Recent Changes

Tuesday, March 7

  1. page Character Bios edited ... Steiner Ulf - Warrior Mioria Whiteoak - Cleric Runa - Warrior Last Hope - The Old World …
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    Steiner Ulf - Warrior
    Mioria Whiteoak - Cleric
    Runa - Warrior
    Last Hope - The Old World
    Human
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    8:38 am
  2. page Runa edited Age: 18 Class: Warrior Race: Ulven Hair: Brown Eyes: Gray Occupation: Blacksmith Appearance:…
    Age: 18
    Class: Warrior
    Race: Ulven
    Hair: Brown
    Eyes: Gray
    Occupation: Blacksmith
    Appearance: Dark clothes, usually black
    Runa was born 18 years ago in a village on the edge of the Great Forest, within the borders of Shattered Spear territory, in the dead of winter. She was comfortable with her family and her life in Pack Silver Creek and spent most of her childhood trying to learn whatever she could from the people there. Her warrior mother, Ingrid, and blacksmith father, Jorah, devoted themselves to teaching her everything they knew. Her father taught her everything he knows about taking care of weapons and armor, while her mother taught her all she knew about fighting and preserving your honor. Both her parents were quiet people; they mostly kept to themselves outside of the most basic social contact. They always wear darker colors, and Runa takes after them in both aspects, though her packmates think she is a slight bit more social than they ever were.
    As much as her father tried, he was never able to teach her anything about being patient. She felt that being patient was a waste of her time and it angers her. Some say her impatience comes across as rude. Expect dagger to thunk in the door behind you if you want to make her wait. Though, even with her lack of patience she was always a quiet one, often only speaking to a person once she grew to trust them. She was often caught staring at new people, but never showed any shame in it. She never trusted easily. Though once you get to know her, she might have a quick witted comment for you.
    Having heard many stories of unnecessary killings of perfectly capable Ulven, it confused her. Why kill those who are able to fight? She found that she hopes to not ever have to harm another Ulven. She would much rather use her skills against Mordok and the threat they pose. She does, however, see the purpose and necessity of sometimes having to fight another Ulven.
    When her mother died in a battle, she was devastated (not that anyone besides her father saw any of her grief). After Ingrid died, she listened to her father talk about her mother’s heroic deeds with focus. Most of the stories he was telling, her mother had never told her. That day, Runa realized she still had much to learn. Now that her mother was gone and unable to continue teaching her, she realized it was time to move on in search of greater training. She traveled for half a year, learning the importance of the currency the Colonists brought with them and gaining a sort of sympathy and respect for them, but mostly a lot of confusion of their traditions and rituals. Having never been taught how to read when she was young, she found traveling on her own was quite difficult and often felt regret leaving her pack. Even so, she remembers how necessary it was for her to leave and is still in search of something more substantial for her and how she wants to live.

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    8:37 am
  3. page Character Bios edited ... Zeke Ravana - Rogue Wren Duncan - Rogue Garth - Mage Syndar Magrat Farwalker - Cleric
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    Zeke Ravana - Rogue
    Wren Duncan - Rogue
    Garth - Mage
    Syndar
    Magrat Farwalker - Cleric
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    8:32 am
  4. page Garth edited PLAYED BY: Jacob Bollig CHARACTER NAME: Garth GENDER: Male CLASS: Mage AGE: 27 RACE: Human H…
    PLAYED BY: Jacob Bollig
    CHARACTER NAME: Garth
    GENDER: Male
    CLASS: Mage
    AGE: 27
    RACE: Human
    HAIR: Dark brown
    EYES: Brown
    OCCUPATION: Member of the Broken Blade, trying to learn how to be a blacksmith.
    KNOWN SKILLS: Magic and skilled swordsmanship with larger weapons.
    BIRTHPLACE: Not sure, too many blows to the head...
    APPEARANCE: Fancy outfit
    RELATIONSHIPS: Broken Blade
    BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: It's hard to describe. I had a life before I woke up in a bed surrounded by the wounded. I was in the final battle of the Ulven Civil War. Flashes of memory are all that I can bring back now. A small house in the woods; a girl in a red dress; me using magic. Sadly, nothing solid in fact. As it turns out, none of the people here know anything about me. Some say they saw me fighting in the battle, but I do not know why. I stayed in that bed for more than a week resting and healing. My leg had been cut so badly I could barely get out the bed, let alone walk. Eventually, after waiting in pain for the only cleric to get around to healing everyone who had been waiting before me, he finally healed me so now... Only a small scar remains in its place. A camp fire is where I found myself, the stories of the war never stopped being told. Who did this or that. Who killed what or who and how. How gory or gruesome the kills. Great friends dying or great enemies. So many little stories of tragedies and of victory. The best tale I can remember is of the command outpost and the brave who fell there. They killed many and lost some, but the glory is all that remains. Glory and Great Legends. Bolder and bolder the tales became. First the stories were that of a scuffle that led to them winning; then on to a complete raid that they won; then it turned into them fighting off wave after wave of brutal warriors, eventually ending with every warrior dead and all the men of The Broken Blades tired, but intact, after their grand victory. These are the tales I loved and they were the first stories that I heard of The Broken Blade. After the command outpost fell, the Broken Blades went and took it back fiercely. Often, I wish I had stood with those men, but at that time I had not yet found my place in the world. So much still lost to me. Even after weeks passed, nothing new had come to me. After staring into the fire for so long it seemed, I got thrown out of my thoughtful trance by a small paper falling gracefully into the fire. Meeting it's imminent end inside the heat of the fire. Watching the paper closely, I noticed that it said something. Before it curled up and turned into ash completely, I reached forward, snatching it out of the blaze, the fire grazing my palm. I patted the fire out on the half-burnt piece of paper and read "Join The Broken Blades... They laughed at our hats, We laughed at their funerals." As I put the fire out on the paper, a new fire lit inside me. I could join... I could be a part of something bigger than me. So that's what I set out to find. I would find the people I would fight along-side to the end. I would become A Broken Blade. But first... I need to find a hat.

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    8:32 am

Saturday, March 4

  1. page February 266 edited Town Hall meetings are scheduled and filled across Newhope, each drawing representatives from ever…
    Town Hall meetings are scheduled and filled across Newhope, each drawing representatives from every member of the Council of Ten and other invested parties. It is no secret that they hope to determine the direction of Newhope’s new project, dubbed the city’s “Great Work” to celebrate their purchase of territory from Clan Nightriver. While surely a joyous moment for Newhope, other settlements whose land was purchased as a part of this deal, including New Aldoria, Starkhaven, and Daven’s Reach, are less than thrilled with the arrangement. After a great deal of discussion, debate, and argument, it seems the Lord Baron Richards has been swayed to direct the efforts of the officially dubbed city-state of Newhope towards the expansion and improvement of the infrastructure of the territory. Plans for new farmsteads and mills are drafted and laborers are contracted to work on a great highway stretching from Starkhaven to Crow’s Landing, linking each settlement in between. Small hamlets begin to pop up along this planned road, both to act as rest points for travelers and to capitalize on the economic boon such a route will doubtlessly provide.
    As if on cue, merchants travelling through the territory of the new city-state have reported a noticeable increase in banditry. It seems the scoundrels are also eager to hear of the project and have already begun harassing the main roadways. For the time being, guards recommend using extreme caution while travelling between settlements.
    Following the announcement, there is a surprising lack of response from Prince Aylin and New Aldoria. Representatives for the Prince attended each of the meetings, and reports from others have been compiled and presented. Though sources close to him revealed that the Prince was livid with these actions, he has made no public declaration of his intentions moving forward. This silence has created a vacuum in which rumors abound: some say the Prince has accepted the ruling and is now a subject of Newhope, some believe he established a deal with Lord Baron Richards to benefit himself, while others claim to have seen him mustering an army. One man has even been drunkenly theorizing that the Prince himself was behind the purchase, working behind the scenes to orchestrate these events. For now, though, there has been nothing to confirm nor refute any of these claims.
    Elsewhere in colonist lands, word of Starkhaven’s struggle has spread. Shouldering the burden of nearly two hundred refugees, it has become clear that the fortress is not staffed nor stocked to handle so many sick residents. Worse, whispers of the corruption beginning to spread as the afflicted fall to their curse are heard, though are often discredited by the faithful. Blue and green flags carried beside carts flying red, gold, and black banners were sighted approaching the keep several weeks ago, and merchants from New Aldoria have confirmed that the wagons were carrying food and blankets to comfort the sick and ease the burden of Starkhaven. Unfortunately, reports from inside Starkhaven suggest that these greatly appreciated supplies will still not be enough to sustain the refugees for long. The Order of Arnath continues to put out requests for groups to send more aid, hoping to make progress against the corruption rather than simply holding it at bay.
    Clan Whiteoak has announced that they have begun to stabilize their current situation, with a handful of reinforcements from the colonists allowing them to divert more forces northward and to hold the line against the Mordok. Though they have not been winning any decisive battles, hope has begun to work its way back into the hearts of Clan Whiteoak. Another call for aid goes out, hoping to begin to make a push against the Mordok who seem to never tire or dwindle in number even as the Whiteoak stores continue to run low. Clan Ironmound has called a moot among their leadership to determine whether to send aid to Whiteoak or not, and it seems that other groups will soon be following suit.
    After watching the events around them unfold and putting out several fires (both literal and metaphorical) in their own territory, Clan Ironmound calls out for Mardrun to send aid north to fight against the Mordok. Though their resources are limited now, Clanleader Gustav has offered to give what help they can in the form of arms, armor, and warriors, but their contributions alone will far from enough to press the Mordok back.
    On the other side of the Great Forest, however, the news is far less joyous. Clan Riverhead reports a drastic increase in the number of Mordok raids across their settlements, with Daughters of Gaia disappearing and warriors being captured and returned reeking of corruption. Warleader Brynjar Riverhead reluctantly admits that should Clan Riverhead face the same assault weathered by Clan Whiteoak, they will likely be exterminated quickly. Though the attacks thus far have not been a concentrated effort, the trends of Mordok movement in recent weeks makes the clan nervous about such a possibility, and they hope that they might see the same aid as Clan Whiteoak. Scouts and hunters have reported sightings of large groups of Mordok amassing in the Great Forest, seemingly preparing for a large scale attack on Clan Riverhead. Though some settlements are confident in the strength of their warriors and their walls, others have begun the evacuation process, hoping to get civilians to safety before things take a turn for the worse.

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  2. page Mardrun News & Rumors edited ... 2017 January 266 February 266
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    2017
    January 266
    February 266
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Thursday, March 2

  1. page Wren Duncan edited ... She is very secretive about her past in particular, although that may stem from the conviction…
    ...
    She is very secretive about her past in particular, although that may stem from the conviction that any information about her can be used against her in some way. She will open up to someone only after she's had several incidences that cause her to trust that person, often over several months, or even years. It takes a lot to make Wren trust. It isn't a state that comes easily to her. She doesn't get along well with most people, especially bubbly and open people. She thinks they’re a bit foolish for the most part, divulging information often without realizing it to people whom they hardly know. She occasionally makes friends with other silent people, although this can only be called friendship if one stretches the term to breaking point. Seeing as two silent people will rarely talk to each other, it is difficult to call them friends.
    She is generally uninterested in political affairs, unless of course they directly affect her. She will take notice of politics only if it is absolutely necessary, and doesn't think much of noblemen or kings, believing them (rightly) to be dishonest.
    Read more: http://lasthopelarp.proboards.com/thread/1573/kallie-bain-bio-progress?page=1#ixzz4aCUtn1J3
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    12:02 pm
  2. page Character Bios edited ... Dorn Tallstag - Warrior Zeke Ravana - Rogue Wren Duncan - Rogue Syndar Magrat Farwalker …
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    Dorn Tallstag - Warrior
    Zeke Ravana - Rogue
    Wren Duncan - Rogue
    Syndar
    Magrat Farwalker - Cleric
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    12:01 pm
  3. page Wren Duncan edited Played by: Kallie Bain Name: Wren Duncan Gender: Female Race: Human Age: 21 Class: Rogue Wre…
    Played by: Kallie Bain
    Name: Wren Duncan
    Gender: Female
    Race: Human
    Age: 21
    Class: Rogue
    Wren Duncan
    I never thought I'd end up where I am today. When I was a child, I was sure I'd have a home of my own once I reached adulthood. I knew, back then, that I wanted two things out of this life: to be the best sword-fighter in all the land (although of course back then I was thinking of a different land), and to have a family. Well, here I am. I will always have room to improve my sword-work, and I have still not managed to find anything approaching a family. When I was hardly older than 3, my father died while fighting in the Vandregon army. I have no memories of him, but feel I missed a chance that many other people had. A chance to have a loving father who could guide me through my early years and provide support in the later ones. My mother was no more help. She passed not long after my father, having caught a strange disease at a time when we had no money to hire a healer. I was left alone in a world I could hardly understand, but learned enough to survive fairly quickly. Living on the streets, one can't afford to learn survival skills slowly. I learned that watching and listening were the best ways to discover anything, whether that be information or new techniques for blade work. I learned how to kill with a single jab of a knife by watching another man do so. It took me a few tries to get it right, but eventually I found the precise spot, then expanded my knowledge from there. My true passion became the sword. The stealth required for knife-work has never really appealed to me (mostly because I am incredibly clumsy when care is required), but the longsword…. I knew after my first time climbing the wall of the training yard to watch the soldiers, that was my weapon. I cannot say to this day what about it drew me in, but I couldn't imagine ever wielding another type of blade quite as well or with as much pleasure.
    After the first day, I decided to return every morning to watch the soldiers train, and every afternoon I would find a long, heavy stick to practice with, replicating what I had observed that day as best I could. I practiced my sword fighting in this way for about two months before accidentally receiving professional training. It shouldn't have happened at all. The only reason Landon Faulken ever found me was through my own single-minded swinging of that stick. It was general practice among the children of the streets to flee the area when a soldier turned up, but on this particular afternoon, I was practicing a challenging feint on a post and didn't notice the children melting back into the shadows or the man in red and gray striding up the street, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. So intent was I on my exercise that it took me several seconds to register the fact that that same man had come to a halt some ten feet away and was watching my determined attempts to beat the post into submission. I stepped back, glaring at the post, and glanced around, finally noticing the soldier nearby. I froze, ready to bolt if he tried to come any closer, but he raised his hand off his sword-hilt in what I took to be a gesture of peace. I still didn't relax, of course, but I was now willing to wait and hear this man out, at least until I stopped liking what I heard.
    “Child,” the man began, “that is a rather crude weapon.” I glared at him. “However, you wield it well. Of course, there are huge flaws in your stance and technique, but those could be rectified with a bit of proper training.” He was smiling, seeming to invite me to do … something. Was he suggesting what I thought he was suggesting? “Come with me, child,” he said gently. “I'll get you some food and clean clothes, then perhaps we can see about equipping you with a worthy weapon.”
    I regarded him warily, sorely tempted by his offer of food and a weapon, although at this point in my life I could hardly care less about my state of cleanliness (I was so encrusted with dirt from the streets that hardly an inch of skin could be seen). I considered for a long moment, finally deciding I would never get a better chance to learn proper sword fighting. I nodded once and the soldier smiled again, a kind smile, nothing hidden in his gentle, open face. I didn't trust him. Not yet. This could still be some sort of trap, some strange effort to rid the city of another homeless child. I wanted to believe that this man was really going to teach me, though. I wanted to believe he would feed and clothe and care for me. So I followed him back to his modest home (which looked like a castle to me at that point) and allowed him to guide me inside, hand on my knife the whole way, but only as a precaution, not because I really wanted to use it. His wife drew a large amount of very hot water into a brass tub and scrubbed me down until the water was black and my raw pink skin could be seen beneath the grime of years. It took a total of three baths to get me completely clean (which was just about the least enjoyable experience I had gone through at that point) as well as a very long attack upon my very long hair, which hadn't seen a comb since my mother had died. Finally, I was clean and dressed in clothes that were quite a bit too big for me, belonging to the son of the baker who lived next door. I was grateful the soldier didn't try to force me into a dress, as one of us would not have survived that experience. As I soon discovered, that someone would most likely have been me. Landon, it transpired, was a superb sword fighter, at least to my untrained eye and mind, not to mention limbs. By the end of our first training session, I felt as though every muscle in my body was made of rubber. Over time, though, I became used to the motions of the short practice sword he insisted I begin with. My body adjusted to the actions and soon they became almost instinctive. Landon was a mentor to me, always kind when talking to me, demanding on the training field, jubilant when I mastered some particularly challenging move. I respected and trusted him more than any other person before or since.
    I don't think he ever really understood me, but he seemed to be alright with that. After the first week or so, he stopped asking questions, knowing he would get one-word answers at best, or (more often) no answer at all. At first, I kept my secrets to myself, hardly speaking at all lest he learn something about me beyond what he did through having me under his roof. By the end of our time together, I like to think I would have answered any question he asked me, but he was always polite and never pried into my past. How I wish there were more people like Landon Faulken.
    But all good things, as they say, must come to an end. With the Undead hordes ever growing, Landon was called out to fight for Vandregon. He went away for long periods of time, only coming home for brief visits perhaps once a year for the next three or four years. Eventually, the army of the Undead was at the gates and pressing forward. Landon told me to go with the other women and children, to flee in the ships headed to the new continent, but in my 10-year-old stubbornness I insisted upon staying with him for the battle. I remember telling him, “I can fight! What was all the training for if not to battle opposing armies?” He was still unhappy about it, but for his own reasons allowed me to stay. Perhaps he could already sense the weakness inside of me. Perhaps he already knew I would run. Perhaps he saw that I would give in to the fear inside of me, let it control me, allow it to take over my limbs, my brain, my very soul, and cause me to flee. Perhaps he knew, even then, that I was horribly, despicably weak.
    After that day, I swore never to run from a fight again, not without trying first. I never found out what happened to Landon, but I have a guess, and I might have been able to prevent it. If I had just stayed beside him…. There's a part of me, a logical little voice, that says “If you had stayed, you would be dead too. Or worse, undead.” But I still feel somehow responsible. This mental argument has tormented me for years, ever since I came back to my senses on that boat to Mardrun and my new home.
    Our ship landed in Daven’s Reach after what seemed like years at sea, although it was probably only a few months. I was seasick the whole time, having to run up on deck to vomit over the side every few minutes. Since then, I've avoided sea travel as much as possible, only having to set foot on two ships in the last ten years, and then only briefly. I lived in Daven’s Reach for several years, working as a blacksmith and learning everything I could about the new society the colonists were building here on Mardrun. I left after the city was overrun with bandits, though, not wanting to live with those people on my doorstep. Since then, I've been acting as a mercenary of sorts (although I like to think I have more honour than most mercenaries), protecting caravans and nobles. When I can't find work, I steal, but only out of necessity. It seems dishonourable, but it keeps me alive, so I suppose it's worth that shame.
    Wren is not a trusting person. She'll be very unwilling to say even a few words until she's watched you interact with others for a while. She doesn't really know how to handle new people if she doesn't feel she knows enough about how they talk and act. To find this out, she takes to sitting on the edges of rooms or camps and staring at each person present for several minutes, watching their actions, listening to their speech patterns, learning as much as she can about them before they even notice she exists. When people do notice her staring, many are unnerved and look away quickly, while others will try to hold her gaze in an attempt to make her move on to someone else. Wren will continue to stare whether the other picks the first or second option, refusing to look away.
    Whenever she feels as though things are getting too lighthearted or frivolous, she will turn and leave, not looking back or telling anyone where she intends to go. This last is generally because she has no particular destination in mind. She leaves because she despises immaturity and excessive displays of cheer. She will wander for a while, perhaps practice with her sword a bit, then return when things have calmed down. It doesn't make her angry, it's just a mild irritation when people start being very loud. Wren likes to use all of her senses, and is perhaps a little paranoid. She always expects an attack, and uses more than just her eyes to locate any possible dangers. Therefore, loud noises/people put her on edge, because there is always a chance their noise is concealing an approaching bandit. She also dislikes the tradition of building a campfire every evening, believing it to be a hindrance to her ability to see in the dark. In the winter, her desire for night vision is often outweighed by her need for warmth and comfort, but in the summer, she will remain on the edges of the firelight, staring out into the surrounding terrain.
    Wren usually shows very little emotion, preferring to hide what she feels behind a tough mask of blankness. She very rarely laughs (this could become something of a game when in the company of certain people; that is, attempting to make her laugh) and tends to take sarcasm literally, becoming disgruntled when she finds out it was “just a joke again”. It generally takes quite a lot to provoke her because she has had so much practice controlling her emotions, but when someone does manage to anger her, she goes very quiet and still, glaring at her provoker. Her hand will clench around the hilt of her sword, prepared to draw it if she is given a reason, no matter how slight. If you do make her angry enough, she is likely to attack you, more with the intent of frightening you into silence than maiming or killing. If you do get injured, though, she won't feel too guilty about it. The best way to anger her is by insulting her pride. Of all her emotions, that is the one she feels most strongly, overridden occasionally by fear (of which she is ashamed).
    Her policy of never running from a fight puts her life in danger fairly often. There is a constant battle of pride and self-preservation going on inside her when she is engaged with an enemy. A war between fighting and dying honourably, or fleeing and living another day. So far, she has always chosen the right moment to flee, although every time she does so, she is effectively useless for the next few days because she is mentally berating herself.
    She is very secretive about her past in particular, although that may stem from the conviction that any information about her can be used against her in some way. She will open up to someone only after she's had several incidences that cause her to trust that person, often over several months, or even years. It takes a lot to make Wren trust. It isn't a state that comes easily to her. She doesn't get along well with most people, especially bubbly and open people. She thinks they’re a bit foolish for the most part, divulging information often without realizing it to people whom they hardly know. She occasionally makes friends with other silent people, although this can only be called friendship if one stretches the term to breaking point. Seeing as two silent people will rarely talk to each other, it is difficult to call them friends.
    She is generally uninterested in political affairs, unless of course they directly affect her. She will take notice of politics only if it is absolutely necessary, and doesn't think much of noblemen or kings, believing them (rightly) to be dishonest.
    Read more: http://lasthopelarp.proboards.com/thread/1573/kallie-bain-bio-progress?page=1#ixzz4aCUtn1J3

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    12:01 pm

Wednesday, March 1

  1. page Brother Ventaris edited PLAYED BY: Ryan Jopp CHARACTER NAME: Brother Ventaris GENDER: Male CLASS: Cleric AGE: Presumab…
    PLAYED BY: Ryan Jopp
    CHARACTER NAME: Brother Ventaris
    GENDER: Male
    CLASS: Cleric
    AGE: Presumably 35
    RACE: Human
    HAIR: Short brown hair with a beard
    EYES: Brown
    OCCUPATION: Lion of Arnath, Cleric of the Order of Arnath
    KNOWN SKILLS: Heavy armored combat, Laborer Skills
    BIRTHPLACE: Unknown
    APPEARANCE: In combat, he wears the heavy plate, red tabard, and tower shield of the Lions of Arnath. Out of combat, he is usually seen wearing a simple monk’s robe and red tabard.
    NOTABLE TRAITS: None that are noteworthy.
    RELATIONSHIPS: Strong ties to the Order of Arnath
    RUMORS: None
    BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:
    I never knew my parents.
    Were they rich nobles who cast me away because of a political agenda? Perhaps a bastard son who would spoil a bloodline and instead of drowning me in a creek they instead turned me in? Or perhaps an orphan found on the streets, handed over to give me a place that wouldn’t eventually lead to theft and crime?
    Perhaps it was a combination of all three?
    Regardless, my life truly began when I was handed over to the Order of Arnath. The war had been raging for decades… the penitent and undead relentlessly pressing on the Kingdoms of Man and Syndar alike. The Order needed fresh troops to keep up their campaign and fight back. It was a glorious cause, but everything is flawed in some way.
    I believe I was born in roughly the year 230. Nobody really knows, but I was part of the Youth recruits to the Order. Train, do chores, listen to the clerics. Every day, over and over again. It was much more boring than you would think a highly organized and militaristic religious order gripped in the midst of a nearly half a century long war would be. People came and went, important people, and hushed discussions seem to follow. The May’Kar turned and followed “them”… would the followers of Arnath do the same? At the time I had no idea what they meant. Now I do… and those accusations offend me.
    For years I served in the Layorder Youth groups until it was finally time to take the tests to become a member of the Order. I had learned the scriptures, I had done the initial battle testing. I was good too. A few of the other kids learned not to mess with me, that I was quick to bust out a tooth and pummel someone. Lions are taught to wield fury as a weapon and apparently I was good at it. I had decided I was going to be the best Lion and eventually lead a Chapter and then even serve as Hand one day. My youthful arrogance was a detriment but the fact that I did what was needed to be done to advance meant that it fed my ego as well.
    It was time for my testing and I had my sights set on becoming a Lion of Arnath. Righteous with fury, unstoppable in battle, our armor turning away the wicked and our zeal burning back the tide of heresy. I believed in it. I lived and breathed in it. I wanted and had to have it. But unfortunately… I did not possess the willpower to have it. Class after class I was recycled back in… my martial skills were ready but I did not possess the divine talents. Each season the Youth around me seemed to get smaller and smaller… my fellow Youth cadets coming in, training, gaining their divine aptitude, and moving on to begin training as a lion. For some reason I was unable to tap into the powers of the divine and to begin the steps of the Lion training, you must become an ordained cleric of the Order of Arnath and possess his magic.
    I was angry. I was hurt. I lashed out and screamed at the world and wretched myself to sleep wondering about my purpose and every other angsts-like thing that young people do when faced with looking truly inwards at themselves. I asked Arnath time and time again what he wanted me to do? I asked him to come and save me, to grant my salvation and lift my fears, to come and rescue me? Arnath is selective in his hearing, for my prayers were never answered. As time wore on, I stopped testing for training to become a Lion. I was allowed to help the Order scholars and do other tasks that took me away from the Youth program. It was apparently not my place.
    News reached us that a continent had been found… a place they called Mardrun. The war was not going well and even some of the Order fortresses had been lost or nobody had heard from them in quite some time. It seemed like every year the future looked more bleak. For two years I served as a priest…not an ordained Cleric, but just a holy follower of Arnath. I learned the scripture. I truly learned it, not just memorized it to pass the Youth trials. I held sermons for others and talked of Arnath’s great deeds. I helped people. I did what I could with what I had. Sometimes that was combat… for I never abandoned my training and kept my skills sharp, but I never joined the Layorder Militia because I felt that once I began that path I would never return to test as a Lion.
    News arrived that the May’Kar Dominion, the great holy traitors to the Kingdoms of Man, had finally been destroyed. Two decades of warfare and their oasis fortress of a capital had finally been defeated. The startling details of the final stages of the war… of the massacre of tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians alike that were murdered for their beliefs. It was enough to wretch the stomach and it took me many years to truly understand why. It was then that a large callout began; a fortress monastery was being built on the new continent of Mardrun. The conflict with the wolf-people was over and refugees were being sent to build a colony and survive. The Order had been preparing to send battle barges across the sea loaded with supplies, to begin a great plan to build a presence on the new land. Soon after the May’Kar Dominion’s fall the undead menace had begun to besiege Aldoria. Reports of the inevitable fall of the Kingdom were talked about all over. It was hard to hold onto the world as I knew it when an inevitable ending seemed near. I began to lose my way a bit, I questioned things and felt my belief slipping.
    I had thought about signing up to go to the new continent. They will need laborers and priests there to help with daily activities. One of the battle barges was leaving to go along the coast and eventually go far east to the new continent. Do I stay? Do I leave? What do I do?
    That night I prayed for Arnath to guide me, to tell me what to do. I had truly relinquished myself to the inevitability of fate and that I was unable to change my own course. That it was up to Arnath’s plan for us all to take us where we must go.
    I prayed the hardest I had ever prayed in my life for what my fate should be… and he answered.
    The message was clear. There was no misunderstanding it. No way to misinterpret it.
    It simply said three words.
    “Forge…
    …Your…
    …Own.”
    And when the core of my being reverberated with the deafening roar of these whispered words in my mind, my hands began to glow in silver light. I wept with joy and now I fully understood. I was ready.
    In the morning, I packed my things and volunteered for the voyage to Mardrun. After a long and dangerous voyage at sea where I contemplated my faith, held sermons to still fears, and understand the wisdom of Arnath and his ways of teachings… we finally arrived. The moment I landed on the shores of Mardrun in 253, I signed the papers necessary to prepare for another test to enter the Lions of Arnath.
    This time… I knew that things were going to be different.

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    1:59 pm

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