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Author Topic: Vesk Lyricahl, Eyelian Rover  (Read 6331 times)
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Vesk Lyricahl
Woeful Rover
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Gender: Male
Posts: 1454


Human, Eyelian


« on: March 08, 2006, 02:35:23 PM »

Name: Vesk Lyricahl
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Race: Human
Tribe: Eyelian
Occupation: Black Butterfly Rover
Title: Woeful Rover

Description: Standing around one and a half peds in height, Vesk is neither tall nor short for one of his heritage. Despite being towered over by men and women alike, he is not ashamed of his height and rarely notices as others loom over him. A slender frame, the only exception being his broad shoulders, leads many to the conclusion that he is weak and fragile yet rippling muscles along each limb belie such a conclusion, gracing him with the strength to draw his longbow, no easy feat. Sun-kissed, his skin is a light brown, having darkened slightly from years beneath the fierce light of the sun. The outstretched talons of an eagle are tattooed upon his upper arm in nor’sidian ink, the talons extended as if to snatch unwary prey. Wings spread in flight, a black butterfly is tattooed upon his upper back, its form captured in bold strokes of nor’sidian ink. Extending over his shoulders, the tips of the wings wrap around and descend for only a couple of nailsbreadths whereas the lower wings curl beneath his shoulder blades and wrap around his sides, extending onto his chest for a palmspan.

Short brown hair ascends from his scalp in dark wavy locks, curling naturally. Appearing tousled, his hair remains windswept and untamed. Dark are his eyes, seeming darker even than a starless night. Sorrow forever lurks within such eyes, the shadows of his past that eternally haunt him. An aquiline nose gracefully curves downward, ending a couple of nailsbreadths from his full rosy lips. Neither clean shaven nor bearded, a shadow is eternally cast over his cheeks with dark rough stubble, thickening along his upper lip.

Woven of a light flowing fabric are most of his clothes, allowing for freedom of movement. Draped across his broad shoulders and descending slightly beyond his waist is a vest, cinnabrown in color. A high collar extends to his jaw, midway between an upright position and lying upon his shoulders. The vertical edges of the vest have been hemmed to flare out from the garment for a couple of nailsbreadths, being wider near the collar. Flowing with each graceful movement, the vest hangs open, stirring with the slightest breeze, and reveals a chest and stomach overlaid with solid muscles. Dark hairs curl upward from his chest and descend in a straight thin line down the middle of his torso before disappearing into the waistband of his pants. Woven of the same fabric as the vest, his pants are a dark brown, resembling rich soil in hue. Flaring out from the waist, the pants fit loosely upon his slender legs. Oft mended, former tears are evident within the fabric of the pants, some mended with greater skill than others. A black leather belt clasps about his waist with a bronze buckle, ensuring that the pants remain upon him. Nor’sidian boots extend slightly beyond his ankles, crafted of leather, wherein the legs of his pants are tucked. Cracks are apparent within the leather, yet they remain quality, serviceable boots.

Extending midway up each forearm is a black leather bracer, providing stability for his wrists and defense against the twang of his bowstring. A woolen nor’sidian cloak descends to the tops of his boots, clasped around his throat with simple leather ties, so that the cloak obscures the rest of his clothing from view when wrapped around him.

Personality: Having become accustomed to solitude since his departure from the Rovers, Vesk rarely speaks to those around him, preferring his own company to that of others. Self-reliant, he possesses a confidence evident in his every movement and word that borders on arrogance. To admit a need for the help of others would be to realize weakness within himself, only under the direst of circumstances will he accept assistance in any situation.

Confusion reigns within his heart, as it has for the three years since the death of his wife. Tears will sometimes flow as the memories surface yet again, forever haunting his every waking moment. A longing for the soft touch of her lips, lovingly caressing his own, often overcomes him, especially as he remembers when he first tasted those sweet lips. In his darkest moments, when doubts lurk within his mind, he wishes only to be held by her, secure within her embrace as her melodious voice soothes and dispels his fears. Yet the realization that he will never again be comforted by her embrace nor consoled by her song plunges his mind into utter despair.

Not only sorrow is aroused by such memories, as joy will sometimes stir within his breast upon remembering his Raelyn as she once was, as their life was before tragedy befell it. Soft laughter often arises from his lips upon remembering the merriment that sparkled within her sou’cald blue eyes. One simply could not remain desolate when in her presence. He becomes pensive, his expression stoic, as he remembers the moments of passion, when he knew himself to be in love. Even now, Vesk believes in the concept of love, yet he knows his one and only true love has passed from this world, refusing to even flirt with other women as he knows he will never love another, to do so would be to betray the memory of his wife.

One memory remains untainted by sorrow, that of his daughter, his sweet Nyssa. Remembering the child, dark tresses plaited with colorful ribbons, is enough to bring a smile to his face. She is the single blessing that remains in his life, one he does not deserve. Whenever his thoughts turn to her, he’ll commonly hold her doll, named Angelica, brushing his thumb along its blonde hair, spun of yarn. Assured that Nyssa is being well-taken care of by his former band of Rovers, he rarely worries about her well-being yet cannot help but feel guilt at having abandoned her. In a way, the doll is a covenant between father and daughter, that he will keep the doll safe and someday return her to Nyssa.

One guiding influence remains constant within his life, as it will until the moment his corporeal form succumbs to the cold embrace of death, the spirit guide entrusted to him by the Great Spirits upon his coming of age. As a nor’sidian falcon she appears, more shadow than raptor and seen only out of the corners of one’s eyes, if then. Appearing only to the mortal who is her charge, he therefore seems less than sane, speaking to an unseen presence and even arguing fervently, all seemingly with himself. Eternal wisdom resides within her eyes of burnished gold, which she uses to guide Vesk, when he chooses to listen. Even when dreaming, he does not evade the gaze of the falcon, as her dark form and piercing gaze haunt his every dream, forcing him to heed her words.

Strengths:
~ The strength of the Eyelian people is apparent in his lean muscles, gracing him with considerable physical prowess. As such, it graces him with the strength to draw his longbow, no easy feat due to the nature of its wood, its length, and its ample draw-weight.
~ Grace and agility are evident in his every movement, resulting both from his heritage as an Eyelian of the Eagle Clan and from his training as a dancer among the Black Butterfly Rovers. Back flips and other gymnastic feats are quite easy to perform and instrumental in evading the blows of others.
~ For years he hunted with his father, learning the art of shooting a longbow. His skill with the longbow is not that of a master, but he is fairly skilled, having practiced with the bow during his journeys whenever hunting was necessary.
~ Another skill learned whilst hunting with his father was that of stalking prey stealthily. Whenever Vesk chooses not to be heard approaching, he will not be.
~ During his travels with the Rovers, he learned the art of fighting with a dagger, using the one which Raelyn had crafted for him. He is by no means skilled with the dagger, having paid little attention to the lessons as he favored his longbow.
~ After years of traveling with the two falcons and aided by the nature of his spirit guide, he is able to communicate to the falcons in their own language. He does not command them by any means but may make a request which they may or may not choose to fulfill.

Weaknesses:
~ Never has he taken a life except when hunting and doing so then only to sustain himself. He hesitates to even fight another person, as his nature is a gentle one. If forced to fire upon someone intent upon killing him, as a last resort, he would shoot to wound them, thereby sparing their lives.
~ Preferring his solitude, he does not befriend others easily and absolutely refuses to accept assistance with any matter. The situation would have to be most dire for him to admit that he requires the help of others.
~ From conversing with a spirit guide only he can see comes the appearance of insanity in the eyes of those unfamiliar with the ways of the Eyelian people.
~ Chaotic as his emotions are, he is often emotional and not thinking logically when making decisions.
~ Haunted by the memories of his wife and their life together, he may be lost within the memories for several moments at a time, scarcely noticing his surroundings.
~ The sign of the black butterfly is that of the pariah, one which he makes no attempt to hide, as it is tattooed upon his back and carved into the hilt of his dagger. Most do not care to associate with a Rover, especially those of the upper class. Some would even go so far as to accost him, daring to accuse him of thievery.

History: Dark, foreboding clouds swirled in the evening sky as lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the shadows for only a moment. Amidst thunderous booms a soft rattling could be heard, offset by harsh cackling. Fires sizzled nearby, their flames dying as a gentle rain descended to the world. Even so, figures darted about, merrily dancing in the summer rain, soft melodious voices singing in harmony with the patter of the rain upon the earth. Peals of laughter arose from rosy lips, resounding throughout the night air with the clarity of silver bells. Only around the bonfire, its flames blazing high in spite of the rain, were expressions somber, gazes intent upon a single figure huddled near the fire. A gasp arose from those gathered, drowning the sounds of merriment for a seemingly eternal moment, as the bones were cast into the flames, dancing in the fire as if pulled by unseen strings, unburnt. Creaking with age, a voice spoke in only a whisper, undoubtedly heard by all as the night became silent, as if nature herself were listening intently. Lifting slowly, an arm more bone than flesh arose in the direction of the young couple, a single finger pointing at them, silently accusing.

“Death stalks one, casting a shadow of despair upon the mind of her beloved. Fleet though one may be, death is ever swifter, claiming her due in time.” Sightless eyes widened in fear as they turned, gazing upon him as he stood silent, a bow crafted of darkest night upon one shoulder. “Darkness and despair enshroud the path ahead as the shadows consume all with an insatiable hunger.”

On a night decades earlier, not a cloud stirred to conceal the light of the stars in the foothills of the Rimmerins Ring. All was eerily silent until the moment wails were heard amidst joyous laughter. Gathered outside the small wooden hut stood the village’s men, acquiescing to the request of the women that they remain outside, breathing sighs of relief they would scarcely utter in the presence of their fairer counterparts. One man in particular grinned broadly, Brendan as he had been named by the spirits, dark eyes alight with pride, as he looked in upon the room wherein lay his wife, smiling sweetly at the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes held to her breast. For only a moment did he tarry as his gaze fell upon that of Eileen, his beloved, emotions passing between them words would fail to convey. Stepping away as joyous tears streaked down his cheeks, the knowing gazes of the older men followed him, smiles upon their faces as they remembered.

Toward the Lodge of Purification he strode, a lodge built of logs as it stood in the center of the village, looming over the huts of the villagers with its great size. Smoke arose from its roof, escaping from a hole created for such a purpose. Standing at the curtained entrance was the village elder, holding aside the linen curtain so the proud father may enter, a fire already blazing within its pit. Disrobing as he entered, Brendan accepted the Etoyep, a brown paste known to clear one’s mind so the voices of the spirits may be heard, consuming it readily as he moved to sit before the fire, patiently awaiting the moment a spirit would speak the name of his newly born son. A day passed, and the spirits remained silent. As the sun rose upon the morn of the second day, bathing the land in its golden glow, a shadow appeared in the lodge, seeming to consume the light of the fire with its darkness. Not a mere shadow was she, as became apparent as her form became that of a falcon, perched upon the rafters as golden eyes stared, unblinking at the man as he remained seated, seemingly calm in the presence of his otherworldly visitor. Thrice she spoke, her voice a whisper cast upon soft breezes.

“Vesk the Beloved.” A joyous cry ascended from her shadow beak, her head tilted upward, gaze upon the roof as though she saw beyond the thatch and even beyond the present moment. “Vesk the Tormented.” Silent she became, her gaze descending to the ground below, head hung in sorrow. “Vesk the Lyrical!” Head rising, a defiant cry arose from her beak, ethereal wings outstretched as she dove from the rafters toward the crackling flames themselves, rising at the last moment to fly around the rising smoke, spiraling around it before soaring through the roof, her wings brushing each side of the hole without disturbing the thatch.

Years passed as the boy grew, coming to resemble his father, so much that some wondered wherein lay the influence of his mother. Yet the women of the village smiled knowingly upon seeing the grace with which he moved or the sweet smile that crossed his face as his eyes sparkled with merriment, recognizing Eileen’s touch upon the boy, subtle as the ways of women often are. Whereas other children his age played amongst themselves, exploring their small village before being called back by their elders, Vesk could often be found upon a nearby hilltop, gaze intent upon the sky above, a longing apparent within his dark eyes as they followed the flights of birds. As they soared above him, he would stand, as if his very soul were being lifted beyond the clouds by their wings. Wistfully dreaming as he walked, eyes yet upon the sky, he was known to walk into trees and other objects that were not inclined to move out of his way. Becoming accustomed to his ways, the adults and even other children would watch over him, calling out whenever a collision was imminent.

As idyllic as his childhood was, it was not eternal, its end being heralded by the signs that the time of his manhood was upon him. Awkward he became as he grew rapidly, shoulders broadening, not yet accustomed to his body in its altered form. Embarrassed of his voice as it cracked, one moment deep, the next shrill, the already silent youth rarely spoke. The time had come for him to seek his spirit, the companion that would be a voice of reason for the remainder of his days. Entering the Lodge of Purification much as his father had over a decade earlier, only the village elder followed him within, the two sitting across from each other on either side of the fire. Days passed as the agony of hunger gnawed upon his stomach, being allowed only water, as his mind became overwhelmed with dreams, more so than was normal for the young dreamer. After the fifth day, Vesk was sent forth from the lodge into the wilderness, clad only in his own skin and armed with a simple knife. As a beast he lived, hunting as best he could with the knife, often curling up beneath the stars as the pangs of hunger reminded him that he yet lived. Dreams haunted his every moment, waking or not, in which darkness enshrouded him as flames consumed his flesh, cruel laughter from the shadows filling the intermissions between screams. A glimmer of hope existed in such dreams, a light just beyond his reach, shining brightly, diminishing the shadows before being doused entirely. Even then, the hope had not perished, a single spark ascending before his eyes, joyously dancing about.

As twilight descended upon the seventh day of his sojourn within the wilderness, a falcon appeared above him, perched upon a nearby branch. Seemingly formed of shadows, the falcon was darker than darkest night, her shadowy feathers consuming all nearby light. A piercing gaze, eyes golden in hue, looked down upon the youth as he knelt upon the ground, his own gaze devoid of fear, instead conveying awe. Neither spoke, yet each understood the other as Vesk began to comprehend the language of the falcon, discovering meaning in her every movement. Determination and pride stirred within his breast, confident in the knowledge that here perched a messenger of the Two Gods, his spirit guide, a voice of reason in his darkest moments. Night descended as the spirit faded, seeming to merge with the darkness, a last shrill cry resounding throughout the night air.

Only a gentle rustling of leaves falling could be heard as the sun rose, casting its light upon the forest to illuminate a youth silently stalking amongst the trees, unheard by his intended quarry. A black longbow was held ready in both hands, a quiver full of equally dark arrows upon his back. The bow itself was a marvel of craftsmanship, fashioned of black birch imported from the Almatrar forest, the arrows being crafted of the same wood. Pride showed within the eyes of the archer whenever he gazed upon his bow, a coming of age gift from his father, Brendan. At first, the bow had dwarfed the youth, nearly a fore taller than him, yet in time he grew to his full height of one and a half peds. Even now, a smirk crossed his face at the thought of once having struggled to draw the bowstring. The past few years had been blissful, the days spent with his father in the forest, learning the art of hunting, to stalk prey silently and deliver a fatal blow with one shot. Awakened from his reverie by a snapping twig, a deer darted past as Vesk raised his bow only to lower it again as an arrow whistled through the air, striking the creature’s neck from the opposite direction, a smile forming upon his lips as Brendan strode forth toward the downed beast, his own bow upon his back. Ending as many of their hunts did, father and son returned to the village with the carcass upon their shoulders.

Content as he was to live with his family, helping his father to provide for the village, in time Vesk came to yearn for something more, though he had yet to realize what his heart desired. He knew only one thing for certain, this quaint little village could not fulfill nor contain the dreams that arose within him, dreams of exploration and adventure, but most of all of freedom. Still he envied the birds their flight, wishing nothing more than to be able to join them in the sky. In the night he snuck out of the hut that had been his home, careful not to wake the sleeping forms of his parents, unaware of the eyes upon him as Brendan watched his son depart. Provisions were upon his back in a sack, yet he had only prepared for the journey to the nearby city of New Santhala, not realizing that in time he would travel far beyond its walls. Gazing upon his parents for a moment as he stood at the door, he silently stalked to the side of his mother, leaning over to gently kiss her forehead as a single tear dampened her brow. Toward his father he turned, whispering that his arrows would ever fly true, believing his words to be uttered unheard. With a sigh, he crossed the floor of the small hut, stepping through the door as he left his home behind.

Weeks passed as he traveled south, occasionally hunting to spare his provisions. The walls of New Santhala loomed before him, yet his gaze was drawn to a large tent erected just before the city gate. Music resounded through the air, a lively and upbeat tune. A melodious voice reached his ears, carried by a breeze, the beauty of its song rivaling that of songbirds. Mesmerized, Vesk walked as one asleep, mindlessly stumbling toward the tent, intent only upon discovering the source of such a voice. Sauntering through the entrance, he only stared dreamily at the hand that restrained him, not seeming to hear the voice that demanded the small fee required to enter. As his head lifted, his dark gaze looked upon grey-blue eyes, his heart fluttering at every blink of luxuriant eyelashes. A thunderclap resounded within his mind as his gaze focused upon soft lips, watching mesmerized as they formed the words of her song. It was only as the song ended did he realize she performed with other musicians, singing as she played her lute. His gaze followed her as she stepped down from the makeshift stage, a smile upon her face, staring openly at her exotic beauty, jaw dropping in astoundment. Crimson locks descended to the middle of her back in waves, bangs descending to occasionally obscure her vision only to be blown aside. Around her beautiful eyes were glued small blue gems, gleaming in the torchlight. Lost within her gaze, emotions stirred unbidden within his breast as he stood bewildered as the crowd passed, scarcely seeming to notice, having eyes only for her. Shaking his head as if to clear the cobwebs, Vesk smiled shyly as a pale, delicate hand flashed before his eyes. Realizing whereupon his gaze was now directed, namely the shapely curves of her breasts, accentuated by the sheer fabric of her multi-colored dress, he gulped nervously, hurriedly glancing up to focus once again upon her enchanting eyes.

“Ello? Thou be well?” Even when not singing, her voice was melodious, as a lark’s song upon the early morn, and Vesk swayed to hear it so near. As a hand upon his upper arm steadied him, he could only gasp aloud as he was practically yanked aside by said arm. A soft sigh escaped his lips as nimble fingers traced the tattoo of an eagle’s talons upon his upper arm, turning his head to stare upon the crimson tresses trailing along his arm. “Thy tattoo is akin to my own, albeit of different form and location. Would thou care to look upon mine?” After the slightest of nods, he was dragged, quite willingly and by the same arm, across the field and behind a nearby wagon. Hesitating for only a moment, she turned to face the wagon, hands ascending to lower the bodice of her dress, looking back over her shoulder as a black butterfly tattoo was revealed upon her lower back, wings outstretched amongst a field of cerubells. “Well? What does thou think?”

“B-beau-tiful, amazingly so.” Stammering nervously at first, he replied as best he could, finding emotions aplenty yet lacking the words to properly express them. Replacing the bodice upon her shoulders before turning, she quickly kissed the yet bewildered youth upon the cheek before darting off, the skirts of her dress swirling around her shapely legs. One thought asserted itself as a simple truth within his mind, namely that this girl was to be his one and only true love, his destiny. To allow her to evade his advances, once he were bold enough to make any, would be to condemn himself to a life without beauty, without love. Naively, he joined the Black Butterfly Rovers, seeking to be near her, not realizing their reputation among the upper classes. The pain of having a black butterfly tattooed upon his back was naught compared to the pleasure of looking upon her sweet smile.

Months passed as Vesk traveled south with the Black Butterflies, days spent walking alongside the wagons. Nights were ever more festive with torches lit as dancers danced to the lively tunes played by the musicians. It was then that he sought to join the dancers, aided by his natural grace as he learned their art. Occasionally he would find himself dancing with the beauty he had come to know by the name of Raelyn, hands resting upon her curvaceous hips, gazing into the depths of her sou’cald blue eyes, sighing softly upon smelling her floral perfume. Such occasions became more common as time passed, seemingly by chance. Evenings before the onset of night were spent seated upon the grass, attentively listening to a teacher as she taught the arts of reading and writing. Here Vesk sought to learn the words with which to express his emotions to Raelyn, to woo her with articulate compliments. Being quick of mind, he learned fairly swiftly, seeming to instinctively know the difference between correct and incorrect grammar. With words came courage, the nerve to speak to her in private.

“I cannot explain my feelings for thou, but they consume my heart with an insatiable hunger as flames of desire blaze within my mind. With every fiber of my being, I long to be near thou, to softly touch thy skin, to passionately kiss thy lips, or just to listen to the beauty of thy voice.” Pausing to catch his breath, Vesk sighed nervously before continuing. “I know not if this sweet agony is love, for I have never loved a woman before.”

“Shhh.” With a finger placed over his lips, Raelyn leaned forward, gazing intently into his dark eyes. “Thine eyes have said as much and more for months now.” Smirking as she scooted closer, she whispered into his ear. “Did thou really believe that a girl does not know when a man favors her? Thou art more obvious than a bull amongst a field of flowers.” A sly smile crossed her lips as she leaned forward more, causing Vesk to nervously lean back until he tumbled off the rock whereupon they sat, grasping her sides in an attempt to achieve his balance, succeeding only in dragging her down with him. Amidst soft laughter, Raelyn tucked a crimson lock behind one ear before leaning down, passionately kissing him on the lips whilst her delicate hands pinned his wrists to the ground, not that he was struggling.

The next few months were blissful for the couple as each openly courted the other. Gifts were lavished upon Raelyn, to be rewarded with soft kisses. Inseparable, the two would perform together in towns, dancing to the merry tunes played by the musicians. Nights would find the couple seated alone, a distance from the main fire, quietly talking. No longer would Raelyn play her lute or sing in towns, now reserving her talents for the enjoyment of her lover. While others slept, her melodious voice could be heard, carried by soft breezes, as she sang to her beloved, her fingers slowly running through his hair as he laid his head upon her lap.

In the month of Awakening Earth, as the flowers bloomed, covering the ground with varying shades of red, blue, yellow, and nearly every color in between, the two were wed, nearly a year after their initial meeting. Music resounded throughout the campsite of the Rovers as the two exchanged betrothal pledges, doing so before a former cleric of Seyella, asking that the goddess of destiny bless their union. As rain descended to the earth, drenching all within moments, the young couple kissed, staring deep into each other’s eyes, grinning broadly despite the solemnity of the situation. Eternal the moment seemed, their lips locked together, gently caressing, breaking only to regain breath. Sweeping Raelyn into his arms as she yelped in mock fear, Vesk carried her to the wagon set aside for their use, both blushing as the curtain descended to conceal them from view.

Nine months later, some say nine months to the day, a child was born of their union. Pacing about outside the wagon, the new father fretted about the condition of mother and child, turning to stare at the half open curtain at each cry of pain. A hundred times he had started to enter, only to turn back and resume his pacing, reassured by the thought that the healers now tended to his wife. Rain descended unnoticed to soak him, the ground beneath his boots turning to soft mud. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, having been placed there by a concerned woman upon seeing that he would not take shelter. Stopping dead in his tracks as the cries of a newborn infant were heard, he turned toward the wagon once more, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks as a healer pulled the curtain aside, a beautiful baby girl held in her arms. As he took the babe from her and began to walk to the side of his wife, a hand upon his chest prevented him from stepping further into the wagon.

“Thy wife could not withstand the shock of giving birth, even now she’s fading, moments from the cold embrace of death. Please, take the girl and leave, thou should not see her in this condition.” Compassion was evident in her eyes as she gazed upon him, all joy seeming to have fled from his spirit with that ominous statement. “The blood was incessant, soaking the floorboards beneath us despite all we did to staunch it.”

Without saying a word, Vesk stepped past her, eyes welling up with tears as he gazed upon the form of his wife. How peaceful she seemed with her eyes closed and a faint smile upon her lips. One could almost believe that she were merely sleeping, to awake at any moment, if it were not for the puddle of blood surrounding her. Swiftly the healers departed as he knelt by her side, smiling softly as her eyes fluttered open. Gently he placed the baby within her arms, moving to set her head in his lap, stroking her hair as he gazed down at mother and daughter, all three together as a family for only this brief moment in time.

“Sing to your daughter, sing to sweet Nyssa,” he whispered softly. As Raelyn sang, her voice barely audible, she cradled the small form of her daughter, smiling sweetly as life slowly fled from her corporeal form. Her song fading though she yet lived, a soft delicate hand weakly pulled the head of her beloved down, seeking one last kiss. Briefly their lips touched before he pulled away, laying her head down upon the floorboards, closing her eyes before reaching for the now crying baby. His tears mingled with the drops of rain as he stepped outside, retiring with the child to another wagon, not having the heart to gaze upon the one he had shared with his love.

Three years passed as Vesk struggled to raise his daughter, aided by the rest of the band. Joy and sorrow mingled whenever he gazed into her sou’cald blue eyes, adding to the chaos his emotions had become. Never would he accuse Nyssa, his child, his blessing, of being responsible for her mother’s death, yet the memory of her passing haunted him. He had only to close his eyes to revisit that scene, her blood fresh upon the floor as the life slowly faded from her body. The memories of the joyous months they spent together, truly and undoubtedly in love, were agonizing yet uplifting, utterly confusing him. If he were to heal, to become whole once more, it was evident that he could not remain where the memories possessed a life of their own, where he would forever be reminded of his beautiful Raelyn. Departing in the night as he had years ago from another home, he was nonetheless startled to see Nyssa standing before him, clutching a doll to her breast.

“Da da?” Tones of worry clearly showed in the child’s voice, her eyes innocently gazing upon her father as he prepared to leave. One day, she would understand why he could not stay, yet for now she could only wonder what terrible deed she had committed to deserve such punishment. Tears welled up within her eyes as Vesk remained silent at first, not sure how to reassure his daughter.

“Shhh, little one. I’ll be back someday. Until then, your uncles and aunts among the band will take care of you. I love you, my sweet Nyssa.” Kneeling before her, he kissed her on the forehead, tears streaming down his own cheeks at having to leave his baby girl. As he stood, he was surprised at having the doll pressed into his hand by one much smaller.

“I luv thou too da da. Keep Angelica safe fer me. Promise?”

“We will keep each other safe. Farewell my darling one.” Stepping into the night, he left his previous life behind, but not the memories, those he could never escape, no matter how much he tried. One day he would return to his daughter and to his life among the Rovers, or so he assured himself.

Weapons: First of his weapons is a black longbow, possessing a length of one and a half peds, equal to its wielder in height. Crafted of black birch, its wood resembles darkest night. With a draw-weight of one hundred ods, having stacked over the years, it is difficult to draw by anyone not possessing the strength of the Eyelian people. Within a quiver on his back are black arrows, crafted of the same wood and fletched with silver and grey feathers.

His second weapon is a dagger, worn upon his belt in a nor'sidian scabbard with a black butterfly carved into one side of its oak hilt. For two palmspans the steel blade extends from the hilt, fairly slender and curving slightly before ending in a sharp point.

Familiars: Flying high above him, descending only to communicate with their human companion and to rest, are two myrddin falcons, their aerial acrobatics a sight to behold. They are often mistaken as pets or hunting birds by those unaware of the ways of the Eyelians, but they are neither of these. The falcons are companions whose counsel is valued when they choose to take an interest in human affairs and are free to leave whenever they choose. Indeed there are times when neither is present as they attend to their voracious appetites. However, Vesk does offer them the liver from the carcass of any successful hunt, as he cannot abide the taste yet does not wish to waste it.

Neither falcon has a name, or at least none that translates into a spoken language other than the falcon’s own. Creatures of such absolute freedom should not be insulted by being named as their unfortunate, trained brethren are. A couple they are, a tiercel and his mate, the tiercel possessing silver wings and resplendent plumage as is common for a male myrddin falcon. His mate is noticeably more dull, her plumage a solid grey, the exception being her white underside. Both possess golden eyes, the eyes of the female seeming to shimmer in a thousand shades of burnished gold. The female is openly affectionate with her human companion, proving herself to be spoiled by her habit of nudging his hand to encourage him to stroke her head. In contrast, her mate remains aloof, never quite moving close enough to be touched. Each enjoys performing aerial acrobatics, delighting in the freedom of the air, yet the tiercel does so as well to impress his mate.

The tale of how Vesk obtained such majestic birds is neither fantastic nor miraculous, as the tales of real life are rarely either of these. One night after a performance in the city of Marcogg, he joined his brethren of the band as they raided the estate of a noble, joining them in their thievery for the first and only time. Not mere thieves were the Rovers, intent upon sharing any wealth obtained with the less fortunate of the city. Whereas his brethren busied themselves with jewelry and other valuables, he tarried to look in upon a dark room, astonished to find golden eyes balefully glaring at him from the perch to which she was tethered. A mere fledgling she was, recently come into her adult feathers and barely capable of true flight. Whereas his brethren stole gold and silver that night, Vesk left the estate with something far more precious, the fledgling which he had freed.

Nearly two years passed as he raised the falcon, feeding her until she was capable of hunting on her own. As she grew, he found himself instinctively understanding more and more of her falcon speech, eventually able to reply in a limited fashion. Upon reaching her maturity, the falcon departed as was only natural, seeking a mate among the cliff ledges of her birth. Never did Vesk forget his feathered companion, but he understood the need to share one’s life with another, experience having proven to be the best teacher. Half a year later, she returned, mate in tow. Cheerfully she greeted Vesk whereas her mate remained aloof. With each passing year, his mastery of the falcon language increased, aided by the nature of his spirit guide, though he undoubtedly has more to learn.

Belongings:
~ Ink and parchment
~ A quill pen crafted of a grey feather
~ A tinderbox, containing flint and tinder
~ An assortment of sans, copperbards, and even a silverbard or two
~ Angelica, a simple cloth doll with blonde hair, dressed in a multi-colored dress

Edited by: Vesk Lyricahl at: 7/10/06 14:36
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Vesk Lyricahl
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« Reply #1 on: July 05, 2006, 10:02:23 PM »

Finally finished with this one.;)   I've yet to decide on a title though, and I think he may be a little on the strong side. Comments are welcome and greatly appreciated, as always.:D  

Edit: Just added the weakness of having the black butterfly tattooed on him (forgot about that one) and changed the appearance of his dagger slightly. In case anyone was wondering.;)  

Edited by: Vesk Lyricahl at: 7/5/06 15:51
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Kareesh Valendar
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« Reply #2 on: July 07, 2006, 02:12:23 PM »

*sniffle sniffle* Looks good to me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go cry or something like that.

Shall I end this haunting nightmare for you?
Character Creation Help~~~My Bell to Ring

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Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels
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« Reply #3 on: July 07, 2006, 07:58:23 PM »

Darn, I started in the middle of the history and had to read it to the end! And no time to continue!This will be my good-night story!

***Astropic of the day***
"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

Edited by: Talia Sturmwind  at: 7/7/06 11:59
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« Reply #4 on: July 08, 2006, 12:27:23 AM »

Yeah Kar, I know what you mean, writing it had that effect upon me. Or at least those were the emotions present when I was writing it, and I doubt I'd be much of a writer if I couldn't convey my emotions with words.|I  

In case anyone was wondering about my recent edit, just fixing a few grammar errors I noticed, haven't actually changed anything.

Edit: I have a title!:D  

Edited by: Vesk Lyricahl at: 7/7/06 19:43
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« Reply #5 on: July 09, 2006, 02:43:23 AM »

Name: Vesk Lyricahl
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Race: Human
Tribe: Eyelian
Occupation: Black Butterfly Rover
Title: Woeful Rover

Description: Standing around one and a half peds in height, Vesk is neither tall nor short for one of his heritage. Despite being towered over by men and women alike, he is not ashamed of his height and rarely notices as others loom over him. A slender frame, the only exception being his broad shoulders, leads many to the conclusion that he is weak and fragile yet rippling muscles along each limb belie such a conclusion, gracing him with a physical strength greater even than most orcs.

Arrkh, Vesk, I know the entry says something like this, but it can‘t be really true! Don‘t force me to  ask for a change of said entry! Say most untrained humans, for I doubt, that you won‘t be a match for a Kuglimz warrior.

Sun-kissed, his skin is a light brown, having darkened slightly from years beneath the fierce light of the sun. The outstretched talons of an eagle are tattooed upon his upper arm in nor’sidian ink, the talons extended as if to snatch unwary prey. Wings spread in flight, a black butterfly is tattooed upon his upper back, its form captured in bold strokes of nor’sidian ink. Extending over his shoulders, the tips of the wings wrap around and descend for only a couple of nailsbreadths whereas the lower wings curl beneath his shoulder blades and wrap around his sides, extending onto his chest for a palmspan.

Short brown hair ascends from his scalp in dark wavy locks, curling naturally. Appearing tousled, his hair remains windswept and untamed. Dark are his eyes, seeming darker even than a starless night. Sorrow forever lurks within such eyes, the shadows of his past that eternally haunt him. An aquiline nose gracefully curves downward, ending a couple of nailsbreadths from his full rosy lips. Neither clean shaven nor bearded, a shadow is eternally cast over his cheeks with dark rough stubble, thickening along his upper lip.

Woven of a light flowing fabric are most of his clothes, allowing for freedom of movement. Draped across his broad shoulders and descending slightly beyond his waist is a vest, cinnabrown in color. A high collar extends to his jaw, midway between an upright position and lying upon his shoulders. The vertical edges of the vest have been hemmed to flare out from the garment for a couple of nailsbreadths, being wider near the collar. Flowing with each graceful movement, the vest hangs open, stirring with the slightest breeze, and reveals a chest and stomach overlaid with solid muscles. Dark hairs curl upward from his chest and descend in a straight thin line down the middle of his torso before disappearing into the waistband of his pants. Woven of the same fabric as the vest, his pants are a dark brown, resembling rich soil in hue. Flaring out from the waist, the pants fit loosely upon his slender legs. Oft mended, former tears are evident within the fabric of the pants, some mended with greater skill than others. A black leather belt clasps about his waist with a bronze buckle, ensuring that the pants remain upon him. Nor’sidian boots extend slightly beyond his ankles, crafted of leather, wherein the legs of his pants are tucked. Cracks are apparent within the leather, yet they remain quality, serviceable boots.

„sigh“ I wished I could describe garment this well

Extending midway up each forearm is a black leather bracer, providing stability for his wrists and defense against the twang of his bowstring. A woolen nor’sidian cloak descends to the tops of his boots, clasped around his throat with simple leather ties, so that the cloak obscures the rest of his clothing from view when wrapped around him.

Personality: Having become accustomed to solitude since his departure from the Rovers, Vesk rarely speaks to those around him, preferring his own company to that of others. Self-reliant, he possesses a confidence evident in his every movement and word that borders on arrogance. To admit a need for the help of others would be to realize weakness within himself, only under the direst of circumstances will he accept assistance in any situation.

Confusion reigns within his heart, as it has for the three years since the death of his wife. Tears will sometimes flow as the memories surface yet again, forever haunting his every waking moment. A longing for the soft touch of her lips, lovingly caressing his own, often overcomes him, especially as he remembers when he first tasted those sweet lips. In his darkest moments, when doubts lurk within his mind, he wishes only to be held by her, secure within her embrace as her melodious voice soothes and dispels his fears. Yet the realization that he will never again be comforted by her embrace nor consoled by her song plunges his mind into utter despair.

Not only sorrow is aroused by such memories, as joy will sometimes stir within his breast upon remembering his Raelyn as she once was, as their life was before tragedy befell it. Soft laughter often arises from his lips upon remembering the merriment that sparkled within her sou’cald blue eyes. One simply could not remain desolate when in her presence. He becomes pensive, his expression stoic, as he remembers the moments of passion, when he knew himself to be in love. Even now, Vesk believes in the concept of love, yet he knows his one and only true love has passed from this world, refusing to even flirt with other women as he knows he will never love another, to do so would be to betray the memory of his wife.

One memory remains untainted by sorrow, that of his daughter, his sweet Nyssa. Remembering the child, dark tresses plaited with colorful ribbons, is enough to bring a smile to his face. She is the single blessing that remains in his life, one he does not deserve. Whenever his thoughts turn to her, he’ll commonly hold her doll, named Angelica, brushing his thumb along its blonde hair, spun of yarn. Assured that Nyssa is being well-taken care of by his former band of Rovers, he rarely worries about her well-being yet cannot help but feel guilt at having abandoned her. In a way, the doll is a covenant between father and daughter, that he will keep the doll safe and someday return her to Nyssa.

One guiding influence remains constant within his life, as it will until the moment his corporeal form succumbs to the cold embrace of death, the spirit guide entrusted to him by the Great Spirits upon his coming of age. As a nor’sidian falcon she appears, more shadow than raptor and seen only out of the corners of one’s eyes, if then. Appearing only to the mortal who is her charge, he therefore seems less than sane, speaking to an unseen presence and even arguing fervently, all seemingly with himself. Eternal wisdom resides within her eyes of burnished gold, which she uses to guide Vesk, when he chooses to listen. Even when dreaming, he does not evade the gaze of the falcon, as her dark form and piercing gaze haunt his every dream, forcing him to heed her words.

Yeah, like that part of the spirit guide

Strengths:
~ Possessing the strength to draw his bow, no easy feat, Vesk is stronger than even most orcs.
See above
~ A natural grace is evident in his every movement, his years as a dancer among the Rovers having heightened such grace.
~ From his training as a dancer comes agility and the ability to perform back flips and other gymnastic feats.
~ For years he hunted with his father, learning the art of shooting a longbow. His skill with the longbow is not that of a master, but he is fairly skilled, having practiced with the bow during his journeys whenever hunting was necessary.
~ Another skill learned whilst hunting with his father was that of stalking prey stealthily. Whenever Vesk chooses not to be heard approaching, he will not be.
~ During his travels with the Rovers, he learned the art of fighting with a dagger, using the one which Raelyn had crafted for him. He is by no means skilled with the dagger, having paid little attention to the lessons as he favored his longbow.
~ After years of traveling with the two falcons and aided by the nature of his spirit guide, he is able to communicate to the falcons in their own language. He does not command them by any means but may make a request which they may or may not choose to fulfill.

Weaknesses:
~ Never has he taken a life except when hunting and doing so then only to sustain himself. He hesitates to even fight another person, as his nature is a gentle one. If forced to fire upon someone intent upon killing him, as a last resort, he would shoot to wound them, thereby sparing their lives.
~ Preferring his solitude, he does not befriend others easily and absolutely refuses to accept assistance with any matter. The situation would have to be most dire for him to admit that he requires the help of others.
~ From conversing with a spirit guide only he can see comes the appearance of insanity in the eyes of those unfamiliar with the ways of the Eyelian people.
~ Chaotic as his emotions are, he is often emotional and not thinking logically when making decisions.
~ Haunted by the memories of his wife and their life together, he may be lost within the memories for several moments at a time, scarcely noticing his surroundings.
~ The sign of the black butterfly is that of the pariah, one which he makes no attempt to hide, as it is tattooed upon his back and carved into the hilt of his dagger. Most do not care to associate with a Rover, especially those of the upper class. Some would even go so far as to accost him, daring to accuse him of thievery.

History: Dark, foreboding clouds swirled in the evening sky as lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the shadows for only a moment. Amidst thunderous booms a soft rattling could be heard, offset by harsh cackling. Fires sizzled nearby, their flames dying as a gentle rain descended to the world. Even so, figures darted about, merrily dancing in the summer rain, soft melodious voices singing in harmony with the patter of the rain upon the earth. Peals of laughter arose from rosy lips, resounding throughout the night air with the clarity of silver bells. Only around the bonfire, its flames blazing high in spite of the rain, were expressions somber, gazes intent upon a single figure huddled near the fire. A gasp arose from those gathered, drowning the sounds of merriment for a seemingly eternal moment, as the bones were cast into the flames, dancing in the fire as if pulled by unseen strings, unburnt. Creaking with age, a voice spoke in only a whisper, undoubtedly heard by all as the night became silent, as if nature herself were listening intently. Lifting slowly, an arm more bone than flesh arose in the direction of the young couple, a single finger pointing at them, silently accusing.

“Death stalks one, casting a shadow of despair upon the mind of her beloved. Fleet though one may be, death is ever swifter, claiming her due in time.” Sightless eyes widened in fear as they turned, gazing upon him as he stood silent, a bow crafted of darkest night upon one shoulder. “Darkness and despair enshroud the path ahead as the shadows consume all with an insatiable hunger.”

On a night decades earlier, not a cloud stirred to conceal the light of the stars in the foothills of the Rimmerins Ring. All was eerily silent until the moment wails were heard amidst joyous laughter. Gathered outside the small wooden hut stood the village’s men, acquiescing to the request of the women that they remain outside, breathing sighs of relief they would scarcely utter in the presence of their fairer counterparts. One man in particular grinned broadly, Brendan as he had been named by the spirits, dark eyes alight with pride, as he looked in upon the room wherein lay his wife, smiling sweetly at the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes held to her breast. For only a moment did he tarry as his gaze fell upon that of Eileen, his beloved, emotions passing between them words would fail to convey. Stepping away as joyous tears streaked down his cheeks, the knowing gazes of the older men followed him, smiles upon their faces as they remembered.

Toward the Lodge of Purification he strode, a lodge built of logs as it stood in the center of the village, looming over the huts of the villagers with its great size. Smoke arose from its roof, escaping from a hole created for such a purpose. Standing at the curtained entrance was the village elder, holding aside the linen curtain so the proud father may enter, a fire already blazing within its pit. Disrobing as he entered, Brendan accepted the Etoyep, a brown paste known to clear one’s mind so the voices of the spirits may be heard, consuming it readily as he moved to sit before the fire, patiently awaiting the moment a spirit would speak the name of his newly born son. A day passed, and the spirits remained silent. As the sun rose upon the morn of the second day, bathing the land in its golden glow, a shadow appeared in the lodge, seeming to consume the light of the fire with its darkness. Not a mere shadow was she, as became apparent as her form became that of a falcon, perched upon the rafters as golden eyes stared, unblinking at the man as he remained seated, seemingly calm in the presence of his otherworldly visitor. Thrice she spoke, her voice a whisper cast upon soft breezes.

“Vesk the Beloved.” A joyous cry ascended from her shadow beak, her head tilted upward, gaze upon the roof as though she saw beyond the thatch and even beyond the present moment. “Vesk the Tormented.” Silent she became, her gaze descending to the ground below, head hung in sorrow. “Vesk the Lyrical!” Head rising, a defiant cry arose from her beak, ethereal wings outstretched as she dove from the rafters toward the crackling flames themselves, rising at the last moment to fly around the rising smoke, spiraling around it before soaring through the roof, her wings brushing each side of the hole without disturbing the thatch.

Years passed as the boy grew, coming to resemble his father, so much that some wondered wherein lay the influence of his mother. Yet the women of the village smiled knowingly upon seeing the grace with which he moved or the sweet smile that crossed his face as his eyes sparkled with merriment, recognizing Eileen’s touch upon the boy, subtle as the ways of women often are. Whereas other children his age played amongst themselves, exploring their small village before being called back by their elders, Vesk could often be found upon a nearby hilltop, gaze intent upon the sky above, a longing apparent within his dark eyes as they followed the flights of birds. As they soared above him, he would stand, as if his very soul were being lifted beyond the clouds by their wings. Wistfully dreaming as he walked, eyes yet upon the sky, he was known to walk into trees and other objects that were not inclined to move out of his way. Becoming accustomed to his ways, the adults and even other children would watch over him, calling out whenever a collision was imminent.

As idyllic as his childhood was, it was not eternal, its end being heralded by the signs that the time of his manhood was upon him. Awkward he became as he grew rapidly, shoulders broadening, not yet accustomed to his body in its altered form. Embarrassed of his voice as it cracked, one moment deep, the next shrill, the already silent youth rarely spoke. The time had come for him to seek his spirit, the companion that would be a voice of reason for the remainder of his days. Entering the Lodge of Purification much as his father had over a decade earlier, only the village elder followed him within, the two sitting across from each other on either side of the fire. Days passed as the agony of hunger gnawed upon his stomach, being allowed only water, as his mind became overwhelmed with dreams, more so than was normal for the young dreamer. After the fifth day, Vesk was sent forth from the lodge into the wilderness, clad only in his own skin and armed with a simple knife. As a beast he lived, hunting as best he could with the knife, often curling up beneath the stars as the pangs of hunger reminded him that he yet lived. Dreams haunted his every moment, waking or not, in which darkness enshrouded him as flames consumed his flesh, cruel laughter from the shadows filling the intermissions between screams. A glimmer of hope existed in such dreams, a light just beyond his reach, shining brightly, diminishing the shadows before being doused entirely. Even then, the hope had not perished, a single spark ascending before his eyes, joyously dancing about.

As twilight descended upon the seventh day of his sojourn within the wilderness, a falcon appeared above him, perched upon a nearby branch. Seemingly formed of shadows, the falcon was darker than darkest night, her shadowy feathers consuming all nearby light. A piercing gaze, eyes golden in hue, looked down upon the youth as he knelt upon the ground, his own gaze devoid of fear, instead conveying awe. Neither spoke, yet each understood the other as Vesk began to comprehend the language of the falcon, discovering meaning in her every movement. Determination and pride stirred within his breast, confident in the knowledge that here perched a messenger of the Two Gods, his spirit guide, a voice of reason in his darkest moments. Night descended as the spirit faded, seeming to merge with the darkness, a last shrill cry resounding throughout the night air.

Only a gentle rustling of leaves falling could be heard as the sun rose, casting its light upon the forest to illuminate a youth silently stalking amongst the trees, unheard by his intended quarry. A black longbow was held ready in both hands, a quiver full of equally dark arrows upon his back. The bow itself was a marvel of craftsmanship, fashioned of black birch imported from the Almatrar forest, the arrows being crafted of the same wood. Pride showed within the eyes of the archer whenever he gazed upon his bow, a coming of age gift from his father, Brendan. At first, the bow had dwarfed the youth, nearly a fore taller than him, yet in time he grew to his full height of one and a half peds. Even now, a smirk crossed his face at the thought of once having struggled to draw the bowstring. The past few years had been blissful, the days spent with his father in the forest, learning the art of hunting, to stalk prey silently and deliver a fatal blow with one shot. Awakened from his reverie by a snapping twig, a deer darted past as Vesk raised his bow only to lower it again as an arrow whistled through the air, striking the creature’s neck from the opposite direction, a smile forming upon his lips as Brendan strode forth toward the downed beast, his own bow upon his back. Ending as many of their hunts did, father and son returned to the village with the carcass upon their shoulders.

Content as he was to live with his family, helping his father to provide for the village, in time Vesk came to yearn for something more, though he had yet to realize what his heart desired. He knew only one thing for certain, this quaint little village could not fulfill nor contain the dreams that arose within him, dreams of exploration and adventure, but most of all of freedom. Still he envied the birds their flight, wishing nothing more than to be able to join them in the sky. In the night he snuck out of the hut that had been his home, careful not to wake the sleeping forms of his parents, unaware of the eyes upon him as Brendan watched his son depart. Provisions were upon his back in a sack, yet he had only prepared for the journey to the nearby city of New Santhala, not realizing that in time he would travel far beyond its walls. Gazing upon his parents for a moment as he stood at the door, he silently stalked to the side of his mother, leaning over to gently kiss her forehead as a single tear dampened her brow. Toward his father he turned, whispering that his arrows would ever fly true, believing his words to be uttered unheard. With a sigh, he crossed the floor of the small hut, stepping through the door as he left his home behind.

I love that, you leave without notice, but nevertheless saying goodbye and the parents knowing , that you didn‘t go without last kiss..

Weeks passed as he traveled south, occasionally hunting to spare his provisions. The walls of New Santhala loomed before him, yet his gaze was drawn to a large tent erected just before the city gate. Music resounded through the air, a lively and upbeat tune. A melodious voice reached his ears, carried by a breeze, the beauty of its song rivaling that of songbirds. Mesmerized, Vesk walked as one asleep, mindlessly stumbling toward the tent, intent only upon discovering the source of such a voice. Sauntering through the entrance, he only stared dreamily at the hand that restrained him, not seeming to hear the voice that demanded the small fee required to enter. As his head lifted, his dark gaze looked upon grey-blue eyes, his heart fluttering at every blink of luxuriant eyelashes. A thunderclap resounded within his mind as his gaze focused upon soft lips, watching mesmerized as they formed the words of her song. It was only as the song ended did he realize she performed with other musicians, singing as she played her lute. His gaze followed her as she stepped down from the makeshift stage, a smile upon her face, staring openly at her exotic beauty, jaw dropping in astoundment. Crimson locks descended to the middle of her back in waves, bangs descending to occasionally obscure her vision only to be blown aside. Around her beautiful eyes were glued small blue gems, gleaming in the torchlight. Lost within her gaze, emotions stirred unbidden within his breast as he stood bewildered as the crowd passed, scarcely seeming to notice, having eyes only for her. Shaking his head as if to clear the cobwebs, Vesk smiled shyly as a pale, delicate hand flashed before his eyes. Realizing whereupon his gaze was now directed, namely the shapely curves of her breasts, accentuated by the sheer fabric of her multi-colored dress, he gulped nervously, hurriedly glancing up to focus once again upon her enchanting eyes.

“Ello? Thou be well?” Even when not singing, her voice was melodious, as a lark’s song upon the early morn, and Vesk swayed to hear it so near. As a hand upon his upper arm steadied him, he could only gasp aloud as he was practically yanked aside by said arm. A soft sigh escaped his lips as nimble fingers traced the tattoo of an eagle’s talons upon his upper arm, turning his head to stare upon the crimson tresses trailing along his arm. “Thy tattoo is akin to my own, albeit of different form and location. Would thou care to look upon mine?” After the slightest of nods, he was dragged, quite willingly and by the same arm, across the field and behind a nearby wagon. Hesitating for only a moment, she turned to face the wagon, hands ascending to lower the bodice of her dress, looking back over her shoulder as a black butterfly tattoo was revealed upon her lower back, wings outstretched amongst a field of cerubells. “Well? What does thou think?”

“B-beau-tiful, amazingly so.” Stammering nervously at first, he replied as best he could, finding emotions aplenty yet lacking the words to properly express them. Replacing the bodice upon her shoulders before turning, she quickly kissed the yet bewildered youth upon the cheek before darting off, the skirts of her dress swirling around her shapely legs. One thought asserted itself as a simple truth within his mind, namely that this girl was to be his one and only true love, his destiny. To allow her to evade his advances, once he were bold enough to make any, would be to condemn himself to a life without beauty, without love. Naively, he joined the Black Butterfly Rovers, seeking to be near her, not realizing their reputation among the upper classes. The pain of having a black butterfly tattooed upon his back was naught compared to the pleasure of looking upon her sweet smile.

Months passed as Vesk traveled south with the Black Butterflies, days spent walking alongside the wagons. Nights were ever more festive with torches lit as dancers danced to the lively tunes played by the musicians. It was then that he sought to join the dancers, aided by his natural grace as he learned their art. Occasionally he would find himself dancing with the beauty he had come to know by the name of Raelyn, hands resting upon her curvaceous hips, gazing into the depths of her sou’cald blue eyes, sighing softly upon smelling her floral perfume. Such occasions became more common as time passed, seemingly by chance. Evenings before the onset of night were spent seated upon the grass, attentively listening to a teacher as she taught the arts of reading and writing. Here Vesk sought to learn the words with which to express his emotions to Raelyn, to woo her with articulate compliments. Being quick of mind, he learned fairly swiftly, seeming to instinctively know the difference between correct and incorrect grammar. With words came courage, the nerve to speak to her in private.

“I cannot explain my feelings for thou, but they consume my heart with an insatiable hunger as flames of desire blaze within my mind. With every fiber of my being, I long to be near thou, to softly touch thy skin, to passionately kiss thy lips, or just to listen to the beauty of thy voice.” Pausing to catch his breath, Vesk sighed nervously before continuing. “I know not if this sweet agony is love, for I have never loved a woman before.”

“Shhh.” With a finger placed over his lips, Raelyn leaned forward, gazing intently into his dark eyes. “Thine eyes have said as much and more for months now.” Smirking as she scooted closer, she whispered into his ear. “Did thou really believe that a girl does not know when a man favors her? Thou art more obvious than a bull amongst a field of flowers.” A sly smile crossed her lips as she leaned forward more, causing Vesk to nervously lean back until he tumbled off the rock whereupon they sat, grasping her sides in an attempt to achieve his balance, succeeding only in dragging her down with him. Amidst soft laughter, Raelyn tucked a crimson lock behind one ear before leaning down, passionately kissing him on the lips whilst her delicate hands pinned his wrists to the ground, not that he was struggling.

The next few months were blissful for the couple as each openly courted the other. Gifts were lavished upon Raelyn, to be rewarded with soft kisses. Inseparable, the two would perform together in towns, dancing to the merry tunes played by the musicians. Nights would find the couple seated alone, a distance from the main fire, quietly talking. No longer would Raelyn play her lute or sing in towns, now reserving her talents for the enjoyment of her lover. While others slept, her melodious voice could be heard, carried by soft breezes, as she sang to her beloved, her fingers slowly running through his hair as he laid his head upon her lap.

In the month of Awakening Earth, as the flowers bloomed, covering the ground with varying shades of red, blue, yellow, and nearly every color in between, the two were wed, nearly a year after their initial meeting. Music resounded throughout the campsite of the Rovers as the two exchanged betrothal pledges, doing so before the eldest cleric of Seyella within the band, asking that the goddess of destiny bless their union. As rain descended to the earth, drenching all within moments, the young couple kissed, staring deep into each other’s eyes, grinning broadly despite the solemnity of the situation. Eternal the moment seemed, their lips locked together, gently caressing, breaking only to regain breath. Sweeping Raelyn into his arms as she yelped in mock fear, Vesk carried her to the wagon set aside for their use, both blushing as the curtain descended to conceal them from view.

*sigh*
Do I really have to comment?

Well, I don‘t think, that a priestess of Seyella would join the BBR, maybe just say, a „former“, then you can leave in the dark, why she has left the temple etc (and write a persons entry about her :) )


Nine months later, some say nine months to the day, a child was born of their union. Pacing about outside the wagon, the new father fretted about the condition of mother and child, turning to stare at the half open curtain at each cry of pain. A hundred times he had started to enter, only to turn back and resume his pacing, reassured by the thought that the healers now tended to his wife. Rain descended unnoticed to soak him, the ground beneath his boots turning to soft mud. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, having been placed there by a concerned woman upon seeing that he would not take shelter. Stopping dead in his tracks as the cries of a newborn infant were heard, he turned toward the wagon once more, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks as a healer pulled the curtain aside, a beautiful baby girl held in her arms. As he took the babe from her and began to walk to the side of his wife, a hand upon his chest prevented him from stepping further into the wagon.

“Thy wife could not withstand the shock of giving birth, even now she’s fading, moments from the cold embrace of death. Please, take the girl and leave, thou should not see her in this condition.” Compassion was evident in her eyes as she gazed upon him, all joy seeming to have fled from his spirit with that ominous statement. “The blood was incessant, soaking the floorboards beneath us despite all we did to staunch it.”

Shock of giving birth? Don‘t know, if it is a normal ex-pression in English for the blood loss, but normally you are  not shocked, but  either it was simply too much, if the labour did take two days or so, but often the child would be disabled as well. The most common reason is the blood loss (the midwives don‘t succeed in stopping the bleeding and the women bleed to death in a matter of an hour or even quicker), which many women had, even today it is dangerous.

Without saying a word, Vesk stepped past her, eyes welling up with tears as he gazed upon the form of his wife. How peaceful she seemed with her eyes closed and a faint smile upon her lips. One could almost believe that she were merely sleeping, to awake at any moment, if it were not for the puddle of blood surrounding her. Swiftly the healers departed as he knelt by her side, smiling softly as her eyes fluttered open. Gently he placed the baby within her arms, moving to set her head in his lap, stroking her hair as he gazed down at mother and daughter, all three together as a family for only this brief moment in time.

“Sing to your daughter, sing to sweet Nyssa,” he whispered softly. As Raelyn sang, her voice barely audible, she cradled the small form of her daughter, smiling sweetly as life slowly fled from her corporeal form.
From whatelse should it flee? fled from her body?
Her song fading though she yet lived, a soft delicate hand weakly pulled the head of her beloved down, seeking one last kiss. Briefly their lips touched before he pulled away, laying her head down upon the floorboards, closing her eyes before reaching for the now crying baby. His tears mingled with the drops of rain as he stepped outside, retiring with the child to another wagon, not having the heart to gaze upon the one he had shared with his love.

A few years Two? You are  away for three nowpassed as Vesk struggled to raise his daughter, aided by the rest of the band. Joy and sorrow mingled whenever he gazed into her sou’cald blue eyes, adding to the chaos his emotions had become. Never would he accuse Nyssa, his child, his blessing, of being responsible for her mother’s death, yet the memory of her passing haunted him. He had only to close his eyes to revisit that scene, her blood fresh upon the floor as the life slowly faded from her body. The memories of the joyous months they spent together, truly and undoubtedly in love, were agonizing yet uplifting, utterly confusing him. If he were to heal, to become whole once more, it was evident that he could not remain where the memories possessed a life of their own, where he would forever be reminded of his beautiful Raelyn. Departing in the night as he had years ago from another home, he was nonetheless startled to see Nyssa standing before him, clutching a doll to her breast.

“Da da?” Tones of worry clearly showed in the child’s voice, her eyes innocently gazing upon her father as he prepared to leave. One day, she would understand why he could not stay, yet for now she could only wonder what terrible deed she had committed to deserve such punishment. Tears welled up within her eyes as Vesk remained silent at first, not sure how to reassure his daughter.

“Shhh, little one. I’ll be back someday. Until then, your uncles and aunts among the band will take care of you. I love you, my sweet Nyssa.” Kneeling before her, he kissed her on the forehead, tears streaming down his own cheeks at having to leave his baby girl. As he stood, he was surprised at having the doll pressed into his hand by one much smaller.

“I luv thou too da da. Keep Angelica safe fer me. Promise?”

“We will keep each other safe. Farewell my darling one.” Stepping into the night, he left his previous life behind, but not the memories, those he could never escape, no matter how much he tried. One day he would return to his daughter and to his life among the Rovers, or so he assured himself.

Weapons: First of his weapons is a black longbow, possessing a length of one and a half peds, equal to its wielder in height. Crafted of black birch, its wood resembles darkest night. With a draw-weight of one hundred ods, having stacked over the years, it is difficult to draw by anyone not possessing the strength of the Eyelian people. Within a quiver on his back are black arrows, crafted of the same wood and fletched with silver and grey feathers.

His second weapon is a dagger, worn upon his belt in a nor'sidian scabbard with a black butterfly carved into one side of its oak hilt. For two palmspans the steel blade extends from the hilt, fairly slender and curving slightly before ending in a sharp point.

Familiars: Flying high above him, descending only to communicate with their human companion and to rest, are two myrddin falcons, their aerial acrobatics a sight to behold. They are often mistaken as pets or hunting birds by those unaware of the ways of the Eyelians, but they are neither of these. The falcons are companions whose counsel is valued when they choose to take an interest in human affairs and are free to leave whenever they choose. Indeed there are times when neither is present as they attend to their voracious appetites.

Neither falcon has a name, or at least none that translates into a spoken language other than the falcon’s own. Creatures of such absolute freedom should not be insulted by being named as their unfortunate, trained brethren are. A couple they are, a tiercel and his mate, the tiercel possessing silver wings and resplendent plumage as is common for a male myrddin falcon. His mate is noticeably more dull, her plumage a solid grey, the exception being her white underside. Both possess golden eyes, the eyes of the female seeming to shimmer in a thousand shades of burnished gold.

The tale of how Vesk obtained such majestic birds is neither fantastic nor miraculous, as the tales of real life are rarely either of these. One night after a performance in the city of Marcogg, he joined his brethren of the band as they raided the estate of a noble, joining them in their thievery for the first and only time. Not mere thieves were the Rovers, intent upon sharing any wealth obtained with the less fortunate of the city. Whereas his brethren busied themselves with jewelry and other valuables, he tarried to look in upon a dark room, astonished to find golden eyes balefully glaring at him from the perch to which it was tethered. Soothing the falcon with soft words, he stepped forward, gently taking it into his arms as he released the tether. Whether by chance or conscious thought, the tiercel remained still as Vesk walked to a nearby balcony, releasing the bird as it soared into the night air, free for the first time since its capture a few years ago. For nearly half a year, he thought nothing of the falcon he had released upon that fateful night, yet one day the falcon returned but was not alone as his newfound mate flew alongside. From that day forward, Vesk began to learn the language of the falcons as they accompanied him, aided by the nature of his spirit guide.

That‘s unlikely, Vesk, a bird doesn‘t feel thankfulness just for letting him free. In his eyes you are just of the dsame race as the ones who caught it. You need to raise at least one, and maybe the other will come near you as well, but never as near as the one you raised. Even your Eyelian heritage would help here.

Belongings:
~ Ink and parchment
~ A quill pen crafted of a grey feather
~ A tinderbox, containing flint and tinder
~ An assortment of sans, copperbards, and even a silverbard or two
~ Angelica, a simple cloth doll with blonde hair, dressed in a multi-colored dress

Not much needed to change till you have your first approval :)  

***Astropic of the day***
"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

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Vesk Lyricahl
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« Reply #6 on: July 09, 2006, 03:54:23 PM »

I agree with you to a certain extent about the strength, I think being stronger than orcs is quite extreme, merely following the entry on that one. I've rephrased it now, hopefully its satisfactory.

Actually, according to the Black Butterfly entry, a few of the fortunetellers are clerics of Seyella. Seemed only natural to me to have a cleric of the goddess of destiny perform the wedding ceremony. However, making her a former cleric instead has no impact upon Vesk's history, so that has been changed.

When I say the shock of giving birth, I mean that it was too much for her body. And yes, she did die due to excessive blood loss which the midwives/healers were unable to cease. I researched childbirth before writing that part of his history.;)  

Corporeal form is just my fancy way of saying body.:p    For some reason, I don't like the word "body". *shrugs*

The story on how he obtained the falcons has been altered slightly, hopefully for the better.;)  

Oh... and my edits have been marked in red.:D  

Edited by: Vesk Lyricahl at: 7/9/06 8:03
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Ta'lia of the Seven Jewels
Lady of the South
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« Reply #7 on: July 09, 2006, 09:08:23 PM »

Fine Vesk!
The only thing I would add is, that he still bribes both falcons with food to come back, for I doubt they will do it just for being caressed on the head (though they might like it). Maybe they have developed a liking to - raw meat, liver.....dochnuts, cheese....something they don't get easily in the wilderness - You could leave it open in a last sentence, why they come back - for the food, the caressing or out of pure affection.

***Astropic of the day***
"For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path   that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly. ~Don Juan"

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Vesk Lyricahl
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« Reply #8 on: July 10, 2006, 03:43:23 AM »

Done, and marked in blue.;)  

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Kalína Dalá'isyrás
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« Reply #9 on: January 01, 1970, 09:00:00 AM »

Ok - you know the drill ^.~


www.p081.ezboard.com/fthesantharianrpgboard83.showMessage?topicID=259.topic" target="_blank">

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Insanity is only a perception made by those who have yet to attain its greatness. While those of us who have already stepped inside its bounds find bliss in our utter madness.
Nai'r en'Lina ar'Kaimel
Vesk Lyricahl
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« Reply #10 on: July 10, 2006, 10:30:23 PM »

Yay!

*does the approved and titled dance*

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