Post by Anatho on Sept 7, 2013 23:26:56 GMT -8
Name: Anatho Bradford
Age: 48
Class: Sorceror
Appearance: Anatho has had a life full of stress, and a soul blackened by misery. His face and body are not lacking in marks and scars to show it. His face has surprisingly attracted few wrinkles, but enough around his eyes to show he has aged like any mortal man. The greying hair on his temples doesn't make him look any younger.
Anatho has never allowed his body to grow frail or fat. From his early days, when he had to work to eat, he has kept himself trim, but healthy. He has more muscles around his lower back and legs. He is taller than many men, about six feet and three inches tall. One of his large flaws in his physical appearance is the fact that his neck is very short and thick, making it look as if he has almost no neck at all.
His hair and beard are purple, and his eyes are yellow. He has a thin straight nose, and high cheek bones. Though it is round, he has a wide jaw, with a cleft chin. He is considered by many to be very handsome.
Personality: Anatho is a human pit of anger, sorrow, agony, and misguided intentions. He was born into the world as a mistake, and reminded of it nearly every day. He has always been incredibly intelligent, far before his education in Arcadia. Due to this he has always had a low level of tolerance for anyone simple minded. Years in court and surrounded by enemies have taught him to keep his emotions in check, in battle of might and wit. He has a drinking problem, often wallowing away his sadness with wine. If he is not thinking about his expression, or if he has no reason to convey one emotion or another, his face will show the pain given him by his right arm.
Backstory: Anatho was born in the then small, warring kingdom of Elda in South-Eastern Elibe. He was the bastard son of a minor lord, who was truly just a man with the money to declare himself noble, and a millers daughter. Could you guess which one he grew up with? His mothers town was a community in the lower mountains, with no arable ground for miles and miles. It was often a last stop for travelers as they prepared to pass through the mountains or exited them after a long trek.
Anatho's grandfather was a carpenter, and the young boy became his apprentice. The old man was very ashamed of his daughter, for producing a bastard son, even off a lord. He would often remind the boy of this when ever he made mistakes, saying the illegitimacy of his birth made him half a man. This was the main cause of his grief as a child, and he found a need to seek refuge in some form. He found it in the small library the town had. He enjoyed the accounts about dragons, and Taguel, but his favorite books were the true ones, telling about magic.
Perhaps it came from being forced into a profession where he was required to create, force, change, and destroy things with his body, and the thought of doing something so much more with his mind and a few words just happened to present the perfect juxtaposition. He delved into it, learning all manner of arcane truths. He learned of rituals, summonings, alchemy, enchanting, casting, and even the laying of runes. Many things he learned were simple ideas that many magi still had no idea if they could ever accomplish. How hews he'd he could try his hand at one spell.
One day he did. When he didn't have his nose in a book, he was busy being told to do some senseless time wasting chore by his grandfather, being ignored by people he knew, or simply sitting around, feeling trapped and unfulfilled in this town. The only time he was ever excited again, was when a traveler came through. Many travelers were warriors and would bring weapons that he could inspect. Sometimes, they died which wasn't uncommon leaving the mountains, or discarded their weapons, or simply left a javelin or knife here or there. The shop keep in town had a small warehouse, and he had a small section just for left over equipment that he could sell when the next warrior entered town. One day a man left a few arrows in his room at the inn. The shop keep retrieved them, then asked Anatho to take them to the warehouse for him.
Anatho agreed and ran off to place the arrows in the storage. He was excited, a chance to see all sorts of weapons from people who got to see the world differently each day. Outside of the door, on an impulse he pricked himself with on of the arrows on his right middle finger. The blood did nothing but trickle out slowly, and all he needed do was wipe it on his tunic. He stepped through the first room, where it was just food and a few luxuries, into a small room, filled with armor, swords, shields, and other weapon. And a book, labelled, "Gusts and Gales." It bore the anima symbol, and Anatho grew more and more excited. He'd left his books from the library outside, and stashed the tome in between two of them. No one would miss a tome in this town.
He began going off to the woods in secret at night. Practicing the words he attempted to pronounce. It took him two weeks to muster up a small breeze, but it was a massive triumph for the then seventeen year old. About a month after he acquired the tome, the tip of his right middle finger was grey. He began wear gloves very often. He didn't want anyone to worry. Over the next few years the grey skin gre like an incredibly slow infection. By the time he was twenty two, it had reached a few inces below his elbow. He wore long sleeves and gloves at all times even in the sweltering heat.
Another problem rose with the infection. His right hand grew heavy, heavier every time the infection grew and more of his body became grey. It slowed his apprenticeship, and his grandfather was unwilling to allow him to move onto being a real carpenter. He planned to simply leave soon, go out into the world. And as these stories often go, he got his chance a year later.
The king, King Aden, came through the town. The king of Elda, and his Wyvern knights. It was shocking, to say the least, but Anatho didn't even see him. He was at the back of the crowd looking at him any time he was outside, and the king was shrouded in retainers. He was ascending the mountains to find his son a Wyvern to tame and ride, so they didn't stay but a night. They left in the morning, and for a few hours things were simple life again, but then he returned, a smaller Wyvern, and his twelve year old son atop it with him.
Anatho watched all of what happened then, as he could actually see it. When they landed most of the men stayed on their Wyverns while the king talked of something. The princes Wyvern began to flutter around. It hopped a few yards away from the other Wyverns, and as the prince pulled the reins to direct it back, it threw him off. No one was close enough to save him, as the Wyvern seemed about to strike. Anatho stepped forward, and began a quick spell. He brought his left arm around in the air, in the shape of a crescent moon, then thrust his right hand just inside of it, with the fingers spread, he shouted, "Muusivo!" The Wyvern was struck on all sides by powerful almost razor sharp gusts of wind. It covered itself with its wings, and cried out. As the prince was taken to safety, the king called Anatho forth.
He said, "Boy, there are mages in my court incapable of performing a spell like that so quickly, how old are you?" Anatho answered. With some small commands, Anatho became a magi at the kings court. Many of the others were offended at this young boy, but overjoyed to learn he could do nothing but perform wind incantations. The king, upon hearing this, had Anatho given several magic books. Anatho learned all of the spells in them in less than a fortnight, relishing the new knowledge he was given. He was almost happy. His arm was grey up to the elbow now, and he still felt he didn't know enough. Once again, fortune smiled upon him, this time in both ways.
The king was very pleased with his new prodigies arcane talents. He decided to see how far he could stretch them, and sent him to Arcadia. The dragons allowed him entrance to their vast libraries, and all the things he'd read in that first book as theories, he began to work to prove. It was magnificent, becoming surrounded by other magical minds. He met a young man, an illusionist named Valvad who had been studying poisons for a time. He believed at some point, a poison had entered Anatho's blood, and if it reached the heart it would kill him.
The two became close friends as the searched ancient texts for ways to cure the creeping sickness. They finally found a ritual, and gathered all the necessary items and magi. One of them a young Mage named Tellas who specialized in the art of runes, who Anatho found to be intellectually bewitching. She placed a number of symbols around his bicep, and another magi, an enchanter, cast a spell on a butcher knife. A third magi, an alchemist, soaked his arm in a mixture he'd made. It was Valvad who cut him, and his blood drained into a bowl, black blood. Surprisingly, the next morning, his arm was its normal color, but Anatho felt a burning pain.
There was something Valvad hadn't told him, that the runes given to him would have to inflict pain and actively fight his body in order to keep the infection from starting again. He'd neglected to tell him on the small chance Anatho would chose death over a life of constant pain. Anatho was not upset with his friend, but the gaining of knowledge was to him, worth living in his pain.
A few years after that, he and Tellas were married. They spent the next six years together, studying the arcane. For a long time, Anatho was happy. Until he was called back to Elda. He took his wife, and returned to the court. The king now wanted him to fight battles for him, and for the debt Anatho felt he owed the man, he agreed. His wife became pregnant, and that made him happy, some good news before he left on a campaign. He was a natural leader and strategist with his quick mind. His magical skills made him a talented warrior. He quickly rose to a very powerful position in the army, an advisor to the general.
One day, a few months after he'd left to fight, the king sent him a letter. Tella had passed away during labor. The baby had not survived. Anatho didn't speak to anyone for two months. He became nearly suicidal in battles, being the only Mage on the front lines. In one siege to finish off a dying kingdom, he was the first one through the breach, but none seemed to kill him. The head general died that battle, and as his second in command, he took the responsibility of field general. He prepared to launch an attack on another even smaller neighboring kingdom, but he was again called back to Elda. He was promoted to a full general, as well as given the title of lord for his service. Apparently some old rich man named Bradford had died without an heir.
While at court, Anatho became lovers with another old lord's young widow. He had taken up drinking, and she was among the few women who would drink with him as often as he liked. She wanted him to marry her, but he refused. She stirred his body not his mind. Eventually the king asked if Anatho would marry his niece, and the Mage accepted. This broke the widows heart and she killed herself. This weighed heavily on Anatho's conscience, and he began drinking even more, causing him to begin neglecting his young wife.
The young woman was no fool however. She eventually started asking him magical questions, and those led to questions about himself. Eventually, he asked about her, and before long, he was satisfied. He wasn't as happy as he'd been, but not as depressed. She even got pregnant, and all the signs pointed to a boy, an heir.
She died four months later of pneumonia. He was thirty six, and had two wives in the ground, as well as two children ripped from his arms before they were even alive to hold. He took up drinking again, and started visiting brothels rather frequently. His life was probably save by war. He was sent off to fight, and conquered yet again. Absorbing three small kingdoms in five years. He had become a small ghost story to soldiers in other kingdoms. A symbol of death when looking up at your walls.
He was campaigning in a third one, a larger kingdom this time at the age of fourty-two, when his army was called back to the capital. The king had died. The new king, Gregor, had looked up to Anatho ever since he'd saved him as a boy. He decided to cease the fighting with the upstart lord of the year they'd been fighting, and keep Anatho as an advisor. They had conquered a kingdom by the sea years ago, and that was where the king seemed to focus, the sea, and more specifically on the lands across the ocean. When Anatho was Fourty-Four, Four hundred men and women sailed across the ocean to a lande dense with trees and mountains, to start the colony of Aden, named by their new king after their late king.
Over the next year there arose a new problem. Dealing with the natives grew difficult, and there was interference from other countries seeking power in the new lands. The colony needed a military advisor. All eyes turned to Anatho, and he accepted. Begrudgingly, a land with less luxury to preoccupy his mind was not a place he relished visiting. It did however, have more violence, meaning maybe he could finally die.
So he travelled to Aden with a good hundred of his forces. There he met untrained farmers and artisans, and an incompetent governor. That was six months ago.
Age: 48
Class: Sorceror
Appearance: Anatho has had a life full of stress, and a soul blackened by misery. His face and body are not lacking in marks and scars to show it. His face has surprisingly attracted few wrinkles, but enough around his eyes to show he has aged like any mortal man. The greying hair on his temples doesn't make him look any younger.
Anatho has never allowed his body to grow frail or fat. From his early days, when he had to work to eat, he has kept himself trim, but healthy. He has more muscles around his lower back and legs. He is taller than many men, about six feet and three inches tall. One of his large flaws in his physical appearance is the fact that his neck is very short and thick, making it look as if he has almost no neck at all.
His hair and beard are purple, and his eyes are yellow. He has a thin straight nose, and high cheek bones. Though it is round, he has a wide jaw, with a cleft chin. He is considered by many to be very handsome.
Personality: Anatho is a human pit of anger, sorrow, agony, and misguided intentions. He was born into the world as a mistake, and reminded of it nearly every day. He has always been incredibly intelligent, far before his education in Arcadia. Due to this he has always had a low level of tolerance for anyone simple minded. Years in court and surrounded by enemies have taught him to keep his emotions in check, in battle of might and wit. He has a drinking problem, often wallowing away his sadness with wine. If he is not thinking about his expression, or if he has no reason to convey one emotion or another, his face will show the pain given him by his right arm.
Backstory: Anatho was born in the then small, warring kingdom of Elda in South-Eastern Elibe. He was the bastard son of a minor lord, who was truly just a man with the money to declare himself noble, and a millers daughter. Could you guess which one he grew up with? His mothers town was a community in the lower mountains, with no arable ground for miles and miles. It was often a last stop for travelers as they prepared to pass through the mountains or exited them after a long trek.
Anatho's grandfather was a carpenter, and the young boy became his apprentice. The old man was very ashamed of his daughter, for producing a bastard son, even off a lord. He would often remind the boy of this when ever he made mistakes, saying the illegitimacy of his birth made him half a man. This was the main cause of his grief as a child, and he found a need to seek refuge in some form. He found it in the small library the town had. He enjoyed the accounts about dragons, and Taguel, but his favorite books were the true ones, telling about magic.
Perhaps it came from being forced into a profession where he was required to create, force, change, and destroy things with his body, and the thought of doing something so much more with his mind and a few words just happened to present the perfect juxtaposition. He delved into it, learning all manner of arcane truths. He learned of rituals, summonings, alchemy, enchanting, casting, and even the laying of runes. Many things he learned were simple ideas that many magi still had no idea if they could ever accomplish. How hews he'd he could try his hand at one spell.
One day he did. When he didn't have his nose in a book, he was busy being told to do some senseless time wasting chore by his grandfather, being ignored by people he knew, or simply sitting around, feeling trapped and unfulfilled in this town. The only time he was ever excited again, was when a traveler came through. Many travelers were warriors and would bring weapons that he could inspect. Sometimes, they died which wasn't uncommon leaving the mountains, or discarded their weapons, or simply left a javelin or knife here or there. The shop keep in town had a small warehouse, and he had a small section just for left over equipment that he could sell when the next warrior entered town. One day a man left a few arrows in his room at the inn. The shop keep retrieved them, then asked Anatho to take them to the warehouse for him.
Anatho agreed and ran off to place the arrows in the storage. He was excited, a chance to see all sorts of weapons from people who got to see the world differently each day. Outside of the door, on an impulse he pricked himself with on of the arrows on his right middle finger. The blood did nothing but trickle out slowly, and all he needed do was wipe it on his tunic. He stepped through the first room, where it was just food and a few luxuries, into a small room, filled with armor, swords, shields, and other weapon. And a book, labelled, "Gusts and Gales." It bore the anima symbol, and Anatho grew more and more excited. He'd left his books from the library outside, and stashed the tome in between two of them. No one would miss a tome in this town.
He began going off to the woods in secret at night. Practicing the words he attempted to pronounce. It took him two weeks to muster up a small breeze, but it was a massive triumph for the then seventeen year old. About a month after he acquired the tome, the tip of his right middle finger was grey. He began wear gloves very often. He didn't want anyone to worry. Over the next few years the grey skin gre like an incredibly slow infection. By the time he was twenty two, it had reached a few inces below his elbow. He wore long sleeves and gloves at all times even in the sweltering heat.
Another problem rose with the infection. His right hand grew heavy, heavier every time the infection grew and more of his body became grey. It slowed his apprenticeship, and his grandfather was unwilling to allow him to move onto being a real carpenter. He planned to simply leave soon, go out into the world. And as these stories often go, he got his chance a year later.
The king, King Aden, came through the town. The king of Elda, and his Wyvern knights. It was shocking, to say the least, but Anatho didn't even see him. He was at the back of the crowd looking at him any time he was outside, and the king was shrouded in retainers. He was ascending the mountains to find his son a Wyvern to tame and ride, so they didn't stay but a night. They left in the morning, and for a few hours things were simple life again, but then he returned, a smaller Wyvern, and his twelve year old son atop it with him.
Anatho watched all of what happened then, as he could actually see it. When they landed most of the men stayed on their Wyverns while the king talked of something. The princes Wyvern began to flutter around. It hopped a few yards away from the other Wyverns, and as the prince pulled the reins to direct it back, it threw him off. No one was close enough to save him, as the Wyvern seemed about to strike. Anatho stepped forward, and began a quick spell. He brought his left arm around in the air, in the shape of a crescent moon, then thrust his right hand just inside of it, with the fingers spread, he shouted, "Muusivo!" The Wyvern was struck on all sides by powerful almost razor sharp gusts of wind. It covered itself with its wings, and cried out. As the prince was taken to safety, the king called Anatho forth.
He said, "Boy, there are mages in my court incapable of performing a spell like that so quickly, how old are you?" Anatho answered. With some small commands, Anatho became a magi at the kings court. Many of the others were offended at this young boy, but overjoyed to learn he could do nothing but perform wind incantations. The king, upon hearing this, had Anatho given several magic books. Anatho learned all of the spells in them in less than a fortnight, relishing the new knowledge he was given. He was almost happy. His arm was grey up to the elbow now, and he still felt he didn't know enough. Once again, fortune smiled upon him, this time in both ways.
The king was very pleased with his new prodigies arcane talents. He decided to see how far he could stretch them, and sent him to Arcadia. The dragons allowed him entrance to their vast libraries, and all the things he'd read in that first book as theories, he began to work to prove. It was magnificent, becoming surrounded by other magical minds. He met a young man, an illusionist named Valvad who had been studying poisons for a time. He believed at some point, a poison had entered Anatho's blood, and if it reached the heart it would kill him.
The two became close friends as the searched ancient texts for ways to cure the creeping sickness. They finally found a ritual, and gathered all the necessary items and magi. One of them a young Mage named Tellas who specialized in the art of runes, who Anatho found to be intellectually bewitching. She placed a number of symbols around his bicep, and another magi, an enchanter, cast a spell on a butcher knife. A third magi, an alchemist, soaked his arm in a mixture he'd made. It was Valvad who cut him, and his blood drained into a bowl, black blood. Surprisingly, the next morning, his arm was its normal color, but Anatho felt a burning pain.
There was something Valvad hadn't told him, that the runes given to him would have to inflict pain and actively fight his body in order to keep the infection from starting again. He'd neglected to tell him on the small chance Anatho would chose death over a life of constant pain. Anatho was not upset with his friend, but the gaining of knowledge was to him, worth living in his pain.
A few years after that, he and Tellas were married. They spent the next six years together, studying the arcane. For a long time, Anatho was happy. Until he was called back to Elda. He took his wife, and returned to the court. The king now wanted him to fight battles for him, and for the debt Anatho felt he owed the man, he agreed. His wife became pregnant, and that made him happy, some good news before he left on a campaign. He was a natural leader and strategist with his quick mind. His magical skills made him a talented warrior. He quickly rose to a very powerful position in the army, an advisor to the general.
One day, a few months after he'd left to fight, the king sent him a letter. Tella had passed away during labor. The baby had not survived. Anatho didn't speak to anyone for two months. He became nearly suicidal in battles, being the only Mage on the front lines. In one siege to finish off a dying kingdom, he was the first one through the breach, but none seemed to kill him. The head general died that battle, and as his second in command, he took the responsibility of field general. He prepared to launch an attack on another even smaller neighboring kingdom, but he was again called back to Elda. He was promoted to a full general, as well as given the title of lord for his service. Apparently some old rich man named Bradford had died without an heir.
While at court, Anatho became lovers with another old lord's young widow. He had taken up drinking, and she was among the few women who would drink with him as often as he liked. She wanted him to marry her, but he refused. She stirred his body not his mind. Eventually the king asked if Anatho would marry his niece, and the Mage accepted. This broke the widows heart and she killed herself. This weighed heavily on Anatho's conscience, and he began drinking even more, causing him to begin neglecting his young wife.
The young woman was no fool however. She eventually started asking him magical questions, and those led to questions about himself. Eventually, he asked about her, and before long, he was satisfied. He wasn't as happy as he'd been, but not as depressed. She even got pregnant, and all the signs pointed to a boy, an heir.
She died four months later of pneumonia. He was thirty six, and had two wives in the ground, as well as two children ripped from his arms before they were even alive to hold. He took up drinking again, and started visiting brothels rather frequently. His life was probably save by war. He was sent off to fight, and conquered yet again. Absorbing three small kingdoms in five years. He had become a small ghost story to soldiers in other kingdoms. A symbol of death when looking up at your walls.
He was campaigning in a third one, a larger kingdom this time at the age of fourty-two, when his army was called back to the capital. The king had died. The new king, Gregor, had looked up to Anatho ever since he'd saved him as a boy. He decided to cease the fighting with the upstart lord of the year they'd been fighting, and keep Anatho as an advisor. They had conquered a kingdom by the sea years ago, and that was where the king seemed to focus, the sea, and more specifically on the lands across the ocean. When Anatho was Fourty-Four, Four hundred men and women sailed across the ocean to a lande dense with trees and mountains, to start the colony of Aden, named by their new king after their late king.
Over the next year there arose a new problem. Dealing with the natives grew difficult, and there was interference from other countries seeking power in the new lands. The colony needed a military advisor. All eyes turned to Anatho, and he accepted. Begrudgingly, a land with less luxury to preoccupy his mind was not a place he relished visiting. It did however, have more violence, meaning maybe he could finally die.
So he travelled to Aden with a good hundred of his forces. There he met untrained farmers and artisans, and an incompetent governor. That was six months ago.
