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Nearly swarming with cats and children, this fine upper-class home appears to be clean and in good condition considering the number and ages of its inhabitants. Three young boys shoot marbles in the dirt near the side porch, and inside strewn toys and more cats lie about on the floors. A few children take care of chores, while coughs and sneezes softly erupt from the children’s dormitories upstairs.
Some distance away, a group of young adults glare at the orphanage, some with fond memories of budding camaraderie, all with a strong resentment of the institution's inability to provide the orphans with a decent life. This is where it all started, well before they all joined the ranks of the Pathfinders, before their three-year apprenticeship under the tutelage of Masters Farabellus, Shaine and Zey. Today, of all days, they decided to meet in front of their old home, where their lives truly began before heading out for their first assignment, their Confirmation.
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The air almost freezes around one of the attending women. She's a human girl in her early twenties, of clear Jadwigan origins. Her skin is as pale as a winter sky when it's about to snow, surrounded by thick wavy dark hair braided in the Irriseni style. Her icy gray-blue eyes have little room for human feelings. Yet one is easily decipherable as she gazes at her former home-desire for vengeance.
"We should shut this place down for good. Enough evil has been done here, I don't want these kids to undergo all we've been through."
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Ic, at first glance, seems to be a complete simpleton, unreactive to his surroundings and a somewhat vacant look in his eyes. His look are outlandish - not from this continent - and his manner alien.
Looking at the cats, he simply makes a purring sound. On the words of the Irriseni he frowns.
Cold he says, finally. Many faces, offspring but no parents.
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A towering figure - in what looks at first glance to be black armor, covered in whirling patterns many of which depict stylized suns and flames - stands at the rear of the group, one clawed hand gripping the shoulder of the half elf who stands in front of him. The half elf is slender, but well muscled, and despite a set of ears longer than many a full blooded elves he is boyishly handsome.
"She was a good healer though, sour old hag that she was, if they've someone keeping an eye on her she's probably doing some goon in spite of herself. She's a cheat a liar, and about as pleasant as a sudden onset of dysentery, but there are probably a fair few children alive because of her who would not be otherwise - I might be among that number," Arcad says, smiling wanly as he watches the marbles roll.
"Dažas lietas ir vai nu melns vai balts, un mazāk cilvēku," rumbles the black armored figure, Dacra, Arcad's bipedal eidolon.
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A relatively short Tiefling fiddles absentmindedly with some vials, mixing in a few ingredients here and there. He gives a short laugh, but it sounds a bit forced. When he speaks, there's a slight lilt in his voice. "Well, o' course people are rarely black or white. Why, just look at meself. I'm green." Sure enough, his skin is a pale green color.
"And come now Veviane. It weren't that bad. If it weren't for this place, I never would have met the rest of you, now would I?" He smiles but the expression doesn't reach his crimson eyes. "Besides, I'm sure they were doing the best they--" He's interrupted as the one of his vials explodes in a large puff of black smoke. He coughs, trying to wave the smoke away with a free hand as his tail snakes out to grab his handkerchief and start wiping his face. The small burns on his clothes and singed ends of his dark green, spiky hair suggest that this isn't the first time this has happened.
With a slight frown, he blinks owlishly down at the now empty vial as if to say Now, why d'you have to go and do that then? After a moment, he quickly replaces the frown with a cheerful expression. "Well, guess I know not to do that again now, don't I?"
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"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But I've seen you do the same thing so many times, I wonder if you don't get some enjoyment out of it." Anaristiel - or Ana, if you're in a hurry or get tired of her correcting your pronunciation - smiles good-naturedly at Liam.
She looks back at the orphanage, and her smile fades just a little as her hair blows briefly in a phantom breeze. So many memories in that place, made none the easier by my...affliction? Curse? She sighs, shaking her head. "Drunk and corrupt as she was, she did give us a place to sleep. Besides, look at us now...Pathfinders. We're not as likely to have made it so far if we grew up as random gutter rats."
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"Ah, nostalgia, though I have carefully edited the smell of cat piss out of my fonder memories," Arcad says smiling, before looking to Ana,
"But we will not be proper Pathfinders until we pass this Confirmation I think? I wonder what we will be tasked with, I, ah, am not sure I was able to buy all of the items our teachers recommended - our weapons were very expensive."
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This time Liam's grin looks genuine. "Ah well, there are so many different combinations tha' I can hardly be expected to keep them all in this ol' head of mine." As he puts his vials away, his tail snakes out to grab one of the cats walking nearby. Her yowl of protest is quickly replaced with loud purring as he begins to stroke her.
"And I know what you mean Arcad. Between me bow and me tools, I barely have a gold piece left ta my name. And that's even with making a few things meself." His eyes take on a faraway look as he mentally catalogs his gear. "I think I covered tha' basics. Plus a few odds 'n' ends." He shifts his backpack. "Tad heavy though."
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Veviana sighs, slowly letting go of her anger. "You're right, of course. I somehow only kept the bad memories from this place, and nurtured the good ones out of people. I should be grateful that the old hag allowed us to meet and to forge our bonds of friendship. Come now, we have much to do, starting with this Confirmation. We shouldn't let Master Kreighton Shaine waiting."
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A tall man stands near the back. He's dressed simply and looks over the old orphanage with an expressionless gaze.
"I've got memories enough for two lifetimes from this place. Some good, some not. But we made it through... I suppose we had better be off soon, at that. I hope this Confirmation isn't as bad as some of those training exercises..."
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Liam shrugs. "That's very kind of you Dacra, but only if you really want to. It'll do me no harm to try to build up me arm strength. And if need be, I can always drop it an' run loike the dickens."
He then looks at Arcad, grinning. "But it made such a wonderful fashion statement, it did. I looked right 'andsome with some large encyclopedia on me head." To demonstrate, he takes out his formula book, carefully places it on his head, and then starts to strike a few supermodel-esque poses. "Besides, carrying things without hands is a mite more useful than tha' nonesense about the 'rain in the plane stays mainly in spain.' I still have no clue what a 'spain' is."
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Silent until now, Gert shakes her head. "Not Pathfinders yet." Shorter than most humans, Gert's shortish, brown hair shakes side to side with her head. Though she grew up in the Realm of the Mammoth Lords, and claims Kellid heritage she always seems out of place. "My parents obsession with the Azlanti lead me here. Lost and abandoned. Auntie proved no better a caretaker than dusty old books. " Gert jingles the pouch that always hangs at her waist, the pouch of broken parts. Each of you have seen it's contents at one time or another, something you have come to know over the last few years...a wayfinder. One of two things that connect Gert to her parents.
A low grumble comes from Gert's other connection, her dinosaur companion - Old Lace. As part of her tribe's coming-of-age, young Gert's hunting and survival instincts were pitted against a young velociraptor. It was very common for tribe members to return from such ceremonies to returned scarred, matured and with a carcass, Gert returned with a lifelong friend. The two seem to be able to communicate with each other with nothing more than a glance. Never far from each other Old Lace was no favorite of Auntie Baldwin, especially if a cat went missing.
Gert confesses, "I don't trust 'em. My parents, Auntie, the Ten. So far these supposed grownups have been nothing more than a disappointment to me and Old Lace. Now it's our turn, and I don't plan on disappointing you guys."
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Liam smiles his thanks at Dacra. "There are some snacks, rope, and some acid in there. Feel free to help yerself ta any of them."
He then gives Gert a mock offended look. "Now, look here. I'll have you know those dusty books were terrific caretakers. Far better'n me ma or pa ever coulda been. Always ready with a wise or inspiring phrase." A dreamy smile crosses plays across his face as he remembers all the stories of heroes and quests he had read about.
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Good secondary choices for wands are mage armor and protection from evil.
I've rebuilt ic to be a magus - mostly because I thought the alchemist option was a bit too hopeless (and I've always wanted to try magus)
-Posted with Wayfinder