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True Name:
Obriviyanah human alias - Aiden Silverson
ithecal alias - Rolysseus
Race:
Yludih
Date of Birth:
93rd of Zi'da, Arc 697 (Age 26)
Marks: -
Factions Joined:
Troupe Lamont (Etzos)
Languages Spoken:
Fluent = Common.
Broken = Ulehi.
Mood Music: Contemporary
Mood Music: Classical
Appearance
In his true from within the Uleuda realm, he is dazzling and crystalline. He may appear to other Yludih as someone much younger, as despite his age, he is relatively featureless, not possessing any unique color or attribute that sets him apart. He has not been enthusiastic about establishing his own identity.
As a human...
Obriviyanah has modeled his human form after a fair-faced, well bred aristocratic youth. He enjoys a trim build of moderate height, possessing golden hair and almost impossibly blue eyes. He sports the illusion of his hair in an undercut fashion, often in the appearance of a ponytail. A modest amount of facial air appears slightly reddish. When not in costume, he usually dresses himself in drab, formless clothing.
As an Ithecal...
Sometimes considering it his native form, but rarely assuming it, Obriviyanah can take the shape of a lithe Wyvarnth variant not much taller than his human illusion. His scaled hide is jet black, hemmed in bright green along his spine and along his jaw. Unlike a true Wyvarnth, he cannot produce real venom, but he still possesses the impressive fangs.
Obri strives to be likable. He is patient, kind, and naturally charismatic. Always ready with a smile to assist the elderly, amuse children, and woo women. Ever quick witted and fast with a joke.
Above all, Obriviyanah is an actor.
His energy for sustained interaction is limited, and although he is charming at first blush, he is rarely around long enough for anything more than polite small talk and a shared laugh. When known more intimately, his proclivity towards melancholy becomes ever more apparent. In truth, Obri is weary of the world at large and typically has a very low opinion of other people (usually, but not always, with exception toward fellow Yludih). He rarely, if ever, trusts anyone but himself and finds the idea of friends—because they are often so transient—rather pointless.
Obriviyanah is disinterested in politics, war, gossip, or the strife of others. He finds joy in the escapism of acting and uses it to hide in plain sight, even from himself.
At odds with this goal is a secret passion for the necromantic arts and a latent but growing thirst for power and respect.
Last edited by Obriviyanah on Sun Dec 01, 2019 7:04 am, edited 19 times in total. word count: 190
Obriviyanah's earliest memories are in Rharne, where he and his mother lived together as Ithecal in a lively society of mixed races. In these years, he believed his name to be Rolysseus, and his mother's Amelyscira. She worked long hours as a serving maid at a tavern popular with other Ithecal, while Rolysseus had his run of the streets. A precocious youth, Rolysseus made friends easily with the local children and spent many mischievous nights leading his friends around the harbor, spying on sailors and sneaking aboard docked ships to explore.
Always preoccupied with his own personal adventures, Rolysseus barely ever thought to ask about his father. On the few occasions he did, his mother would wistfully tell him he would come back home some day, bearing gifts for his son and kisses for his wife. Eventually, Rolysseus lost interest in his mother's empty promises. Although she was a sweet woman, there always seemed to be something off about her that he never could quite understand. It felt as if part of her consciousness were always miles away.
Despite many long hours working to provide for herself and her son, Amelyscira was a devoted mother who took it upon herself to provide her son's education. In addition to reading, writing, and basic arithmetic, she took him on tours around the harbor and told him about the many wondrous lands that existed beyond the borders of Rharne. She taught him that although life was good in the city, many lands were full of strife, famine, and uncertainty. The different peoples within Rharne lived among each other in relative harmony, but elsewhere, being different could be a death sentence.
It was after Rolysseus reached his 13th arc when he finally learned his true name: Obriviyanah, or "Silver One".
Reluctantly, Amelyscira, whose real name was Ylanikinteh (or "Great Joy"), told her son the secret of their existence. They were not Ithecal, but a shapeshifting race called Yludih, with terrible and wondrous abilities. Rolysseus was deeply upset by this revelation. He had been happy with the way things were in his life, and initially he did not believe his mother. He knew she was prone to wishing out loud and spinning up strange stories. When she changed before his eyes, he could no longer deny the truth.
Over the next year, Amelyscira barely worked. She was focused on helping her son become familiar with Uleuda, mastering the human form, and learning about his place in society—how important it was to stay hidden in order to survive. Obriviyanah lost much of his passion for life, unhappy with this new reality, and gradually drifted away from his friends.
He also learned that his mother wore many faces, and lived a much more colorful life than that of a simple barmaid. She was also a thief and a smuggler frequently involved in legal and illegal slave trade.
Only a year later, when Obri was 14, his mother made a grave misstep, which led to her getting publicly ousted as Yludih. Knowing this would lead to a search for her child, she warned Obri in an Uledi shriek to shed the form of Rolysseus forever. As a human, Obriviyanah watched helplessly as his mother was confronted in the harbor for her crimes. Ylanikinteh was cut down and murdered before her son's eyes.
By the time the Knights arrived to intervene, she was a dazzling crystalline corpse.
Four seventrial after Obri's mother's death. Age 14.
Tobias Acothley never looked up from his desk.
Soaked to the bone, Aiden Silverson stood defiantly at the threshold of the humble wooden shack, chest heaving with forceful, labored breaths. The boy’s hair was slick with rain and smeared in an unkempt tangle around the edges of his forehead, courtesy of the ball of his palm. Water or tears—it could have been either—streamed over his eyebrows, dripped from his nose, and rolled over his cheeks.
The door behind him had been flung open with such force that the upper hinges had come off the wall. Through the opening, the deluge continued its torrential assault upon the Stormlands. Frequent arcs of lightning illuminated the wheat fields in violent flashes; the wind bore down so oppressively that the wheat appeared to boiling.
Disturbed neither by the storm, nor the hostile intrusion, Tobias continued with his letter writing. His feathered quill bobbed mildly over the page, only pausing when he reached to dip for more ink.
“If you have designs to rob me,” he said lowly in a voice barely heard above the roaring downpour, “then I’m afraid you’ve made a grave error in choosing your target.”
Aiden sniffed and wiped his face again with his sleeve. He began to step inside the shack, his posture hunched forward with malevolent intent. A sopping wet trail followed him in scattered puddles over the floorboards.
Annoyed, Tobias looked up from his work with a sharp glare. Aiden didn’t know why, but the look was so powerful that it stopped him in his tracks halfway through the room.
“State your business, boy.”
Aiden bit down on his lips as breaths rasped loudly through his nostrils. When he looked around the room for his bearings, it became clear that that his eyes were welled with thick tears. Gradually his lips peeled apart as he prepared to speak, though he licked them once before he found his voice.
“I know what you are.” Aiden’s voice came in shuddering breaks.
Tobias’s glare softened in amusement. He tilted his head as he appraised the skinny teenager, his impatience and irritation giving way to tentative intrigue. Perhaps more.
“Really.” He set down his quill and folded his hands together in front of him. “And what is that?”
“You’re a mage.” Aiden swallowed. His breath kept catching as he tried to speak. “An evil one. A necromancer.”
Tobias opened into a toothy grin as a low chuckle rolled out of his throat.
“Is that so.” He unfolded his hands and reassembled them in a steeple under his bearded chin. “Presuming that’s true, don’t you think it might be unwise to burst into my home? You are unarmed, underfed, and weak. And, you’re alone.” Tobias’s gaze dipped in an emotionless onceover of the youth’s frail form. “What is it you aim to do?”
Aiden wrestled with his trepidation for a long moment, fighting back further sobs. He chanced a few steps closer to Tobias’s desk until the mage raised an eyebrow at him and frowned.
“I… I want you to teach me.”
Sinking in his chair, Tobias sighed in disappointment. He had to roll his eyes before he could even summon up the willpower to respond to this ridiculous demand.
“Why on Idalos would I do that?”
“Because you’re something else too.” Aiden’s confidence was growing. “You’re a spy.”
Tobias rested his cheek in his palm and blinked slowly.
“How fanciful.”
Aiden leaned forward, planting his hands on Tobias’s desk. The mage drew some of his papers back with his free hand to protect them from being dripped on.
Up close, the dim lanternlight revealed the details of Aiden’s rain-soaked face. His eyes were red and puffy from much time spent crying. And he was shivering, not just from the cold, but out of unmitigated, horrible emotion. There was something broken in his eyes. Something broken in him.
“If you don’t teach me magic,” the boy went on, “I will tell everyone what you are. You’ll be found out. Probably killed.”
Tobias drew one slow and steady inhale, held it for a few trills, then released it all at once.
“If one crumb of these accusations were true, I could simply kill you.” He shrugged. “Or summon some undead creature to just eat you. Why not?”
Aiden leaned back off the desk, allowing the mage to neatly assemble his papers again.
“I don’t care.”
Tobias raised his eyebrows. Did this boy have a deathwish? The teenage years were miserable for everyone, but confronting a secret, evil necromancer seemed especially foolish.
“You’ve not really thought this through, have you? You should care. I can kill you. I don’t even need magic to do it.”
“Well I don’t care.” Aiden smeared the hair out of his face again in an aggressive, boyish manner. “Teach me or kill me. Or do nothing, and I’ll expose you for what you are.”
Tobias watched the child evenly for an extended, wordless moment. Chrien. This would have been much simpler if the boy had simply come to rob his valuables. He could have used his flesh and bones to craft a very fetching thrall.
Finally, he unleashed a growling sigh.
“Close the door.” Tobias rose from his seat and left the desk, abandoning his work for the moment. “I’ll fix some tea.”
The Ritual
Mood Music: The Initiation
One season later…
The torchlight shuddered as Tobias descended the stone stairs. Aiden followed closely behind, his fingers trailing along the nitre coating the rough walls that rose around them. Gradually, the firelight was swallowed by the earth until it disappeared with both them into the underground catacomb.
“Is this a crypt?” Aiden asked mousedly.
“No. It’s a flower garden.”
Tobias led the way forward into the dark corridor. Aiden could see nothing beyond their ring of torchlight, except for glistening moistness along the walls, which twinkled ahead in the darkness. The old man pressed on, undaunted, seeming to have a clear idea of where he was going.
“Any more stupid questions?”
Aiden hissed petulantly through his teeth.
“It was a fair question,” he mumbled. “Normal people don’t just traipse around through crypts.”
Tobias turned to briefly glance over his shoulder at Aiden. Despite his reluctance, the teenager was following closely. Perhaps out of fear of the dark, or perhaps out of his childish deference to authority. The necromancer pressed his lips together in a thin line.
“Remember our agreement, boy,” Tobias said lowly as he continued ahead. “I’ve not forgotten your threat upon my life the first night we met. I may still decide to kill you.”
He heard Aiden sigh quietly behind him.
“Do not forget that it is you who wants something from me. If you want it, I require unquestioning obedience.”
It had been a full season since Aiden had foisted himself into Tobias’s once-private sphere of existence. Although the necromancer never had cowed to the boy’s demands, and he never confirmed (or denied) his lunatic accusations, Aiden seemed placated once Tobias had offered him food, drink, and dry clothing.
Tobias asked him no questions, but Aiden was clearly suffering under the weight of overwhelming grief. Without solicitation, he told a disjointed story about the recent death of his mother, who had been murdered before his eyes. He spoke of a familiar rage for the injustice of it all, and a great regret for all the things he had never said to her. While he shivered under the blanket that had been loaned to him, huddled around a hot cup of tea, Tobias leaned against his desk and quietly listened.
Aiden desired power to not only avenge his mother and claims the lives of her killers, he wanted to strike fear into the hearts of any who might think to oppose him. These were dangerous wishes. If left unchecked, this wild despair might corrupt his young soul more completely than any spark of magic ever could.
It was difficult for Tobias not to see himself in that pitious child.
Aiden was offered a bed for the evening, allowing Tobias to finish his work without interruption. In the morning, he had approached the boy with a proposal. Firstly, Aiden was to repair the door hinge that he had broken the previous night. Furthermore, he would carry out chores around the shack, be dispatched to town for errands, deliveries, and supplies. He would follow every command given, pay ultimate respect to Torias’s authority, and swallow any of his complaints.
Only when Tobias was satisfied with the boy’s commitment to carry out his word would he deliver what Aiden had asked for.
“Is that clear, boy?”
“Yes.”
Tobias stopped abruptly and pivoted on his heel. Aiden jumped and stumbled to a halt. The fire from the torch flickered and murmured as it swung around with him. Adequately it illuminated the utter displeasure on the necromancer’s face.
Aiden looked at his feet.
“Yes… master.”
Tobias glowered over him for a trill longer.
“Very good. Let us press on.”
The half-rotted corpse was pitched to the center of the room, landing in a macabre tangle of limbs at Aiden’s feet.
“Fuck me!” The youth recoiled with such force that he lost his footing and fell hard into his backside. He feverishly shuffled away on his hands and feet, reversing in a mad scuttle until the cold panic drained from his bones and he forgot how to move.
Any further words stuck in his throat while he tried to remember how to breathe.
Wearing a smug expression, Tobias watched him from beside the corpse’s opened tomb. Allowing Aiden some time to himself to contend with his horror, he turned away and wiped debris from an engraved plaque that had identified the inhabitant of the stone coffin. Leaning forward, he illuminated the carven wording.
“Henrietta Locklear. Truly? That is a pity.” Tobias straightened. “I think I met her a few times. One of the sweeter shopkeeps in Caervalle. Always offered me a biscuit whenever I visited her. I think she fancied me.”
The necromancer turned toward Aiden. He was still prone on the crypt floor, unable to look away from the rooted body of Henriette. She had landed more-or-less on her back, but her neck had broken upon impact, twisting her skull beneath her shoulders. Her empty eye sockets stared out at Aiden from a sickening angle from underneath her own body. Amusingly, her limbs pointed in all four cardinal directions.
“Not your dead mother, I hope.”
Aiden gave Tobias a helpless look.
“No? Good. Would have been dreadfully awkward.”
Tobias moved toward the center of the room and knelt down to the corpse. Leaning forward, he pressed his open palm into the ground. The torchlight trembled, despite the crypt’s lack of wind. Eerie, finger-length tendrils of smoke began to creep up from the stony earth, accompanied by a sudden, sickly smell of decay.
Two threads of blue light suddenly burst out from Tobias’s palm, cutting in two arcs across the ground. They rapidly encircled Henrietta’s corpse until meeting to form a wide circle around her. Aiden, coming to his senses, pulled away and began to stumble to his feet, transfixed by the gruesome spectacle before him.
A wide beam of blue light spilled out from the circle, illuminating the chamber in unsettling, cold hues. The light only spilled outside the circle—within it, there was nothing but blackness. As if Tobias had opened a bottomless pit to the underworld. Yet the corpse remained in place within it, undisturbed by the magicks that swirled around it.
Aiden began to back away slowly.
“What… is that?”
“This is Ezymite.” Tobias rose to his feet. Casually he dusted his hand off on his coat and then transferred the torch from one hand to the other. “It is a simple well of power that will supply ether to the construct. I will show you this, if you survive.”
“Survive?!” Aiden’s voice broke with the question.
“And this… come, now.” Tobias bent down to tenderly nudge the corpse within the well. “On your feet, my dear.”
The corpse convulsed suddenly, causing Aiden to jump again. It gasped, coughing grave dust from its shriveled lungs. Gradually and deliberately, it began to slowly assemble its limbs out of their lifeless tangle and pull them into orderly angles. Henrietta faltered clumsily as she tried to sit up, still heaped onto her own skull. With both of her arms, she carefully dug her own head out from beneath her shoulders, putting it neatly where it should have gone. A futile effort, as it still dangled uselessly behind her when she finally sat up and rose from the earth.
“This is called a Husk.” Tobias looked upon his creation fondly. His eyes hardened when he looked beyond it to a fearful Aiden. “If you are successful, she will become your first thrall.”
Henrietta swayed in place as Tobias passed by her, walking purposefully toward Aiden. The boy began to back away further, but the old man reached out and grabbed one of his skinny arms. Tossing the torch to the ground, he reached into his belt and drew a short, sharp knife. It glistened in the eerie glow of the Ezymite well.
“Wait—!” Aiden tried to pull away, but Tobias’s grip was iron.
“There is no turning back now, Aiden Silverson.”
Tobias swiftly drew the knife over Aiden’s palm, opening a thin red cut. Aiden yelped in pain and reeled backward as Tobias let go of him. The necromancer grimaced as he also slashed his own palm with an identical motion, then hid the knife away again somewhere on his person. He loomed close to Aiden again, lunging out and grasping their cut palms together.
Aiden tried to pull away, but he felt himself bump into the chamber wall. Tobias pressed closer.
“From my blood to yours.” He squeezed the boy’s palm into his hand, ensuring that his blood entered Aiden’s body. “The spark is now yours to command. Control it, or it shall control you.”
Tobias released Aiden and moved away, allowing him a full view of the idle Husk. It leered at them both strangely.
As Tobias picked up his torch, Aiden nursed his cut hand, palm now smeared with blood. Some of it illusory. Some of it Tobias’s.
“I will return in the morning, young Aiden.” Tobias nodded to Henrietta. “You will have the full evening to focus your new gift and take control of the Husk. The power is within you now.”
“Wait, what?!” Aiden turned frantically to the Husk. Its black mouth hung agape as it stared blankly back at him. "That's it?! ‘Take control of it’? How? You haven't explained anything!”
“I've told you all you need.” Tobias began to make his way to the corridor from where they had arrived. “Stay sharp, boy. There is no room in necromantic arts for failure. All thralls awaken hungry, and I’m sure Henrietta smells the blood on you. If you do not take control, she will devour you.”
“She'll what?! Wait… where are you going?”
Pausing by the doorway, Tobias groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You know, your voice gets very shrill when you're in moods."
“Tobias, please! Wait!” Aiden desperately ambled to the necromancer, tripping over his own feet on the way. He clutched at his master’s coat and searched for some shred of mercy in Tobias’s cold, dark eyes. “I'm sorry for what I've said. I'm not ready for this!"
“Get a hold of yourself, son.” Tobias twisted suddenly, tearing his coat out of Aiden’s hands. In a swift motion, he placed his boot squarely on Aiden’s chest and shoved him away, kicking him into the dirt. All things considered, it was rather gentle. “You must do this on your own. Control it. And try not to kill it. I will return in the morning.”
“Tobias!” Aiden propped himself up on his elbows. The necromancer was already disappearing down the corridor. Nearby, Henrietta rasped as she began to aimlessly wander the chamber. “How am I supposed to control her? With my mind? Honestly, what are you expecting me to do here?!"
A deep laugh rolled in cascading echoes back through the corridor.
“Your best!”
Henrietta made another lunge for Aiden, clawing lazily through the air. The youth dodged backwards easily and then sidestepped around. The Husk slowly turned its head toward him, rasped dryly in what might have been a mournful cry, and then it began to right itself to prepare for another slow assault.
Initially the Husk hadn’t been much of a threat. It was sluggish and ungainly, and at one point it had simply tripped when trying to turn around too quickly. Aiden had been able to easily maintain a safe distance by fleeing to the other side of the room.
However, the thrall was relentless, and Aiden was getting tired. No matter how many times he pushed the thrall over or dashed to the far side of the chamber, it always recovered its bearings and began the stalk anew. It would not allow him any more than a few moments of rest. There was no chance of sleeping tonight.
Or perhaps ever again.
It had only been roughly an hour, maybe an hour and a half, since Tobias locked him down here, but already Aiden was beginning to think he wouldn’t survive the night.
“Nice… corpse…?” Aiden reached out with his hand toward the creature, perhaps hoping to extend his will to it. It felt ridiculous. “You don’t want to eat me. I’m not what I appear. Nowhere near as soft and juicy as a real human.”
“Nnhhhuuu…” Henrietta gurgled.
“That’s right… gods, what is happening? How did I end up here?”
This dance continued on for an uncomfortably long stretch of time. The Husk would make for Aiden, who would shout commands at the thing until it drew too close. After it was close enough to swipe for him, Aiden ducked and jogged to the opposite wall. He was slowing down, growing weaker, but the Husk drew continuous stamina from the blue-black Ezymite well.
Aiden wondered if he could destroy it, and in doing so, destroy the Husk. But then he would fail the test, and then what would Tobias do with him? He’d come to learn to be a necromancer. Not to remain a coward. Not to run away, again.
Reaching the far wall again, Aiden leaned heavily against the mossy stone. Every limb felt many times heavier than it should have been. He felt his knees buckle, and then he slid down to the ground. Inexorable Henrietta staggered onward toward him, her head hanging at a sickening angle. Once again Aiden reached toward her. This time it would work. This time she would listen.
“Husk… Henrietta… you will obey me.” Aiden winced as he felt the edges of his cut palm sting in the stale air. “You will listen. Stop. I said, stop!”
“Hyyaahh…” She continued to shuffle forward.
“Stop!”
She was closing in again. This time Aiden didn’t have the strength to get back up and drag himself away from her. In the blue light, her shadow loomed over him. Her gray, withered arm stretched out, long chipped fingernails hanging in the air. They made contact with Aiden’s hair, and he batted her arm away.
“Stop!” He threw his arm out again. This time, his palm pressed against the tattered cloth over Henrietta’s collarbone.
“Hhh…” The Husk’s fingernails dug into his hand, causing Aiden to cry out. She reached out and cupped the back of his head, pulling herself ever closer. Aiden could feel her cold breath on his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to duck away to no avail.
“STOP!”
“Hkk… unnh?”
Nothing.
Then, the Husk’s dried fingers loosened their grip. Henrietta stopped pulling herself closer. Slowly Aiden opened his eyes. Two hollow sockets stared back, but instead of looking blank, somehow they were almost… expectant?
Aiden jerked and twisted to escape its grasp.
“Get off of me!”
Escaping her grip was easier than expected. She let go of him, and somewhat confusedly, swayed backward.
Aiden slid away, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the construct. It stood in place, watching him. And there was something else. Something he felt deep within the core of himself. His asterism felt hot, somehow. Almost like it was… vibrating? He could feel the energy in every part of his body. What had Tobias called it? The spark?
“Can… can you understand me?”
The Husk lulled to and fro quietly. It was still. Still and waiting.
Just as he said he would, Tobias returned in the morning. A torch was held aloft in one hand, while in the other hung a wicker basket covered in a towel. The sweet smell of hot, honeyed bread and sugary jam was a welcome change from the odors of must and death.
Aiden was sat against the far wall, near Henrietta’s coffin, with his arms wrapped around his knees. Henrietta had seated herself, very neatly with her legs folded, in the center of her well. She continued to sway slightly in the way a child does when bored.
“Do you live, boy?”
Aiden slowly lifted his head. Dark circles permeated under his eyes, which he could barely prop open, but he was indeed alive.
“Ah.” Tobias smiled pleasingly. As he passed by the Husk, the Ezymite well suddenly flickered out, and Henrietta fell over dead. “Very good. Come along now. I’ve brought you breakfast.”
Recent History:
Obri has eked out a modest living in Etzos for the past five years, but he has abandoned the idea of hiding in the shadows. Instead he hides in plain sight, embracing a public image in the Etzos theater scene a flamboyant actor. Utilizing his natural charisma and lifelong experience in pretending to be something he's not, Obri makes a living on the stage entertaining an audience. In a reversal of Yludih tradition, he actively seeks fame and acclaim.
The way he sees it, if he is well-known and well-liked by the public, then no one would ever suspect him of anything so odious as shapeshifting or living a secret life. The idea would be tossed out with one flash of his winning smile.
However, Obri also prepares for the worst. Unlike his mother, who was helpless when confronted in public with the truth of what she was, Obri will not be defenseless if the same ever happens to him. When not expected to perform on stage, he steals off in secret away from the city to the rolling countryside. Away from prying eyes, and usually in his Ithecal form, he hones his skill in Necromancy so that he might one day raise his own protectors, more trustworthy than any so-called friend, who will defend him from any threat without question.
Rumor has it Aiden Silverson is the bastard son of nobility. Some say a lost royal heir. Others say he's the runaway child of high ranking general. It's very possible Aiden started these rumors himself.
Last edited by Obriviyanah on Wed Dec 04, 2019 9:31 pm, edited 52 times in total. word count: 4525
Theme: Realization
The Spark seeks to shed Obriviyanah's facades and reveal his true identity and his true power. With every mutation, his illusions crumble a little more.
Despite the injustice faced by the Yludih, Obriviyanah has always believed that retribution was overrated. He believes that no matter what anyone tries, the Yludih will always be few in number, they will always be subjugated, and they will always be powerless. Obriviyanah has accepted his fate and has spent his life eschewing conflict in order to survive.
The Spark in Obriviyanah, however, is not satisfied with mere survival. It has dubbed itself the Master, and believes the world belongs under its ironshod heel.
It was the murder of Obriviyanah's mother, which remains unanswered for, that set him on his path to seek out and learn magic. In the years since, he has tried to live a relatively modest life, asking for little. But the Spark will not allow him to truly accept his station in society as a pariah in hiding. It was his youthful rage, his thirst for vengeance, and his desperate need for power that his Spark bonded with when it joined with him. It remembered how helpless his mother was in her last moments, and should the mob ever come for Obriviyanah, it swears they will not be so powerless.
The Yludih, given their abilities, should not live so pathetically in hiding, so the Master believes. They should reign supreme over all other beings, able to operate in every level of society. The Master fuels Obriviyanah's latent indignance, leaving him unsatisfied with mediocrity. Controlling the dead is only symbolic: all fleshy beings are his enemy, and in death he raises them as allies. Were Obriviyanah to give in to the Master's ambitions, he might seek power over all the races, and so elevate the Yludih above all mortal, and perhaps immortal, life.
Witchmark
Obriviyanah's witchmark manifests as his buried desire to reveal himself to the world, unashamedly, as Yludih. To be who he truly is.
When using magic, his illusions are acutely affected his true self begins to show through. The white light of his asterism spills out through his eyes, making them glow prominently. His illusion seems to "decay" as cracks begin to spider out from his eyes, resembling crumbling stone, and the same light begins to show through as the cracks widen. When he is through casting, the cracks slowly "heal", although they may remain longer if he has overstepped.
A similar effect appears in his thralls, but without an asterism, no light shines through. The flesh around the eyes cracks like stone, whether it's skin, muscle, or bone. These cracks however are darker, and once the thralls are dead, they remain permanently on the corpse's face. During prolonged casting, especially when using a well, the bones of his thralls will begin to grow crystalline like structures. These are more prominent in Marrows, but in Husks and other types of thralls, these structures may begin to protrude through the skin.
Mutation: Competent
Rupture: The cracks that appear around his eyes now begin to manifest on his hands and arms. The cracks, with light showing through them, form at first around his fingertips. As he continues casting, the cracks grow over his hands and gradually travel up his arms. The longer he casts magic, the wider these cracks become until his illusion begins to slough away in pieces and his true crystalline surface begins to show.
Once he has finished casting, these cracks take some time to fade, anywhere from a few trills to a few breaks, depending on how long he has been casting or much he has expended himself. He cannot cover this up with his illusions, as they appear no matter which shape he takes. If he wants to hide them, he must wear gloves or long sleeves.
Last edited by Obriviyanah on Sun Dec 29, 2019 6:29 pm, edited 11 times in total. word count: 659
4 outfits of average quality (3 human sized, 1 ithecal sized)
1 set of daggers (x5) of average quality
1 pistol crossbow of poor quality
1 good quality wooden shield
1 set of good quality studded leather armor (human)
Larder of average quality foodstuffs (usually running low)
(Heirloom) 1 silver necklace with star pendant, gemstone missing from the filigree (his mother's)
Housing
At the present time, Obri enjoys a rented space in the Northeastern section of Etzos' outer ring. Covetous of what little wealth he has managed to accumulate, and not particularly concerned about the quality or handsomeness of his earthly domicile, the boisterous actor lives in a dilapidated wooden shack with drafty walls and a leaking roof.
Last edited by Obriviyanah on Sat Jan 04, 2020 5:48 pm, edited 6 times in total. word count: 129
