View User's Journal

So...ever since Loki became an Eberron character, there's been this entire...story that's been developing for him in my head. Inadvertantly so, at that, but I'm, unfortunately, very interesting with what I've got going and it's been getting out of hand ever since. It's made it rather difficult to focus on my other roleplaying stuff, and for that I am sorry.
However! My labors have not gone without bearing fruits! What lays before me is something that I should seriously consider writing. And not something of "small endeavor" or "short story" status, but a bloody story. I know! Startling! At first it had been all about Loki struggling through the twisted corpse of Cyre (now the Mournland) which then lead up to his acquisition of a dragonmark borne of Khyber and leaving it at that. Sort of an introduction to the new Loki. Then, ideas began to form... An encounter with the ever-growing population of wayward warforged within the Mournland was too enticing to pass up, which lead to an even greater involvement, and that lead to the warforged duskblade Meld [See below]. Very nice. Oh, but that wasn't the end of it! Furthering this train of character creation and inspired by the Heirs of Ash trilogy, the changeling artifacer Volk [See below, also] and the shifter (hyena-aspect) inquisitive [I...haven't come up with his name yet, but yeah, his stats are also down below] were born. Hooray. Oho, but there's still more! Yes, for I had still yet to incorperate the Silver Flame element that had convinced me to adapt Loki in the first place. So now I'm working on a cleric of the Silver Flame... But I don't know what her race should be... At first I was leaning towards human, but, really, it's anyone's game, 'cause I don't know anymore...
But, yeah, when they're done, I'll be putting them down here. Hopefully I'll, you know, actually get them done.

Loki
To the elves, he was called Lyathri Rae'laferlnal, a proud name (meaning "Wolf-beast of the Distant Winter Moon" wink that he was forced to discard in disgrace after he had shamed the name of his patron ancestor, the lyessama and honored liberator from elven past. Lacking the clever grasp with language that elves are reknowned for, he began to call himself "loki", an incorrect pronounciation for the Elven word "void". Few have caught on, but Loki knows all too well, and carries the damning name with him as a welcomed burden (While calling oneself a name that means "void" may not seem like all that big a deal, but to the proud Valenar, a cruel name strikes hard at their pride, which they treasure as much as they do honor.). But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Loki was born somewhere around the mid-point of the fateful Purge of the lycanthropes. His parents had been highly honored warriors of the Lyr'caith clan of the Valaes Tairn, and had not lost that station even when a group of werefolk, having fled to Aerenal to escape the far-reaching claws of the Silver Flame's Purge, attacked, leaving a number dead and a handful infected with the foul were-curse. They managed to reign in on the beasts they had been forced to share body and mind with, and for that they were held in high regard as paragons to the strength of their elven blood. They remained civil enough to sire a child, a full-blooded werewolf boy, who was taken to the Keepers of the Past and, upon the declaration of his guardian ancestor being the fabled lyessama, was raised to be a warrior.
Loki had started training at the age of six when he had learned to walk, and for several years he learned to wield a sword and shoot a bow under the strict tutelage of his parents. Loki had actually enjoyed the discipline, finding it easier to control his werewolf instincts and focus his unusually sharp (for a child) mind. But when emissaries of Thrane and the Church of the Silver Flame discovered their black blood, their clan was called out and forced to relinquish the "tainteds". The elves were indignant at the demands of the human zealots and naturally they refused, but when steel (and silver) was bared those bearing lycan blood stepped forward and challenged the Flame templars. Loki, being thirteen then, had still been considered a child and thus had not been permitted to fight alongside his parents. There had been deaths on both sides, but it was the templars that prevailed, having killed each were-elf that faced them. When the priests of the Silver Flame, their fiery emblems stained red with Lyr'caith blood, demanded they hand over Loki. Though those that had faced the templars had been tainted with lycan blood, they had still been a part of the warclan, and the elves had honored them no less. They refused to hand over Loki and the priests threatened to kill the entire clan if need be. They were completely wiped out by the elves.
The following years had left Loki orphaned and alone as, though he was still so young, he'd refused to be taken in by another family. The death of his parents had hit the young elf hard. He'd always kept around his parents every chance he could, very rarely interacting with any of the other warclan members, so when they were gone he receded into a solitary state. While he had been perceptive for so young a child, he had been rather slow to learn and couldn't speak the Elven tongue very well, often botching phrases and names both when he spoke. His stumbling grasp of the elven language was steadily heard less until he refused to speak anything at all. (He was nineteen around that time, which--keep in mind--was still pretty young for an elf.) However, another elf child around his age, an elf lass named Kyrla whose honored ancestor had been named as being one the warriors that had fought under the Lyessama, began making many attempts at warming Loki's spirit during that time. She would always try and talk with Loki whenever she saw him, but she could never get a word out of him. But he listened, she could tell, so she kept at it. It took three years to get him to quietly laugh and over four to get a word out of him. Kyrla eventually got him to start using his voice again, broken and still rarely used though it may have been.
But through it all he had been honing is combat skills every single day (including even the very next day after his parents' deaths). His ability to fight was a point of pride for him, a solid bastion that kept his mind focused away from all of the sorrows that weighed in his heart. He trained alone and away from the others, subjecting trees a distance away from wherever the warclan's mobile camp resided to being both targets and sparing partners. When he began to warm up to Kyrla, she soon frequently took the tree's place as his partner in his mock fights. At the age of twenty-two his skills had been recognized and he was allowed into one of the clan's warparties whose activities during peace-time was primarily to hunt for the warclan. While it took him a while to learn the complex maneauvers the warparty used, he was quick to catch on to the basics of stealth and efficient strikes. It was these hunts that caused his werewolf blood to awaken.
The symptoms began after his first hunt when he had caught himself snapping at others when normally he would ignore them. His mood shifted to anger in an instant and he would actually try to hurt Kyrla in their mock fights. He had apologized and proptly begun avoiding her. He knew what was happening to him, and he readily excepted the wolf, perhaps half-hoping it would consume him.

(Still under construction)

Meld
(Under construction)

Volk
(Under construction)

Crael the Markseeker
Crael is a shifter with features reminiscent of those of a hynea. His nose is broad, resembling a muzzle, his brows and beard have grown coarse and thick, his pointed ears a wide and can likened to those of a canine, his grin is always crooked [and equipped with sharp fangs even when not shifting], and his laugh is a harsh bark. His hair his a dirty blond color that almost seems to have dark brown spots, and it grows like fur, falling back away from his face. His limbs are a bit long, so he tends to stand a head above a croud, but his shoulders a fairly broad and he stands with a bit of a hunch. His eyes are supposedly amber yellow, but he tends to squint a bit, as though he's always glaring. His face his is heavy with lines, making him look fierce and older than he really is.
Crael always wears a drab grey cloak and an old longcoat under it. Beneath that is leather padding and a wool shirt and pants. Tied to his belt is a small bag, and slung over his shoulder is a larger traveling pack and a quiver of arrows [when he's carrying his longbow, of course]. He prefers to walk around barefooted so he doesn't wear boots, thus forcing him to hide his dagger in his left coat sleeve. Still, he doesn't use it much, prefering more to attack with his bow or his teeth [whne shifting].
About Crael's personality... Well, in many respects, he's just like an inquisitive--perceptive, little patience, and a bit of a loner complex. But he's far from sly or manipulative--far from it!--instead acting brash and severe. He has little in the way of a sense of humor, with the only thing that can get him to laugh is frustration, and only bitterly so at that. Still, despite coming off as wild and hostile he is fiercely loyal to his companions and will not hesitate to stick his neck out for someone he trusts. But considering his frightful demeanor, it isn't hard to believe that those are extremely few in number.
Now for a history lesson... Crael was born in a nomadic village of shifters that drifted through the northern regions of the Eldeen Reach. Their leader, a shifter druid called Ilyrr Gatewarder, was well respected for both her power and her wisdom. The shifters followed her without question and fought with her to keep the forests free of corruption, both physically and spiritually. Lacking a true connection with nature, Crael began training in martial combat when he was seven. He was an amazing archer, his eyes able to pierce even the thick foliage of the forests. He was given the name Makeseeker and was allowed to accompany Ilyrr personally in her ambushes of the foul beings she sought to purge from the wood. He became a pride to his people, but he found himself...wanting. There was nothing to these hunts. They'd find a trail, they'd track it, and then they'd kill what's at its end. He could see it all, and each day he'd see it again and again and again. He could not hear the call of nature, so what good did it do him to purge the land of Khyber's minions and bring about "balance"? He didn't think about it very long before leaving east for Aundair, almost on a whim.

(Still under construction)

Silver Flame Templar
(Under construction)

Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

More Information