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[OPEN RPG]-Applications Thread- Anaphora: Entropy

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Re: [OPEN RPG]-Applications Thread- Anaphora: Entropy

Post by TurquoiseWildfire on Mon Apr 03, 2017 2:04 am

Name: Bai Yun
Name Meaning: White Cloud
Alias: Deimos
Alias Meaning: Named after the son of Ares and Aphrodite, the god of dread
Age: 19
DOB: October 5th
Trait: Sorrow
Powers:
Dark Wind – A bola is a large and easily avoided weapon, thus to increase the chances of the weapon hitting, Deimos conjures darkness that takes the form of a herd of bats while flinging his bola. The disruptive flock of shadows will obscure the weapon and disorient foes, as each “bat” will shatter and generate slight knock-back when it connects with an enemy. This ability is weak on its own, and only useful in moderately short range, as  someone in close range could simply interrupt Deimos and someone far away could see and have enough time to react to a swirling cloud of darkness.

Appearance:
Deimos, standing at a height of 5’7” is a clean-shaven, half Caucasian and half Hanzu (ethnic-Chinese) man with medium-length, wavy hair that just barely covers the back of his neck. His less-defined cheekbones and a square-shaped jaw, he looks a tad bit younger than he truly is. His eyes and brow are naturally furrowed, thus those unfamiliar with Deimos may be turned away by his stern countenance. While not particularly built or skinny, the trait-bearer has a triangular and endomorphic build, and this combined with his short stature makes him look almost like a friendly, inviting children’s cartoon character, in stark contrast with his face.
Depending on the weather, Deimos will wear Jeans, cargo or military shorts along with a simply colored (black, white, grey, beige, etc.) along with a matching T-shirt. The design on said shirts are normallygeometric, minimalist designs or symbols. Finally he normally fits himself with either tennis shoes or flip flops, depending on both the occasion and the circumstance.

Personality: Bai Yun is definitely the “bystander” in social situation. Not really contributing or detracting from the conversation until asked or provoked, he’d rather analyze the situation until he absolutely knew the right time and material to contribute. While quiet, he is also thoughtful and caring, gravitating towards risk management and prevention when forming plans. He expresses this consideration not normally through words, but through actions. Generous and committed, he is usually one of the first people that will reach out to a friend or acquaintance to help them fix a bad situation. With this in mind, Bai cannot stand liars or manipulators. Adept at calling others’ bluff, the trait-bearer is very spiteful towards deceitful individuals who take advantage of both him and others. Not only would he lash out against the liar for their intentions, but because they underestimated his perception; they think that he would be idiotic enough to fall for their tricks. While being tricked will initially upset him, Deimos has the temperance to step back and figure out what went wrong, how he can fix the problem, and how to punish the fraudster.
Personality Type: ISFJ “The Defender”

Bio:
“Sorrow? No, I don’t really like that, too depressing. What about ‘insightful’, or even ‘judicious’?”
Bai Yun is an adoptive child, born in Aspernor, currently living with a moderately well-off family of merchants in Kallumia. His birth-mother was shunned by the community, eventually going into hiding after giving birth to Bai. Her boyfriend was an unmarried outsider and the illegitimate, mixed-raced son would be considered abominable by the nation. After his mother left the mainland, the child was begrudgingly raised at an adoption center in secret for the first two years of his life. Knowing that the agency could not keep him secret for much longer, the facility forged intelligence tests that would allow him to be sold off internationally. It was an efficient method to profit off the undesirables without going through the hassle and bloodshed of killing small children. What happened to the child after that was not their problem, Bai Yun happened to be lucky enough that the ones who bought him were an upper-middle class family of silversmiths, skilled in making fancy utensils and accoutrements to sell to the supercilious upper-class of Suada.
Life continued as normal until his trait manifested in public. It was minor, but self-inflicted. It was late at night. Bai was returning from a store, inquiring a shopkeeper about new tools for his family’s shop. The conversation devolved into an argument over prices, and who was ripping who off. While he can’t remember what exactly had enraged him, Bai was rightfully furious at something the artisan had said. As he walked, Bai’s vision dimmed and dimmed, as if a haze of fog was growing and shrouding his face. It ended up blinding him. The confused and terrified trait-bearer collided with a lamp post. Stars from the head injury and pain were the only stimuli that could pierce the shade. After a moment, the distraught young-adult sat on the ground. He realized that he would just have to wait it out and hope that someone that came along could see what was going on and find help. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and took deep breaths, internalizing his focus. After what felt like an eternity, the darkness started to fade. With each passing breath, the shade grew weaker and weaker until it was completely gone. A figure tapped his shoulder soon after, and upon turning around, started speaking about traits, sorrow, and something about a “Redemption”. It all seemed a bit incredible, but they had explained what had happened so well, he pondered about it for a long while.

Notable Relationships:

Weapon of Choice:
Bola and Tonfa Baton
Strengths:
 Agile
 Kind
 Honest
 Thoughtful
 Generous
Weaknesses:
 Unreliable ranged weapon (without trait)
 Short ranged, non-lethal melee weapon
 Lightweight & small stature
 Blunt
 Spiteful
 Grudging
 Incredulous (towards strangers)
 Closed off, difficult to approach

Fun Facts:
- Loves cooking
- Has a Celtic-style crescent moon tattooed on the back of his left-shoulder
- Actually owns two tonfas, but hasn’t really learned the proper way how handle them together yet, so he just takes one and uses it as a club.


Last edited by TurquoiseWildfire on Mon Apr 03, 2017 10:33 am; edited 1 time in total
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Re: [OPEN RPG]-Applications Thread- Anaphora: Entropy

Post by Athena Lionheart on Mon Apr 03, 2017 10:23 am

This is pretty good, man! We're lucky to have you on board. Just a note, though-- 'artistic' shirts would be pretty difficult to find and there aren't any entertainment mediums like TV shows and games to speak of; if it stimulates Imagination, the people in power don't really want it get out there. Other than that, approved.

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Re: [OPEN RPG]-Applications Thread- Anaphora: Entropy

Post by TurquoiseWildfire on Mon Apr 03, 2017 10:34 am

@Athena Lionheart wrote:This is pretty good, man! We're lucky to have you on board. Just a note, though-- 'artistic' shirts would be pretty difficult to find and there aren't any entertainment mediums like TV shows and games to speak of; if it stimulates Imagination, the people in power don't really want it get out there. Other than that, approved.

fixed ^^
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Re: [OPEN RPG]-Applications Thread- Anaphora: Entropy

Post by cosmicmurder on Mon Apr 24, 2017 2:13 pm

theyre done im dead bye. if the format looks wonky its bcuz im on mobile

Name: Viona Achar
Age: 22
Trait: Imagination
Appearance: Lithe and pale. Brown eyes; long, blonde hair she ties back with a lilac-colored ribbon. About 5'7''. Dead-eyed, stoic expression. Objectively pretty, but resembles a walking corpse. Rarely without her kiseru-style pipe.
Personality: Virtually has none. Viona smokes a sedative drug provided by Vasil that dulls her emotional state, more or less turning her into a zombie. More to come in RP.
Bio: An ordinary girl who came by her Trait by unfortunate means. Formerly a maid. Viona and her brother now operate as drug dealers and traders on the black market. She is searching for someone.
Weapon: Needle dagger and pistol. Her Trait.
Strengths: Patient and clever. Has an eye for strategy; innovative. What she lacks in physical strength she makes up for in speed. A formidable actress.
Weaknesses: Emotionally vacant. Lacks empathy and has virtually no interpersonal relationships aside from the one with her brother. Reliant on the sedative Vasil provides for her - she can't live without it, for the sake of her own mental stability.
Other: The Madam of The Dove's Egg, a brothel she runs with her brother. Proficient at chess.

Name: Vasil Achar
Age: 21
Appearance: Slim, pale. Hazel eyes; sleek blonde hair that comes past his ears. Handsome face. 5'10''. Has the look of someone who is constantly gambling with himself.
Personality: Careful, sly. Silver-tongued. Cordial, but closely guarded. Loyal. More to come in RP.
Bio: An ordinary boy who looks after his older sister. Formerly in training to become a pharmacist. Due to a series of unfortunate circumstances, Vasil and his sister now own and operate a brothel that acts as a cover for their drug trading. He is searching for someone.
Place of Residence: Port Rakehell, Aspernor
Occupation: Apothecary, doubles as a drug dealer. Black market trader.
Strengths: Knowledge of herbs and medicines; poison. Thinks ahead, treads lightly. Has the uncanny ability to talk himself out of any situation. Excellent poker face.
Weaknesses: Physical strength. Emotionally guarded; wary of letting people in. Two-faced. Indulgent. Loyal to his sister to a fault.
Other: Runs The Dove's Egg with his sister, Viona. Loves to gamble, and is quite good at it.
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Re: [OPEN RPG]-Applications Thread- Anaphora: Entropy

Post by Athena Lionheart on Mon Apr 24, 2017 3:08 pm

Accepted! Welcome to Anaphora Very Happy

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Re: [OPEN RPG]-Applications Thread- Anaphora: Entropy

Post by Omni on Sun May 14, 2017 3:33 am

As discussed, Jayce will be going dark until it's time for me to off him. I'll pull him out if it's really necessary, of course, but I doubt that'll happen. In the meantime, here's my new character.

The Warden:
Name: In true Sergio Leone fashion, I’m not actually going to tell you his name.

Name Meaning: I mean...

Alias: To the mutant tribes of the far north, he is known as Kwenedemyath. Folks south of the border just call him Warden.

Alias Meaning: He’s a member of the Northwardens, the solitary protectors of Aspernor’s irradiated northern border. Kwenedemyath means ‘gun-spirit-shaman’ in the distorted version of Anaphoran spoken by the northern mutants.

Age: Mysterious, but somewhere in his mid-twenties.

DOB: Unknown

Trait: Joy

Secondary Traits: Sorrow, Logic, Restraint

Tertiary Traits: Strength, Persistence, Compassion, Faith, Retribution

Quaternary Traits: Passion, Imagination, Psychopathy, Perpetuity, Hate

Quinary Traits: Cruelty, Envy, Yare, Greed, Narcissism, Obsession

Powers: As a Joy Bearer, the Warden has the power to control the air around him. For him, the Trait doesn’t mean simple, fleeting happiness, petty mischief, or any other kind of active feeling. It is more akin with what, in our world, the Greeks called ataraxia and Zen Buddhists called mushin no shin: “the mind without the mind,” a state of perfect inner peace and mindfulness achieved through meditation, in which a person feel no doubt, no fear, no rage, and is thus free to be truly happy. Thus, where another Joy Bearer might excite the air, he calms it.

Appearance:

Personality: As usual, the rest of the form ought to give it away.

Personality Type: ISTP

(Extremely Long) Bio:
Not much is known about the man who would become the Warden before he arrived in Port Rakehell two and a half years ago, battered and scarred. He was a different man, then: just as hard, but fragile, like a diamond, and like to shatter if struck just so. He was a man of logic trapped in a world where nothing made sense, and as a man of logic he knew that when something breaks down, you fix it or move on. But the thing breaking down was himself, and he was beyond his power to fix. So, he moved on, and on, and on. He didn’t have a destination, just a place—a past—he had to leave behind. His running took him from Rakehell all the way to the edge of the world, to the village of Thia’s Candle on the northern border of Aspernor. There, he met a man who would change his life forever.

At first glance—or second glance, or third, or any of the glances after that—Prosper Howland didn’t seem like much: just a disreputable old drunk whose shirt was rumpled and whose socks didn’t match. Underneath his ragged appearance and joking mannerisms, however, Old Prosper had nerves of steel, a will of iron, and an uncommon depth of wisdom, for though you wouldn’t know it to see or even to listen to him, he was a member of the Northwardens, the ancient order of gunslingers tasked with defending Aspernor’s northern march. He was also a Joy Bearer, as well as the keeper of another, far more dangerous secret. Though the young outcast resisted at first, Prosper took him under his wing and showed him a better way to live, free from doubt, from fear, where nothing needed to be proved or altered, only accepted as it was. Slowly, he began to heal.

About a year into the future Warden’s time in Thia’s Candle, his newfound peace was disrupted. The North Border Deathsmen were, despite their dramatic name, a fairly inconsequential group of outlaws, one of several operating in the narrow strip between the heavily-patrolled south and the Northwardens’ domain along the border proper. Recently, however, they had come under the leadership of a mysterious man named Gallan, who dressed all in white, who came from an unknown land, who—rumor had it—could not be killed… And who told them that there was a grand treasure buried beneath the village, which his master would reward them handsomely for heling him retrieve. Their greed being greater than their fear of Wardens, they attacked. Together, Prosper and the Warden-to-be repulsed their initial surprise attack and barred the village gate. Thia’s Candle had sturdy walls, intended to fend off raiding mutant tribes from across the border, and supplies of food to last, at least long enough for help to arrive. Prosper had sent a pigeon carrying word to Last North, but it would be at least two weeks until help would arrive.

Gallan, once he realized that he wouldn’t be able to simply wait the villagers out, decided to take drastic action and ordered his bandits to launch flaming arrows over the walls. There was a chance, of course, that the treasure he sought might burn as well, but if he couldn’t get at it, it was lost to him anyway. Thia’s Candle was built almost entirely from timber, and it burned just as well as its name suggested. Eventually, the fires were put out, but before they were, nearly half of the village burned, leaving many without shelter from the harsh northern elements and no way to build more until the siege was lifted. Worse, a number of people had been badly burned trying to escape their homes or put the fires out, and some of them desperately needed a doctor—a doctor who lived in the next village over, only a full day’s ride away—but as long as the siege lasted, he might as well have been all the way in Avaditas.

Faced the possibility of the villagers’ deaths, the Warden-to-be crumbled. He’d seen too much death, caused too much death. There were too many people he’d already failed. We wouldn’t fail again. Never again. He was a man of logic. Had been a man of logic. He knew that if the siege didn’t end, those people would die. So he set out to end it. Taking the gun Prosper had loaned him, he climbed down the wall under cover of darkness and went to kill Gallan.

It went perfectly. Silently, he entered the bandit camp. His target was sitting alone, staring into the fire. All the others, it seemed, had gone to bed, leaving their leader to stand watch alone. With long-practiced motions, he drew his gun and put a shot right through Gallan’s back, straight through his heart. Upon which, Gallan looked down at the unbleeding hole in the front of his pristine white jacket, then stood and turned to face his stunned opponent. “I think,” he said quite calmly, “that I am going to kill you for that, boy.”

Gallan was very near to keeping his word—with the rest of the Deathsmen, having been awakened by the noise, looking on—when Prosper burst into the camp. Having noticed his student’s absence, he had correctly guessed where he had gone, what he had intended, and how outmatched he had been and had come to rescue him. In a fair fight, Prosper might, perhaps, have won. But his body was old, next to Gallan’s, and he had to worry both about protecting his student and the possibility that the other Deathsmen might join the fight, though for the moment they seemed content to watch. In the end, Gallan eviscerated him with a slash across the gut. Though Prosper wasn’t quite dead yet—that would come later, after hours or even days of agony—Gallan decided not to finish him and charged the not-yet-Warden with carrying him back to the village as an example.

Back in the village, the mood was bleak. Their protector was dying, along with many of their friends, and any help would come too late to save them. Just as the future Warden was contemplating surrender, Prosper woke, for a brief moment, and told him how to find the what the bandits were looking for. He went, expecting to find it, take it to Gallan, and end the siege. He went down the steps into the cellar of the mayor’s burned-down house, now open to the sky, and he found the secret door, the secret lock of which he opened with the secret code. And there, on the other side, he found the treasure.

It was not everything he had lost, for some of what he had lost had been lives, which could not be replaces. It was not, precisely, a second chance. But it was something. A hope. A dream. A calling that he had thought forgotten. Surrender was no longer an option. He would have to fight, but not the way that he had fought before. He would have to fight smart, and free from doubt, free from fear. He would not have to prove anything, because there was nothing to prove. His failures had happened, and success now could not erase them—but learning from them, growing from them, could give them meaning. He could not be the man that he had been, yet at the same time, he could not be anything else. In that room, he felt a peace that had eluded him all his life, and as he felt it, he became the Warden.

Gallan had said that he would be at the gate at noon to accept their surrender. Taking Prosper’s gun and every bullet he could find, the Warden went out to face him.

Standing before the gate, with Gallan advancing towards him, the Warden’s resolve almost failed him. His first shot went wide, sailing past his opponent’s head. The monster laughed and rushed towards him. The Warden closed his eyes. He pictured all those he had failed—his parents, Prosper, and all the friends and family lost in between—crowded around him, grasping at his arms, his clothes, his hair, and one by one, he imagined their hands falling away, until he saw himself alone, floating in the center of the airy void.

The wind ceased.

The Warden opened his eyes, and they remembered their old aim. His first shot hit Gallan in his right eye. His second hit him in his left. The immortal, now mere feet away, stumbled forward blindly, thrashing about desperately with his blade, and the Warden shot it out of his hand. His next two shots kneecapped him, driving Gallan to the ground. The Warden reloaded, then put three shots in his enemy’s chest, two in his gut, and another in his right eye, which seemed to be starting to reform. This went on for the next thirty minutes, with Gallan writhing on the ground before him as his body slowly wasted away. At one point, one of the Deathsmen stepped forward to interfere; the Warden put a bullet through his ear, and the implication was clear enough to stop him in his tracks. Eventually, as the Warden was nearing the end of his bullets, his now near-skeletal enemy lay still. Seeing their unkillable leader lying apparently dead in the dirt, the few Deathsmen who had not already done so fled.

Taking Gallan’s body, the Warden burned it and put the ashes—which, disturbingly, were slowly lumping themselves together, and which seemed to glow with a strange anti-color—into a sack to scatter along his ride. Then, mounting Prosper’s horse, he set off to fetch the doctor.

In the end, all of the villagers lived, and even Prosper was expected to recover. However, even once healed, he would never be fit to serve as a Northwarden again. So, he gave his former student his gun, named him his successor, and sent him off to Last North to present himself to the Chief Warden at the organization’s five-year gathering.

Many strange things happened at the Feast of the Northwardens, and many things were set in motion, some yet unknown. A strange woman—who, like Gallan, seemed immortal—requested that the Wardens ride south against the Warlord himself, in defiance of tradition, setting off an intense debate between the assembled members. The Wardens, as a rule, were a diverse group, and their only common features were their uncompromising will to defend the northern border and their loyalty to the order. Some, like, Prosper, were outcasts from Aspernor’s harsh culture who had found, against all odds, a place where they could make things truly better. Others were outcasts of a different kind, whose utter sadism could only be safely pointed in a single direction: due north. Some sought glory, some merely to defend their homes, and some sought nothing at all—or sought death. And while some would have happily ridden against House Guerre, whether in hopes of enacting change or simply of enjoying the inevitable carnage, just as many rejected the proposal, out of national pride or simple disinterest in the affairs of the south. In the midst of all of this, reports came of an incursion of mutants across the border. Hoping to remove his newest recruit from the political line of fire, the Chief assigned the Warden to investigate and, if necessary, stop the incursion.

Arriving at the site of the raid, the Warden found that the situation was far worse than the Chief had feared. A typical tribal raid consisted of ten to thirty mutants striking swiftly across the border and then retreating. The band the Warden found himself facing, however, consisted of nearly five hundred people, including children, and by the huts that they were building, they intended to stay. From a captured scout, he learned that this tribe-of-tribes had been assembled by a powerful aredemyath—a word-spirit-shaman, what in most of Anaphora would be called a Logic Bearer—named Vitega. Vitega knew little of the world to the south, but she knew that Aspernor was not Anaphora’s only nation, that most of their people were to the south, that most of their armies were away fighting their other enemies—and she knew of the Pale King in Black, who ruled in the west, and had seen that Aspernor did not trouble him. Her plan was to declare herself Queen in the North, gather the various mutant tribes to her, and establish a new nation within Aspernor’s own borders, too strong to be easily defeated, too remote to be worth taking.

The Warden knew, of course, that Vitega’s plan, while clever, was built on incomplete information. It might not be worth it for Aspernor to retake the northern lands for their own sake, but the country couldn’t afford to appear weak to Avaditas or Acritudo. If word of Vitega’s mutant nation reached Mars, the Warlord would send armies, and then the mutants would be killed—or worse. For their own sake, as well as the people of the north, he would have to make them leave. But how? Force of arms was out. Even if he’d wanted to, the Warden couldn’t take on hundreds alone. The old him simply would have assassinated Vitega, like he’d tried to do with Gallan, but now, he couldn’t bring himself to kill a woman—a Trait Bearer—who simply wanted to do what was best for her people in cold blood. He would have to find a diplomatic solution. Diplomacy, unfortunately, had never been his strong suit, but it was what he had. So, leaving his gun behind in a hidden place, the Warden walked into the mutants’ growing village, returning their scout and claiming an unarmed guest’s right to hospitality.

At first, the mutants were understandably hesitant to trust the Warden. However, in time they began to, if not quite trust him, then at least accept his presence. The revelation of his Trait helped matters along, and eventually some of the mutants began to listen to his warnings about the danger Vitega’s plans held for them. The Warden was told that if he wanted to force the tribe-of-tribes to leave, he should challenge Vitega to a spirit duel, a ritual battle fought with two Bearer’s Traits alone. Deciding that this was his best option, the Warden challenged Vitega. During preparations for the duel, several mutants approached the Warden. Saying that they were afraid lest what he had warned of should come to pass, they offered to sabotage Vitega’s concentration during the duel, ensuring the Warden’s victory. The Warden, however, refused.

The duel was closer than many had expected, but Vitega’s mastery of her aredeh—her word-spirit—was great and practiced, and she was the veteran of dozens of duels, while the Warden had had the Joy Trait for only a few months. Following the duel, however, Vitega chose to spare the Warden’s life in exchange for his bond—at some point in the future, she would be able to call upon him to perform three tasks for her. That night, Vitega summoned the Warden to her hut. She had heard the rumors he had been spreading around the tribe, that her plan would not work and that Aspernor would wipe them out if they continued. Looking into his eyes and speaking into his mind, Vitega used the first of the Warden’s bonds to compel him, as he was an honorable man, to say honestly if this was true. He said it was. Vitega then revealed that she knew that he was honorable and that she could trust his bond, for she had sent the ones who had offered to cheat for him in order to test him. In fact, she had also arranged for him to be told to challenge her in the first place in order to learn if she could trust the information he offered. Knowing that her original plan was doomed to failure, Vitega used her second bond to charge the Warden with finding her people a new place to live in peace south of the border. The Warden asked what her third bond would be, and Vitega only smiled. “As for that,” she said, “I am still deciding.”

After much difficult negotiation, and with Prosper’s help, the Warden managed to arrange and agreement between Vitega’s tribe and the people of Thia’s Candle. The tribe would settle to the north of the village, and in exchange for protecting them from threats from over the northern border while the Warden was away, the villagers would protect the tribe from the Aspernori authorities, keeping them a secret. The two groups would also engage in trade, working together to survive the harsh winters.

Once Vitega’s tribe was settled, the Warden left on patrol, trusting the new treaty to keep Thia’s Candle safe. When he returned, however, he found both the village and the tribe in horrible danger. In response to rumors of treason among the Northwardens, no doubt started by the incident at the feast, the Warlord had dispatched Inquisitors to the border to ferret out any subversives in the ranks. One of these, Inquisitor Sastik, had come to Thia’s Candle, where a Warden was known to make his home. And as if hiding Vitega’s tribe, the secret room under the mayor’s house, and his own Trait weren’t hard enough, on his first night back in the village, one of the town’s young mothers came to his hut. In tears, she revealed that her five-year-old daughter, Diella, was a Faith Bearer and begged the Warden to protect her. He promised to try.

Over the next two weeks, while Sastik remained in the village, it took all of the Warden’s cunning and self-control to keep him from discovering any of the secrets that he sought to hide. The Inquisitor, already suspicious, could tell that the Warden wasn’t cooperating fully, but he couldn’t be sure if it was simply the longstanding dislike between their two organizations or something more. To determine if the Warden was indeed a Trait Bearer, or in any way disloyal, Sastik devised a test. Ordering his guards to line up the whole village in the square, he chose a child at random and, denouncing the weeping toddler as a Trait Bearer, drew his gun. The Warden, however, called Sastik’s bluff and remained calm. Five-year-old Diella, however, merely saw another child in danger. One might say that she was young, that she didn’t know the danger she was putting herself in. But the Warden knew better than most the fear that children can feel, and he knew, even in that tragic moment, the depth of bravery that he had just witnessed. He had, in all his life, only witnessed its equal once before.

Bravery wasn’t enough to save Diella. Sastik shifted the aim of his pistol from the child in his arms to the child standing before him and shot her, once, through the heart.

The line between prudence and cowardice is thin, at times, but then and there, the Warden knew which was which. Before, he had learned to release, to accept. Now, he felt the other side of things: how to compromise—but also how to stand. Because even mixed in with all the shades of gray, some things in the world were simply right, and others were simply wrong. His mind entered into the void, and he was like the air. Yielding, yet ever-present. Soft, yet invincible. He felt no doubt, he felt no fear, only the pure conviction that this, the bringer of justice, was who he had somehow always been.

The wind died, and the Warden drew his gun. Sastik called for his guards, and the Warden waited for them to turn and face their deaths before he fired one shot, two shots, three, four, five, six. The guards, almost as one, crumpled to the ground. Every shot had struck true, straight through the eyeslits of their helmets. It had taken, perhaps, a second and a half. “A word of advice,” the Warden said as he reloaded—but only a single bullet. “Next time, bring more people than I have bullets in the chamber.”

Sastik dropped his pistol. He surrendered, he said. He was unarmed, he said. The Warden wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, would he? The Warden said that when the man in question had just shot an unarmed girl, it was sorely tempting—and, indeed, as he said it, even in the void his finger itched to pull the trigger. Once, he wouldn’t even have hesitated. But he had been a younger man then, and he had since learned that just as much as evil could be characterized by the attempt to avoid the consequences of one’s actions, good could be seen, in part, as forgiveness. The only one who could truly forgive Sastik now was gone—he had seen to that—but justice could be tempered with mercy.

In the end, the Warden took Sastik to the tribe. When Vitega heard what had happened, she agreed to have her people hold him prisoner, for as long as he lived if necessary, and to help the Warden cover up the disappearance of him and his guards, creating the appearance that they had been killed in a border raid. The grim business concluded, the Warden prepared to set off back for Thia’s Candle, his heart heavy with Diella’s death and the knowledge that he would soon have to face her grieving mother. Before he could go, however, Vitega stopped him. She asked if he was lonely.

“All the time,” he said with a sad smile, “but not as much as before.”

“And do you not have a woman, then, so clever and strong as you are?”

The Warden stepped closer. “No. I do not have a woman.”

“Then kiss me,” Vitega said. “That is my final bond of you. A kiss only, my Kwenedemyath.” So they kissed, and then more besides, and for a time Warden forgot his loneliness.

A few months later, the Warden received word that the remnants of the North Border Deathsmen had been raiding trains to the southwest. Wanting to question them further about Gallan’s origins and how he had known about the contents of the secret room, he bid a temporary farewell to Vitega and the village of Thia’s Candle and struck off south, looking for answers.

Notable Relationships: Prosper Howland | Mentor- The Warden has a great deal of respect and love for old Prosper, though he sees him less often nowadays; following the mysterious death of the previous Chief Warden several months ago, Prosper’s taken over the job and is currently living in Last North.

Vitega | Lover/Ally- The Warden cares a great deal for Vitega. He greatly respects her intellect, as well as her mastery of the Logic Trait (even though she wouldn’t call it that), which has allowed her to survive under incredibly difficult conditions despite having been naturally born with no hands. But though they’re friends and take pleasure in each other’s company in more ways than one, both the Warden and Vitega recognize that each one has loyalties and responsibilities beyond the other, even if their goals do, at least for the present, align, and this has kept them from growing too close romantically.

Inquisitor Sastik | Enemy- The Warden has visited Sastik in prison several times since their confrontation. The Inquisitor’s fear of the Warden has sublimated fully into hatred at this point, feeding his already-powerful Hate Trait and putting him truly into the major leagues with regards to his power. While Sastik remains contained for now, the Warden is sometimes concerned about what might happen if he were to escape.

Gallan | Enemy- Though shot, burned, and scattered, Gallan still lives, though it will take millennia for his body to reform, by which time the Warden will be long dead. However, the Warden worries about the mysterious master Gallan claimed to serve, as well as the nature of his bizarre powers. While he suspects there may be some connection to the ‘Pale King in Black,’ an obscure and terrible figure claimed by Vitega to rule the western land of Kallas Ira, beyond the mountains, he knows nothing for certain and nearly as little even in theory. At the moment, he considers finding that truth his primary concern.

Others- The Warden had a whole other life before arriving in Aspernor, with other friends, enemies, and allies he’s left behind. Some are dead, of course, but others are very much alive. He’ll be seeing them again soon…

Weapon of Choice: A slightly-weathered six-chamber revolver.

Strengths: The Warden’s already been through the worst and come out the other side. The world may try to break him, but he knows how to put himself back together.

Also, if life were a game, the Warden would be banned for aimbotting.

Weaknesses: For a man with such incredible aim, the Warden’s very slow to shoot. He’s seen enough people die already and would prefer not to add to the total any more than strictly necessary.

Fun Facts: Try to guess his name!

His theme.

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Re: [OPEN RPG]-Applications Thread- Anaphora: Entropy

Post by Athena Lionheart on Sun May 14, 2017 10:25 pm

Aaaaaaccepted!

(And yes, I actually read the whole thing. Nicely done, man.)

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Re: [OPEN RPG]-Applications Thread- Anaphora: Entropy

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