rag that Vestra had left and started to wipe the wound clean. Lys hissed and then bit her lower lip, whimpering as he worked. That made it harder and as he continued and she kept making noises he could feel tears start to prick the corners of his eyes before he took a deep breath in and took a leaf from his meditative practises, setting his face to be relaxed and blank to block out the emotion for a while, simply acknowledging and letting it pass him by.

He was as quick as he could be but he had to be thorough and get it right. The wound did look better already, much reduced in both size of the infection and the violence of the jarring colours. Still the smell was far from perfect and it had a while to go before it could be called fully healed. He hadn’t truthfully expected this much after just one day though, so it was a pleasant surprise. The red lines indicating the poisoning had shortened and lost some of their darkness. As he rubbed the ointment upon the wound, working it in where he could, he was as gentle as he could be, but she gave a yelp and he stopped, breathing deeply before pressing on at her nod.

“I’m sorry Lys” was all he could say as he worked, she said nothing in return and just closed her eyes to ride it out, braver than he remembered her years ago when she had been scared of spiders and being alone.

He pressed on with the last part, heating his dagger into the fire before dipping the tip into the poultice mix and putting what he got into the centre of a bandage. He pressed it onto her wound to another hiss and then quickly wound it around in as rough an approximation of Vestra’s work as he could manage. It was rough, far from perfect and a bit lopsided but as Lys collapsed back into ragged breathing he knew it would do the job and that was what mattered. He went to go and get the tea but her hand grabbed at his and pulled him back, squeezing hard and he just sat and let her do so.

“Petching bastard” she said after a while, more a groan than having heat to the words and he raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing, instead smoothing her hair back and wiping her forehead, feeling it wit the back of his hand and finding it warmer still compared to the day before, a good sign he had been told, so long as it stayed away from getting too hot.

“I never taught you that” he said, breathing hard and holding her hand to hide the shaking of his fingers until they were back to normal.

“Dad did, just never used it. Mistress didn’t like it, did she?”

“No, no she didn’t. Got me in trouble more than once. Didn’t mind the thieving though, so long as we weren’t caught. Lesson in success there”

“Fu-funny” she tried for a smile but gave up and instead closed her eyes.

“You never mentioned him”

“Wasn’t…worth…mentioning…sold…me a…a”

“Alright, no more of that. Tea will be ready, you really need to sleep. If I don’t then my friend will take my head and there’ll be no one to do your bandages. Here,” he said, passing her the cup and helping her to prop herself up on her pillow, there to sip a few mouthfuls slowly, “drink it all. Should knock you out again for a while, I’ll have the food ready when you’re next awake, see if we can’t get some in you. All skin and bones”

“Thanks…mom” she finished her cup and passed it back to him, leaning back once more, her eyes already closing as the tea took hold.

“Snarky little cut purse”

“Grumpy…old…sneak…thief”

He watched her as she fell back into sleep, happy she was seemingly getting better but somehow feeling more terrible for the interaction.
~ Thanks to Gossamer/Shiress for post Boxcodes ~
User avatar
Alric Lysane
Carry On My Wayward Son
 
Posts: 763
Words: 1010203
Joined roleplay: October 29th, 2021, 5:41 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Mizahar Grader (1) Overlored (1)

Future's Seeds

Postby Alric Lysane on March 13th, 2022, 7:13 am

Image

He waited for a while, just to make sure that she was asleep and would stay that way, before arranging the blanket so that it covered her fully. That done he returned to the table, gathering the stone spike he had created and putting it atop the hearth where it was out of the way. Then, as his hunger started to rise and belly rumble, he started to actually prepare the food he had bought earlier. Some he had retrieved from the Outpost – exotic fruits Oralie had given him and the Traveller’s Stock he kept for emergencies – but the rest was locally sourced, for better or worse.

Cleaning his hands, now tainted by the wound he had been tending, and cleaning his dagger too, he began to slice into the handful of potatoes upon the table. There was nothing fancy with his dicing, merely seeking to create chunks that would start to disintegrate when boiled long enough. He cut them in half, then each half lengthways before cutting across, creating the chunks with the skin still on. Doing this for about five medium sized potatoes, he added them to the pot as he went. Next came the carrots – purple and white ones this time – with the ends removed before being cut into circular slices and added to the pot.

The ritual was repeated for the parsnips, onions and mushrooms without much fuss. He wasn’t anywhere near the best of cooks, in fact he wouldn’t say he was competent in truth. He wasn’t after fancy, the chunks and slices all different sizes or rough and jagged instead of smooth of edge, he was simply wanting food that would restore them both. A generous dollop of Traveller’s Stock was added with his cooking spoon and the ad hoc stew in the pot began to thicken, darken and smell as if it had enough nutrition for a whole gang of thieves, let alone just for two. The last thing he added were some chunks of chicken, shaved from the bones and skin along with it, cut up as fine as he could manage as it slipped and slithered out of his fingers. He remembered being told once that chicken, for whatever reason, was a good healing food for soups.

He stirred his concoction, trying to spread everything so it was roughly equal, at least as far as he could see, before he put the pot back over the flames, there to cook for a while before it would be ready, he knew. Adding a few small slices of wood to the fire, tucking them underneath the pot to speed up its heating, he then returned to his chair, looking down at Lys for a few moments, as if watching her would make her instantly better, before he pulled he chair back to the table and returned to his practises. It was better than dwelling upon what Lys had shared with him, it seemed far too dark for her to still be that happy, annoying little girl he remembered. It also felt too close to his own tale, even if it were also different. So he sat and closed his eyes, clearing his mind and regulating his breathing, retreating inwards to that calm void within, used whenever he wished to enter a meditative state.

It came quicker these days, but still took some time unless he were moving and performing his Tai Chi, or Yoga. He wasn’t sure why it was, but he always found things easier when he was actually doing them, focusing them with his body rather than just his mind. It was why he tapped his fingers whilst writing, or his foot whilst drawing, and a myriad other little quirks he no doubt had.

Eventually he was calm centered and his palms were face up on the table once more, the Res coming more quickly this time, if only slightly, knowing what he wanted it to do somehow, the communication with his new tool getting stronger with each repetition. It wasn’t long before he managed to get back to where he had been before, though this time he used twice as much Res and so it was twice the size.

Frowning, and sweating again, he focused his willpower and imagined the construct splitting, forcing itself apart and rippling into two separate jagged spikes, watching with a grim smile as it did so and then trying to repeat it, to see how far he could go until he reached his current limitations. He managed one more split, so there were four smaller spikes now, floating and turning in the firelight, shining silver and gold, in the right light. He could feel the mental strain now, tiredness and a headache beginning to form even as the whispers began, egging him on to do more, to drive further, to take in as much as he could. He closed his eyes against them and concentrated, thrusting them to the back of his mind and instead focusing upon the four Res spikes, imagining a stone he had seen some time ago that had seemed pretty until he had picked it up and found it to be razor sharp.

He focused all of his mental energies upon it, the feel and smell, the jagged lustre and colouring, willing the Res to change…which it eventually did and he let go with an audible sigh as they all clattered to the table and he released all of his magic and slumped forward onto the table, in his own cold sweat now.
~ Thanks to Gossamer/Shiress for post Boxcodes ~
User avatar
Alric Lysane
Carry On My Wayward Son
 
Posts: 763
Words: 1010203
Joined roleplay: October 29th, 2021, 5:41 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Mizahar Grader (1) Overlored (1)

Future's Seeds

Postby Alric Lysane on March 13th, 2022, 9:04 am

Image

It took a while for his eyes to focus properly, the throbbing in his skull accompanied with whispers until they faded and just left the dull ache, telling him that he had pushed himself somewhat further than he should have done. Luckily, he had stopped once the signs had been recognised and so he doubted, from experience, that he’d suffer much longer than the next few days. It was perplexing that he was having to start from scratch with his endurance for each magic, a strange thing to him seeing as from what he could discern they all came from the same sources – though, in fairness, he knew that Res was oddly different, so perhaps that was the cause. Either way the pot was bubbling and frothing by the time he groaned and pushed himself up, his fingers blindly seeking out what had been created.

“No more, not until Lys is better” he mumbled to himself, his lips feeling slightly removed from his sense of self.

Eventually finding the three shards he shifted them in his palm, hearing them clack together as they moved. They shone in the light of the fire more than the granite, their surface as smooth as he had remembered. It was remarkable, he reflected, how he could create something out of nothing. No…no that wasn’t right though, was it? It was created out of him. He shuddered as he connected the dots, even through his groggy mind, and saw how easily you could go from that simple magical premise and all the way to ‘well Gods created things didn’t they?’. He frowned and noted how even his thoughts, over time and magic’s use, seemed to be changing. He had gone from hating magic, to begrudgingly learning it, to developing skills in multiple branches and then to…he shuddered once more and let the obsidian shards fall to the table once more.

It’s not a matter of mentality, no it infects that too, until eventually you start believing that such thoughts were what you had all along. No, insidiousness is its greatest strength…pride our greatest weakness he mused tiredly, managing to stand upon shaky legs and drag the chair to the hearth before all but collapsing back into it, there to stir the stew with fumbling fingers.

He felt slow, sluggish and as if he were twice the weight he had been before he had started. As he stirred, trying to be as methodical and steady as he could with his faded strength, he wondered whether that was a reflection of what type of Reimancer he was. Did those who used Earth feel heavy but those who used Air feel…deflated perhaps? Maybe Fire wielders felt doused out and cold? He didn’t know, he had no one to compare such things to, no one to show him how to practise this new magic. He was fumbling around in the darkness, with no torch, trying to find his way without falling into one of the many pits he knew were there, waiting for him in sinister silence, but could not see. It felt almost unfair, like fate was toying with him, letting him know how many ways he could die and drawing it out, keeping him guessing.

“Bastards the lot of them” he sighed, making a special exemption for the only deity who had even bothered to engage with him at all – Eyris. She was a shining light for him, the knowledge that he was worth something, at least.

It took an interminably long time, his stomach protesting ever louder and rumbling deeper, a hole in his body demanding to be filled all the more ardently for the smell rising from the pot before him. Eventually, though, after a score of tastes that by the end had partly scalded his mouth through inexperience, he had a bowl of stew before him, his spoon diving in immediately and a torn off hunk of bread absorbing the juices before being stuffed down his throat greedily. He had two bowls in the end, followed by a banana and an orange. His stomach could take no more without making it empty again, he knew, but it still demanded more. He resisted, feeling at least partially restored, and took out the pipe he had been gifted by Bronwen, thumbing in the tobacco and then lighting it with a twig from the fire.

“At least she woke up,” he said, a feeling of warmth finally greeting him within at the fact, checking on her again and seeing that she slept soundly, “tough lass…tough lass” he mused, nibbling the mouthpiece as he puffed away, staring into the flames thoughtfully as the evening closed in around them, Syna’s light fading from the shutters as he kept the fire going, adding wood as needed, watching over his impromptu ward.
~ Thanks to Gossamer/Shiress for post Boxcodes ~
User avatar
Alric Lysane
Carry On My Wayward Son
 
Posts: 763
Words: 1010203
Joined roleplay: October 29th, 2021, 5:41 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Mizahar Grader (1) Overlored (1)

Future's Seeds

Postby Alric Lysane on March 23rd, 2022, 6:39 pm

Image

Your Grades


Alric Lysane

Skills

Cleaning – 1
Cooking – 2
Leadership – 2
Medicine – 2
Meditation – 2
Observation – 3
Philosophy – 1
Reading – 1
Reimancy – 3
Socialization – 2
Subterfuge – 1


Lores

Cooking: Chopping Veggies
Lys: Her Pain Is My Pain
Lys: Orphaned Outcasts Together
Lys: You & Me Against The World
Reimancy: Basic Orb Shape
Reimancy: Multiplying Res Constructs
Reimancy: Obsidian
Reimancy: Obsidian Dagger Projectile
Res: Feels More Primal Than Djed
~ Thanks to Gossamer/Shiress for post Boxcodes ~
User avatar
Alric Lysane
Carry On My Wayward Son
 
Posts: 763
Words: 1010203
Joined roleplay: October 29th, 2021, 5:41 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Mizahar Grader (1) Overlored (1)


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests