Post by Kaane on Oct 14, 2013 18:37:47 GMT -5
Xedric
Full Name: Xedric Tarrowson of Kuasta; Spirits in his body introduce themselves collectively as Izariel.
Race: Part Human, Part Shade.
Age: 67 (looks to be in his early 20’s)
Weapons: Pata abr Dauth: A nasty scythe made from a willow branch and the elven sword Mor’ranr. It is about almost as tall as Xedric is (about 6 feet tall).
Magick: He is adept in the use of several kinds of magick, including summoning spirits, healing (especially), divination, and regular magick. His ability to use magick has been dampened by his possession, however, and he must be in a deep state of concentration to perform it. Therefore, he only can practically use healing, divination, and anything not used in the heat of the moment, though he can perform a combat spell or two if the situation requires it.
Alignment: Xedric: Neutral, the will of the Reaper; Izariel: Lawful Evil
Appearance: In Xedric’s prime, he was a robust, handsome man. His build was not that of a fighter, but he was lightly toned, with vibrant, light brown hair and a short beard that was always combed neatly, and calming dark blue eyes. He looked like (and acted like) the kind of person that could provide comfort in even the darkest of hours, though he often kept to himself when not working with the patients he so carefully tended to. He always wore a white robe with a large red cross on the front and back of it to signify his skill with medicine. The only likely existing picture of Xedric before his possession has been lost, most likely hidden in the ruins of Vroengard.
Now, he looks half-dead. Underneath the black, hooded cloak that he now wears, his body has become starved of both food and life. His once kind face has become horribly skeletal, his skin covering his bones like leather stretched too tightly across a drum. His skin has also become deathly pale to the point where standing in the sun without his cloak will burn him. It is free from wrinkling and decay, however, due to the powerful magic of the spirits living inside him and his former connection with a dragon. His hair still seems alive, but it has become snow white, and his beard has fallen out, enhancing the triangular, bony look of his face. His gedwey ignaesia is covered by the black gloves he wears on his hands. Strangely, he is also tall for his broken state, standing about 6’ 3’’. To summarize the way he looks, he looks like some sort of teenaged death demigod on the verge of madness.
Under his cloak, he carries a makeshift yet wicked scythe. It consists of a strong, intricately carved piece of willow and his elven-made sword from his past as a healer for the Riders, named Mor’ranr, or Peace, stuck through the top of the shaft. It once glowed white, especially when Xedric was healing someone, but as its sad destiny unfolded it lost its glimmer. The scythe as a whole is named Dauth abr Pata: Path of Death. Like his weapon, Xedric is only a shadow of who he used to be.
Personality:
Izariel: Being spirits, they are extremely difficult to understand personality-wise, and their goal is unknown, since they are highly subtle in their workings and crafts. This unknown goal also makes them unpredictable in their allegiance with others, using such alliances as temporary assets in order to bring about permanent success. They work for themselves, basically.
When they manage to gain control over Xedric, they express themselves as a highly presumptuous and over-confident noble of sorts. They also seem highly intellectual, as they possess (or claim to possess) vast knowledge about magic, the spiritual world, and anything that is otherworldly. They also have the ability to use this knowledge of magick to some extent, though since their possession of Xedric is limited, so is their power. They are also the epitome of logic, having reasoning that is nearly flawless. Even a simple conversation with this group of spirits can be emotionally devastating if they decide to dissect a victim’s psyche apart with their logical insight. Mostly, they tend to keep this insight a secret to be used at precisely the right moment, however, and they do not use any of their powers unnecessarily. When they boast, they boast for a reason. When they kill, they kill for a reason. All in all, these spirits are strangely stable for their kind, but they are still quite dangerous.
Xedric: When Xedric is in control of himself, he is calm, but often depressed and introverted. He broods over his dragon’s death constantly, and he cries to himself about it when no one is around and his mind wanders. He takes strength only in his god, the Reaper, and his resolve to avenge his dragon. He is constantly on the verge of fully becoming a shade, but he is aware of this and fights back against Izariel constantly. Indeed, while he is fractured in many ways, his spirit is stronger than the surface reveals. He holds the strong belief that it is the Reaper who keeps him from losing himself entirely to Izariel (though it was his mother’s powerful wards and his determination to take revenge on those who killed his dragon that actually keep him stable. There have been strange happenings and coincidences throughout his life that have involved his belief in the Reaper, however). His belief in this god has also seemed to give him considerable powers of divination, especially concerning death. Thus, he is a self-proclaimed servant of this god, and when he is not in utter despair, he tries to convince others of the Reaper’s incredible power and inherent love for the races of Alagaesia. He also dislikes anyone who follows the religion of Helgrind due to their “incomparable savagery for a heathen religion,” and a large secondary motive of his is to exterminate the “utterly deplorable” servants of that rock.
Very rarely, a glimpse of his old self will shine through, allowing him to become the healer he once was. Seeing people in pain or suffering other than himself will trigger his instinct to aid and cure, and he will use his mastery of healing magic to save anyone he can from pain. While his belief does revolve around the salvation of death as a new beginning, he also believes that death should be a transcendental experience, one that is not marred by suffering physically or emotionally.
Biography: Xedric Tarrowson was born to Yggveil and Prior Tarot in Kuasta some time before Galbatorix seized power. Though the father, Yggveil, died when he was only a year old in an accident at sea, his mother Prior was strong enough to serve both as a mother and a father to the young lad.
Prior, a strong, seemingly young (no one actually knew how old she was when she died) woman of pride and kindness, was a powerful divinator and a sorcerer, and she was consulted by both townsfolk and outsiders from miles around to have their futures read. When asked about her unusual accuracy in divination, she always responded the same way: “The Reaper, my dear, The Reaper inspires me.” Of course, no one even knew who or what The Reaper was; it seemed to be a god only she and a few others knew about, and these few were all quite skilled in one form of magick or another. Regardless, she was one of the best divinators in the land, and everyone who knew a thing or two about telling the future knew her name. She charged little, but the sheer amount of people who came to seek their fortune from her provided her and her son with a relatively prosperous life.
Xedric was also raised by the town itself. Its isolation, diversity, and occult-like atmosphere accustomed Xedric to the strange and supernatural quite quickly; even the very air of the town seemed to be filled with magick. He himself wielded powers of magick as a young boy, taught to do so early by his mother. She noticed especially that he had an aptitude for healing, and that magick to him was like a song. He sang healing into existence like an elf shaping a tree.
Then, one day, it happened. Xedric was 14 years old, and he was running a grocery errand for his mom when he saw him. Old Jack, he always had something something interesting in his small vendor. He went over to him, hoping that perhaps his mom wouldn’t notice some extra change missing. The conversation still rings clearly in Xedric’s mind today:
“Always seems to be for you Jack,” Xedric replied cheerfully.
“Y’know what would make it even more lovely?” He always had to throw in some sort of sales pitch. But then again, he wasn’t exactly living large; he used whatever chance he could get to earn more money.
Xedric was on a time limit and decided to skip the pleasantries: “That’s what I came over here to find out, actually. Whatcha got?”
“Hmm...well, there’s this elven trinket I got-”
“C’mon Jack! You really expect me to believe whatever it is is actually elven?” They shared a laugh, then Xedric got back to business. “Whatcha really got?”
The smile on Jack’s face grew wider. “Well, there’s this lil’ thing I found in the mountains just yesterday.” He produced what appeared to be an almost shining white stone, patterned with lovely silver vein-like webs, from a drawer in his vendor. “I don’t know what it is, but it sure does look pretty...almost got hypnotized when I found the bloody thing.”
Odd. Jack always knew about what he was selling, even if his “knowledge” was a little made up. “........How much do you want for it?”
“I’ll let you have it easy. ‘N all honesty, no un would buy it anyways...all these charlatans here are always lookin for sumthin “useful” to use in their craft...Bah! These people ‘ere, they just don’t know how to ‘ave fun...I’ll tell you, there was this one guy…”
There was no stopping him once he got started like this…”Hey Jack, I’m sorry but I should be getting groceries right about now...umm...how much did you want for the stone?”
“Oh sorry...and, eh, y’know what, since you’re such a good customer ‘n all n’ I won’t find anyone to sell this to anyway, I’ll let ya have it for free.”
A gift! From Old Jack? It just wasn’t in his nature...but it’s not like he was one to decline free merchandise. “Umm….thanks!” said Xedric as Jack handed him the stone. It seemed quite odd, it did. It seemed to have a powerful energy coursing through it that his young yet practiced hands could sense immediately. He had to go ask his mom about this...maybe she’d know a thing or two.
“I’ll be back later Jack, I promise! Then we’ll see about this “elven trinket” of yours!”
“See ya later lad!”
A day later, Jack disappeared from Kuasta. His whereabouts are still unknown.
Xedric also never forgot that moment when the stone began to break and crack about a day after he found it. He had the stone in his hands and was about to ask his mother about it, when in front of both of their eyes the stone began to wobble and crack.
Out of the stone, -or rather, the egg- a dragon slowly began to work its way out. It was silvery-white with ice blue eyes, and it was, at least in Xedric’s eyes, absolutely beautiful.
He reached out to touch the newborn dragon, while his mother just watched him wide-eyed. He suddenly felt a shock, and drew his hand back in terror and surprise as his arm shot up with ice cold pain. He held his arm close to him as he fell to the ground. His mother, unable to do anything, kept watching.
He eventually got back up as the dragon yawned and looked at mother and son questioningly. It seemed to be curious about many things around it, but Xedric was too busy processing the shock to know what had happened.
“What...what...was...what was that mom…” he whispered, showing his arm to his mom.
“Gedway Ignaesia…” was all Prior said. She then got on her knees and began praying unintelligibly to the Reaper.
Everything was eventually explained to the confused boy over time; dragon eggs weren’t normally just found in the middle of nowhere since the humans and elves always kept tabs on the dragons affected by the Rider Partnership, but this seemed to be a special case. It didn’t matter where it came from anyway; it was a dragon, through and through. Xedric eventually named the dragon (who turned out to be male) Cyrrus after much consultation with both his mother and the dragon, and they soon became bonded powerfully. The dragon and the boy were obviously destined for each other. So, his mom decided that the best thing she could do for her son was to send him to be trained by the Riders. However, before he left, she placed the most powerful wards she could muster on the boy to protect him from danger. She almost died in the process, but she would rather have died herself then lose her son.
He became a great Rider; Xedric and Cyrrus were polar opposites, Xedric usually quite shy, Cyrrus always bouncing off the walls with excitement, but they were inseparable, as most dragons and Riders are. Together they became healers and field medics, specializing in curing the most grievous ailments and saving the most hopelessly wounded, highly regarded for their work in aiding in any way possible both civilians and Riders alike. Yes, they were destined for great things.
But then, Galbatorix and his followers rebelled against the Riders. Xedric and his fellow healers had their hands full while stationed on an island near Vroengard, trying to save the Riders and dragons that had been injured in the Rider War raging on the mainland. And the wounds, they were simply awful. For the first time in his life he found his skills inadequate, losing men left and right to death. He was over-stressed and tired, but he kept working fervently to restore men to their full health. He wouldn’t give up, not when so much was at stake.
Then came the day when Vroengard was besieged by Galbatorix and the Forsworn. The battle was terrible, and Xedric and Cyrrus were doing the best they could to heal those who had fallen. But things took a turn for the worse then; Xedric, a strict pacifist, and Cyrrus, a dragon with no experience in battle, were helpless when one of the Forsworn noticed them. They attempted to flee to the infirmary island, but Cyrrus was nowhere near fast enough to escape what was about to happen. Xedric drew his sword, but his spirit was fading fast in terror; he had never harmed a person in his life...what could he do?
He sat there limply as Cyrrus was killed gorily in the air, falling hundreds of feet and landing on hard rock with a painful crash. His mother’s wards saved him, barely. But all his unprepared mind and body could do was watch Cyriel fall from the sky. This was all his fault.
He laid there in shock, seemingly dead. A great explosion happened somewhere on Vroengard, though he was saved by being on the right side of the mountains protecting the coast from the blast, as well as some more protection from his mother’s wards. But even then, after the battle was over, laying there was all he could do. He couldn’t process what had just happened. His friend...no...more than his friend...he couldn’t find the right word...he died. And it was all his fault. All his fault for not using the magic he was taught, or the hand-to-hand combat he had learned, all in the sake of remaining a pacifist...not even a pacifist...a coward. He had made the greatest mistake of his life.
He was broken, his grief unimaginable. And it all hit him in less than a second like a ton of bricks. When most of the Forsworn had finally left, he began to cry, mourning his loss.
Then, the spirits came to him. Attracted by the bloodshed and death of the battle, they took to Xedric’s sadness like flies to honey. But they ran into an unexpected complication: Prior’s love for her son was concentrated into the ward protecting his spirit and mind against attack. They could not reach his heart, but being inside Xedric’s body already, they could not leave. They were stuck midway between full control and servitude. Still, they managed to get control of his body for some time. They summoned up what strength they had left from fighting Prior’s wards to use their magick to teleport his body to the mainland.
Meanwhile, Prior woke up from a dark sleep, suddenly drained of energy; she knew her wards had saved her son from great danger more than once for them to be draining her this much. She had a vast wealth of energy stored in her crystal ball downstairs, but she couldn’t reach it: the wards had taken too much out of her. She died in bed, exhausted, but peacefully. She had fulfilled the future she had read for herself that one evening...she gave the ultimate sacrifice to one whom she loved most dearly.
Xedric had a dream of the Reaper while his spirit was defeated. He seemed to be telling him something...but he couldn’t hear him. He begged the Reaper to speak louder, but he still heard nothing. He couldn’t see the Reaper’s face...it was covered with the hood of his ceremonial black robe. But his hand gestures told him he was trying to say something. His mother appeared by his side just then and held him for a few seconds, then she disappeared as quickly as she came. Now able to hear the Reaper, he heard him say a few words in a quiet, almost child-like voice: “I give you the burden of life….for you are my prophet.” Then, the dream faded.
Xedric woke up after the spirits within him finally had to rest. Clothed in the same black robe the Reaper was in his dream. He looked around, noticing he was obviously in the middle of the Hadarac Desert. But he wasn’t surprised; nothing could surprise him anymore. Finding a dead willow tree by an oasis, he took off a branch, painstakingly carving symbols of death and dragons on it with a sharp rock, then sticking his sword Mor’ranr through its top, creating the scythe Dauth abr Pata. His new self, The Prophet of The Reaper, was born.
He then began to wander Alagaesia, wasting away slowly, kept alive only by a resolve to avenge Cyriel’s death and a firm, new belief in the god he once thought was a mere figment of his mother’s imagination. He still wanders to this day, preaching from a self-written book of “messages” he has received from his god and interrogating anyone possible regarding his dragon’s death. His restoration to the man he once was seems unlikely, but he prays for it every day.
