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 Post subject: Locus
PostPosted: Mon Feb 11, 2013 1:22 am 
Caenyr Newcomer
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Joined: Thu Nov 03, 2011 5:33 am
Posts: 27
Gamespy ID: l3v1athan
Character Name: Locus
Gender: M
Race: Half-orc
Age: 30
Class: Monk
Alignment: LN
Deity: Draxil

Description:
The half-breed has very little of his brutal lineage apparent in his face. Light-brown skin covers a form only slightly larger than the average human, with a lithe musculature better suited to tumblers than hardened warriors. His face is mostly human, with slightly-lowered cheekbones and the points of his lower canines just peeking above his lower lip. His ashen-brown eyes have a calm quality to them, even when the situation is anything but. His head is shaved bald except for a topknot of dark brown hair that extends from the top of his head.

Bio:
I have forgotten who I was. This is not by accident. The ant cannot remember its larval state, nor should it. What was true before is no longer so. Caretakers have become strangers. Predators have become prey. Memories only serve to confuse what was with what is. So have I forgotten what I was before embarking upon the Path of the Dragon. It is just as well. All of those who claim to remember me are quick to throw stones or call me "murderer". There was an old poster, half-rotten and yellowed with age, that displayed my visage and offered gold for the capture of this marauder of caravans. I do not know this man they despise. I have no wish to. Master says that my past can do naught but distract from The Path.

Master is the only one I could claim to know. My first memories are of her. We were in a cave dug into the cliffs of Athkalta, where the crashing waves spray a mist that permeates even where most light does not. Yet in the darkness I could see her. She was sitting across from me holding a goblet carved of elm wood. The coppery liquid inside was strong-smelling. I did not recognize it at the time. Nor did I recognize the strange, bitter-sweet taste that lingered in my mouth. She had given me my first taste of The Dragon's Tears. I felt empowered by it. I knew that if I wished, I could smash through the stone walls of that very cave, and rose to do so. Nary had I taken a step before I was thrown across the cave floor, crashing hard into a stalagmite. I looked at my assailant, still seated with the tranquility of a still pond. She rebuked me, saying that my fascination with this power was like child squealing over a newly-found copper piece while standing at the foot of a gold mine. In time, she assured me, I would know this power to its fullest. I would understand why it was given me. And most importantly, I would have purpose.

I had agreed to a life of servitude in exchange for training, though I cannot recall this exchange. Mornings are reserved for sweeping, hauling water, building walls, and pulling weeds. When the sun is centered in the sky, we begin training. What strength remains after chores is soon spent on holding a stance, punching a wooden board, or trying to dodge my Master's impossible barrage of attacks. But I am getting stronger, and may soon last until dinner. In the evenings we go to the Shrine of the Dragon, and meditate upon The Way. Master closes her eyes and enters The Dream. I close mine and see nothing. But I am patient.

When one has lost their past, there is no motivation to rush the future. By purging my memory, Master has wiped away all distractions from following the Way of the Dragon. Destinations come to all men if they only allow it by putting one foot in front of the other. So will The Dragon come to me.


Last edited by Angry Orc on Mon Feb 11, 2013 10:06 am, edited 4 times in total.

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