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Author Topic: Aiken Gemm  (Read 6573 times)
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Aiken Gemm
New Santharian

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« on: October 28, 2003, 12:37:22 AM »

Name:  Aiken Gemm

Gender:  Male

Age:  Twenty Five

Race:  Human

Tribe:  Caltharian

Occupation:  Wood Craft

Title:  Once affectionately known as, "Wood Chip."

Height:  Approximately 1.8 peg

Weight:  2.5 Pygges

Physical Appearance:

    Some men are simply blessed with power, some have unlimited wealth, a few even can be considered beautiful…And then, we must consider those like Aiken.

  
   Aiken Gemm stood at a middling height, and was master of all things ordinary. He wasn’t an over powering presence, he wasn’t a domineering figure. He was more of a shadow left in the ever present glow of much brighter beings.

  
   From his Tribe he was given: the pallid blonde hair, a shade bordering more towards silver than flaxen with the pale skin that regardless of how many days wandering in the sun refused to bronze. His facial features were not out of the ordinary, nor would they be remembered for more than a few moments if some haphazard gaze should happen upon them. His jaw was predictably square, his nose neither long, nor short. His lips were often pressed together in a sharp, hard ashen line under his nose, giving the impression he fought to keep it closed. The rest of his body remained without scar, burn or any marks of notation. He was, to put it mildly, blessed to be forever, an “every day” human.

 
   His hair, once tidily combed and dreaded with care, has been left to fuzz and grow out. Wisps in wild disarray danced about in the air and with the quick inhalations and exhales of mouthfuls of air if, and when, he could speak. Yet, he does take heed to tie it at the nape of his neck with a tired blue string that is as faded as his clothing. Though he prefers to walk bare foot, common sense one evening soon came knocking after realizing he had shards of unidentified objects embedded in his toes. From then on, he properly attired his instruments of travel with a gaudy pair of old boots. Neither of which, were the same shade of yellow!

  
   Though tattered and rag-tag, bent and worn, Aikens’ face and hands are always clean of dirt save wood shavings. He carries with him the invigorating scent of timber,  welcomed in some parts of continent he roams, reassuring, strangely, to those who came from more forested homes. The only peculiar thing, really, was the slightest intimation of an almost lemon tinge to his skin with the occasional pink nose.

Clothing:

  
   To describe his clothing is a straightforward task. Aikens’ trousers are, without doubt, two sizes too large for him along with the tunic adorning his torso. Fully clad in what once was a bright collection of Caltharian dyed materials, lovingly colored with shades of bright blue, light grey, brilliant yellows, verdant greens and loud reds; have faded to a listless ghost-of-it’s-original hue from sun and rain. His selection of clothing creates an illusion of a soft, round man, and not the solid stocky frame that hides beneath. One can picture it perfectly, if you imagine a painter spotting the canvas of Aiken’s apparel had decided it would be better to splash turpentine upon it than to be forced to view the clashing hues any further!


Personality:

  
   Have you ever suffered from a moment of self doubt? Perhaps, mortification so great it left you unable to speak or to react? Take this emotion, and place it inside a human, magnify it in such a way that it becomes unbearable, and we have just one facet of the many sided gem that is, Aiken Gemm.

 
   His mannerisms could be compared best to that of an awkward adolescent. Perpetually dealing with a debilitating case of stage fright that hasn’t left him since the day nature pointed out to him that girls, were indeed, much prettier now, than they were in his childhood. This behavior has only intensified over the years due to circumstances beyond his control making him avoid women like the plague. He isn’t concerned in flirting, or in chit-chat about the weather. They make him anxious, which only amplifies the speech impediments Aiken has struggled against most of his life. The more distressed he is, the harder it is to make out anything intelligible. Coupled into these facts, his pale skin can also turn a most interesting shade of stunning rose-red. It is enough to make him snap, run in the opposite direction, and stutter frantically as he goes.


  
   Our edgy little Wood crafter prefers the company of children and is more like them in spirit. Aiken longs to see the world again as they do, full of wonder, caught up in the magic of day to day life and the love they seem to be able to so freely give. At one point in his past, given the choice to furnish a rather wealthy mans home for a hefty commission and a respectable place to live, he turned it down. He chose  to spend the day astonishing the townsfolk children. There is something truly striking in a set of wide, naive eyes gleaming, reflecting the little wooden toys and miniatures Aiken made with his hands. He’d not trade that for the world.  Aiken cannot deny much to a child. The Wood Crafter will go out of his way to protect them, to make them smile. Even endangering his own safety! There are periods, nevertheless…where the presence of children will make him quiet, as if…he is haunted by some recollection their round faces incite.

  
   He has an irrepressible need to handle anything wood during times of great duress. He absolutely must have the sensation of the grain, the rough of an unfinished block against his palms. It is as a balm to his soul, and often calms him more than anything else. His ability, however, to carve things of such exceptional beauty has more than once brought the suspicions of those who keep an intolerable view point on magic’s attention upon him.


Strengths:

  
   He has one, our Woods Crafter, but what it is  just may be adequate to save him from himself in the future.

  
   Let me ask you this: Has there ever been an instant in your life, when your eyes befell a painting, or your ear was sweetly touched with the sound of a melody-that you swore to the Gods, it was so beautiful, so well done…that it must be alive? That is exactly the reactions few who have witnessed Aiken’s thick, square fingertips in the midst of creation. His mother once swore to Baveras that the boy had been born with the soul of a tree, for the man could bend whatever wood came into his possession like none other. Figurines breathe, wild horses gallop, wooden instruments with wooden strings simply sang.


Weaknesses

 
   -The Wood Crafter is never far from a tavern, an inn, or any other place which sells spirits. He is powerlessly addicted to the drink since too many nights relying upon its ability to increase his inhibitions. He requires it now-a day or two devoid of a drink reduces the man into a shaking, twitching mess. Powerless to create, unable to think past anything other than having just one more drink…  Many mornings  he has awoken to find his figurines, carvings,  tools smashed, broken or stolen, lying in a puddle of rain water outside in the alleyways behind an Inn. Usually precisely where a disgruntled Inn Keep had thrown him the night before

 
    -Aiken is a runner. Very seldom will he confront his feelings of resentment, or wretchedness. He lets it seethe and cook somewhere unfathomable inside that stocky frame-and although he seems a placid man, he does not forget or forgive wrong doings. Even that which he might by mistake interpret as a slight will be noted and forever marked against that person. It is an unhealthy thing, to let such emotions ferment, and one that may indeed prove his undoing.

 
   -When in the throes of want, Aiken wipes his mouth upon his sleeve, or licks his lips repeatedly-he’ll seem palsied and weak…An old man trapped within the confines of a younger mans body…

  
   -He is as elegant as an angry troll on fire. Aiken seems to have no internal grace or rhythm when it comes to walking; he’ll often run head long into doors or walls, people or stationary things that have been there for years. He’s a secluded dreamer, a far away mind, wedged somewhere between yesterday and the day before yesterday-It wouldn’t be unusual to watch him walk into the same thing he just collided into not an instant before. So, to put it mildly, any attempts at self defense will surely be lacking!


History:  

  Life, sorrow, love, birth, death, happiness- a circle within a cycle, a dream within a dream. This is how it begins. This is how it has always begun

   The room smelled like cheap white wine and musty sheets. A lone candle sputtered and gasped upon an unsteady nightstand beside a moth eaten bedroll strewn carelessly upon a mud-streaked floor. In the distance, a woman sang gutturally some bawdy song devoted to Baveras, chorused by a room full of disordered, raucous men laughing in between verses. The melody floated upwards from the Inn across the street. The candle struggled to throw flickering light across the room, big enough for two to stand, three to try to sleep if they piled one atop each other. Faint buzzing of insects, a cough muddled through the walls carried through air heavy with feverish heat.



   The man writhing inside the bedroll hears nothing, he is not in the same world as most, not aware of a tiny insect that crawls across  his sweat soaked forehead , feeding for a time and then flying lazily out of the miniscule window. He was not even aware when two over painted, barely clad grimy women who found his body tossing restlessly outside of a discarded store. They dragged his boneless body up a flight of stairs, through a door, and dumped him unceremoniously upon the filthy material, rummaged through the sun bleached satchel sat upon the floor beside his unconscious form-carefully picking through the carved wooden figurines; choosing that which would be best to take, best to leave. They murmured between themselves on the fine quality of each one , how much this one or that one would sell for, ignoring Aiken as he struggled with some…inner demon in his state of oblivion.


   When they finished, the two women patted him down coughing from the unambiguous stench of strong spirits that wafted from his skin. They found his purse tied around his neck, took all of the coins, felt a modicum of pity and gave back one, leaving him to moan and twist alone again. Once both were satisfied they would not find anything more of value.


   He was dreaming…Dreaming the same Godsforaken dream that haunted every night of his sleep for the past five years..


   It is night here, inside the city of Carmalad in the mind of Aiken, as it is in the real world around him. The Clothe Dyer markets during the month of the Passing Wind often went strong into the evening. A festival for Baveras was winding down, the fisher folk were out, crowds of men and women, all of them a bit too bright eyed from cups partaken off after-


   Aiken flung a hand wildly about in his sleep, as if he desperately sought to stop the images, the dream. As if, his mind screamed somewhere in that little dark room of the soul, to beg anyone to stop it. Stop him from seeing again.


   -the celebrations were through. Aiken had his arm flung around Kalarrenn, the other around Kuth, twin brothers Aiken had been neighbors and best friends with for as long as he could remember. The three of them were singing something, neither of which knew what it was, what the words were to the song, nor the melody, but they did sing it loudly, off key and in the manner that most do after one too many good, foaming ales.


   They’re a little unsteady, wobbling through the streets, laughing wildly as if the three of them had become the most hilarious men in Carmalad, no, make that, Sarvonia! Kurth broke off to throw his arms wide , belting out a few lines from a song

Pass the mead to me
To make my troubles flee



   Aiken and Kallarrenn collapsed into helpless laughter once again. Kurths’ voice was legendary. Legendary for breaking glass and scaring children, that is. Kurth stumbled towards the Aiken and Kallarrenn once more, belching politely into his hand, well..He tried to anyhow, his hand hit his chin and went flopping to hit Aiken on the shoulder with a rough cuffing.


   "Whuh-hic-Whersh yer wuh-hic-Aiyleena Aiken? Sh’ shaid she’d met ush huh-hic-here..?“


   Aiken moaned in his sleep. Aiyleena!


   The wood carver wiped his mouth, frost fingers ran up and down his spine till the hairs upon the back of his neck stood, one by one. The ground below him spun once, twice and stopped. Aiken shook his head to clear it. Aiyleena was never late.Ever..For anything, ever since they were children, she would always show up on time to play.It was her quirk, her one thing.. She grew to  become  a skilled clothe dyer, and prompt business woman after they married.. She never made a customer wait, when she said something would be ready by the ‚morrow, it was ready, regardless.  He broke off from Kallarrenn who leaned upon him drunkedly.


   "I h-have t-to find h-her..“


   Aiken told them quietly, turning from their suddenly confused faces towards a sea of people that shifted and dazzled the eye. Behind his back, Kurth and Kallerranns brows drew down in concern. Aiken softer tone alarmed them both, they knew what it meant. Something upsetting him, something had to be wrong. They tried to reassure him.


   "Now..Err..Hic..Now Aiken, I’m shure shesh jusht l-looking for baby clothesh. You know how the women folk are when they be like that.....“


  Aiken shook his head violently, pushing both sets of concerned hands that tugged upon his shirt. Wheeling about, thunder in his eyes, Aiken took off into the crowd, fighting against the sudden bile and dizziness that arose in the confusion and panic of his inner turmoil.


  “A- Aiyleena! Aiyl- Aiyleena!”


  He shouted hoarsely into the throng of people that swayed and shifted like a school of fish. People who bumped into him or happened close by stopped to stare at him as if he had turned into a mad man, which, in one instant of panic for his precious wife, he was indeed. Large, wood working hands roughened and ruined by years of his trade savagely pushed the bodies of those unfortunate enough to fall in his way. Yelling his wife’s’ name as he went, plowing through the crowd as a rudder through water.


  Kurth and Kalarrenn were left behind to struggle in the chaos he left in his wake; truly, Aiken did not see the world anymore, just one shining beacon in his mind.  Oh Aiyleena, he thought, what has happened to you my heart?


  He directed himself to the only place that would make sense, to a street they took every so often when they were in a hurry. One that, time and time again, Aiken had told her that in under no circumstances were she to walk it alone at night. The wooden buildings were so close that they darkened out any light, and the characters that made their habitat upon that grimy street were well known to prey upon the innocent, the unprotected. Aiyleena was so stubborn though, it was just like her to never listen when she wanted something.


  Aikens heart was fit to burst inside his throat, beating an untamed rhythm in his ears.


   “Aiyleena-Aiyleena!” He literally screamed. Listening to her name sent back to him in the night.


   And then…it came. A sound Aiken Gemm would hear repeatedly, in his dreams, in his nightmares. In the living nightmares the human mind can make during the day.


   “A-Aiken?”


   So soft, so fragile. The little warble of a broken bird chirruping madly to be saved after falling from the nest.


   “B-b-y The G-g-rey Fa-Fatther! Aiyleena? Whuh-where  a-are yuh-you?”


   For a moment, Aiken saw the world again, heard her voice. Thought that everything would be all right. That his ideal life had simply suffered a small bubble of darkness that the sun would rise over and vanquish with its’ tremulous light the very next day.


   “I’m-I’m here...,” she said vaguely. Like she lay under waves, and her voice came to him between the waters.


   Through the gloom of the tightly packed and lightless alleyway he came, hands splayed in front of him to feel through the darkness while his eyes adjusted from the brightly lit main ways of the market. Stumbling with each step, his bare foot came across the soft touch of a limb. It’s her leg he thought distractedly. He knelt, fingertips catching on her hair, her face. Her warm shoulder ,he grasped.


   Aikens rasp of astonished breathe came loudly as his hands came away with warm liquid. The sound of his heart shattering was the exact sound of the axe taken to a tree.


   “A-A-iyleena! Wh-whuh-at hap-p-p-pened? I w-will call for a Bav-Baveras Will! I’ll g-g-g-go g-get a-“


   As if serene, Aiyleenas’ hand grasped Aikens wrist, slick and moist was her palm. A strange resonance then, as if she laughed, her breathing light and raspy. Aiken fought the urge to scream at the world.


   “No-I’m alright. Truly. “ An airy laugh again, forced, she was straining.


   “Some poor street urchin. Couldn’t see. They just..just wanted my purse. I think I fell on something..I gave them my brooch..I didn’t bring our purse...”


   She drew air unsteadily.


   “..Ohh..Aiken? Aiken? Our baby..Our baby will be alright..Won't he?”


   So convinced, even now that it would be a boy. He remembers then, this boy of a man stuck inside a nightmare, the faces of his parents and hers when they married. They had such hope for their children, with Aikens talents and Aiyleenas ability.


   He grasped tendrils of her hair, rolled them in his fingers. Just like smooth honey, he thought, soft as feathers.


   ”He’s f-f-fine..Y-yuh-you will be fine. Yes, fine..L-l-l-let me call for som-som-someone-juh-just incase...Puh-p-lease..Please Aiyleen..”


   One tear, two, rolled itself against his will and down a cheek. Three, four..Five and six..Until there was so many that, whatever chance Aiken would have had to see her in the dim light wavered and disappeared. He would not break down like a woman; he struggled to halt the flow of salt down his face. Aiyleena would be fine. Everything would be all right. The mantra came and went…Everything will be fine. Everything will be all right.



   “In-In a moment, I promise..Then you can get..help... Aiken, I want you to promise me something..Don’t..stop carving. I know that which you have been thinking of lately. Thinking to take another job in the market, or join the trading routes.Don’t do it Aiken..I want our son to see you carving..I want..I want…I…wa-“


   It was surreal, it could not be happening. Just like that, her hand slipped from his arm and a peculiar rattling sound came from her lungs to his ears as loud as lightening. Aiken froze, Aiken broke..Aiken felt something simply snap..


   “Aiyleena..Aiyleena? AAaaiiiiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyyleeeeeeeeeenaaaaa!” He howled, shaking her-calling her name constantly.


   Aiyleena. No. Aiyleena don’t leave me here..


   The dream shifts and cracks, it offers unto the unhealed soul of Aiken images of a rushed time, of after wards..



   Aiken watches himself, as Kurth and Kalerrenn find him in the first light of morning. He was lying upon the street with his body curled around Aiyleens lifeless form. Her eyes staring up at the straining tendrils of orange and pink an eerie, peaceful smile upon her face. Her lifes essence, pooled about them in a grotesque blanket. Kurth and Kalerrens face reflecting the sorrow Aiken seemed unable to reflect, blank and unfocused, Aiken, distanced, watched as they tried to pull his younger form from her. Wildly swinging at them both, he shouted:


   “A-Ailyeena i-i-is c-c-cold. S-S-s-s-o cuh-cold. N-need to kuh-k-eep h-e-er warm. Whuh-what are you t-two doing i-in muh-my house?”


   Outside of the dream that would never end for Aiken, he screamed. The sound was raw, it echoed and carried-the harshness of it startled the revelers in the Inn close by, and the music halted with a clash of frightened chords.


   Aiken watched himself as time flew at a rapid rate, speeding through the last bits of blackness... Broken bits of memory. It would take days upon days for Aikens mother and father, brothers and sisters in their home where he and Aiyleena had once lived, to wake him from his strange stupor. The aid of a Baveras Will could do nothing; strange men whom the family paid dearly out of their own coffers could offer nothing more than sleeping draughts and large dosages of spirits to keep him settled.


   Those that worked for the city were of little help, they told the family with their noses in the air that they had had no luck with identifying anyone in the murder of a peasant clothe dyer.


   Often he would wonder about the house, calling for Aiyleena in a plaintive voice, meek and confused. On other occasions, he was beside himself with fits of weeping, he blamed himself, and he blamed Aiyleena. He would tell his parents during the short burst of sanity he did have, that he should have ignored her pleas to listen to her, and get help.


   Again, as all dreams do, everything shifts, forward in time to another evening.


   It was the night, when Kurth and Kalerrenn came to the Gemm family home, and insisted upon seeing Aiken alone, and it will be the final and second breaking of Aiken Gemm . With excited gestures and hushed voices, Kurth and Kalerrenn told him in his nearly insensible, younger self that they found a man , complaining in a local Inn of Carmalad about a woman he had beaten for  money. Only to come away with nothing more than a wooden brooch and shawl. He was drunk and gambling, Kurth and Kallerrenn had watched as he wagered his very last item of value.


   A brooch.


   They showed it to him; it was a modest carving of a birch tree, bending its branches around the Caltharian , “A”. They then told Aiken with shame, that when they chased after the man, he had run into a near by brothel. After many hours of searching, they could not find him again.


   Aikens head arose with a snap, focusing within moments.


   Kurth and Kallerren handed him Aiyleenas brooch, Aikens wedding present to her when they were betrothed. The woodsman grasped it, and fisted it until his knuckles went white as the twin brothers told him of where this Inn should be found, and what the man had looked like.


   He broke one last time, but in this, it was not sorrow. It was pure, animalistic wrath. It cleared his vision, and cleared the fog of heartbreak he had been suffering with for so long.


   Aiken Gemm had returned, but no longer would he be anything but the ghost of the boy his family and friends once knew. With the description of the killer of his precious Aiyleena in his mind, Aikens dream self, observed this youthful version as he packed up all of what little he needed to survive upon the streets of Carmalad. Before he readied to leave, he carved for himself a long, wooden club out of the same wood he had carved Aiyleenas brooch ;a single-minded purpose for it intended.


   He kissed his family good bye, and left the twin brothers behind with a nod from his head and final instructions. He said:


   “Th-that m-man is mine.Do n-n-ot t-tuh-tell ah-anyone. Vengeance wuh-will be m-mine alone.”


   Kurth and Kalerrenn were speechless, for both knew the man had not a chance with weaponry, but they held their tongues. Aiken watched as his younger self turned out into the streets of Carmalad.


   He swore to every Gods and Goddess that he would find this man, and make sure Aiyleenas murderer knew what pain felt before Aiken was through with him. He had sworn.


   Inside the little stinking room, the pitiful form of the wood carver awoke with a gasp. Sitting upright too quickly, the world spun (a familiar thing), under him as morning grudgingly arose over the city. His shaking hands he lifted to cover his face.


   What has happened to me? He wondered. What have I done? Oh..Aiyleena..Why did you leave me here..Why must I stay?  I have lost everything. Even the will for revenge…No one knows what happened to the man who took you away from me..


   Just one more drink..All I need is one more drink, and then I won’t dream of you..Then I won’t see our son in every childs face..Please!.....Just one more drink!


   ...Then I can be with you forever.


Aiken Gemm wept.


Weapons:  A simple wooden club.

Belongings:


   Aiken carries a satchel full of the things made from his craft, a set of tools, the clothes on his back, and his heart on his sleeve. A roughly hewn gut string held a purse made from animal skin around his neck, tucked away safely under his shirt. In it, are very few coins; a small wooden brooch. It looked to be  something a woman would wear, carved clumsily in what was the hand of a young child. Etched inside an amateurish portrait of a Birch tree growing it’s limbs around the letter, “A”.

   Yet…The brooch seems half worn away, from fingertips that would touch it reverently, lovingly… in dreams…






(This CD might be done. Then again, it might not be,that's all up to the Mods!)



Edited by: Aiken Gemm at: 11/1/03 21:50
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Anastopheles
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« Reply #1 on: October 28, 2003, 02:40:22 AM »

I suppose imitation is the sincerest form of flattery....;)

I like the character, but.....  it would be more interesting to know why he went to the drink, perhaps it would also flesh out the history (am sure the mods will want more).   If you'll forgive the cheek of making a suggestion or two....

he could have made something for someone, maybe a fetish and he discovered it was used for something despicably wicked and he can't forgive himself.  Or maybe no matter how beautiful the gifts he makes from wood, the girl of his heart remains cold to him?  Perhaps it's something as simple as a chronic  lack of self belief?  Try to link weakness and strengths into your history.

Good luck with your edits!

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Aiken Gemm
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« Reply #2 on: October 28, 2003, 01:47:22 AM »

Quote:
I suppose imitation is the sincerest form of flattery....


I don't understand.Did someone already use this whole idea!? (Insert long wail here)  Could you please, plllleeease point out where the cliche character descriptions/habits are? I want to flesh it out and definately make it better-But I'll be floundering blindly without a lil' help.  :-D

I know it needs work. Suggestions welcome, one does not learn how to write over night, and the art of story writng was never my strongest virtue-tho' role playing is a passion of mine I cannot deny, and this site is truly, one of the best.

Give me time, I shall spiftastic it up.

I shall edit in the title "First Draft" and come back later.

Thank you. No cheek here. :rollin  


EDIT: Good Lord...I just read your CD...I am SO sorry..I had no idea.  (Sigh)

Okies, whomever, just ignore this for now as I try to clean it up.

Edited by: Aiken Gemm at: 10/28/03 18:48
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Urse the Distant
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« Reply #3 on: October 28, 2003, 02:50:22 AM »

not the character the fiction style (though come to think of it I may have not been first myself, if this true, forgive, long day, insufficient coffee -oh and I am the same person as Anastopheles):)  

"Queprer waits...."

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Aiken Gemm
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« Reply #4 on: October 28, 2003, 01:58:22 AM »

I've been here since..Well..You don't want to know, let's just say..::Shifty eyes::...Long enough to drink a pot of coffee, go over it three times..And still  not like it anyway..blech!

I am truely sorry, I should have read more than just a handful of CD's before posting mine.

Not to worry! I shall be back after much more coffee, and a little more imagination!

Edited by: Aiken Gemm at: 10/28/03 18:48
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Urse the Distant
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« Reply #5 on: October 28, 2003, 03:05:22 AM »

No!  stop, its fine!  I'm ok with it!  Come back and edit a damn fine idea!

"Queprer waits...."

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Aiken Gemm
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« Reply #6 on: October 29, 2003, 03:50:22 AM »



Please forgive me for Editing this a thousand times!! But I keep finding mistake upon mistake-Repeated words and what not. I'm trying my best to make it presentable. If anyone has suggestions, please, no matter what they are, do not hesitate to leave them!

Thank you !




Over heard, Aiken speaking to a lady upon the street:"Y-y-you sh-sh-sure l-l-l-l-look n-n-nice to-t-t..Ahh..F-f-f-f-forget it!"

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Urse the Distant
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« Reply #7 on: October 29, 2003, 04:28:22 AM »

Hmm, write it/copy it onto word?  Then spell and grammar check it for the obvious booboos and then read it through for the words word wont pick up bear/burr there/their/they're hair/heir, etc.

"Queprer waits...."

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Kalína Dalá'isyrás
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High Elf, Kaýrrhem


« Reply #8 on: October 29, 2003, 09:51:22 AM »

HELLO!!!! Allow me to welcome you properly....
Welcome to Santharia...:hug   (I like to call meself the official hugger ;)  )
The more the merrier I always say...well, not really but it sounds really cool...heehee...

Now that I have read it through all I have to say is...Wow!!! wonderfully done!! I can't wait for the history....*twiddles thumbs in anticipation*
One thing before the mods find their way here...some of your weakness'...they are more fit in his personality...(don't worry, Rayne has gotten on me for that with my second charie)
Another thing...you positive you don't want to carry any weapons?? If you are okay with this then I say good luck!! ( That is a good 'good luck' heehee)
*Calls out in a loud voice*...MODS!!!!!!! heehee   sooooo much fun!!!

"...Life is a story that is waiting to be written. It is up to us to make it exciting and unforgetable..."

Edited by: Kalina Merenwen at: 10/29/03 2:02
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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
Aiken Gemm
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« Reply #9 on: October 29, 2003, 11:29:22 AM »



Hello-Enthusiastic one! :hug

Thanks so much for reading a LOT of stuff, lol.  I see your point-But to clarify so I can fix the weakeness to reflect properly:

His fondness for children, and his avoidance for women , I would guess, now that I re-read, would be more of a personality trait than weakness?

I shall look through the weapons list and find something suitable, (Probably wooden..*Gasp of surprise* ) -I just wasn't sure that Aikenw ould be the weapons type-But, after a pause and a reality check, yes, you're right! It is a good idea!

Thanks very much, both of you for your suggestions-And if anyone else has any suggestions on how I can improve this, please never be afraid to tell me! I can take it! :biggrin




Over heard, Aiken speaking to a lady upon the street:
"Y-y-you sh-sh-sure l-l-l-l-look n-n-nice to-t-t..
Ahh..F-f-f-f-forget it!"

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Kalína Dalá'isyrás
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« Reply #10 on: October 29, 2003, 10:41:22 AM »

In the way of weakness' - any physical weakness' is what i meant...sorry...i lost my thinking cap awhile back.

Is he strong? Agile? Something like that...hope this helps...:thumbup  

"...Life is a story that is waiting to be written. It is up to us to make it exciting and unforgetable..."

Edited by: Kalina Merenwen at: 10/29/03 2:44
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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.
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Aiken Gemm
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« Reply #11 on: October 29, 2003, 12:34:22 PM »



That's okay!  You pointed out mistakes, and that is always good in my books!

I added the fact he has the grace, timing and reflexes of a bull moose.






Over heard, Aiken speaking to a lady upon the street:
"Y-y-you sh-sh-sure l-l-l-l-look n-n-nice to-t-t..
Ahh..F-f-f-f-forget it!"

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Ellyena Orayari
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« Reply #12 on: October 29, 2003, 01:22:22 PM »

Hi Aiken!

I would first like to say your writing style is wonderful, and what alot of effort you put into it.  There's  alot of info there, so I would x2 the paragraphs, I found myself losing my place.

An idea I had as I was reading it was, what if the pieces speak to him as he carves them, and perhaps the drinking is because of this? or that if he doesn't carve the soul of the wood then the soul dies or something.  

I don't know is that too way out?

I gave you life to live it!

Momma from my Big Fat Greek Wedding

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Aiken Gemm
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« Reply #13 on: October 29, 2003, 02:32:22 PM »



Hello Ellyena! Thank you, I've been rewording, and editing alot lately!  Also, thank you for the compliment -You didn't really want to see the first entry.

Thank you for the suggestion, but I've finally found an idea/ reason for his drinking problem. I'm working on my history right now!!

I would comment on other CD's, but I feel just a tad under knowledgable to be able to do that at the moment! I'm very flattered that you took the time to wade through all of that! I will edit the spacings between paragraphs once I get my Characters history sorted out! :)




Over heard, Aiken speaking to a lady upon the street:
"Y-y-you sh-sh-sure l-l-l-l-look n-n-nice to-t-t..
Ahh..F-f-f-f-forget it!"

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Ellyena Orayari
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« Reply #14 on: October 30, 2003, 07:03:22 AM »

oh hon!  I'm no expert either, but I love to read the ideas folks get.  Sometimes it inspires things I want to add to my little girl.

I never look at someone's idea as wrong, only amazing.  Feel free to go and read and comment!  Perhaps you'll see something that can help the writer develop something wonderful!

"I gave you life to live it!"
Momma from my Big Fat Greek Wedding

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