One Year Prior To Departure

No story has a true beginning, only a point where you begin telling it. So we shall start here.

The Unification Campaign on the western front was concluded six months ago. The military efforts had been a success, the rogue nation of Lendala had been tamed and civilized, brought into the fold of the glorious nation of Aleteros. The armies and mages sent to do the taming had been returned home, conscripted soldiers were released from their duty and professional soldiers were given their pay and sent home to await their next call to duty. This was where Arzin currently found himself.

Writing Prompt: Describe a day in the life of Arzin while he's off duty. Describe the town he lives in, his daily routine and give us a sense of the character. End your post with him learning that an extra-planar expedition is being planned.

Things were winding down. The Lendalans' efforts to go their own way had been brought to an abrupt end by the combined steel and magicks of Aleteros. And Arzin was glad of it -- he was tired of facing off against farmers and townsfolk who had rushed to defend their land from the invading armies, armed with pitchforks, cudgels, and the like.

Almost to a man (or woman), they had been long on high-minded righteousness, and short on professionalism and an understanding of how one should fight a war. They were convinced that they were in the Right, and that as a natural result of that, their gods would protect them and their Cause, and bring them victory. They were wrong.

And as a result, they had died by the hundreds and thousands, wherever they had gathered to make a stand.

Arzin had done his duty as a professional soldier, as his father and his father's father had done before him. But all the bloodshed and deaths of those who had scarce been more than children (in a military sense) had exacted a price from him, and the young sergeant found himself feeling older than his years.

"No rain today, from the looks of things," muttered Nobbins, one of Arzin's corporals, bringing his sergeant's thoughts back to the here and now.

"Praise the High Ones," Arzin added, giving the proper, scripted response. Not that Nobbins' point wasn't a good one -- soldiering was a much more miserable undertaking if one had to do it in the rain.

"A mustering-out parade to get ready for tomorrow," Nobbins added.

Arzin grunted. "Aye. Time to put a shine and polish on uniforms and gear alike. Oh, joy." He lifted his helmet and brushed a hand through his hair, which had grown a bit longish during the campaign, wondering if any of his officers would fault him for it.

Shiny uniforms, leather, and weapons were much in favor with the officers, and trying to achieve perfection in such matters whilst out in the field were the bane of all the lower ranks -- meaning, in this instance, the non-nobles.

"You goin' to stay in? You know -- after we get back home?"

It was a good question, and Arzin had been giving the issue some thought ever since it had become apparent that the campaign was coming to an end.

Arzin sat on the top rail of a horse stall in the barn where he and a goodly number of his men were billeted, and set himself to cleaning off the mud and putting a shine on his boots. His company was quartered outside the nearest Lendalan town, the idea being that limiting the troops' ability to reach various sorts of temptations was a good thing. For everyone except the officers, that is -- everyone from lieutenant on up had a cozy bed and plenty of ale over in Highmeadow (the name of the town had suddenly popped into Arzin's mind, unbidden).

"Mayhap the Bookworms, too."

"Say again?" Nobbins remarked, a puzzled look on his face.

Arzin grunted, unaware that he had spoken aloud. The Bookworms -- the common soldiers' less-than-complimentary term for the High Mages (and weren't they all High in relation to non-magickers, to their own way of thinking?) were all customarily given the same perquisites as the officers, whether they were noble-born or not.

But speaking of the Bookworms put Arzin in mind of an interesting rumor that he had heard only today. Something about a gaggle of them making plans to take themselves off to distant parts unknown.

"What is twenty Bookworms going far, far away, never to be heard from again?"

Nobbins shrugged. Independent thought (that is to say, any that involved something other than following the orders handed down by his superiors) was not the man's strong suit, Arzin had long ago concluded.

"A good start," Arzin replied, grinning as he provided the answer to his question . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 20:44, Thu 25 Jan.

Eight Months Prior to Departure

The line of applicants had stretched out the study door and down the hall and curled around the corner. Of course, this was a line for those who were magically adept. There wasn't a word regarding lines for mages. No, these hundreds of souls were the mundane sort, no spark of the impossible running through their veins, yet every one of them had heard of the Expedition and been caught up in the idea of it. The Expedition. With an capital E. That's what it was being called. It was all the talk of Aleteros from the highest courts to the lowliest pubs. Now it was known there were other worlds and places, but this was supposedly someplace new. Someplace untouched. A place ready to have a civilized hand imprint upon it. The New World, the Promised Land, Elsewhere. Everyone had a different name for the place, but all of it meant the same thing. Opportunity.

So this line curled out and down the hall. Arzin had waited in it for several hours, the sun outside the windows was setting low. The day before he hadn't made it through the line before everyone was dispersed. It was looking to be similar today. It would be all the more painful in that he was three people from the door to the study. Then luck intervened. A man who had been looking rather green all day finally clutched his stomach and with a great heave let loose what little lunch he'd brought in his pocket. It unfortunately caught the soul directly in front of him. It seemed they had a sympathetic stomach for they followed suit. In a spray of bodily fluids, the three ahead were no longer presentable.

"Next," called a bored voice from the study. The still steaming soul went in, but a moment later hurried out with calls after "What in the Unfathomable Abyss? Out! Out! I'll not have that in here!" That sealed the fate for the other two and Arzin entered.

Inside a bored clerk sat behind a desk. He eyed Arzin suspiciously, but didn't see, or smell, anything offense. With a confirming sniff, he motioned the soldier to sit. "Name and background," he droned.

Writing Prompt: Write this up as Arzin explaining his background and upbringing to the clerk. Recount his childhood, any notable connections Arzin may have that could lend weight to him being selected. Write this as one might respond to a job interview.

~Soldier's luck,~ Arzin thought to himself as the timely spewing (as he thought of it) cleared out the applicants in front of him and thrust him to the front of the long-suffering line. As a soldier in the line of battle, more than once he had stood steady whilest the man in the ranks next to him had fallen to arrow, crossbow bolt, or various varieties of shot. He fully understood that he could easily been killed instead, but he hadn't been -- soldier's luck.  This was much the same -- with the spewing claiming the three men directly in front of him.

When "Next!" was called out in a bored-sounding voice from the room ahead, Arzin seized the opportunity and stepped in.

The room had a fire burning in the fireplace, so it was pleasantly warm in spite of the gusty breeze that was coming in through the window (the clerk having thrown open the shutters, undoubtedly in an effort to clear out the foul stench of the spewer and spewees) -- not that Arzin blamed the fellow. ~Only common sense -- I would have done the same thing.~

The ex-soldier took the chair that the little man had imperiously gestured towards. After having sat, Arzin took a moment to look over the man sitting behind a desk. The fellow was not a dwarf, but to Arzin's eye he looked to be smallish and undersized. His skin was pale, as if he rarely got outside in the sunshine -- whether by choice or as a result of the demands of his job, Arzin knew not.

Arzin thought that he knew the sort -- he had dealt with weaselly little quartermasters in the army -- men who used their job to hunker down safely behind a desk whilst others risked their lives in battle. But it served no purpose for the soldier who was dealing with such men to to express their disdain. No, 'twas better to butter up such people -- to acknowledge, at least for the moment -- that they were in a position of power, of control over something that their betters wanted or needed, whether it be rations or placement on the Expedition.

And so it was that the erstwhile soldier answered "Arzin, sir," -- the "sir" affording the other the semblance of dignity that he most likely expected from the applicants who spoke to him.

The pallid little fellow also inquired as to the applicant's background -- which Arzin took to mean "Why are you -- who are obviously an unqualified, sniveling worm -- darkening my door and wasting my time?"

"I have been a soldier, sir, as was my father and his father before him. I have served out my term of enlistment honestly and well, having risen to the rank of Senior Sergeant during the recent Unification Campaign." For some reason, it was considered impolite -- or, mayhap impolitic -- to call the late unpleasantness a "war".

~And now, having been mustered out, I find myself suffering from a grinding boredom. Peace -- meaning, a bellyful of flattering customers with silliness such as "Ah, the coloration of that fabric truly suits your eyes, Mistress Goodwife, and the cut of the dress mightily flatters your figure" -- suits me ill.~

"Background . . . ah . . ." Arzin felt that the fact that he was a battle-tested veteran soldier who hailed from a family of soldiers should be a sufficient recommendation for any person who was reasonably knowledgeable of the ways of the world, but based upon his disinterested expression, the clerk sitting at the desk did not appear to be overly impressed. So, now what?

"I hail from Stony Brook," Arzin added after a short pause. He was confident that the clerk would be familiar with the goodly-sized town that had begun as a mere village in the shadow of the capital, but had grown and prospered over the years.

More boredom . . . the clerk did not even attempt to disguise his yawn. It seemed that this line of explanation promised little. Undoubtedly the clerk would have heard a belly-full of details that mattered not in the slightest to him.

~Why me? It seems that I need to give this quill-pusher a reason as to why I, above all the rest of these applicants, should be chosen to go on this expedition amongst the Bookworms -- and thus to pull me out of the great morass of mind-numbing boredom in which I presently find myself mired . . .~

"Now, I will be the first to admit that I have no magicks," Arzin admitted. He was fairly certain that this was obvious, given his appearance and way of carrying himself. He had decided that he might as well meet the issue head on.

"But I have my letters -- can read and write, that is . . "

~Although mayhap not as well as sniveling little fellows who spend their days doing naught else, and who would be hard-pressed to lift anything heavier than a quill,~

" . . . and it would take a wiser person than myself to know all that might transpire over the course of the Expedition's journey."

"And speaking of that, I can assure you, sir, that as a recently-blooded soldier, I am well-versed in using all manner of deadly weapons and protective armors."

"And why could this be important, you might well ask. By way of response, I would ask if you -- or any person -- know what our mighty mages will find when they alight on the far side of their journey? Might there well be hostile people or creatures awaiting them?"

"Not of a certainty, mayhap, but neither you, I, nor any other man nor woman know for a fact what awaits out beyond the borders of all that we deem familiar."

"And if hostilities are possible, might it also be possible that the knowledge and expertise of a man-at-arms might well be helpful to those who venture forth? It seems quite possible to me that cold steel and shot might reasonably o'ercome unexpected challenges that might, indeed, be resistant to whate'er magicks can be brought to bear under the pressures that require a most timely response to imminent danger."

Arzin sat back in his chair. "I submit, good sir, that magicker or no, the knowledge and expertise that I can offer will make me a useful person to include within the group that shall undertake the Great Expedition."

---

I have long thought that it is helpful to the reader for me to distinguish between my PC's spoken words and his unspoken thoughts. In this instance, Arzin's spoken words will be in aqua (my having willingly ceded the use of my customary blue to the GM) and bounded by quotation marks, and his unspoken thoughts will be in gray (which somehow seems appropriate for shadowy, unspoken thoughts), bounded by tildes (~).
This message was last edited by the player at 22:57, Fri 26 Jan.

It was hard to tell what the clerk thought of Arzin's information. His quill danced along the parchment in front of him as quickly as the soldier spoke. The scritch, scritch, scritch of the nub was the only sound aside from Arzin's own voice. The clerk gave no more prompts to help the conversation, if it could be called that, along. When Arzin paused there was only awkward silence until he thought of something else to add. It was only when the silence stretched to intolerable lengths that the clerk interpreted that as Arzin being out of things to say.

"Very good. I'll have the information submitted to the Tower of Mages so they may make a determination. You may go."

Three Months Prior to Departure

Five long months passed and it seemed to be a certainty that Arzin had been passed over for the Expedition. That way until a courier stopped him one morning and held out a vellum letter, far finer quality paper than anything Arzin had received orders on previously. Fingering that fine paper, he turned it over and revealed a rich red wax seal emblazoned with the Tower. Cracking that wax he found a short letter inside.

"Greetings and well met,

Your application has been reviewed and your presence has been requested for a final interview for a position on the upcoming expedition. Your interview has been scheduled for the following fortnight at the Tower of Mages. Present this letter and identify yourself at the gates and you will be admitted.

Cordially,
The Tower of Mages"

The time passed quickly. Arriving at the appointed day and presenting the letter went just as it said, Arzin was escorted inside the famed tower. There he had the experience of teleportation as stepping into a glow shaft on the first floor suddenly had him twenty one stories above ground. His guide through the tower did not allow the chance to linger, guiding Arzin through the corridors, they arrived at a magnificent set of bronze  doors. Despite the heavy material, they swung open easily and Arzin was admitted to a study. Behind a desk sat a white haired man wearing finely woven  gray robes that seemed to obscure a rather lumpy body underneath. "Welcome Arzin, I am the Paramount of the Tower. Your application has been weighed and, while a simple soldiering background is rather common, I did recognize your name. I believe I heard of it in regards to the recent Unification Campaign, is that correct?" The gray hair man leaned forward, the spectacles on his nose giving his eyes owl-like proportions as he regarded Arzin expectantly.

Writing Prompt: During the Unification Campaign Arzin did some act of valor which earned him an award and prestige. Describe what that action was.

"What's that?"

There was no mistaking the surprise -- and the fear -- in the Wagon-Master's voice, and Arzin whipped his head around to stare in the same direction as the other man. What he saw caused him to flinch in surprise.

The battle was won . . . decisively. And so was the Campaign that crushed the efforts to make Lendala independent of Aleteros. Or, at least that was the prevailing wisdom. Everyone knew it for a fact -- a done deal. The problem was that the 500 or so yelling, screaming men and women who had poured out of a nearby copse of woods, heading directly for the baggage train that held the wounded of the Aleteran army and the loot that had been gathered over the course of the Campaign, had apparently not gotten the word.

Customary military prudence would have demanded a screen of light cavalry for the vulnerable convoy of wagons, which could outrun nobody at all, and whose wagon-drivers were unable to defend themselves against any sort of serious attack. But the officers in charge of the army had decided that it was unnecessary. The Lendalans were vanquished . . . defeated . . . whipped . . . they would no longer pose a threat. And now the fallacy in that line of thinking was streaming out of the woods, screaming and running as fast as they could for the vulnerable convoy.

Arzin had been trudging alongside the baggage train, visiting with some of the men from his company who had been wounded, And now, as he peered down the length of the convoy, he could see that he was the only able-bodied soldier who was close enough to do anything about the fast-moving group of attackers.

"Keep your wagons moving -- as fast as they can go!" he urged the wagoneer who had first spotted the oncoming Trouble.

"And send help!"

With that, Arzin turned on his heel and sprinted for the bridge that spanned the fairly broad and fast-running river that lay between the attackers and the convoy. It was old, as many structures in Lendala were, and given its style (sturdy stone materials and arches spanning the river), it looked to have been built by the Forebearers -- a long-dead race that had once inhabited all of Aleteros and the surrounding lands. But more to the point, given Arzin's situation, it was a narrow footbridge that one skilled man could likely hold against a horde of attackers, given that only one -- or at the most two -- attackers could face off against a defender at one time.

Provided he got there in time . . .

Huffing and puffing, Arzin had made it -- barely. But getting there first -- even if only by a little --was all that mattered, and he was ready for the attack when it came . . . and kept coming. He had cursed his weighty armor all during the run to the bridge, but soon enough he was singing its praises, once steel met steel.

Arzin did not know how long he had stood alone against the tide of attackers. He only knew that his arms were getting very weary by the time that he heard the trumpets heralding the imminent arrival of reinforcements that he knew would have been hurriedly cobbled together from whatever units were the closest to the point of attack. The attackers heard as well, and they melted away like snow in a spring thaw, taking their wounded back into the woods with them. Soon Arzin was standing alone on the bridge, accompanied only by the dead -- who no longer mattered.

"A Silver Star-Burst, your Grace," he replied politely to the Paramount. "Mayhap that is what you were remembering."

The medal had been pinned on his chest at a parade before the bulk of the army had been disbanded upon returning to the capital city. It was the second-highest medal that Aleteros awarded, Golden Star-Bursts being reserved for officers and nobles.

Arzin was proud of saving the wounded who had been in the baggage train, but he reckoned that behind closed doors, the higher-ups had been more pleased that he had also saved the loot that had been gathered on the campaign -- the great preponderance of which, of course, went to those self-same higher-ups. The common soldiers such as Arzin only ever saw a pittance out of such loot.

The ex-soldier told the tale of that desperate day in a simple and straightforward recitation.

As the Paramount looked on in silence, perhaps waiting for him to say more, Arzin shrugged and added "A bit of skill, a bit of luck -- and a fair measure of simply being in the right place at the right time."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:21, Mon 29 Jan.

It seemed Arzin's fifteen minutes of fame were paying off. A week after his interview he received another letter. It seemed he had been accepted to the Expedition.

"To serve as a symbolic representative of the Aleteros military." A line of the letter read. But symbolic role or not, it meant he was going.

One Day Prior to Departure

The time was upon you. A year had passed in a blur. Arrangements had been made, goodbyes made. Now it was the time for looking forward. It was also the first chance to visit the Elucidate. You had seen it for months from the outside. The Spellspire stood prominently in the capital plaza, a tower a dozen stories tall with slate gray walls punctuated by a number of evenly spaced windows. It was not a pretty structure like many of the other soaring towers that made up the capital, but this building had been built for function over form.

Two great double doors made up the entrance and they stood open now. Striding through, you enter a great reception hall whose vaulted ceiling is suspended by a dozen stone pillars. There are alcoves set along the walls, each neatly labeled and judging by the shimmer inside, they're some sort of transportation apparatus. This hunch is proven correct as your guide, one of the arcano-engineers, takes you over to an alcove. "Each mage shares a floor with one other, this will be yours," she said proudly and ushered you through the transport.

In a shimmer of gold, you step out onto a receiving chamber on another floor. This room has one of the towers windows opposite the transport. There are also only two doors. The engineer takes you over to one and, procuring a great brass key, turns it in the lock and throws it open. It reveals a perfunctory room whose walls and floor are made up of flat gray stone. It seemed to be a single chamber. If there are only two doors here, where is the rest of the floor hiding? As if sensing your thoughts, the engineer speaks up. "We've folded space here. The room can be customized to meet your needs," she explains proudly. Motioning to a panel of gemstones on the walls, she manipulates one and a door appears on the far side of the room. Another and a window appears. Pressing a diamond and furniture starts to materialize. "We have a setting for every need. Now this conjured furniture will dematerialize if it leaves the tower, but within the Elucidate you'll have every comfort and tool you could require. Your personal quarters can have as many rooms as you need for personal space and study. Please, take some time to make yourself comfortable."

Which all sounded well and good, but apparently that control panel relied upon some sort of magic to operate. Manipulating the gemstones there had no effect on the room. It seemed Arzin was going to be left a small featureless room unless he got some assistance.

Writing Prompt: Take time to personalize your room within the Elucidate. Describe anything you bring. If you go and get help from someone with magical abilities in order to customize the room describe that.

OOC: Note, any functional items you bring, extra enchantments, materials, basically anything that might be useful, will be rendered inert by the trip, so this is all flavor.

The Surviving Skills

While the maiden voyage of the Elucidate will not go according to plan and it's taken a toll on your physical body, but not all your skills are lost:

Hold!: If you have a narrow chokepoint available, you can hold the position against superior numbers. All attacks and damage are then focused on you until you release hold. (Ability to hold is limited by ones available health and stamina. This is a dangerous move to employ!)

Heavy Armor Master: You have extensively trained in your years in the military, wearing heavy armor is like a second skin to you.
Passive Ability: Wearing heavy armor for normal activity doesn't wear you out, you can still attempt actions like running, jumping, climbing while wearing heavy armor.

Hard Living: Your father served and your father before him. From a legacy of military service you've been trained from childhood for tough times to come. One might think that involved endless weapons training, but hardship comes in many forms and every experienced soldier knows none is harder  than an empty stomach.
Ability: If food or drink is a concern on an adventure once per adventure you can double the amount of food/water available, this is accomplished by strict discipline and rationing. (Note: This will impose the roleplay condition on all other party members of 'Grumpy')

"Bollocks!" Arzin growled irritably as he glared at the grouping of gemstones placed on a nearby wall. For the moment they were dull and inert, showing nary a glimmer of internal light and emitting no sound.

It had been much different when the mageling who had been Arzin's guide had shown him to his quarters. A light touch from her had caused the different stones to light up, as various possibilities within his chamber were shown as ghostly, shimmering images -- more floor space, additional doors and windows, and many different items of furniture had flashed before Arzin's eyes as the young mage smiled with obvious pride.

But now his guide had excused herself, and Arzin was left to configure his quarters to meet his needs and preferences. Except that nothing worked.

~What manner of Bookwormish trickery is this?~ the man-at-arms wondered to himself as he stared at the wall. He had first touched a deep blue gemstone lightly, in the same manner that the departed mageling had used. When that had no effect, he had pressed harder. Before he was finished he was pounding on the wall angrily -- all to no avail.

Arvin exhaled heavily, and made a conscious effort to bring his anger under control. "Well . . . no harm done, truth be told," he muttered under his breath.

Slipping the straps of his heavily-laden pack from his shoulders, he set the backpack down on the floor. His father, Arvik, had taught him that a well-prepared soldier was more likely to survive his campaigns than one who was not. And being prepared, Arvik had taught him, meant carrying his house and all equipment that might be needed along with him as he ventured forth on field maneuvers.

~A watertight ceiling and a flat floor without roots that will poke me in the back as I try to sleep . . . by the High Ones, I have oft-times been billeted in much worse quarters than this. Who needs furniture and windows and the like? I have room to stretch out on the floor. I have a bedroll, a blanket, and everything else that I need to make do, with nothing further needed from those poxy gems in the wall.~

Having made his peace with the bare stone walls and floor of his chamber, Arzin removed his bedroll from the leather straps that held it in place atop his backpack, and rolled it out flat on the floor. Placing his blanket on top, the man-at-arms was satisfied that his sleeping area was now functional.

~I wonder how long the Bookworms will need to make their chambers all fancy and nice? Mayhap I should wander the halls for a bit, see what there is to see. If nothing else, I might meet some of the magickers -- it'll give me a chance to learn which ones have sticks up their arses, and which ones are more like normal people.~

---

Edit: OOC: To clarify, Arzin will choose the "Heavy Armor Master" for his surviving Skill out of the three excellent choices listed in the previous post. :)
This message was last edited by the player at 15:52, Wed 31 Jan.

"Dimensional translocation in ten, nine, eight," the pleasant androgenous voice chimed melodically throughout the corridors of the tower. The smell of atmosphere grew sharper as the arcane energies gathered. The gray slate stones of the tower Elucidate seemed to thrum with the growing power. Outside a sea of onlookers stood gathered, held only at a safe distance from the barriers set up around the plaza. Their cheers filled the air like the dull roar of some gargantuan beast, but inside the Spellspire there was only that soft voice and its steady count down. "Six, five four."

Inside his study Almanic sat rigidly in his armchair in front of the fire. "Silly old man, teleportation doesn't jostle," he said to himself, even as his hands gripped the arms of the chair tighter. The polished wood pipe clenched between his teeth was in danger of cracking. Staring doggedly into the dancing flames in the hearth, he tried to ignore the numbers steadily ticking down.

Two floors up Taebor had the windows of his room thrown open and was almost hanging out as he waved both arms excitedly at the crowd. Their surge of cheers at his antics only encouraging more enthusiastic waving of his arms. Dressed in glimmering white cloth that sparkled and shone, the man was impossible to miss against the gray slate walls. It was why he'd chosen it after all.

At the top of the tower the three mages ringed around the whirling glass control sphere of the tower made waves of their hands and twists of their fingers which corresponded to dozens of tiny incremental adjustments. Even in the final seconds before translocation adjustments must be made. "Nether weave stabilized," said Lyshen. "There are ripples in the arcano-sphere... but they're within acceptable parameters," advised Anders. The last member of the trio ran a hand through her silver hair, her pupil-less eyes matching the color. Her inner eye was tracing the arcane threads that ran off that orb to every corner of the Spellspire. Elucidate was a miracle of arcano-engineering. The best forged by diviners, spellsmiths, runecarvers and a dozen other fields of mysticism. All those arcane threads hummed, drawing taut with anticipation as the arcane forces gathered. She held their destination in her mind as she plucked those chords. "Sen tailen est," she murmured softly for good luck. "Our location is locked. So we step beyond the boundaries of gods and men."

"Three, two, one."

A beam of searing yellow light shot up from the Spellspire and expanded to engulf the structure. The cheering throng fell into awed silence as the radiance grew until they were forced to avert their eyes. Then as suddenly it was gone. The plaza where the two dozen story structure once stood was now empty. The twenty six souls who inhabited the tower gone along with it. Twenty six intrepid explorers who had set forth to blaze the trail so that others might follow after.

This was the expedition of the Spellspire Elucidate.

OOC: And this concludes getting to know the character. Let the proper adventure begin shortly!