Adventures of Caelereth

Archives => Approved Characters Archive II => Topic started by: Ríme D'Arezzo on March 02, 2008, 12:04:51 AM

Title: Ríme D'Arezzo ~ Free Murmillion ~ Fire Mage
Post by: Ríme D'Arezzo on March 02, 2008, 12:04:51 AM
Name~ Ríme D'Arezzo

Occupation~ Thief, Fire Mage level III

Gender~ Male

Age~ 28

Height~ 1 ped, 2 fore

Weight~ 122 Od

Hair Color~ Charcoal

Eye Color~ Uderza Blue

Race~ Human

Tribe~ Murmillion

Title~ Emotion Eclipsed


The above portrait was painted one month before Ríme's twenty-sixth birthday, he met an artist in the city of Bardavos, who he always thought would be the love of his life. For his birthday, she gifted him with the painting, saying that it represented everything he was for her. She depicted him donning Eyasha's holy white, and spreading the wings of a dove, as he had finally brought her peace of mind, and what she felt to be true love. The golden arrows represent his willingness to defend her at all costs, which in the end led to her demise. After Ríme's accidentally murdering the first person he had ever truly come to love, he fled from the city, cherishing this last gift from the wife he had killed, even though his intentions were pure. This representation of him, as a peaceful, charitable person, is the last thing that keeps him clinging to the threads of sanity, as he is ashamed of what he has become. This portrait, is a symbol of what he once was, and what he years to be again.

Ríme's entire persona screams of a majesty that simply does not exist. His attractive facial features suggest that he descends from an imperial lineage, which is only in part true. Like all Murmillions a minute amount of elven blood flows through his veins, but his heritage has never been graced by a single noble. The man's visage is often considered handsome by the opposite sex, and the mage loves to accentuate his natural comeliness, while enhancing any lusty feelings of those around him. In general he keeps his body clean, though, like the majority of travelers, it is not unusual for a bit of dirt to envelope his toned form.

Though naturally his skin is milky white, and would retain that hue had he remained in the shaded territory of his people, living one's entire life near the Rahaz-Dáth almost destines them to adopt a brazen shade. He personally prefers this hue to the almost sickly looking alternative, and rather enjoys basking in the sun in order to achieve the impeccable complexion. His chiseled visage ends in a perfectly sculpted chin, coming to a flat, masculine point. His chin is often graced by a minimal amount of stubble, however the hair is never allowed to grow lengthy. Above it are his sumptuous lips, either broken into a suggestive grin or left to hang almost completely slack, especially if the Evening Princess had disturbed his sleep the previous night.

Though upon first glance, his two sapphire orbs appear as if they are expressionless voids, upon closer investigation one can realize that fires of passion burn fervently within their depths. Though the majority of his feelings are buried under a calm composure, strong emotions are quite visible in all of his actions, if one only takes the time to notice the signals of a broken soul. Black tresses make the perfect frame for such an attractive visage, their wavy form severed just as they drop away from his countenance, about a nailsbreadth up from defined shoulders. While his body is not particularly massive in its muscle content, the symbols of strength are well defined, however meager, and there is certainly not a mut of fat upon his skeletal frame. Slightly broader in the shoulders and chest, while thinning towards the abdomen, his physique is certainly masculine in its traits.

The robes that adorn Ríme's satisfying form are billowing and designed in the style of the Murmillions. They are chiefly dark hues in color: captivating purples, abyssal navies, and the deepest shades of Sognastheen. Amongst these predominantly dark hues are mingled filaments of silver in both embroidery and spread in what seems a random pattern throughout the body of fabric. Creams and fiery reds are also seen as decor upon the voluminous robes in which his body is so often concealed by. His slight, petite body is completely contrasted by and hidden within the multitude of attire he dons. The Glyph of Mari is depicted in multitude at the hem of these clothes, one he sports proudly. Underneath these grand garments, more simple things would suffice such as a plain cream tunic or even subtle greys. His garments, despite their glitzy impression, are often adapted for practicality depending upon the environment he would find himself in. They would certainly be replaced with more suitable clothing if the current ones were not proper for the climate.

Ríme's nature can only be described as paradoxical and contradictory. Behind his serious, icy demeanor, traces of the embers of passion still lie. However these bittersweet remnants of strong emotion will fade to oblivion if not rekindled frequent enough. Perhaps these flames will rise in a healthy fashion, igniting as blitheness and gently raising him from his currently forlorn disposition. On the other hand, it could return in the devouring enmity that had originally forced the mage to quell all intense feelings, whatever they be. The point is that no matter how dejected and austere he attempts to appear to be, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions rage about, despite his efforts to obscure them.

Though the mage most often travels alone, he yearns for a relationship, in both emotional and physical means. The failure of past pairings has driven him to the belief that the only way one will permanently love him is if he continually renews their passions via his magic. A great hobby of his is the manipulation of others feelings, whether it be to gain personal affection or simply to evoke entertainment for himself. Women are certainly not void from the man's life, in fact he prefers them to his own gender even when it comes to friendships.

One of the plethora of odd traits the man wields is his bias against the masculine gender. While it is not unusual for women to hold the same prejudice against them, most people do not hate their own variety. Now it must not be confused that the Murmillion wishes he were of the opposite persuasion, quite the reverse really. He simply believes that in general ladies are better than men, even believing that others are better than himself, because of their gender. After bearing witness to the countless ways men mistreated his mother, one can perceive how her child might have placed all men into the abusive category.

Many assume that even a minuscule amount of something good in someone would make them proud of it, but it has instilled quite the opposite in Ríme. Many would graciously accept the bountiful dark elven blood that flows through him, but in fact it has only birthed in him a pent hatred of the majority of his ancestry, which has evolved to encompass all human kind. The twisted mage would do anything to become an entirely real elf, and if asked what people he came from, he would certainly tell you that he was at least half elven, rather than admitting to his 'vulgar' lineage. He looks upon other humans with scorn, just as he does upon himself, but this is not so much caused by arrogance, but as a means of opening his fellow sufferer's eyes to their own plights. The Murmillion absolutely despises anyone who is able to be happy, when he's not.

Of course, there are reasons besides his ancestry that have filled the mage with humility and self hatred. His hideous human majority certainly plays a factor, but the final culmination of his inner enmity arose because of his temper. With Ríme being the perfectionist that he is, these two flaws, that are so blatant, beat him down like the abuse of the many men upon his mother. Now the man believes that he has only become another one of the cruel, sadistic species, and hates every aspect of it. Ever since the grand finale of a horrible acrimony exploded into his life, the Murmillion has done everything within his power to suppress all emotions what so ever. In this urge to become serene, not only was anger blanketed, but so were the passions of love as well. However both still burn brightly behind his desperate facade.

Ríme practices the religion of Shadowcasting, a twisted and paradoxical belief systemt to match his own level of sanity. Mari has naturally been portrayed to him as the Goddess of Dreams, and taught that by receiving these nocturnal messages one comes into contact with her essence. Although these nightly excursions into her Realm are merely temporary, he believes that the way to bind with her essence permanently can only be achieved through one's death. However, one cannot lose their life to soon, for Mari will not allow just anyone to walk with her in the Land of Dreams. Therefore, the mage must constantly strive to please her, by fulfilling any and all of his ambitions, and achieving power in any form.

Like most Murmillions, Ríme lusts after power and considers material objects to be of the utmost importance. He considers others lives to be nearly trivial in comparison, as they are doomed to be cast from Mari anyways, to the Shadow's clutch of nihility. Now pushed to the edges of sanity, he cares little about severing a spirit from its corporeal form, thinking that not only can he gratify himself, but Mari will be impressed by his garnerings of power from the deceased.

Although he years so desperately for eternity in Her Realm, he walks dreams with her on a near nightly basis, and he revels in his time spent there. However, these meetings with the Goddess can be as vividly terrifying as they are blithe, and the mage is frequently haunted by some unsettling scenes that are unlikely to be cast from his mind in the near future. Some would say this was due to his avid consumption of the Evening Princess, the petals of which are thought to give the most horrendous nightmares imaginable, dependant upon what time of the moon cycle at which they were harvested.

Ríme is a fire mage of Level III whose arcane interests are a bit peculiar in relation to his element. His primary application of his skill is in fact lowering the influence of his element's properties. He will often first concentrate solely on the property of light and then lower its influence over the object's cár'áll. As a result, the area or object that is affected will become darker, with the amount varying dependant upon how much the property is decreased. He is capable of lowering his element's influence in his own cár'áll to the point that his entire body would be veiled in shadows. This would be seemingly useless in a bright area, as many believe that since they could still see a large blob of shadow moving around, it would do nothing to his advantage. However, he would just be a dark silhouette. The details on his face could not be made out if he were ever to perform a theft. Though it is more advantageous to use in a dim area, where not even his shape would be made out from the other darkness. The process of creating shadow is also easiest in a dark place or at night, as there is not outside sources of light interfering with the darkening process. Therefore when facing an opponent, Ríme will most likely attempt to lure them into a darker area.

Now due to the natural tendency for properties to be affected together, these shadows are generally a tad cooler than the surrounding air, unless he concentrates on preventing that from happening. Often times, however, the mage takes that technique a step further. All ouniá would be assigned a certain property, either light or heat. The influence of light ouniá would be weakened like usual, but the property of heat would be strengthened. This would create a shadow that was extremely hot, searing to the touch. He can only 'push' these ghostly shapes in a rough direction. At night, these areas of darkness would be particularly deadly, because one could not see the infernal shadows approaching. Only a sudden increase in temperature would cue one in that they were about to be burned, but by the time they had felt that it would be a bit to late to avoid the fast approaching shadow.

Though it is a bit to difficult to concentrate on sending three properties in alternate directions for a mage of his level, there is another effect he likes to throw into the mix, sometimes using it to replace the deduction of light, other times the enhancement of heat. By strengthening the property of animation, the shadows can move about in a mock free will. They cannot respond to orders or move in a specified direction, as the control is not that refined, they simply float around, as if they were choosing where to go. In general this technique is merely entertaining, as it is too complicated to heat and animate the shadows, but watching them dance and flicker about can be intriguing. In comparison to his darker devices, which have become a specialty of sorts, other physical manipulations have began to be seen as quite lackluster, leaving the mage even less motivated to practice them.

Although other physical aspects of his magic are lacking and nothing is quite up to the level of his darker devices, the mage's second favorite application of his skills lies in altering the emotions of others. The twisted man's failure of past relationships has led him to believe that he must use his magic in order to win another's affection, and will continue to rekindle the fires of passion throughout. And while he absolutely loves making others feel lusty towards himself, the entertainment achieved by that is infinitesimal in how he can manipulate their reactions to other people. For example, if two people were feeling the slightest enmity towards each other, he would latch on to the traces of anger and increase the powerful emotion to a violent culmination. This is seen as a delightful trick in the man's eyes, and he quite enjoys witnessing the humiliation of others, especially if they had hurt him in even the slightest.

Magic~ The Murmillion's most formidable skill is certainly his proficiency in manipulating the properties of fire to achieve stunning magical effects. Though in all reality the mage rarely strays from his darker devices, when striving for physical changes, that is, he is skilled in the unique applications of his skill, but spiritual effects are not void from his repertoire as are traditional flames. The mage certainly excels in his ability to create and move shadows in addition to emotional changes, making normally staple physical alterations at a near initiate proficiency when cast by the narrowly focused man.

Knowledge~ In addition to magic, his time at Ximax instilled in him knowledge of a plethora of subjects due to the vast amount of time spent in the institute's voluminous library. They also enhanced the feeble beginning of literacy his late mother had attempted to teach him, so that he was actually fluent in deciphering the meaning of the various figures. In addition the academy taught him to continue to desire this knowledge, so that the foundation of information they constructed can continue to be built upon.

Attractive~ Although the lusty man is in no way skilled in the arts of seduction, his strapping physique and attractive facial features can certainly draw the eye of most ladies he desires. Not that the Murmillion uses his talents to earn him free drinks or meals, but they do come in handy when attempting to find a partner. The man's loneliness is certainly a burden, as being depressed never helps, so at times these handsome attributes can gain him a minuscule amount of self confidence, should another not destroy them before they can prosper.

Chronic Headaches~ Throbbing headaches are the most troublesome of Ríme's shortcomings, as they directly interfere with his greatest strength. Even thinking can be difficult when writhing with pain, much less manipulating the properties of his fiery magic. Therefore, at times when this ailment afflicts him, he could not even dream of casting a spell, much less a successful one. This renders the man completely helpless, and in severe danger. Thankfully the handicap only manifests itself upon him about twice a week, though the damage is still humbling on those occasions. If ever struck during the event of a large brawl, the headache may well be a fatal culmination of his affliction. When without magic, the Murmillion could not harm a foe to even the most infinitesimal degree.

Physically Weak~ Though Ríme's muscles may appear well defined and healthy, they are actually quite meager. His masculine physique is only such in appearance, as lifting over 4 heb is considered impossible by the skimpy man. Even if he were to possess a blade, the amount of damage he could deal with it would be minimal, assuming he could lift it. A dagger would be the closest thing to realistic, while him wielding a long sword would not exist in his most fantastic dreams.

Depression~ Due to the memories of his past failures, the mage has receded into a void of depression, feeling alone and horrible. The Murmillion is conscious of his bloodline, despising his human ancestry, and of his gender, which he sees as the less than trustworthy persuasion. When one wouldn't pay a san to save their lives, it surely does not help them to survive. The bestial instincts to maintain his life at all costs is the only thread still attaching him to the corporeal world. His worship of the Goddess of Death even worsens the man's already bleak outlook on life.

Sleep Deprivation~ Yet another of the man's short comings, is his tendency to be cumbersome and tired during the day. Although his wits are natuarlly sharp, his lack of resting when he should is like encasing the blade of intelligence in a piece of blunt wood. This in combination with his chronic head aches can make magic even more difficult. What makes it an even larger problem is that he has complete control over when he stops it. However, being a perfectionist and therefore constantly busy, trying to improve, he feels that sleep is a waste of time. Some would say that the dreams evoked by the Evening Princess may cause additional lack of sleep, however he is not physically addicted to the petals. He consumes them roughly three times a month, and as an act of worship and dedication to the two Godesses, rather than an attempt to induce the feelings in him.


Leather Pack~
     * Magic Reagents
     * Evening Princess Petals
     * A minuscule amount of coin
     * A few days rations
     * The Portrait his wife gave him for his twenty-sixth birthday

1640~ On a rickety ship, amidst a raging sea storm, on the 15th of Efér'ypheró, Ríme D'Arezzo was born. His parents, Lynnette and Dorian, crooned over the newborn baby, and awaited their ship's arrival on the land bridge connecting the Ximaxian Peninsula to the mainland. The captain's wife swept the infant from their arms, and performed all the roles of a midwife. She had been perfect for helping the birth go smoothly. All that mattered was the relative peace that blossomed between the couple for a few days. The birth of the one they loved had created a respite from their fights for a while, and it was at times like that when it seemed their infatuation could last forever. But deep inside, both of them knew that was not true.

The tranquility lasted for the rest of the voyage on ship, and even for the entire journey in the sailors' caravan to their destination. The place the sought was the Magical City of Ximax, as both had aspirations to learn at the acclaimed institute. They were confident in their funds, and sincerely believed they would be accepted. That is why their first fight broke out the day after they were turned away from the academy for lack of money. It began with both of the couple sulking in the single room hovel that they were renting, for a luckily cheap price, before Dorian spoke up with an attempt at optimism, "They did say that our funds could sponsor enough for at least one of us to attend. So, I could send myself if you didn't mind." Though the man was twenty and Lynn was but seventeen, she was obviously of superior intellect, and so responded with something she had never meant to say, "You know, darling, I've heard magic is complicated. I just fear it would be a waste of money to send you there."

From that it evolved into screaming random insults, with out a mut of consideration before hand. The dispute remained verbal for a mere five minutes, before a hulking arm lifted up one of the ceramic pots that rested upon the hearth, and the container shot through the air towards his wife. Gurgling blood dribbled from a delicate upper forearm, just near the joint, the first even minor blemish to appear upon her no longer immaculate skin. At the sight, Dorian relented his attack before running to comfort her, but in her fear she saw only his swift approach and not the compassion in his eyes. As he reached out an apologetic hand to stroke her alluring visage, her delicate digits curled into a fist which swung at his jaw. Not realizing why, his reflexive attack was more brutal than the first as he sent her falling to the ground with three successive blows. The water of sorrow leaked from both sets of eyes, and Ríme, whose first birthday had been only two days ago wailed.

At hearing the sound, both parents froze and gave a hostile glance at the other. Seeing that it was late, Lynn icily told her husband it was best that they went to bed, before grabbing the baby and snuggling with it upon the small cot near the embers. Rather than cuddling up with her, Dorian fetched some blankets from an old trunk and made a makeshift sleeping area in the opposite corner of the room. The last thing either of them felt before drifting into sleep was hostility, but in the morning they awoke refreshed and moved on. They acted as if the feud had never occurred, though similar occasions would dapple the years to come with less peaceful times.

1643~ By the time Ríme had reached this age, he had acquired quite a regimen of fundamental skills: speaking, walking, and in the latter half of the year basic reading skills, as the parents had taught their child such things when he was still quite young and he caught on quickly. The precocious child had all of the potential to blossom into an excellent scholar, or as the parents truly hoped for, a mage. This desire was not a secret, and they told the child fantastic tales, in which he was intrigued, and shared their same fruitless desire of becoming a magic user. The relationship of the couple became based solely around nurturing the baby, and all sensual arrangements of the marriage had to be discarded, due to the mother believing they could not afford to raise another child. Dorian was discontent with the cessation, and therefore paid an occasional visit to a prostitute, though it was hid from his wife for a time.

Although it seemed that previous fights arose merely because of the lingering magical aspirations, it was not that they stopped fighting when such things no longer existed. They simply found other topics to argue about, which now seemed to gravitate about what was best for the baby. Lynnette's skin was now blotted with a plethora of scars, each one evoking a memory of the man who seemed so different from the one she had married.

1645~ By the age of five, Ríme was an avid reader with a comparatively large knowledge base in several subjects for one of his age. He had now learned the basics of fighting, had participated in plenty of the screaming and yelling during them, and knew when trouble began to make even the slightest of a stirring. His vocabulary contained words that no child should know, and he spoke them frequently, often embarrassing his parents in public places. Like his father, he seemed to struggle with controlling his temper during angry times, despite his ability to recognize the beginnings of a fight. For the most part, the trio loved each other passionately and would never wish anything bad to happen to them, but all three sufferred a similar fate: during an argument, thoughts of others were dissolved. At times like that, nothing but pure hatred could fill their minds.

And so it was at such an occasion that the culmination of their disturbances struck. Like usual, Lynnette and Ríme were both arguing the same point against Dorian, the reason for the fights arousal had been lost. All that they knew was that for some reason they were shouting how much they hated each other and saying fierce names. At one point a first vase came spiraling across the room, slamming into the wall as Lynn and her son ducked, but still showering them with the clay shards. Violence continued to reign over the place, and by the end of the dispute gashes covered the two's arms and legs, with but a single slight incision upon Dorian's right shoulder. Finally, the delicate two fled from the house and then the father settled down. He decided to consult the prostitute, this time at his own home, and completely forgot about the two runaways in the mean time.

The other two members of the family took the minuscule amount of funds he allowed them to possess and rented a shabby room at a seedy tavern. With it being near midnight, the main room was filled with grubby men drinking and making foolish decisions, so they retired to their room immediately, but not before one could grab the dainty lady's posterior. Neither of them liked this place, not one bit, but it was better than adding more cuts and bruises to their collection. They would return home in the morning and by then the man's rage should have subsided. However, not only would his rage have ceased to exist, but so would he. The last thing either of them felt before drifting to sleep was hostility, but for one it was truly the last thing to feel.

After the Street Daisy finished her job, she let the man fall asleep, while she pretended to do the same. Then when she knew he was at rest she drove a knife into his heart, and licked the blade clean. Getting out a large sack, she threw many of the small family's possessions into the bag and then ran off, leaving nothing but the bed, table, the hearth, and a few chairs. All of their food and a good sum of their money was gone. The maternal couple returned the next day, to find the situation that as such, upon which they shrieked and wept over Dorian's body. Their funds were so infinitesimal, they feared for their own survival, and both of them, even the five year old boy, had to take up a job. For the next three years, they would sleep in a copse of trees on the outskirts of the Magical City; a ramshackle excuse for an abode, but enough to shelter them from the wrath of Mari. It seemed apparent to Lynn that they had lost the favor of their Goddess, after all, she was said to be pleased by those with power, something they lacked above all else.

1648~ After losing faith in the Goddess they had once worshiped, though they continued to do so, it seemed she would not answer their cries for help, despite their numerous interpretations of glyphs. Lynnette had essentially no skills that could make her a living, as Dorian's ability to forge metal had made them illustrious with the Murmillions, and had supported them for a few years before his death. A bounteous brook babbled by the abode, and so the two purchased a net in town and began to fish to support themselves. After eating part of the fish for meals, and buying other food with the money they made, their profits were mediocre at most. However, it did add up over time, and it would come to benefit them in future years. They never bought another house, as it seemed pointless when they thrived with their current one. Although Lynnette did her best to make the both of them happy, the men in the market place often took advantage of her with unfair deals due to her persuasion. In addition, if she did not depart from the city before the sun set, it would not be unusual for them to lose a few san after being jumped by a thug.

1652~ At this point in his life, the two had come to a comfortable state of wealth, to the point that they could have purchased another house should they have felt the desire. However the makeshift shelter next to the river was ideal for their business, as the fish population in the brook was far to large to move away from it, thus allowing another competitor to cast their nets in the bounteous area. Though they had been heavily scarred on occasion, and the child had been exposed to some of the most horrid of things, at an age so innocent and young, they both were still alive, and that was all that mattered to them. As their fortune looked up, the two returned to worshiping Mari nightly, relishing in every day, as they knew when living in such a hostile environment, any one could be their last. With the influx of san, so too returned lurid fantasies of the magic school. Lynn began working harder with her son, and their profits made a dynamic increase. However, the inspiration to work was no longer based on self aspirations, but the ambitions she had for her son. He would attend that academy, she could feel it in her hopeful heart.

Their seemingly perpertual contenment not only ended, but was torn down with a sickening twist of fate. The turning point occurred a few days before Ríme's twelfth birthday.  In celebration of their vast amount of money, the two had lingered longer in the magical city than usual, as they had considerably more fish to sell. They hardly noticed when night fell, having the common misconception that the wealthy were invincible. All of their money was hidden safely back at the copse by the river, so they figured none would mug them, as they had a reputation of being poor amongst the thieves and cutthroats of the city. They were wrong. The figure had shot from the back alley faster than the two's eyes could register his silhouette, unnoticable in the dwindling twilight.

With Lynn being the figure of the family who would carry the pair's money, the man was upon her first. He ripped a deliberate tear in the skirt of her dress, which she had recently spent a fair amount of money on. His blade marred her delicate arms and eventually worked its way up to her neck, giving the woman a fatal laceration. After shredding the rest of the gown, he discovered about three san which she had kept on her person. In the mean time, Ríme had grabbed the coin purse from underneath their small stall, and fled towards the city gates, all the way back to his wooded thicket. His mother was dead. A man had killed her, but it hardly suprised the boy. It seemed to him like everything was the fault of men. His father's actions had made the woman raid their house. His father had abused both Lynn and Ríme, and the boy had the scars to prove it. A man had just killed his mother, all because of his greed for money. And it was inevitable that the boy would grow up to become one of them.

While running back to the camp, and for the better part of two hours once he reached there, Ríme sobbed profusely. After settling himself he gathered all of the money that had been scattered about the camp, and counted how much he had. His mother had made it blatantly clear what she intended for him to do with his life, and he would assuredly do his best to fulfill that. She never did tell him how much they needed to get into Ximax,  but the only reason they wouldn't have joined earlier was due to the boy not being old enough. Lynn had always told him that he had to wait until he was twelve. Now, it was still three days before he would reach the proper age, but surely the institue would not turn away a lost child, especially if he could pay the fees.

In three days time he was loitering outside the academy, unsure of how to go about applying. He paced about nervously, eyes turned towards the ground, as he had been taught in his life to act humble, as that was the way street urchins were to behave. Although he was technically homeless, and therefore treated like such by most civilized people, he carried around a bag of quite a few coins, enough to enroll in the academy. As his gaze was cast down, he did not notice the older man until he bumped into him. He appeared to be roughly sixty years old, and he gave Ríme a gentle hand when he fell to the ground. A couple san had spilled from the bulging bag, and the elders eyes crinkled jovially around the edges as he asked where the boy had gotten the money. "I need it to apply for the school. You can't have it." At that, the man laughed and introduced himself as Harwyn, a level IIX fire mage and professor in the academy. He then held his future student's hand and led him into the building. The truth was, the boy would have needed a couple extra san to get into the school, the instructor threw in just a few coins from his own pocket, as long as Ríme promised to also study the realm of Fire.

1664~ After twenty four years at the academy, Ríme was finally recognized as a level III Fire Mage, though he took a few more years than the average student, despite his increased dedication. The mage sincerely wanted to continue his studies, until the tutor who had sponsored most of his education passed away. Queprur's hauntings of his dreams became more frequent, and the man sank into a deeper depression. Finding that the academy evoked the greatest sadness at the man's passing, the Murmillion departed and wandered in no particular direction. Finding himself with no money, he began reverting to unholy ways of buying his next meal. While on the road, he would use his magic to attack bands of travelers, and then use what he got from them to purchase provisions at the next outpost.

His first murder marked a turning point in the man's life, and only drilled into his head the fact that any human male, raised by a single parent, without a home, was destined to end up as a criminal. He visited the city of Bardavos while twenty four, but was caught thieving there. Thankfully, the punishments were not as strict and he hadn't actually killed anyone, so he merely was stuck in the prison for two years.

1666~ After being released from the jail, he lingered in the city for just a while, before he was attached to it entirely. While wandering the streets, he saw a most beautiful street performer earning her pay, and afterwards introduced himself to her, learning her name to be Aria. He was captivated by her beauty and she by his strapping form, and as they spent more time together they felt genuine love. Their relationship grew intimate, not once scarred by a fight like his parents' had, and they married a month before Ríme turned twenty six. Aria's family didn't approve of their daughters choice of a husband, so together they purchased their own abode, albeit a humble one.

When the mage did turn twenty-six, Aria gave him the perfect gift, which truly made him feel he found true love. It was a portrait of him, that represented him with a variety of pure, holy objects. The thing that touched him the most about the portrait, was that no notion of that depiction of him did he show on his exterior, rather, it showed that Aria had seen his true self, an entity that few had witnessed in their entire lives. He now cherishes this painting, as a symbol of what he once was, and what he hopes to become again, and as the last remnants of the woman he loved. For their time together lasted no more than two years, before Queprur deemed it necessary to seperate them forever.

Ríme thought he had finally found the perfect person to spend his life with, as she was entranced by the arcane arts. He did his best to explain to her about cár'áll, except she just couldn't wrap her mind around it. During one attempt at a lesson, their first fight broke out. It lasted but a few minutes, and was really a minor quarrel, but both were ashamed at allowing it to even begin. They both had experienced domestic fights as a child, and did not want their outbreaks to escalate to the level of their forerunners.

1668~ Suprisingly, especially considering the mage's extreme volatility and short temper, the next two years contained no fighting. In the second month of the year, Aria was officially pregnant, and at that time none had any idea that Ríme would be the one to kill his wife before the infant was born. On the twenty forth day of Alé'veván, the couple had been making revelry at a local tavern, and were ambling home hours after the sun had set. A figure jumped out of the alley, and as Ríme saw the flash of a blade, his memories of Lynn's murder resurfaced. Reacting immediately, his mind almost automatically began to furiously work the ouniá in the air about him. He worked more fervently, fueled by the fear that pumped through his veins, as the man brutally malled his wife. Suddenly, a scalding shadow appeared in the air, and descended with great speed upon the assailant.

The mage was so angry he had lost control of himself, concentrating solely on killing the man. He didn't even notice when Aria too cried out in pain, or when both of them were dead. He suddenly was aware of the immensity of what he had just done, and felt horrible inside. He ran from the bodies, knowing that the authorities could hang him for killing two people, but knew that really he had killed the unborn infant as well. He fled from the city without looking back. For a while he didn't attack any travelers on the road, to the point that he nearly starved himself out of his own anguish. Finally, he relented and attacked a lone traveller, not sheding a tear. His lifestyle continued to revolve around the deaths of others, though he forced himself to act a bit more civil when actually in a settlement. He now lives by the statement, which he quotes frequently, "Self Preservation is stronger than love for others." Inside, his remorse is colossal, but he must appear rigid, as when a loner like him wept, they didn't wake up in the morning.

Title: Re: Ríme D'Arezzo ~ Free Murmillion ~ Fire Mage
Post by: Kalína Dalá'isyrás on June 04, 2008, 10:39:21 PM
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