Mordelain
01-30-11, 07:43 AM
She Who Wavers, She Who Winds (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBuz9ul88bs&feature=related)
Name: Mordelain Saythrou
Age: 29yrs
Gender: Female
Race: Tama (Humanoid)
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 150llbs
Homeworld: Junkyo
Religion: Nihilist
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Languages: Common, Runic
2427
There are many worlds beyond yours, each as brilliant, each one as perilous. Truth is told, though I have walked on them and through them, I cannot fathom how many may yet remain through the infinite folds of the multi-verse. One imagines one can never know and one imagines one should never be so fortunate to see all of creation in one single lifetime. I have had the fortune of viewing what is named in the ancient tongue, The Kalithrism, the nine worlds that were anchored together before your petulant Thayne and mortal deities even became aware of their own existence.
Before the seas boiled, there was Petra, the City of Eternity. Through its igam ogam heights and organic broad walks the wisest sages of the traverse discussed the many facets of reality, and along its narrow corridors a gentle wind carried the scent of blossoms. It was there, before the Cataclysm, that I learnt all that I know and heard all that I have heard worth hearing. I walk its lonely streets in quiet contemplation when the sun is set, wavering in the brink of madness for the lament of days gone by.
Before the skies the formed, there was Ixias, the Raging Furnace. All the fires of all the worlds’ burn here, and gravity and time bend in chaotic melee in vortexes so vast they would sweep away the very fabric of Althanas in a single, baited heartbeat. The once vibrant cities of industry that nestled themselves in cages of magic still linger in the firestorm, but only a few daring refuges dwell in the warm and rusted catacombs, waiting for salvation from the endless, scouring imprisoning blanches.
Before the animals spawned, there was Breen, the People’s Republic. Its labyrinthine markets and endless roiling streets were a pinnacle of island life, forged on the common principle of kinship, togetherness and determination. Ruled by a queen of noble stature, and untouched by war as its many lands were unified for millennia, when the Cataclysm raged, civil war did more harm than the fire and magical cracks ever could. Now its streets are quiet, silent, and empty, except for when I walk them in search of a memory to kindle my faith in humanity.
Before the birds sung, there was Quant, the Mystic’s Market. From all the corners of the Kalithrism the people came here. Whatever you desired, it could be found in the dense sprawl of shops, junk yards and canal boat traders. Every desire, every principle, every momentary weakness in the hearts of the many world’s peoples fluttered up and down the wooden jetties, and in and out of the okiyas and bars openly and without prejudice. Of all the worlds, this was the place people came to lose themselves for a moment, but many never left, and in the Cataclysm, they were stricken with greed for all they’d acquired and tore one another apart. Its stands and stalls are stained with ancient blood, and the rivers below run red for many leagues. Rumour is amok that all the artefacts still remain, if one is of sound mind to walk amongst the spirits of the dead…
Before the stones cooled, and the mountains rose, there was Hudde, the Nomad’s Realm. The rolling sands and the tombs buried in time were a place to find one, and those exiled here discovered a new freedom asides their confinement. My ancestor’s spoke of this place with equal pleasure and pain, for the trials of the world walker ultimately end in a temple grave, a name engraved into the sandstone beneath the eternal limelight of a sickly, dying moon. If escape is what one requires, it is here that you shall find it, and here that all things begin and end in the primordial essence of the magic that flows in its rock.
Before the trees grew, and the flora blossomed, there was Bulganin, the Heart World. The surface of the Heart World is an eternal forest, a twisting swamp miasma home to trees so tall and vast cities dwell in them, and entire tribes and people’s life out their lives oblivious to the other cultures living a macrocosm away. When the cataclysm came, many fled here, for the abundance of food was perceived as a blessing. To the soul of the world, the invaders must be cleansed, and the trees rose in defence and the tribes, though primitive in many respects, retreated to their cities and left the refugees to die beneath the rasp of blood vines and the crawling needle bushes. Only those who know where to walk can find safety into the open arms of Bulganin’s pantheon of elders, and only those who have learnt that trust can do so more than once.
Before the cities formed and you find iron, steel and bronze, there was Zhuhai, the Capitalist Zenith. The world has but one continent at the heart of an endless sea, but it is covered by a mega city, walled and separate from the vast slums which surround it. When the cataclysm came, the technology of the Zhuhai Council allowed the city to survive and it became xenophobic and alienated from the remnants of the Kalithrism. The many hundreds of thousands that live in and indeed out look up to its glass walls and dream of the day when they can steal themselves or bribe their way into the sanctuary it offers, and into the stuffy, heartless bigotry it contains. I walk amongst those villages, and am brought to tears at the joy of seeing such survival and humbled love for one another in these dark times. What dark secrets remain in the city even I do not know, but perhaps one day, I shall find a path to walk into the heart of the bourgeoisie prison, and show them what horrors lie on the other side of that wall.
Before your world settled as it is today, they were two sisters, Junkyo, the Menagerie of the Gods, and Lela, the Dancing Moon. My home was a world made out of crystal and ice, a permafrost citadel sparkling and plentiful and happy. When the cataclysm came, the moon was the first to be destroyed, and I heard the screams of my sisters for many decades after the energy tore it apart. When it struck my world, I had but a moment to look over my shoulder as I walked to safety, leaving the burning image of the temples and coliseums tumbling into ruin in my mind. We were the teachers and troubadours of the Kalithrism, but it was always our audiences’ right to have the last laugh at our expense. I cannot walk there, for nothing but dust remains, but I keep the world alive beneath every step, hoping to find answers one day.
Only after our world fell, did yours become alive. For millennia daemons and elves fought, and no doubt for many centuries more man shall in his deity’s stead wage war. When I first stepped from Junkyo, it was to Althanas, the Cosmopolitan Battlefield that my fear of death and need of company sent me blind through the vortices that bind our worlds and placed me at the present day. Though I walk through the Kalithrism still, I have found a spark of familiarity here, and though I scorn your ignorance of the worlds beyond your own, and fear for the implications of the cataclysm I can only wonder where my path shall wind and my journey lead if it is to these shores I fall in my darkest hour.
You may surprise me yet, young world of many…
History: Mordelain was born on the lost world of Junkyo, three centuries ago by the reckoning of Althanas’s chronology. She possessed, like all of her sisters, the spark that allowed transcendence of one world to walk through the vortex and step out onto another, a gift once held by the Junkyo kin alone. She witnessed the Nine and learnt its customs as way of initiation, and acted as a messenger between families lost in time and exiled by light-years. Judiciary and kings, the Junkyo Troubadours could, under extreme duress, take with them one soul and deliver them to a new land.
When she reached adulthood at the age of one hundred, Mordelain was permitted to travel in exile to find herself, much like the Pathfinders of Corone or the Nomads of Hudde. In silence, she continued her trials until she fell in love, and returned to Junkyo with her husband dragged through the ether by her side.
Then there was the Cataclysm, a century of peace amongst the Kalithrism destroyed in a heartbeat. Junkyo was lost first, and Mordelain fled to Althanas as it exploded into a million crystalline fragments. The energy ripple tore through the vortex, and the remnants of the Troubadours become enemies and villains instead of prophets and priests, for the people turned against them to attribute blame for loved ones lost and mountains toppled. The worlds shuddered, and war broke out, leaving it swiftly crippled and isolated.
Althanas was built on war, and it did not notice the devastation that was occurring just beyond the pale veil of the vortex. Though many millions have died in necromancer’s wake and hatred’s path, it was that tenet of its culture that saved it, for the Troubadours had for millennia rejected the world and the path that lead to it in disgust for its recklessness.
Mordelain has spent a century travelling the ruined worlds, speaking to its refugees and survivors and trying bitterly to reconcile their hatred of the World Walkers before it is too late to reknit the fabric of the Kalithrism. She is alone in her endeavour, and the solitude blinds and maddens her, as the lure of Althanas is a powerful omen for a woman that longs for a community once more. The worlds are drifting apart, and without her, and without the citizens of Althanas, they will fall into darkness and forever remain apart, left to die in their ignorance.
Personality: The Tama are a solemn people, who view happiness and exuberance as part of their profession and not a social function or path to enjoyment. They are archaic in their ways and somewhat abrasive, and given her solitude and the powerful mental scars of exile and death Mordelain is no exception. Whilst only young in the terms of her people, she is wizened beyond any human who walks the world of Althanas, and wiser perhaps than she allows herself to be. The loss of her husband and the crippling fears that she was to blame leave her with a difficulty to speak, and to open up to others, so she has trust issues and a deus ex machine complex which leads her to hide in her title and let tradition and form dictate over her true and kind emotions.
Skills:
The Etiquette of the Crystal Swain: Taught from a young age to deal with others, Mordelain is a noble diplomatic and orator, able to weave magic into her words and convince others in the debating chamber with a fiery conviction approaching stubbornness. This is a skill developed over many years, and one based on talent and wisdom, as opposed to any intimidation or magical factor. She is versed in the cultures and traditions of the Kalithrism, though she is yet to learn the basic forms of function for Althanas and its peoples.
The Branch of Learned Scholarship: Gifted with exposure to the harsh worlds that encompass the Vortex, Mordelain has the basic ability to locate food and liquids on any of the worlds she travels. It gives her some modest ability in pre-empting natural dangers too, though she is ill equipped to deal with encountering the fauna of even the most gentile of planes. It was the Troubadours epoch to be able to live as one of her flock on any world, and to impart that same information to those who required learning.
The Anchorage of Trusted Souls: Mordelain, like any one able to walk the vortex is bound to its ancient lore. She does not impart the origin of her birth readily, nor does she tell those who could not deal with the information about the worlds beyond Althanas. As such, she is a guardian of the worlds, and will fight to reclaim or recant the knowledge if ever it is imparted to another then abused.
The Movement of Aeons: Mordelain is an exquisite dancer, versed in motion and performance from the breadth of the Kalithrism.
Abilities:
She Who Walks, She Who Winds: As a World Walker, Mordelain possess the spark of transience, a gift given only to the troubadours of Junkyo by the order of the ancient lore that formed the vortex that connects the planes. The sensation is akin to a sudden sickness, and a tearing descending feeling followed by euphoria. There is no portal as such, merely a blur, than a fade, than nothing remains of Mordelain. Though she is versed in the technique, it is by no means least an easy skill to perform, nor does it ever become mastered, even by the most revered of sisters. World Walkers are forever treading a dangerous path, and as such, walking between one world and another is subject to very stringent conditions, as detailed below:
• Directional Flow: A World Walker can only travel to a world, or leave a world, via another. If Mordelain wishes to travel to Althanas from Hudde, she must walk for a moment and while on an intermediary world before she arrives.
• Elemental Chasm: Each world requires an anchor unless emotion is high, the relevant connection must be nearby or Mordelain must be touching or immersed in the aura of that connection. The element or environment required is detailed in the world’s description above.
• Blind Path: Once per thread, Mordelain can walk blind, without restriction, if she is in immediate danger or is angered or emotional beyond her control. Such a walk will have repercussions, as it will leave her in a strange part of another world, and returning could take many days, if not weeks if she is careless.
• Lightened Load: Mordelain cannot take living beings to other worlds, unless they are both willing and capable of comprehending the implications for their knowledge and faith. Anything she takes that is organic or perishable will become useless and die whenever she walks.
She Who Dances, She Who Leaps: The Kalithrism is a predominantly peaceful circuit of worlds, though war is not entirely strange. Mordelain lacks any combat ability whatsoever, but whenever she is dancing with her rod or performing acrobatic routines, she can conjure the remnants of the energy her people possessed before their world was destroyed by the Cataclysm. Whenever she is thus motioned, she is surrounded by an aura which takes on one two properties but affects only characters that are logically going to be affected by them:
• Becalming Admiration: If in a city, or near flowers, the aura extends ten feet and calms non-evil humans with euphoria and a desire to lessen their attacks against her.
• Subtle Emancipation: If near water, ice or glass, Mordelain is surrounded by a mirage of swirling lights and heat, which averts eyes and attention but not sound.
Name: Mordelain Saythrou
Age: 29yrs
Gender: Female
Race: Tama (Humanoid)
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 150llbs
Homeworld: Junkyo
Religion: Nihilist
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Languages: Common, Runic
2427
There are many worlds beyond yours, each as brilliant, each one as perilous. Truth is told, though I have walked on them and through them, I cannot fathom how many may yet remain through the infinite folds of the multi-verse. One imagines one can never know and one imagines one should never be so fortunate to see all of creation in one single lifetime. I have had the fortune of viewing what is named in the ancient tongue, The Kalithrism, the nine worlds that were anchored together before your petulant Thayne and mortal deities even became aware of their own existence.
Before the seas boiled, there was Petra, the City of Eternity. Through its igam ogam heights and organic broad walks the wisest sages of the traverse discussed the many facets of reality, and along its narrow corridors a gentle wind carried the scent of blossoms. It was there, before the Cataclysm, that I learnt all that I know and heard all that I have heard worth hearing. I walk its lonely streets in quiet contemplation when the sun is set, wavering in the brink of madness for the lament of days gone by.
Before the skies the formed, there was Ixias, the Raging Furnace. All the fires of all the worlds’ burn here, and gravity and time bend in chaotic melee in vortexes so vast they would sweep away the very fabric of Althanas in a single, baited heartbeat. The once vibrant cities of industry that nestled themselves in cages of magic still linger in the firestorm, but only a few daring refuges dwell in the warm and rusted catacombs, waiting for salvation from the endless, scouring imprisoning blanches.
Before the animals spawned, there was Breen, the People’s Republic. Its labyrinthine markets and endless roiling streets were a pinnacle of island life, forged on the common principle of kinship, togetherness and determination. Ruled by a queen of noble stature, and untouched by war as its many lands were unified for millennia, when the Cataclysm raged, civil war did more harm than the fire and magical cracks ever could. Now its streets are quiet, silent, and empty, except for when I walk them in search of a memory to kindle my faith in humanity.
Before the birds sung, there was Quant, the Mystic’s Market. From all the corners of the Kalithrism the people came here. Whatever you desired, it could be found in the dense sprawl of shops, junk yards and canal boat traders. Every desire, every principle, every momentary weakness in the hearts of the many world’s peoples fluttered up and down the wooden jetties, and in and out of the okiyas and bars openly and without prejudice. Of all the worlds, this was the place people came to lose themselves for a moment, but many never left, and in the Cataclysm, they were stricken with greed for all they’d acquired and tore one another apart. Its stands and stalls are stained with ancient blood, and the rivers below run red for many leagues. Rumour is amok that all the artefacts still remain, if one is of sound mind to walk amongst the spirits of the dead…
Before the stones cooled, and the mountains rose, there was Hudde, the Nomad’s Realm. The rolling sands and the tombs buried in time were a place to find one, and those exiled here discovered a new freedom asides their confinement. My ancestor’s spoke of this place with equal pleasure and pain, for the trials of the world walker ultimately end in a temple grave, a name engraved into the sandstone beneath the eternal limelight of a sickly, dying moon. If escape is what one requires, it is here that you shall find it, and here that all things begin and end in the primordial essence of the magic that flows in its rock.
Before the trees grew, and the flora blossomed, there was Bulganin, the Heart World. The surface of the Heart World is an eternal forest, a twisting swamp miasma home to trees so tall and vast cities dwell in them, and entire tribes and people’s life out their lives oblivious to the other cultures living a macrocosm away. When the cataclysm came, many fled here, for the abundance of food was perceived as a blessing. To the soul of the world, the invaders must be cleansed, and the trees rose in defence and the tribes, though primitive in many respects, retreated to their cities and left the refugees to die beneath the rasp of blood vines and the crawling needle bushes. Only those who know where to walk can find safety into the open arms of Bulganin’s pantheon of elders, and only those who have learnt that trust can do so more than once.
Before the cities formed and you find iron, steel and bronze, there was Zhuhai, the Capitalist Zenith. The world has but one continent at the heart of an endless sea, but it is covered by a mega city, walled and separate from the vast slums which surround it. When the cataclysm came, the technology of the Zhuhai Council allowed the city to survive and it became xenophobic and alienated from the remnants of the Kalithrism. The many hundreds of thousands that live in and indeed out look up to its glass walls and dream of the day when they can steal themselves or bribe their way into the sanctuary it offers, and into the stuffy, heartless bigotry it contains. I walk amongst those villages, and am brought to tears at the joy of seeing such survival and humbled love for one another in these dark times. What dark secrets remain in the city even I do not know, but perhaps one day, I shall find a path to walk into the heart of the bourgeoisie prison, and show them what horrors lie on the other side of that wall.
Before your world settled as it is today, they were two sisters, Junkyo, the Menagerie of the Gods, and Lela, the Dancing Moon. My home was a world made out of crystal and ice, a permafrost citadel sparkling and plentiful and happy. When the cataclysm came, the moon was the first to be destroyed, and I heard the screams of my sisters for many decades after the energy tore it apart. When it struck my world, I had but a moment to look over my shoulder as I walked to safety, leaving the burning image of the temples and coliseums tumbling into ruin in my mind. We were the teachers and troubadours of the Kalithrism, but it was always our audiences’ right to have the last laugh at our expense. I cannot walk there, for nothing but dust remains, but I keep the world alive beneath every step, hoping to find answers one day.
Only after our world fell, did yours become alive. For millennia daemons and elves fought, and no doubt for many centuries more man shall in his deity’s stead wage war. When I first stepped from Junkyo, it was to Althanas, the Cosmopolitan Battlefield that my fear of death and need of company sent me blind through the vortices that bind our worlds and placed me at the present day. Though I walk through the Kalithrism still, I have found a spark of familiarity here, and though I scorn your ignorance of the worlds beyond your own, and fear for the implications of the cataclysm I can only wonder where my path shall wind and my journey lead if it is to these shores I fall in my darkest hour.
You may surprise me yet, young world of many…
History: Mordelain was born on the lost world of Junkyo, three centuries ago by the reckoning of Althanas’s chronology. She possessed, like all of her sisters, the spark that allowed transcendence of one world to walk through the vortex and step out onto another, a gift once held by the Junkyo kin alone. She witnessed the Nine and learnt its customs as way of initiation, and acted as a messenger between families lost in time and exiled by light-years. Judiciary and kings, the Junkyo Troubadours could, under extreme duress, take with them one soul and deliver them to a new land.
When she reached adulthood at the age of one hundred, Mordelain was permitted to travel in exile to find herself, much like the Pathfinders of Corone or the Nomads of Hudde. In silence, she continued her trials until she fell in love, and returned to Junkyo with her husband dragged through the ether by her side.
Then there was the Cataclysm, a century of peace amongst the Kalithrism destroyed in a heartbeat. Junkyo was lost first, and Mordelain fled to Althanas as it exploded into a million crystalline fragments. The energy ripple tore through the vortex, and the remnants of the Troubadours become enemies and villains instead of prophets and priests, for the people turned against them to attribute blame for loved ones lost and mountains toppled. The worlds shuddered, and war broke out, leaving it swiftly crippled and isolated.
Althanas was built on war, and it did not notice the devastation that was occurring just beyond the pale veil of the vortex. Though many millions have died in necromancer’s wake and hatred’s path, it was that tenet of its culture that saved it, for the Troubadours had for millennia rejected the world and the path that lead to it in disgust for its recklessness.
Mordelain has spent a century travelling the ruined worlds, speaking to its refugees and survivors and trying bitterly to reconcile their hatred of the World Walkers before it is too late to reknit the fabric of the Kalithrism. She is alone in her endeavour, and the solitude blinds and maddens her, as the lure of Althanas is a powerful omen for a woman that longs for a community once more. The worlds are drifting apart, and without her, and without the citizens of Althanas, they will fall into darkness and forever remain apart, left to die in their ignorance.
Personality: The Tama are a solemn people, who view happiness and exuberance as part of their profession and not a social function or path to enjoyment. They are archaic in their ways and somewhat abrasive, and given her solitude and the powerful mental scars of exile and death Mordelain is no exception. Whilst only young in the terms of her people, she is wizened beyond any human who walks the world of Althanas, and wiser perhaps than she allows herself to be. The loss of her husband and the crippling fears that she was to blame leave her with a difficulty to speak, and to open up to others, so she has trust issues and a deus ex machine complex which leads her to hide in her title and let tradition and form dictate over her true and kind emotions.
Skills:
The Etiquette of the Crystal Swain: Taught from a young age to deal with others, Mordelain is a noble diplomatic and orator, able to weave magic into her words and convince others in the debating chamber with a fiery conviction approaching stubbornness. This is a skill developed over many years, and one based on talent and wisdom, as opposed to any intimidation or magical factor. She is versed in the cultures and traditions of the Kalithrism, though she is yet to learn the basic forms of function for Althanas and its peoples.
The Branch of Learned Scholarship: Gifted with exposure to the harsh worlds that encompass the Vortex, Mordelain has the basic ability to locate food and liquids on any of the worlds she travels. It gives her some modest ability in pre-empting natural dangers too, though she is ill equipped to deal with encountering the fauna of even the most gentile of planes. It was the Troubadours epoch to be able to live as one of her flock on any world, and to impart that same information to those who required learning.
The Anchorage of Trusted Souls: Mordelain, like any one able to walk the vortex is bound to its ancient lore. She does not impart the origin of her birth readily, nor does she tell those who could not deal with the information about the worlds beyond Althanas. As such, she is a guardian of the worlds, and will fight to reclaim or recant the knowledge if ever it is imparted to another then abused.
The Movement of Aeons: Mordelain is an exquisite dancer, versed in motion and performance from the breadth of the Kalithrism.
Abilities:
She Who Walks, She Who Winds: As a World Walker, Mordelain possess the spark of transience, a gift given only to the troubadours of Junkyo by the order of the ancient lore that formed the vortex that connects the planes. The sensation is akin to a sudden sickness, and a tearing descending feeling followed by euphoria. There is no portal as such, merely a blur, than a fade, than nothing remains of Mordelain. Though she is versed in the technique, it is by no means least an easy skill to perform, nor does it ever become mastered, even by the most revered of sisters. World Walkers are forever treading a dangerous path, and as such, walking between one world and another is subject to very stringent conditions, as detailed below:
• Directional Flow: A World Walker can only travel to a world, or leave a world, via another. If Mordelain wishes to travel to Althanas from Hudde, she must walk for a moment and while on an intermediary world before she arrives.
• Elemental Chasm: Each world requires an anchor unless emotion is high, the relevant connection must be nearby or Mordelain must be touching or immersed in the aura of that connection. The element or environment required is detailed in the world’s description above.
• Blind Path: Once per thread, Mordelain can walk blind, without restriction, if she is in immediate danger or is angered or emotional beyond her control. Such a walk will have repercussions, as it will leave her in a strange part of another world, and returning could take many days, if not weeks if she is careless.
• Lightened Load: Mordelain cannot take living beings to other worlds, unless they are both willing and capable of comprehending the implications for their knowledge and faith. Anything she takes that is organic or perishable will become useless and die whenever she walks.
She Who Dances, She Who Leaps: The Kalithrism is a predominantly peaceful circuit of worlds, though war is not entirely strange. Mordelain lacks any combat ability whatsoever, but whenever she is dancing with her rod or performing acrobatic routines, she can conjure the remnants of the energy her people possessed before their world was destroyed by the Cataclysm. Whenever she is thus motioned, she is surrounded by an aura which takes on one two properties but affects only characters that are logically going to be affected by them:
• Becalming Admiration: If in a city, or near flowers, the aura extends ten feet and calms non-evil humans with euphoria and a desire to lessen their attacks against her.
• Subtle Emancipation: If near water, ice or glass, Mordelain is surrounded by a mirage of swirling lights and heat, which averts eyes and attention but not sound.