Table of Contents
Charlotte's Plot Notes
Moderator: Staff
-
Charlotte Vale
- Approved Character
- Posts: 52
- Joined: Mon Jun 04, 2018 6:33 am
- Race: Human
- Profession: Witchhunter
- Renown: 25
- Character Sheet
- Plot Notes
- Wealth Tier: Tier 1
Milestones
Miscellaneous
Charlotte's Plot Notes
Last edited by Charlotte Vale on Mon Jun 18, 2018 4:04 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 10
-
Charlotte Vale
- Approved Character
- Posts: 52
- Joined: Mon Jun 04, 2018 6:33 am
- Race: Human
- Profession: Witchhunter
- Renown: 25
- Character Sheet
- Plot Notes
- Wealth Tier: Tier 1
Milestones
Miscellaneous
Charlotte's Plot Notes
Skill Goals
| Skill Rank | Knowledge Total | Point Total | Point Ratio |
| Novice | 0-10 | 0-25 | 1:1 |
| Competent | 11-21 | 26-50 | 2:1 |
| Expert | 22-32 | 51-75 | 3:1 |
| Master | 35-59 | 76-99 | 4:1 |
| Grandmaster | 60 | 100 | 5:1 |
word count: 43
-
Charlotte Vale
- Approved Character
- Posts: 52
- Joined: Mon Jun 04, 2018 6:33 am
- Race: Human
- Profession: Witchhunter
- Renown: 25
- Character Sheet
- Plot Notes
- Wealth Tier: Tier 1
Milestones
Miscellaneous
Charlotte's Plot Notes
Zuuda Blessing Story
14 Vhalar 716
14 Vhalar 716
I loved him. That was the only thing I truly remember feeling. He was strong, and silent, and mysterious. I was a girl, innocent and stupid, but I loved him. And I would like to think that he loved me, at least in his own way, because the alternative is a horror far worse than I faced. It began when I was a girl of thirteen arcs, learning to dance to please my mother.
She always fancied me a swan, not because of my natural grace or beauty, but because she saw what I could be. She always told me that the Immortals had sent me to her, to show her that there was more to this life than riches or fame. She loved me, and I her, so I wanted to give her something that would make her happy.
I danced.
There was a boy, a man really, in the orchestra that caught my attention. It wasn't his instrument, but rather his voice that allured me. That, and the smouldering look he got when he was singing. He was unlike anything I had ever seen, and I loved him, I knew it instantly. Darro, he called himself. I loved Darro.
So I began to spend more and more time with him, the bits slipping by us like two teenaged lovers. Vri only knows the connection we had, and I thought that it was going to transcend this life and the next, but it was Darro himself who proved me wrong.
I wanted to surprise him, that was all. I was freshly fifteen, a woman now, and I wanted to sneak into his room and be waiting for him when he arrived home. He was studying at the university, and I wanted to show him how much I loved him. That was the trial, I had decided, that he and I would prove our love. But when I arrived, I heard him singing. Not his usual, sultry voice, but something older and deeper. His vocals rattled together like a bag of bones, each syllable slapping soundly against each other. I peered in through his window, and I saw the truth of his perversion: Necromancy.
He was raising a skeleton.
At the time, I didn't understand what I was seeing. I mean, I had heard stories about swamp witches raising the dead from beneath them to slay heroes, but I had never given it much thought. I wasn't a swamp witch, and I certainly wasn't involved in such a gruesome practice. But as Darro Sang, the bones connected and rose to the height of a man. The eyeless sockets of the skeleton peered past Darro and into me, and there was an exhilaration that rushed through me. My cheeks burned, and it was as if Darro suddenly sensed my presence. He turned, accusation in his eyes, but when he realized it was me, he simply calmed and bade me to come inside. The skeleton stood sentinel as he brewed me a cup of tea, chamomile, and he sat me down to explain his proclivities.
“My father taught me the art,” he had said. He called it an art, every time he spoke to me about it. “He told me it was an ancient art, one predating the settling of this world. I didn't believe him at first, but look at the power it brings,” he commanded, drawing my attention to the skeleton he had raised. It stood, obedient, waiting for instruction. I shivered, not expecting the empty eyes to be so deep and piteous.
“He used to teach me how to defend myself with his creations. The first were weak and slow, lumbering dolts whose lack of wit quickly made them easy targets as my skills grew. My father told me he always wanted me to be prepared, and that killing the undead wasn't killing at all. There was no harm in it, no shame,” he explained. I didn't quite understand, because if there was no shame, why was he practicing in secret?
“But those who see the art as evil, regardless of its user, they found my father out. They killed him, claiming an accident, but not before he could pass his knowledge on to me. And now, I am going to avenge him,” Darro vowed.
For the first time, I saw the taint of youth in him. He may have been older, more powerful and wise and mysterious, but he was harbouring a child's errand. Vengeance would only prove the bias correct, and would lend credence to the reason for his father's death. I told him as much.
That was the first time Darro ever hit me.
Through my crying, Darro cooed and shushed me, promising me he had just let his temper get the best of him. He told me that he wouldn't let it happen again, and I believed him. More the fool was I. He convinced me, instead, that it was the love of his father that compelled him to lash out, but that he felt sorry as soon as he landed the blow, because...
Because he loved me. It was the first time I had heard it, and my ears chimed with crystalline bells. He told me again, because I sat there like a half-wit, slack-jawed. I stammered as I said it back, and he smiled wide.
“I want to share this with you, Charlotte. I want you to know how wonderful it is to sing something back to life. There is a power in it,” he mentioned again, but this time it sent shivers up my arms. I followed his movements with trepidation as he approached the skeleton and gave it the command to leave the room. It followed immediately, with no hesitation. I felt that same rush, and thought that perhaps Darro was correct in wanting share with me.
After all, he loved me, why would he put me in danger?
He told me he wanted to wait until my sixteenth birthtrial. It seemed appropriate, he said, and so he began to teach me about the art he practiced. It was disgusting, at first. Corpses, rot, decay, bones, blood... It was all too much for me. I grew ill talking of it, but less so every time he brought it up. Trials passed in that way, and soon, I was numb to it.
I should have known then.
The trial of the initiation came upon us. He took me to a cemetery, to his family's crypt, and guided me inside. The mausoleum was huge, with enough room for four of me to stand shoulder to shoulder. Here, Darro raised and held a Husk. As the zombie stood there, decaying face drooping, Darro cut his palm and my own, smearing them together. Immediately, I felt something pulling at me from the inside.
It was as if I were being compelled to accept something, to take Darro's offer into my very core. I wanted to accept, to say yes and share this gift with Darro. But it wasn't that easy.
“Take the Husk from me,” he said, and just allowed the Husk to do as its primitive instincts demanded. It came for me at once, and I stumbled back to avoid it. I couldn't take control from Darro, I didn't know how to.
“Darro, help me! I don't know how to...” I cried as I scrambled, and the Husk just came on. Darro's face remained a mask, but there was something strange in his eyes: Glee, as I look back now I know. He hadn't wanted to share with me, he wanted to see if I was strong enough.
It was about power, and I had none.
I was ill prepared for the Husk, and it grappled me with a strength I would have never believed of the dead. It felt as if my shoulder had shattered under its grip, and when the rotting maw gnashed near my throat, I knew that I was to die. I looked to Darro one final time, eyes pleading to be released before I was murdered.
He did not even consider it.
Dying was something I would never have considered. I felt as if I were floating above myself, but I could see only the cloying darkness that the midwives clucked about over their needlepoint. I knew I was dead, vaguely, but everything was hazy. It was as if a thick fog crowded around me, its point being to suffocate me so that I may die a second time.
Until a Lantern was thrust through it. I couldn't see the form behind it, but I knew her immediately by her voice.
“Child, You Have Entered My Domain At A Time When You Should Not Have,” said Famula. I would have shuddered at her voice, but I had nothing to shudder. Instead, it seemed to rattle my soul.
“I-- I have been murdered,” I tried to say, and it was as if the Lantern-Named-Famula understood. The fog retreated for a moment, and I saw Darro's Husk eating my corpse, feasting on me as if I were no more than a deer shot by a huntsman. I could feel the dismay in the Lantern's flickering.
“Playing With Forces Beyond Your Power, Girl,” Famula chided, “And You Are Here Now. Yet, It Is Not Your Time. Were I To Make You A Deal, Would You Accept?”
The question surprised me. I had not expected the Lady of Souls to offer me anything, especially not during the time of my death.
“I already made the mistake of agreeing before I knew the price,” I offered, meekly. She seemed pleased, but I could not be sure.
“Indeed You Have. The Terms Are Simple: I Shall Return You, Whole, To Your Body. In Doing So, You Will Owe Your Time On Idalos To Me, To Do As I Bid As A Servant Would. You Will Bear My Mark, And Through It Shall Bring Light Unto The Darkness. You Shall Hunt The Disease Of Magic Wherever It May Take Root. Swear Me This, And I Shall Make Good On My Promise,” Famula offered. I considered the deal for a moment.
A lifetime of servitude seemed preferable to an eternity of nothingness, so I agreed. I could feel the pressure around me growing, as if the Lantern were weighing down the part of me I was left, pressing it back into my body. When I woke, I was lying on the ground of the crypt, bloody clothing torn and ripped from the Husk, whose form was nowhere to be seen. No bites or gashes marred my body.
Just the black bangle left by Famula around my left wrist. So I was given directive.
I would be the Knife that Cut the Soul.
In Famula's name.
She always fancied me a swan, not because of my natural grace or beauty, but because she saw what I could be. She always told me that the Immortals had sent me to her, to show her that there was more to this life than riches or fame. She loved me, and I her, so I wanted to give her something that would make her happy.
I danced.
There was a boy, a man really, in the orchestra that caught my attention. It wasn't his instrument, but rather his voice that allured me. That, and the smouldering look he got when he was singing. He was unlike anything I had ever seen, and I loved him, I knew it instantly. Darro, he called himself. I loved Darro.
So I began to spend more and more time with him, the bits slipping by us like two teenaged lovers. Vri only knows the connection we had, and I thought that it was going to transcend this life and the next, but it was Darro himself who proved me wrong.
I wanted to surprise him, that was all. I was freshly fifteen, a woman now, and I wanted to sneak into his room and be waiting for him when he arrived home. He was studying at the university, and I wanted to show him how much I loved him. That was the trial, I had decided, that he and I would prove our love. But when I arrived, I heard him singing. Not his usual, sultry voice, but something older and deeper. His vocals rattled together like a bag of bones, each syllable slapping soundly against each other. I peered in through his window, and I saw the truth of his perversion: Necromancy.
He was raising a skeleton.
At the time, I didn't understand what I was seeing. I mean, I had heard stories about swamp witches raising the dead from beneath them to slay heroes, but I had never given it much thought. I wasn't a swamp witch, and I certainly wasn't involved in such a gruesome practice. But as Darro Sang, the bones connected and rose to the height of a man. The eyeless sockets of the skeleton peered past Darro and into me, and there was an exhilaration that rushed through me. My cheeks burned, and it was as if Darro suddenly sensed my presence. He turned, accusation in his eyes, but when he realized it was me, he simply calmed and bade me to come inside. The skeleton stood sentinel as he brewed me a cup of tea, chamomile, and he sat me down to explain his proclivities.
“My father taught me the art,” he had said. He called it an art, every time he spoke to me about it. “He told me it was an ancient art, one predating the settling of this world. I didn't believe him at first, but look at the power it brings,” he commanded, drawing my attention to the skeleton he had raised. It stood, obedient, waiting for instruction. I shivered, not expecting the empty eyes to be so deep and piteous.
“He used to teach me how to defend myself with his creations. The first were weak and slow, lumbering dolts whose lack of wit quickly made them easy targets as my skills grew. My father told me he always wanted me to be prepared, and that killing the undead wasn't killing at all. There was no harm in it, no shame,” he explained. I didn't quite understand, because if there was no shame, why was he practicing in secret?
“But those who see the art as evil, regardless of its user, they found my father out. They killed him, claiming an accident, but not before he could pass his knowledge on to me. And now, I am going to avenge him,” Darro vowed.
For the first time, I saw the taint of youth in him. He may have been older, more powerful and wise and mysterious, but he was harbouring a child's errand. Vengeance would only prove the bias correct, and would lend credence to the reason for his father's death. I told him as much.
That was the first time Darro ever hit me.
Through my crying, Darro cooed and shushed me, promising me he had just let his temper get the best of him. He told me that he wouldn't let it happen again, and I believed him. More the fool was I. He convinced me, instead, that it was the love of his father that compelled him to lash out, but that he felt sorry as soon as he landed the blow, because...
Because he loved me. It was the first time I had heard it, and my ears chimed with crystalline bells. He told me again, because I sat there like a half-wit, slack-jawed. I stammered as I said it back, and he smiled wide.
“I want to share this with you, Charlotte. I want you to know how wonderful it is to sing something back to life. There is a power in it,” he mentioned again, but this time it sent shivers up my arms. I followed his movements with trepidation as he approached the skeleton and gave it the command to leave the room. It followed immediately, with no hesitation. I felt that same rush, and thought that perhaps Darro was correct in wanting share with me.
After all, he loved me, why would he put me in danger?
He told me he wanted to wait until my sixteenth birthtrial. It seemed appropriate, he said, and so he began to teach me about the art he practiced. It was disgusting, at first. Corpses, rot, decay, bones, blood... It was all too much for me. I grew ill talking of it, but less so every time he brought it up. Trials passed in that way, and soon, I was numb to it.
I should have known then.
The trial of the initiation came upon us. He took me to a cemetery, to his family's crypt, and guided me inside. The mausoleum was huge, with enough room for four of me to stand shoulder to shoulder. Here, Darro raised and held a Husk. As the zombie stood there, decaying face drooping, Darro cut his palm and my own, smearing them together. Immediately, I felt something pulling at me from the inside.
It was as if I were being compelled to accept something, to take Darro's offer into my very core. I wanted to accept, to say yes and share this gift with Darro. But it wasn't that easy.
“Take the Husk from me,” he said, and just allowed the Husk to do as its primitive instincts demanded. It came for me at once, and I stumbled back to avoid it. I couldn't take control from Darro, I didn't know how to.
“Darro, help me! I don't know how to...” I cried as I scrambled, and the Husk just came on. Darro's face remained a mask, but there was something strange in his eyes: Glee, as I look back now I know. He hadn't wanted to share with me, he wanted to see if I was strong enough.
It was about power, and I had none.
I was ill prepared for the Husk, and it grappled me with a strength I would have never believed of the dead. It felt as if my shoulder had shattered under its grip, and when the rotting maw gnashed near my throat, I knew that I was to die. I looked to Darro one final time, eyes pleading to be released before I was murdered.
He did not even consider it.
Dying was something I would never have considered. I felt as if I were floating above myself, but I could see only the cloying darkness that the midwives clucked about over their needlepoint. I knew I was dead, vaguely, but everything was hazy. It was as if a thick fog crowded around me, its point being to suffocate me so that I may die a second time.
Until a Lantern was thrust through it. I couldn't see the form behind it, but I knew her immediately by her voice.
“Child, You Have Entered My Domain At A Time When You Should Not Have,” said Famula. I would have shuddered at her voice, but I had nothing to shudder. Instead, it seemed to rattle my soul.
“I-- I have been murdered,” I tried to say, and it was as if the Lantern-Named-Famula understood. The fog retreated for a moment, and I saw Darro's Husk eating my corpse, feasting on me as if I were no more than a deer shot by a huntsman. I could feel the dismay in the Lantern's flickering.
“Playing With Forces Beyond Your Power, Girl,” Famula chided, “And You Are Here Now. Yet, It Is Not Your Time. Were I To Make You A Deal, Would You Accept?”
The question surprised me. I had not expected the Lady of Souls to offer me anything, especially not during the time of my death.
“I already made the mistake of agreeing before I knew the price,” I offered, meekly. She seemed pleased, but I could not be sure.
“Indeed You Have. The Terms Are Simple: I Shall Return You, Whole, To Your Body. In Doing So, You Will Owe Your Time On Idalos To Me, To Do As I Bid As A Servant Would. You Will Bear My Mark, And Through It Shall Bring Light Unto The Darkness. You Shall Hunt The Disease Of Magic Wherever It May Take Root. Swear Me This, And I Shall Make Good On My Promise,” Famula offered. I considered the deal for a moment.
A lifetime of servitude seemed preferable to an eternity of nothingness, so I agreed. I could feel the pressure around me growing, as if the Lantern were weighing down the part of me I was left, pressing it back into my body. When I woke, I was lying on the ground of the crypt, bloody clothing torn and ripped from the Husk, whose form was nowhere to be seen. No bites or gashes marred my body.
Just the black bangle left by Famula around my left wrist. So I was given directive.
I would be the Knife that Cut the Soul.
In Famula's name.
word count: 1830
-
Charlotte Vale
- Approved Character
- Posts: 52
- Joined: Mon Jun 04, 2018 6:33 am
- Race: Human
- Profession: Witchhunter
- Renown: 25
- Character Sheet
- Plot Notes
- Wealth Tier: Tier 1
Milestones
Miscellaneous
Charlotte's Plot Notes
Solo Planner
[columns=2]Anti-Defiance 1:
Discipline: Staving off exhaustion
Discipline: Combating the effects of coffee
Intelligence: Gathering data on an enemy
Intelligence: Preparing for a mission
Research: Reading the proper text
Research: Making connections
Defiance: Elemental magic
Defiance: Connection with the elements
Defiance: Can name Kin elements
Defiance: Revelation ( The Exemplar )
Defiance: Overstepping consequences
Defiance: Witchbrands[/columns]
Discipline: Staving off exhaustion
Discipline: Combating the effects of coffee
Intelligence: Gathering data on an enemy
Intelligence: Preparing for a mission
Research: Reading the proper text
Research: Making connections
Defiance: Elemental magic
Defiance: Connection with the elements
Defiance: Can name Kin elements
Defiance: Revelation ( The Exemplar )
Defiance: Overstepping consequences
Defiance: Witchbrands[/columns]
word count: 59