Annora Caestrum (lit. "Years"; "Heaven's Master") Age: 27 Race: Spurii (Laicar-Velen) Vigor: 1250 Latens: 0 Skills: Calling of Pythonis (Novice) Discipline of Militis (Novice) Discipline of Barbaris (Novice) Discipline of Pugilis (Novice) School of Aquila (Novice) Persona: Possessed of a noble heart but failing beliefs, Annora is a woman pursued by her own shortcomings. She remains loyal to her word, a product of harsh lessons in reality, and her word is given to few. Hiding behind a thin veneer of compassion and earnestness, the spurii hides old shames and imparted paranoia, a courtesy of her childhood. Brought up in the understanding environment of her father, she was spared only the more harsh of the stigma associated with her kind. Instead, she found social isolation and a propensity to be criticized for every mistake and flaw. Words have a persistently nagging effect on Annora, as a result. Her speech is needlessly forgiving and diplomatic - half a product of her upbringing and half a product of her innate Velen bloodline - and her posture often upright and regal to deflect immediate criticism. Perhaps, had she a true cause to latch onto, she might find her hands a little steadier. For now, she searches for a purpose to fulfill, and faith in the gods she can no longer bring herself to believe in. Physical Appearance: Physically, Annora stands intimidatingly tall to Laicar, but a full head below most Velen. A strong 6'6", her height is matched by almost Amazonian proportions. A well-toned form is the product of the dense musculature of Velen, but stretched across moderately proportioned limbs like the Laicar. Scales dot her neck, shoulders, and lower legs, but are noticeably absent otherwise. She possesses the trademark gills of all Velen, and webbing is present between her fingers, to a point that typically disallows gloves that aren't custom-made. A fact that is shared by her toes, though the tightly-packed Laicar digits allow for proper footwear. Her skin holds a slight pallor of blue, often making her seem pale against most individuals. Her navy-colored hair almost borders on black, though her vanity often sees the lower half of her chest-length hair frosted an electric blue to match her eyes. Her combat gear is often mixed and matched, swapped out as armor falls in and out of her favor, but casual wear finds her in some ramshackle mixture of traditional Laicar and Velen attire. She favors a skin-tight tunic with two strips of aqua-dyed cloth trailing from each shoulder to the opposite hip, fastened to help disguise her modesty. She also favors boots with long pants over shoes, likely a habit formed of people taking note of the scales of her Velen ancestry. Biography: To be born a cross-breed is to carry and inherent social stigma. One which passes not only to you, but your family and all you associate with. Though the aftermath of the Cataclysm has shaken this overt prejudice, old habits die hard. Annora was born to a Laicar mother and a Velen father, healthy and strong. Four years, the family led a mostly happy life on the Southern shores of Aridus that verged on the borders of the Pelagium empire. Her father, Cadmus, was a respected fisherman, and she was brought up in the community of the Velen. It did not, however, deter travellers who passed through their community from criticism aplenty. It was a matter of time, really, before the mother lost nerve to the new faces but persistent hazing. Stealing away in one of the various caravans that passed through en route to the Demvir communities of Aridus' deserts, Annora was very suddenly left to be raised alone by her father. She absorbed all she could from him, and took to the lessons that the more accepting vagabonds brought with them. Eventually, she became reputed amongst town as a guard, learning the way of the sword. Deciding to repay her mentors the only way she could, she vowed to see as much of the world as she could. Her father allowed her to depart, and took to the solitary life in the reef communities of Pelagium, the life of a fisherman not easily departed from. With that, she took leave of her childhood and began her journey across Araevis, a sell-sword for hire looking for a purpose she hoped she'd recognize when she found it. |
Sample Chapter:
That Old Dusty Trail
[ 1070 Words ]
[ 1070 Words ]
Dusty brown boots crunched against the unpacked dirt that lay scattered about the ruined floor. A hand, one thumb with four digits, traced a wall with care and intent. The skin's light blue pallor caught the rays of sunshine spilling through cracks in masonry above.
The chamber is small, and she hunches to pass into the next one. Arches overhead are laid with cobble and primitive iron in equal parts, supporting the whole structure. The next chamber seems almost central to the whole thing, a sturdy pillar standing in a room she finally has the ability to stand upright in.
Towering to almost half an Enlil's height above the lintels of the arches, the Spurii's striking blue eyes catch the look of symbols with some mixture of trepidation and awe.
Annora Caestrum hadn't much to her name, the modest green traveling cloak disguising a traditional Velen tunic. Twin strips of aqua-colored cloth occasionally peeked from around the folds of the cloak, a distinct weight in her steps and a small handle protruding above her shoulders revealing the possession of something of heft.
A sheath borne at her left hip betrayed the inclination of her dexterity, the dull brown of the sheath cutting a dire contrast against the subdued indigo of her pants. Patches of leather were sewn to the commoner's garb in makeshift armor.
Reaching across to her right hip, a small rucksack was removed. Laying it across an upturned slab - the remnants of some excavation long ago - she quickly sifted through its contents. Pulling free a sheaf of notary and a charcoal stick, she quickly stole glances around the room. One section of wall held a distinctly tan hue, a slight warping near the top signifying some material that had long since begun to lose the endless battle against time.
Running a hand softly against it, she felt the material shift and stir, bumps raising and divots falling at different points of the texture. A slow grin spread across her face, revealing a set of block-shaped teeth, incisors with a slight point unusual to the Laicar people.
Not Laicar. Not Velen. She was fine being somewhere in-between.
Laying one of the sheets of paper against the wall, she rubbed the charcoal stick against it deftly. Outlines and raised symbols darkened across the paper, revealing a distinct text. Esoteric, and long since considered outdated, the old tongue was unmistakeable.
Quickly switching out filled sheets with fresh notary, the charcoal stick had all but been worn away entirely by the time she'd finished with the slab. Excitedly reading over the language she admittedly couldn't read, she quickly replaced them in her pack and tied it around her hip once more. Giving one more long glance about the ruins, she stole away to the entrance.
Outside, daylight beckoned her back to the fresh air. Yet just beneath, the rumble of machinery whined and churned, the promising tell of a vehicle. Smiling softly, Annora adjusted her cloak before ducking under the low-hanging entrance of the ruins.
Outside, the soft zephyrs of Secare welcomed her. The plains were cast about for miles, a worn road presenting itself as a means of navigation. On it, the motorized cart coughed briefly, before a young Laicar slapped it across the top with a wrench. Cowed, the engine immediately ceased its acting out.
Thick treads were attached to either side of the cart's top, a steel bed on the back packed with a number of other individuals. Perched atop the hood of the truck and half-buried into its innards, the teen boy rummaged about briefly before retrieving what appeared to be some small manner of debris.
Wiping sweat from his brow - and replacing it with the bronze dahlitium volantis that served as fuel. An extraordinary fuel source for an extraordinary machine. Admiring it briefly, the boy quickly turned his attention to her and called out.
Voice high and only showing the slight scratch of someone nearing puberty, the mechanic shouted with abandon. "Oi! Annora's done!"
One of the passengers shifted in their seat, turning around to reveal a Demvir. The machina seemed to click once, internal machinery vocalizing some inflection of impatience, before his fluted head casing jerked backwards, towards the cart.
Cocking a half-grin at the grumpy leader of the mechanical caravan, the spurii quickly closed distance. Rolling hills dotted the land, and a treaded vehicle was one of the few that could navigate off-road. At the front of the cart, an enclosed cab sat with two wheels to turn the whole affair. The driver, another Laicar that looked to have recently rounded on adulthood, gave her a curt nod.
Returning it, she did a sort of jog-skip to the back of the truck, where the gate barring the bed's entrance had been temporarily lowered. Accepting an outstretched hand, she flashed a winning smile to the Velen who had offered it. One of the few who seemed to 'get it'.
Being in the presence of a half-blood didn't seem to dissuade many of them, though the fascination was slow to wear off. Still, not everyone was overly welcoming. Ripped from her thoughts by an overly dramatic cough from the Demvir, she cast an amused smile to him.
"Yes, Quotus?" She chimed.
For someone with a rather obvious lack of facial extremities, the tilting of Quotus' head did all that was needed. "Did you find it or not?"
Affixing a deadpan to her features, the woman quickly revealed her satchel. "You know I did."
He nodded and leaned back, seeming to accept it for what it was. Following suit, the lanky Velen leant over, placing a whisper in her ear. "What was it this time?"
"More cryptics, I only recognized a few words from last time. Something about Occultus though, might be another crypt." She replied, the last word barely audible as she cast a brief look to Quotus.
Salar Pinna was by no means the brightest of the Velen, but he shared their easy-going demeanor all the same. Calm and placid to a fault, he seemed to weather the occasional ribbing that Quotus seemed to always have up his sleeve.
The cranky Demvir would get his pay though, as he always did. Annora had bigger ideas stewing in her mind. She needed to find something to fund the next expedition, and she only knew one place she could pick up a reliable job.
Terminus.
