Armphid
Crowned Sun
- Joined
- May 18, 2003
- Posts
- 9,831
The wind rushed over jagged mountain peaks; rocky edges sharp as knives and points like spears. Tall and rugged; in places almost passable, in others sheer and insurmountable, one becoming the other with suddenness and without warning, the chain of mountains known as The Tyrant's Teeth rose abruptly on the western edge of the northern continent of the west hemisphere of the world of Toria.
Great and terrible they were and though the world knew of the lands at the feet of the mountains, little was known of what lay within the range. So treacherous and perilous was the passage that none were known ever to have attempted to pass through them and returned as living creatures. The mountains themselves seemed to have a will and beat down with wind, snow, and sudden rockslide those who would challenge them. There were monsters too in the peaks; great ogres and trolls, giants, and whispers of far worse.
So it was that none outside of the Tyrant's Teeth knew that beyond the ring of the peaks there lay a wide and deep valley; green and lush and rich. Streams flowed from the peaks and fed forest and plain; sweet grasses and tall trees grew in abundance and all without the outside world knowing. Which was all the better, the inhabitants of the valley thought. For their ancestors of old had fled death and slavery, seeking escape and refuge and found it here. The valley was large; big enough for all the fleeing clans save the Mad Ones who were driven into the mountains and lost. And so those who fled made their homes here; protected by the mountains and given plenty by them. Sanctuary, they named it, and so it was, their shelter and home of the great lineages of the Espers; long thought extinct in the outside world. The Espers themselves were legends to most, and to savants and those schooled in lore only a past chapter, never to appear in the pages of history again.
Yet theirs was not the pen nor the paper, and there were some who remembered the Espers and their power, and dreamed dark dreams of what could be done with it...history was not done with them; their tale had scarcely yet been told.
There was a mad riot of young voices, male and female though at these ages it was hard to distinguish. The meadows were in flower and over the low rolling hills of the northern valley, at the edges of the forest, children ran and laughed. They rambled this way and that; playing a variety of games all of which, when examined closely, were essentially one and the same consisting of running about and screaming.
"Enough already!" There was a young man striding through the calf high grass. His clothes were white trimmed with red and he bore a sword at his side and a dagger in his boot. He was tall and strong, with whipcord muscle that was sharply defined under creamy skin. His eyes were the gray of charcoal and his hair was a wild mane of glossy black that tumbled to the small of his back, gathered at the base of his neck by a pale green ribbon; a gift from his closest friend. His face was handsome and well featured; noble but with a roguish cast, though that came more from the man's demeanor than his form.
Rhys ap Aneirin crossed his arms over his chest as the children continued to rampage. "Damn it, Sahrah, where the hell are you?" Why did he have to be the responsible one? He'd like to be off flying or something too. He took a deep breath and bellowed, "If you don't get over here right now, there'll be no story and no snack later!"
The patter of small feet was like a miniature and adorable stampede. In a flash there were a dozen and three youngsters, most not yet at their tenth year sitting in the grass around him. Rhys smirked. He thought that would work. "All right, that's more like it. So, let's get this over with. The story-"
"Oh, oh! Tell us the one about when you and your friends fought the stone giant!"
"Nooo! Tell us about how Ithil and Esme found the Forest's Heart!"
"Bleeech! That's a girl story! Tell us about-"
"Do you want a story or not, you rugrats?" Rhys glowered as the children reluctantly quieted down and, as a group, sulked. He sighed, "All right, all right, I'm sorry I snapped but look, today's an important day." He shook his head, "Today's story isn't one you've been told before." Fifteen pairs of tiny ears almost visibly perked up. "It's one you'll hear again after today, I'm sure, but now you're all at the right age to know and understand."
A cute girl whose hair fanned out like wings alongside her small head stuck a finger in her mouth. "Understand what?"
"The beginning." He gestured around at the world as a whole, "How the First Age of the world ended and Toria was reborn unlike what had come before. Of how the Gods and their children were betrayed by one they loved and all was almost ruined and unmade; and how our people came to be, as did all the peoples of the world." The tiny eyes were fixed on him now; the children hushed. "Today you'll learn why the world is what it is today, what was lost, and how we came to be as we are."
He paused. Sahrah was really supposed to be doing this with him. He didn't want to tell it all himself...but he wasn't patient enough to wait any longer either. "It's a long story, so..." A tiny hand raised. "...What?"
"...I have to go."
Rhys rubbed his forehead with the fingers of one hand. "Okay then. Well, we'd better get that out of the way before we start. Does anyone else have to-" fourteen more hands slowly rose into the air. "...Right."
He was going to kill her. That was all there was to it now.
OOC
Name: Rhys ap Aneirin
Age: 23
Shapeshift: Dragon
Height: 6’ 1”
Hair: A long and flowing mane of black that goes down to the small of his back; usually gathered by a ribbon or tied up with a headband.
Eyes: Charcoal grey: when angered they get shot through with red, fiery veins.
History: Rhys is part of a large family, one of the oldest and most respected in the Dragon Clan. He is the youngest of five siblings, has many cousins close to his age, even some aunts and uncles that are only a few years older than he is.
As a member of his family, Rhys has been expected to take part in the politics of the valley and rise to a position of respect and authority. While he may have this among his peers and those younger, his fiery attitude, enthusiasm, and bravado have made many older wary and weary of the youth. He never shirks duties put on him and performs well but his curiosity and often trouble making style of dealing with things sometimes disrupts the peace a bit too much for the taste of many.
He has many friends but also many enemies, people rarely feel ambivalent or neutral toward the son of Aneirin. Rhys would rather be liked but he also doesn’t care if people dislike him; if they do, it’s because he said something they didn’t like that was true. He doesn’t mince words and doesn’t hide his feelings.
His family has funneled his passionate and fiery nature into martial arts to teach him the discipline needed to control the fiery power of the Dragon that stirs within his breast. He is an accomplished swordsman, archer, and hand to hand combatant. He knows some magic and could learn more but at present his tutors feel he may lack the discipline for more powerful spells.
Great and terrible they were and though the world knew of the lands at the feet of the mountains, little was known of what lay within the range. So treacherous and perilous was the passage that none were known ever to have attempted to pass through them and returned as living creatures. The mountains themselves seemed to have a will and beat down with wind, snow, and sudden rockslide those who would challenge them. There were monsters too in the peaks; great ogres and trolls, giants, and whispers of far worse.
So it was that none outside of the Tyrant's Teeth knew that beyond the ring of the peaks there lay a wide and deep valley; green and lush and rich. Streams flowed from the peaks and fed forest and plain; sweet grasses and tall trees grew in abundance and all without the outside world knowing. Which was all the better, the inhabitants of the valley thought. For their ancestors of old had fled death and slavery, seeking escape and refuge and found it here. The valley was large; big enough for all the fleeing clans save the Mad Ones who were driven into the mountains and lost. And so those who fled made their homes here; protected by the mountains and given plenty by them. Sanctuary, they named it, and so it was, their shelter and home of the great lineages of the Espers; long thought extinct in the outside world. The Espers themselves were legends to most, and to savants and those schooled in lore only a past chapter, never to appear in the pages of history again.
Yet theirs was not the pen nor the paper, and there were some who remembered the Espers and their power, and dreamed dark dreams of what could be done with it...history was not done with them; their tale had scarcely yet been told.
There was a mad riot of young voices, male and female though at these ages it was hard to distinguish. The meadows were in flower and over the low rolling hills of the northern valley, at the edges of the forest, children ran and laughed. They rambled this way and that; playing a variety of games all of which, when examined closely, were essentially one and the same consisting of running about and screaming.
"Enough already!" There was a young man striding through the calf high grass. His clothes were white trimmed with red and he bore a sword at his side and a dagger in his boot. He was tall and strong, with whipcord muscle that was sharply defined under creamy skin. His eyes were the gray of charcoal and his hair was a wild mane of glossy black that tumbled to the small of his back, gathered at the base of his neck by a pale green ribbon; a gift from his closest friend. His face was handsome and well featured; noble but with a roguish cast, though that came more from the man's demeanor than his form.
Rhys ap Aneirin crossed his arms over his chest as the children continued to rampage. "Damn it, Sahrah, where the hell are you?" Why did he have to be the responsible one? He'd like to be off flying or something too. He took a deep breath and bellowed, "If you don't get over here right now, there'll be no story and no snack later!"
The patter of small feet was like a miniature and adorable stampede. In a flash there were a dozen and three youngsters, most not yet at their tenth year sitting in the grass around him. Rhys smirked. He thought that would work. "All right, that's more like it. So, let's get this over with. The story-"
"Oh, oh! Tell us the one about when you and your friends fought the stone giant!"
"Nooo! Tell us about how Ithil and Esme found the Forest's Heart!"
"Bleeech! That's a girl story! Tell us about-"
"Do you want a story or not, you rugrats?" Rhys glowered as the children reluctantly quieted down and, as a group, sulked. He sighed, "All right, all right, I'm sorry I snapped but look, today's an important day." He shook his head, "Today's story isn't one you've been told before." Fifteen pairs of tiny ears almost visibly perked up. "It's one you'll hear again after today, I'm sure, but now you're all at the right age to know and understand."
A cute girl whose hair fanned out like wings alongside her small head stuck a finger in her mouth. "Understand what?"
"The beginning." He gestured around at the world as a whole, "How the First Age of the world ended and Toria was reborn unlike what had come before. Of how the Gods and their children were betrayed by one they loved and all was almost ruined and unmade; and how our people came to be, as did all the peoples of the world." The tiny eyes were fixed on him now; the children hushed. "Today you'll learn why the world is what it is today, what was lost, and how we came to be as we are."
He paused. Sahrah was really supposed to be doing this with him. He didn't want to tell it all himself...but he wasn't patient enough to wait any longer either. "It's a long story, so..." A tiny hand raised. "...What?"
"...I have to go."
Rhys rubbed his forehead with the fingers of one hand. "Okay then. Well, we'd better get that out of the way before we start. Does anyone else have to-" fourteen more hands slowly rose into the air. "...Right."
He was going to kill her. That was all there was to it now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OOC
Name: Rhys ap Aneirin
Age: 23
Shapeshift: Dragon
Height: 6’ 1”
Hair: A long and flowing mane of black that goes down to the small of his back; usually gathered by a ribbon or tied up with a headband.
Eyes: Charcoal grey: when angered they get shot through with red, fiery veins.
History: Rhys is part of a large family, one of the oldest and most respected in the Dragon Clan. He is the youngest of five siblings, has many cousins close to his age, even some aunts and uncles that are only a few years older than he is.
As a member of his family, Rhys has been expected to take part in the politics of the valley and rise to a position of respect and authority. While he may have this among his peers and those younger, his fiery attitude, enthusiasm, and bravado have made many older wary and weary of the youth. He never shirks duties put on him and performs well but his curiosity and often trouble making style of dealing with things sometimes disrupts the peace a bit too much for the taste of many.
He has many friends but also many enemies, people rarely feel ambivalent or neutral toward the son of Aneirin. Rhys would rather be liked but he also doesn’t care if people dislike him; if they do, it’s because he said something they didn’t like that was true. He doesn’t mince words and doesn’t hide his feelings.
His family has funneled his passionate and fiery nature into martial arts to teach him the discipline needed to control the fiery power of the Dragon that stirs within his breast. He is an accomplished swordsman, archer, and hand to hand combatant. He knows some magic and could learn more but at present his tutors feel he may lack the discipline for more powerful spells.
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