Post by Alabaster Presidio on Dec 31, 2017 20:34:28 GMT -5
I'M GONNA MARRY THE NIGHT,
"Dying is easy. Living is harder."
"Dying is easy. Living is harder."
I WON'T GIVE UP ON MY LIFE,
NAME: Lord Alabaster Presidio
GENDER: Male
AGE:31
AFFILIATION: Survivor
GONNA MAKE LOVE TO THE STARS,
PERSONALITY:The weight of command weighs heavily on him. He is aware of how much is dependant on him, and how important he is to his people. As a leader, it is his duty to look after the needs of his soldiers. But more importantly to be a symbol for them and their people. He feels like he can not allow himself to be mortal, he can not allow himself to show pain or doubt. He needs to be larger than life, and he does everything that he can to project that to the masses. He isn't afraid to get his hands dirty, and there is no task that is beneath him. He makes it a point to do some mundane task with his men every day. It could be gathering provisions from the wilds, digging a latrine, or standing watch. His men needed to know that he stood there with them and as part of them.
This is not to say that he doesn't know he has to prioritize his duties. There are duties that only he can do, and those are always his priority. Life and death balance on more than his blade and every day is a day he could cost his people their lives. He takes these duties seriously, and he enforces a strict sense of duty and respect among his people. They are far from home and civilization and it is their duty to uphold their culture. Honor and duty are important to him, and while he only pays lip service to his ancestors he strives to be honorable in every aspect of his life. In battle and in life.
He's a man that has had plenty of chances now to retire and live a comfortable life, the Lord of his lands. But he can't pull himself away from the battle. He is always looking for the next campaign. He feels silly telling anyone about it, and so he generally keeps it to himself. But he truly believes he is cursed by his ancestors. Some bastardized version of immortality to keep him alive, and a restless bloodthirsty spirit that pulls him to war. The only time and place he feels alive, he can't stand peace now, the quiet makes him restless and his thoughts begin to haunt him without the next war to plan and throw himself into.
LIKES: Fish roasting on a fire, the feeling of sand between his toes, scent of static before lightning crashes through the sky. War.
DISLIKES: Liars and cowards. Peace. People that brag and throw their titles and achievements rather than letting their actions speak for themselves.
I'M NOT GONNA CRY ANYMORE,
HISTORY: Growing up on the edge of Garlemald in a small fishing village he used to dream of war. He dreamed of war calling young men like him to battle for a chance to rise up above his station. To die in glory or make their names known through history. To honor his ancestors and bring glory to his family. He knew that without it he would die as his Father lived, a poor fisherman withering away in the sun. His wish was granted shortly after his fifteenth name day.
The borders of their small nation had been breached in the west, their neighbors having eyes on the coast that Garlemald held. And like he'd always dreamed war was declared. He was conscripted into the Military service, taken away from his aging Father and ailing Mother. The village that he grew up in was destined to die a slow languishing death as it's youth was drained away and it's people slowly starved to death. Such news would not reach his ears until several years into his deployment.
Like all conscripts, he was sent to one of the various camps that dotted the countryside that they called "Recruitment Centers". Such places were where very basic training was given before the conscripts were sent to die for their country. More importantly, it is where the Soothsayers tested individuals for Magical Aptitude. A rare gift in their people, but one that came with great status. Being from the outskirts Alabaster had been missed in screenings growing up, his village too far and too small to bother sending people to in normal times. But now that his natural aptitude was identified he was separated from the rest of the conscripts and taken for training.
The first year of the war was spent in seclusion being trained on how to harness his abilities. In his case, it was as an Elemental Speaker. Though only the spirits of Earth ever heard his voice, and even then he'd never heard theirs. He felt he never really took their lessons to heart, he couldn't speak to the Earth so much as he commanded it. But the spirits or whatever listened to him. He was useless with water air and fire. But Earth bent a knee to him like a squire to the King, but only when he was forceful with it. Where his teachers preached patience and connection to the elements he could only ever push and fight it. Where the other Speakers could coax and move in unity with the elements he fought a bloody war with his, his will overpowering his foe and forcing it into submission.
There was no time to refine and reflect upon his training, the war was going poorly as the invaders pushed ever deeper into their lands. Each inch was hard fought and defended to the last man. But the invaders took it, step by step. He was sent to the front lines, little more than a blunt instrument, but a blunt instrument could be used to bludgeon an enemy to death. And bludgeon them he did. The Earth erupted under his enemies feet as he roared with fury. Him and his men charging into the flood of bodies that their enemies offered. At first, it was victory after victory. He felt himself making a tangible difference in the fights and bringing victory to his people and his King.
The first time he gained any real renown, however, was at the battle of Mile Hill. The enemy had a defensive set up with canons. Giant guns that rained death on their squads before they could form a defensive line. Guns out of the range of his magic without becoming red mist himself. The high ground gave them an enormous strategic advantage. But it was Alabaster and several other young men that stole away into the night, wearing the darkness like cloaks as they crept to the enemy camp. In the midst of the changing of the guard they stole away the cannons by creating a landslide. Whooping and yelling as they rode the canons down the hill to victory.
He was given a promotion and a reassignment. He was stationed at an important choke point that was keeping the invaders from breaking through the Mist Canyons and into the greater part of their agricultural lands. Land that if lost would devastate the war effort as their food supplies were raized and stolen. It was a quite assignment at first, but an important one as the invaders had continued to make headway deeper into their lands once again. It was at this station that he'd learned the fate of his home and the death of his parents. Deaths that he may have been able to prevent, or ease if he'd been there. Everything that he thought he had been fighting for suddenly felt hollow. Glory, his name? All of it paled when confronted with the fact that his family were gone. He'd failed to honor his ancestors because of his own selfish wishes for personal glory, and the legacy was gone. The pit of guilt settled in his stomach because even when faced with such facts, he couldn't deny the rightness of where he was. How he'd never felt more himself than he did here in the army. Ancestors be damned.
When they came he could swear that the canyon itself shook under the weight of their footfalls. The numbers were like a black mass along the canyons, further than the eye could see. Resupply and reinforcements were ten days out. A retreat was not an option, letting them through the Mist would leave the rest of their nation at the mercy of their army. If they fell here then the country would surely follow. Not tomorrow, or the day after. But defeat would be all but assured. This was his chance to realize his dreams from the years before the war though. To die in glory. Everything he had been was gone, he was being gifted a chance to follow them, and follow them with honor.
The battle lasted ten days and ten nights. Magic seared and reshaped the pass more times than he could count. The invaders heretical magic sundered men's minds and spirits. Creatures were summoned from the aether and vanishing just as quickly. The whole ordeal was a blur to him. But moments were seared into his mind forever. Feelings, thoughts, sights, and smells. Paintings of brief moments of horror. Early in the siege, he'd been cut off from his magic, like the rest of his fellow Speakers. With no magic to fall back on and nothing to go back to if they made it through this, he remembered rushing into the midst of their army. Some kind of frenzy fogging his mind as his hands gripped and tightened on his ax. He remembered how the bodies fell like wheat before his ax blade. He remembered, even more, the ones that didn't. Hacking at them as he screamed silently into the roar of battle. Or at least he thought it was silently, so loud was the din of war that he couldn't even hear his own bloodied shouts, let alone those of his brothers and sisters in war.
By the time reinforcements and supplies came everyone was dead, no one was left except for Alabaster standing amongst a field of bloody bodies. Hacked and torn apart, both friend and foe alike. His body and soul were both drenched with blood that felt like it would never wash off. He was hailed as a hero, taken to the King, given a parade and rank. He was held up as an example of what all young soldiers should strive to be. He was praised for his courage and it was proclaimed that his ancestors and the ancestors of their great nation watched over and guided his hand. But he didn't feel blessed, he felt cursed. He'd turned his back on his ancestors and they turned their back on him. They didn't curse him with death and peace, they cursed him with life. He was to live with the life that he'd created. The longing in his heart pulling him back toward battle, he was cursed to never know peace, to only know strife and horror. He was cursed to war.
The war was eventually won and the invaded became the invaders. Alabaster lead the charge into enemy lands. City after city fell to his ax. Bridges crumbled under his magic and after two years the crown of their king fell before his feet. The crown was offered to his own King, now Emperor and in turn, he was granted nobility over part of the newly conquered land. Further inspiration for young men and women like him. A man born of nothing climbing his way to the nobility through sheer effort and honor. The Emporer was not satisfied with one nation under his heel, and their armies continued to spread with Alabaster helping to push their borders ever forward.
The years marched onward and Alabaster continued to march to the drums of war. The other nobles plotting behind his back, the "Butcher of the Mist" as he was called was both spoken as a sneer by those born his better, and in reverence by those now his lesser. His holdings were coveted, he lacked an heir and despite his station, he insisted on continuing to lead forces from the front, his soul always pulling for war. The plan was hatched, whispers reached the King of the lands beyond the sea. How they too should belong to him. How none were better suited than Lord Alabaster to bring the savage lands under our banner.
He was chosen, and outfitted with a small army. The mission was to set up an outpost, a foothold in the new world. The hope would be that he would die heirless and his lands would be up for grabs to the real lords and ladies of the land.
FAMILY: None living
POWERS: Elemental Earth Magic: He is able to manipulate the size, shape, and control Earth and Metal objects that he has some point of contact with or in his direct vicinity. This can include his weapons and armor as well as the ground under his feet.
WEAPONS:Two handed Axe, Flint-lock pistol
DOWN THE STREETS I LOVE,
OOC NAME:Rylander
HOW DID YOU FIND US:Proboards Support
PASSWORD: Moon Cookies
CUSTOM TITLE:The Butcher of The Mist
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:Alabaster stood on the outcropping of rock that made up the edge of the cliffside. The beach stretched as far as he could see, rocky outcroppings littering the water along with the wreckage of ships through the ages. But not his ships. His ships had landed and beached themselves safely. His men and women were already busy at work, hacking down trees along the edge of the beach to establish a perimeter. Wood was being salvaged from the wrecks that were in the best shape so that structures could be made. Temporary shelters for the immediate future. Establishing a more refined and permanent outpost would come later, but for now his people needed lodging off the ship. Some kind of wall will need to be constructed, and firewood would have to be gathered.
There was no telling what this new land would throw at them. There were rumors from traders, but most spoke of death, a land that people did not return from. He'd thought it superstition before they landed, but after the treacherous voyage here he could see there was merit to their stories. Though as of yet he was not convinced about some of the fantastical aspects of the tales. Tales about the Sun and Moon walking among the land,
dancing in eternal bliss and battle. Such tales were foolish, the things of children. He'd stopped believing in God's long ago. Even the Elements barely registered into his thoughts. Over fifteen years he's commanded Earth and never heard their voice, he'd stopped expecting to hear from them years ago, and he'd stopped being disappointed in their silence as well.
His right hand rose up to shield his eyes from the morning glare as he surveyed the horizon. The skies were clear for now, but there was a scent in the air that he remembered from his childhood. His Father had always known when a storm was coming, and if he was a gambling man Alabaster would wager a month's rations on a storm hitting them tonight. And hard. Time was of the essence, and they'd need to set up and fortify their landing or risk having it washed away.
"Listen up!" He bellowed from the cliffside. "I want a clearing made by this afternoon and a trench dug around it. Get those ships torn apart, we don't need to make it pretty we just need it to be functional. Now get the sand out of your boots and get to work!" He roared at his men before rushing forward and leaping from the cliff face. His fist slamming down into the beach, the magic of his silent commands spreading through the ground beneath their feet as the sand shifted and pushed away from the ships to encircle it. He was creating a sandbar in a manner of speaking. Something that would help make sure that their ship remained beached during the storm.
His Men and women looked upon the scene with awe, awe that he deliberately ignored. Let them think what they wanted. This was good, it would inspire them to work harder knowing they had him here with them. Seeing the magic at work. Moral was important for all tasks, but most of all in hopeless situations or where time was an enemy. Only then could you get the best out of your men. When despair was pushed out of their hearts and hope and visions of victory lifted their chins.
"Now someone get me an ax. I'll cut down more trees than any two of you. Who wants to prove me wrong?"
He asked with a smug smile as he straightened up. One of his men grabbing a hatchet and handing it to him. Others looking between themselves with smiles of their own. The challenge was issued and there wasn't a man in his unit that didn't want to impress him and show what they were made of. They'd get their clearing. He'd make sure of it.- - - - - - - - - -
TEMPLATE MADE BY PANDA.
MODIFIED BY LOTTI.
LYRICS FROM LADY GAGA'S "MARRY THE NIGHT".