| Marc of Ondel | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 14 2010, 06:53 PM (405 Views) | |
| Brontosaurus | Jun 14 2010, 06:53 PM Post #1 |
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Marc Class: Soldier LVL: 6 EXP: 47/120 (0 unallocated points) STR: 3 AGI: 2 (-1) INT: 5 WIL: 1 HP: 45/45 SP: 50/50 C: 10% B: 30% P: 0% F: 0% I: 20% E: 0% Armor: Gambeson RHand: --- LHand: Heal Staff Misc1: None Misc2: None DMG: 10-15 B ACC: 90% DEF: 10% POW: 10% RES: 10% Condition: None Known Spells: Forcefield Edited by Legatus, Aug 1 2010, 04:06 PM.
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| Brontosaurus | Jun 18 2010, 09:18 PM Post #2 |
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Hailing from the Southwest of Ondel, not but a day's ride from the country's humble capital, Marc was born the 4th of 5 children - all boys. Walter, Gordon, Thomas, Marc, & Dante, in that order, all 2 years apart. Their parents, Kimberly & Noah, were both very much organized. Marc lived a very structured life in his house under his parent's rule for many years. The family ran a moderately sized farm which all the members of the household worked on and tended to, in order to sell the crops in the capital city during each appropriate season. Noah always took his eldest son, Walter, with him to the city to help him sell the crops. As the years went by and the sons of Noah aged, a few began to grow disgruntled with his rule and dominance. His body was old and worn, he seldom worked on the farm anymore, yet still micromanaged as if he was there alongside his sons. Noah always favored Walter, the eldest, so he never minded, but his two closest in age brothers - Gordon & Thomas - at the age of 22 & 20, were getting fed up of their father's strict rule. It was then when they decided to act. One night, a clear night with a bright moon, the four younger brothers of the family. Gordon & Thomas did not tell Walter of this meeting, as they already knew his stance on the situation. Marc & his youngest brother, Dante, still only 16, however, weren't really sure what was going on. "So what's this all about?" Marc asked, a little bit annoyed with his elder brothers. "We're sick of father." Thomas said plainly. Gordon nodded and continued. "We, as in Thomas and I have discussed this, and we plan on leaving and going to Ilathaen." "Ilathaen?" Dante asked confusedly. He had heard the name before, but wasn't exactly sure what it was. "The land to the south?" Marc asked, just to make sure that he and the brothers were on the same page. Or at the very least, he & his two elder brothers. Gordon nodded. "Yes, on the southern tip of this continent." He then pulled out a map from his back pocket, and unrolled it, revealing a map of the northern continent of Etheles." Thomas walked in front to present his plan. "We would take a few of father's best horses, and ride west into Fael, cutting through her western border, and then turn southward through Cusla, into Ithaelaen." Marc understood their method of traveling there. Marc was not dumb. But what he questioned was their intent. "What will you do once there?" Gordon & Thomas looked at each other, not really sure what to say. They had toyed with certain ideas, but had not really set themselves upon one. They just knew that was where they wanted to go. Thomas turned to his brother and shrugged. "Mercenaries, perhaps?" "Mercenaries?" Marc said in disbelief. "Neither of you have had formal combat training." Gordon stepped in. "That's where you're wrong." "Oh?" Gordon continued. "You know my friend Thornycroft, yes? The one who enlisted in the army when he was Dante's age?" Dante & Marc both nodded, although they were 6 years younger then, he remembered Gordon's childhood friend. "He was discharged last year after suffering a foul wound to his left leg. He cannot keep up with the other soldiers like he once did, and probably never will. But his knowledge for combat remained. He came back here to tell Thomas & I of his fate, and told us we could learn the art of combat under him." "Why didn't you tell me? I want to fight!" Dante said, slightly enraged by his brother's secrecy. "Dante, please." Thomas said, annoyed. "You've been trained by your schoolteacher with a sword, have you not?" "Barely," he mumbled. "And we all know this one can't fight, he's too busy whoring himself to the church." Thomas said caustically to Marc. Marc's eyebrows turned into angry eyebrows. Gordon laughed. "It was a good way to get out of this hellhole. Going to church and preaching of God. Father was always a holy man, how could he not let his son pursue his dream of becoming a priest?" Gordon then turned to Thomas. "It is a very noble profession." "Bah," Thomas snorted. "Nothing but lies." He turned away disgruntled. "So wait... What are you guys getting at?" Dante asked, trying to get them back on track. He was still a bit perplexed. "We're leaving." Gordon announced, pointing back to Thomas. "We knew Walter would never be for such an escape, but we figured you two may want to get out now. You both have been good brothers to us, and we don't want to see you suffer." "Suffer is a bit extreme, don't you think?" Marc asked. "I admit father is strict, but he's our father. He and mother work hard to raise us. "Worked! Worked hard to raise us! Their hair is grey, their bodies old. They no longer care for us. We care for them! And for what? Nothing!" Thomas roared. "Peace, Thomas. Please." Gordon sighed. "We just didn't want to abandon our younger brothers. At the very least, don't tell father what our plan is." "You make it sound like we're not coming." Marc said plainly. Gordon raised an eyebrow. "You are?" "In all honesty," Marc began, "I'm not thrilled with your plan. But I'm not thrilled with my options here either. Ithalaen seems like a land of great opportunity for us all. A chance to start anew, as our own men, not our father's sons. It is a necessary change and growth for us all." "Wait... You're leaving me!?" Dante asked nervously. "Listen, you're a great kid Dante, but you're still very young. You still have to finish going through school, and father always had a soft spot for you. I'd feel guilty the rest of my days knowing ill fortune struck you by my own doings. I cannot let you come." Gordon declared. Dante knew better than to argue. He would have to stay back. "Then it's settled," Thomas said. Gordon nodded and continued. "The three of us leave tomorrow night. Tomorrow is Sunday, take the day to secretly prepare your things." Marc & Thomas nodded, and the plan was set. The great escape. Marc stood at 6'1, about the same height as his brothers. His hair was kept clean and short, and only when it was grown out you could see it's true brown. His eyes were brown, but they exuded caring and thoughtfulness, there was no bite to them. He was fairly lean, a modest 150 pounds. He had acquired a magical staff from the local congregation in order to amplify the affects of the holy magic he was learning. He was still a young apprentice, but he knew he would have to advance his training on his own. He wore a brown, hooded robe, in the guise of a normal traveler, and a large sack with his belongings & some food. When night fell and his parents, along with Walter, had gone to sleep, he went to the edge of their farm, where Thomas & Gordon, the much more burly of the 5 brothers by far, were packing a caravan, barely comfortable enough to fit three grown men, much less their belongings. They packed in silence. Dante had come to watch, and to wish his older brothers a fond farewell. After silently embracing his two elder brothers, who he had never really known all that well, he embraced Marc and held him tightly. "Please, brother. Come back someday." Marc nodded. "Someday." Marc began to tear up. He was always just a touch emotional. "Never forget about us, Dante. I want you to take good care of the farm and of this family. You're a smart kid, I'm sure you can handle it." Dante nodded, nearly bawling now. They released and Marc joined his brothers on the caravan. Marc looked back at his brother's tear-filled eyes, water running down his face. He too wanted to cry, but knew he could not unleash his tears. "Ya!" Thomas said, cropping the horse to go forward. The wheels turned, and the brothers rode off into the night, leaving the entire life they had behind. Months passed as they traveled. Stopping only to sleep and to rest the horse. They had few run ins with any sort of people, unless they intentionally rode into town to garner supplies, which was few and far between. Gordon was very pragmatic, and planned this entire operation carefully. Thomas was not nearly as thoughtful, but was loyal and supportive of his older brother. Marc had really only prepared enough for himself, as he assumed his elder brothers would both be able to tend for themselves as well, which was mostly true. They arrived to Ithalaen mid-day, 6 months and three days into their journey. They had all lost weight, and were all tired. "Well brothers, we have finally made it." Gordon announced, relieved. "Whew," Thomas said. "Finally." "Where to?" Marc asked. "We continue southward. There is a village known as Eresil that we can spend the night in." Gordon proclaimed. Thomas nudged Marc. "And I've heard Eresil is home to fine women, as well as all of Ithalaen." Marc chuckled and shook his head at his brother's remark. Thomas was always something of a jokester. A little dense and a little hot-headed, but a jokester as well. Gordon was a good compliment to hime, much more thoughtful and stoic. Marc found himself being the most logical of the three, and found he had much more in common with Gordon than with Thomas. He admired his elder brother. His eldest brother, Walter, had never really spent much time with him. Being 6 years older than him made his & Marc's lives barely intersect beyond dinner, and as children, Walter & Marc couldn't really even have serious conversations until Walter was 14 and Marc was 8, and even then, what teenager wanted to deal with such a child? Marc felt no remorse leaving Walter behind, he was in some ways more like an uncle than a brother, but nevertheless an absent one. Thomas looked outside to observe the landscape. He ducked back in quickly. "Off the path! Quickly!" Gordon stood up. "What? Why?" "Bandits!" Thomas proclaimed, as an arrow whizzed into the side of the caravan, poking a hole in it. Gordon quickly took the reigns and steered the horse away, but too hasty he was, as the horse nearly toppled over, causing the caravan to tilt as well, launching all the brothers through its side, exposed to danger. They quickly got up and saw hundreds of soldiers on horse and foot charging through, in the same direction they were going. They passed and shot arrows at the brothers, who scrambled to avoid them. Their horse had been knocked free of the caravan and ran away to the north. The brothers scrambled behind the caravan, hoping they would avoid danger. They sat up against its backside tensely, each clutching their weapons. Gordon & Thomas both held spears, Marc his staff. They heard footsteps. "These are some fine supplies." someone said, observing the brothers' possessions. A second voice agreed, and the two began to loot the caravan. Thomas attempted to get up, but Gordon quickly pushed him down. "No, our lives are more valuable than whatever we have!" "We have no lives without our supplies! Our lives were in those supplies!" Thomas harshly whispered. He shook his brother off and stood up, running around the caravan with his spear to defend his caravan. "No!" Gordon called, following him. Marc sat there and hid. The two warriors opposed the two brothers, as the fleet of soldiers continued to pass by next to them. "Oy! Looks like they want to fight!" Thomas & Gordon stood their ground, staring harshly at them. Thomas, without a second of hesitation, grabbed his spear and threw it straight into the heart of the first bandit, who fell to his death instantly, impaled. An arrow from a passing horseman then struck Gordon in the shoulder, sending him back. "No! Brother!" Thomas called to his brother, as he charged at the horseman who shot his brother, using his large body to barrel into the horse, causing the rider to fall, the horse scampering away, but in the collision, Thomas had tangled himself on the saddle, causing his body to be dragged with the horse at high speeds. "MARC! GORDON! HELP!" he cried as his body bashed against the ground as the horse galloped away. The rider and the other soldier stood now facing Gordon, who had the arrow in his shoulder, his spear still in his hand. Marc knew he couldn't sit any longer. He snuck from behind the caravan, to behind the rider, who was circling the wounded Gordon. Gordon saw Marc's tactic and tried to draw them closer to him, breathing closer. Marc, rose his staff, and crashed it upon the head of the rider, who fell down, unconscious. The other soldier turned to Marc, kicking him down and then turning to Gordon, who he then fought with his sword. They battled, but the arrow had taken a lot out of Gordon, and Marc struggled to get to his feet. Just as Marc was able to stand, it was too late. Gordon's spear fell, then his knees, and finally, his whole body collapsed. Marc stood shocked to watch his brother fall in such a way. He then cried out in agony and anger and picked up his brothers spear, quickly hitting the soldier's face with the blunt end, and then reset, and drove the spear square into his face, down his throat. He gargled in pain, and blood poured out as he frantically fell, eventually a pool of blood exuding from his mouth encircled his body. Marc, breathing heavily, went over to his brother, and turned his body face up. His eyes showed fear. They were still. He was still. Gordon had died. Marc tried to hold back tears but couldn't, as he held his elder brother in his arms. He looked up to see Thomas had been dragged away out of sight, his life in question too. Marc was now alone. A 6 month and three day journey with his two closest brothers ended by the death of one and the disappearance and possible death of another. He tried to recollect himself, knowing this area wasn't safe. He sifted through the belongings, taking his own pack, plus stuffing whatever breads and salted meats his brothers each carried, as well as all of the sellable values, which there were not many of. He held his staff as he walked towards the direction of the town, not knowing what to expect, but emptiness. Edited by Brontosaurus, Jun 21 2010, 05:19 PM.
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| Brontosaurus | Jun 29 2010, 05:27 PM Post #3 |
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Level 6 STR: 3 (+1) AGI: 3 INT: 5 (+1) WIL: 1 Level 5 STR: 2 AGI: 3 INT: 4 WIL: 1 Edited by Legatus, Jun 29 2010, 07:04 PM.
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9:16 AM Jul 11