Smoke (Feldsky Alt)
Jun 16, 2014 21:26:33 GMT -6
Post by Smoke on Jun 16, 2014 21:26:33 GMT -6
Name: Calumet "Smoke"
Class: Manakete, fire
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Red
Age: Somewhere between 550 and 650. Humanoid form appears late 20s.
Born in: Arcadia, Nabata. Resides in Western Isles at start of my career with him.
Appearance: Something of a giant, "Smoke", as he names himself, appears as a robustly built man with an expression falling somewhere between a smirk and a leer. He acts as though the joke is on everyone else when dealing with people, and if he's not acting supremely confidant than something is wrong. His frame puts him head and shoulders over most of the pathetic lifeforms that cover the surface of Elibe. In some smaller domiciles of the world, his six foot six frame feels slightly pressured, and can limit his movements. Most of the time though, if something doesn't quite fit him, he fixes it so it does, or leaves for a more fitting housing. His clothing is an odd mix of rough and rugged leathers crafted by the work of a skilled wildman, or the finery befitting a king of the land. At least, he wishes it was fitting of a king of the land. Normally, its more of what you'd find on a wealthy merchant. Anything he wears is fair game to be traded in for something better though, should the opportunity arise. For awhile, he did wear his hair long, but cut it when it caught in one to many branches after he'd let it run wild for a long time. Now, he keeps it cut shorter, though it never resembled the shaved style so popular among the islanders where he has lived for the longest time. Between his imposing height and arms like small boulders, most people don't pick fights with him. While the few who size him up study him out though, they might spot the scars running along his knuckles, elbows, and knees. It's clear that he's fought plenty over the years. And then they see him looking back into their eyes, and realize that he's just looking for an excuse to cave their skull in, if it will benefit him.
While in Draconic form, Smoke is a truly vicious specimen of a top predator. The black of his scales is enough to absorb all light rebounding off of it on anything except the brightest of days. Sharp spines extend backwards off the jaw and skull of his monstrous head, and his eyes seem to glow fiery red in the dark of the night. His talons are like swords, and his teeth as sharp as spear points. His full height reaches nearly ten meters high at the shoulders, easily dwarfing most anything he decides he is hunting today, and giving him a good vantage point to look down in judgement on the world from. His Coiled muscles hit like a battering ram, and his wings cause a gale with every beat of their massive leathery span. Only a few times has he tasted anything he considered battle while allowing himself to take on his dragon flesh, and always he made certain to burn down the area and conceal his presence during the altercation. Mighty though he may be, the last thing Smoke wished was to trigger an army hunting for a great black beast meeting his description.
Clothes: A durable blackish-greyish leather vest leaving his bulging arms open for all to see. He favors light tan or cream colored pants, though they are oft discolored by mud, dirt, and foliage. They look of heavy material, and sturdy make. Most of the time, the giant wears these pants tucked into a sturdy pair of showy knee high boots. A black leather affair with silver buckles and riding heels. Unfortunately, it looks like it has been a long time since they were treated or polished. A brownish headband helps keep his hair back out of his face. Besides all of that, there's his treasure hoard. Often trophies from battle, or pieces taken from his victims, these can be anything from rings, to necklaces, furs or equipment. Sometimes, there are even weapons tucked over his shoulder, though he doesn't often make use of them. These can change frequently, with only his favorites remaining. One particular favorite is a tough leather cord with gold adornments and a large ruby set in it. This is his favorite.
Story: Smoke's story begins in Arcadia, the hidden city. It had been somewhere around five hundred years since the end of the conflict known as the Scouring, where dragon and human battled, and most of the draconic population was pushed out of the world at large. Arcadia was the last place that the survivors of that was could take refuge and be safe from the ravages of the outside world, and that was only because it was unknown. Smoke was born Calumet of Arcadia, and he spent three hundred years learning from the elders of that forgotten place. During that time, he studied the lore from before the war, and listened as different dragons and humans spoke on everything from the Scouring, to theories on the root of magic. After so much time studying though, he grew tired of their lectures. It bothered him that so many of his dragon kin were willing to simply live out their lives in hiding, and meekly remain within the bounds of their exile. Others had left Arcadia. He could too.
That was what Calumet did. He left Arcadia, not without a deal of struggle in and of itself. Many opposed leaving, so he had to take time and caution to enact his goal. Whether through deceit or stealth, he did get out. Past the watch, and past the curtain of sands keeping the city hidden. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to find his way back, once he left, but he hadn't left that old refuge in order to return after only a quick venture out. He quickly struck out, and ran into a collection of city states to the east of his home in the Nabata desert. They were a simple folk, with their own petty concerns, but they proved an interesting diversion after the long winded sorts he'd found in Arcadia. He spent considerable time there, finding a knight in one of the southern provinces, Caelin, and swearing service to him for nearly 15 years. He retired himself and moved on before people could question the fact that he hadn't aged any. He moved up to the North, and founded a home for himself in a city called Ostia. From his vantage there, he kept an eye on his first home of Caelin, and worked as a tanner for the hunters bringing in their catches from around the area. He continued this method of bouncing about the country for a time, until he witnessed something that would change his view.
Calumet had kept watch for nearly seventy years now on the same family that he had originally found when he'd left Arcadia, and it was a dark time for the family. Through the political maneuverings of their rivals, this family of knights that had faithfully served Caelin was reduced to destitution through their debtors. It had taken nearly a generation of meddling to weaken them to the point that they had fallen, but for one such as him, it was easy to see the long view of things. With their loss in wealth came a fall from the graces of their liege, and soon everything they had was taken by their rivals and divied up. Calumet felt his anger surge at the fall of the family he'd become fond of watching. Especially because it wasn't hard for him to tell where the final blow had come from. His mind made up, Calumet went down into Caelin, and found the home of those who had masterminded the end of his "pet" house, and with the fury born by a dragon robbed of his treasure, he tore into the ones responsible, smashing through the wall and setting fire to the buildings before disappearing into the night to watch his work come to fruition from the distance. The history books only remember the ashfields left by the demise of that family now, as everything they took for themselves, and in a sense took from Calumet, was reduced to dust.
Calumet moved on and left Lycia, and it was not the last time that he saw betrayals such as the ones he witnessed in Lycia. Always he would see those who believed that if they had the might to take something, then they had the right. Most of these sorts only left ruin in their wake. So maybe Calumet should just take what they took for himself. He'd be a better and more deserving steward of it, after all. Every now and then, he would step in for a while and look after a region from behind the scenes. Either by cracking some bandit lord's skull, or encouraging someone he thought wise enough to step up and take a leading role in their community. Always though, there would come a time when someone in his adopted village or town would begin thinking that might makes right, and act on it. Whenever this happened, he would leave before he let himself see the end result. He became truly bitter over it to the point that he gave up. Maybe it would be better if he simply took whatever he wanted for himself. That'd save him the trouble of righting the wrongs later, after all. He could be a much better guard and keeper of the wealth and knowledge that others worked so hard to collect than any puny humans. His scales were like plates, and his footsteps caused the earth to rumble when he took his draconic form. No one would be able to take and despoil the work of those he cared for and cherished. Not with him watching it.... Eventually, he made his home on the Western Isles, and found a mountain spewing smoke into the sky on which he made his home. The land that he picked had the most brutal and violent of people. Things of worth were owned by the elite few, and there honestly were none that he cared to take under his protection. For a long time now, he has lived under the shadow of the smoke mountain, even taking its name as his own, "Smoke" when he ventured out interacted with some of the locals. Without someone worthy of his esteem, he quickly grew bored, and this led him to make twisted games of his old habits. Once every few decades, he would go out and find the richest, most self important overlord on the island that he could find. He would work his way into this man's trusted confidants either through service or through money. Normally, this scheme ended up with Smoke betraying his new found playthings, and leading another war band into possession of whatever group Smoke had decided to end. Of course, caution was something he had to use, and he did stay mobile around the mountain, but he liked to think of it as keeping him sharp.
Now it's been almost three hundred years since he left Arcadia and great things are in motion. Maybe it's worth going out and checking on the actions of the world's leaders and citizens one more time. There's certainly enough chaos on the wind. There's something else too though. A stink that he couldn't remember ever smelling before. It was always almost on the tip of his remembrance, but never quite there. Word of monsters came with it though....
Yes... There were enough things going on across the continent to warrant another look. Maybe there'd be a treasure worth holding onto besides the gold and battle trophies he carried.
Feldsky alt
Class: Manakete, fire
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Red
Age: Somewhere between 550 and 650. Humanoid form appears late 20s.
Born in: Arcadia, Nabata. Resides in Western Isles at start of my career with him.
Appearance: Something of a giant, "Smoke", as he names himself, appears as a robustly built man with an expression falling somewhere between a smirk and a leer. He acts as though the joke is on everyone else when dealing with people, and if he's not acting supremely confidant than something is wrong. His frame puts him head and shoulders over most of the pathetic lifeforms that cover the surface of Elibe. In some smaller domiciles of the world, his six foot six frame feels slightly pressured, and can limit his movements. Most of the time though, if something doesn't quite fit him, he fixes it so it does, or leaves for a more fitting housing. His clothing is an odd mix of rough and rugged leathers crafted by the work of a skilled wildman, or the finery befitting a king of the land. At least, he wishes it was fitting of a king of the land. Normally, its more of what you'd find on a wealthy merchant. Anything he wears is fair game to be traded in for something better though, should the opportunity arise. For awhile, he did wear his hair long, but cut it when it caught in one to many branches after he'd let it run wild for a long time. Now, he keeps it cut shorter, though it never resembled the shaved style so popular among the islanders where he has lived for the longest time. Between his imposing height and arms like small boulders, most people don't pick fights with him. While the few who size him up study him out though, they might spot the scars running along his knuckles, elbows, and knees. It's clear that he's fought plenty over the years. And then they see him looking back into their eyes, and realize that he's just looking for an excuse to cave their skull in, if it will benefit him.
While in Draconic form, Smoke is a truly vicious specimen of a top predator. The black of his scales is enough to absorb all light rebounding off of it on anything except the brightest of days. Sharp spines extend backwards off the jaw and skull of his monstrous head, and his eyes seem to glow fiery red in the dark of the night. His talons are like swords, and his teeth as sharp as spear points. His full height reaches nearly ten meters high at the shoulders, easily dwarfing most anything he decides he is hunting today, and giving him a good vantage point to look down in judgement on the world from. His Coiled muscles hit like a battering ram, and his wings cause a gale with every beat of their massive leathery span. Only a few times has he tasted anything he considered battle while allowing himself to take on his dragon flesh, and always he made certain to burn down the area and conceal his presence during the altercation. Mighty though he may be, the last thing Smoke wished was to trigger an army hunting for a great black beast meeting his description.
Clothes: A durable blackish-greyish leather vest leaving his bulging arms open for all to see. He favors light tan or cream colored pants, though they are oft discolored by mud, dirt, and foliage. They look of heavy material, and sturdy make. Most of the time, the giant wears these pants tucked into a sturdy pair of showy knee high boots. A black leather affair with silver buckles and riding heels. Unfortunately, it looks like it has been a long time since they were treated or polished. A brownish headband helps keep his hair back out of his face. Besides all of that, there's his treasure hoard. Often trophies from battle, or pieces taken from his victims, these can be anything from rings, to necklaces, furs or equipment. Sometimes, there are even weapons tucked over his shoulder, though he doesn't often make use of them. These can change frequently, with only his favorites remaining. One particular favorite is a tough leather cord with gold adornments and a large ruby set in it. This is his favorite.
Story: Smoke's story begins in Arcadia, the hidden city. It had been somewhere around five hundred years since the end of the conflict known as the Scouring, where dragon and human battled, and most of the draconic population was pushed out of the world at large. Arcadia was the last place that the survivors of that was could take refuge and be safe from the ravages of the outside world, and that was only because it was unknown. Smoke was born Calumet of Arcadia, and he spent three hundred years learning from the elders of that forgotten place. During that time, he studied the lore from before the war, and listened as different dragons and humans spoke on everything from the Scouring, to theories on the root of magic. After so much time studying though, he grew tired of their lectures. It bothered him that so many of his dragon kin were willing to simply live out their lives in hiding, and meekly remain within the bounds of their exile. Others had left Arcadia. He could too.
That was what Calumet did. He left Arcadia, not without a deal of struggle in and of itself. Many opposed leaving, so he had to take time and caution to enact his goal. Whether through deceit or stealth, he did get out. Past the watch, and past the curtain of sands keeping the city hidden. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to find his way back, once he left, but he hadn't left that old refuge in order to return after only a quick venture out. He quickly struck out, and ran into a collection of city states to the east of his home in the Nabata desert. They were a simple folk, with their own petty concerns, but they proved an interesting diversion after the long winded sorts he'd found in Arcadia. He spent considerable time there, finding a knight in one of the southern provinces, Caelin, and swearing service to him for nearly 15 years. He retired himself and moved on before people could question the fact that he hadn't aged any. He moved up to the North, and founded a home for himself in a city called Ostia. From his vantage there, he kept an eye on his first home of Caelin, and worked as a tanner for the hunters bringing in their catches from around the area. He continued this method of bouncing about the country for a time, until he witnessed something that would change his view.
Calumet had kept watch for nearly seventy years now on the same family that he had originally found when he'd left Arcadia, and it was a dark time for the family. Through the political maneuverings of their rivals, this family of knights that had faithfully served Caelin was reduced to destitution through their debtors. It had taken nearly a generation of meddling to weaken them to the point that they had fallen, but for one such as him, it was easy to see the long view of things. With their loss in wealth came a fall from the graces of their liege, and soon everything they had was taken by their rivals and divied up. Calumet felt his anger surge at the fall of the family he'd become fond of watching. Especially because it wasn't hard for him to tell where the final blow had come from. His mind made up, Calumet went down into Caelin, and found the home of those who had masterminded the end of his "pet" house, and with the fury born by a dragon robbed of his treasure, he tore into the ones responsible, smashing through the wall and setting fire to the buildings before disappearing into the night to watch his work come to fruition from the distance. The history books only remember the ashfields left by the demise of that family now, as everything they took for themselves, and in a sense took from Calumet, was reduced to dust.
Calumet moved on and left Lycia, and it was not the last time that he saw betrayals such as the ones he witnessed in Lycia. Always he would see those who believed that if they had the might to take something, then they had the right. Most of these sorts only left ruin in their wake. So maybe Calumet should just take what they took for himself. He'd be a better and more deserving steward of it, after all. Every now and then, he would step in for a while and look after a region from behind the scenes. Either by cracking some bandit lord's skull, or encouraging someone he thought wise enough to step up and take a leading role in their community. Always though, there would come a time when someone in his adopted village or town would begin thinking that might makes right, and act on it. Whenever this happened, he would leave before he let himself see the end result. He became truly bitter over it to the point that he gave up. Maybe it would be better if he simply took whatever he wanted for himself. That'd save him the trouble of righting the wrongs later, after all. He could be a much better guard and keeper of the wealth and knowledge that others worked so hard to collect than any puny humans. His scales were like plates, and his footsteps caused the earth to rumble when he took his draconic form. No one would be able to take and despoil the work of those he cared for and cherished. Not with him watching it.... Eventually, he made his home on the Western Isles, and found a mountain spewing smoke into the sky on which he made his home. The land that he picked had the most brutal and violent of people. Things of worth were owned by the elite few, and there honestly were none that he cared to take under his protection. For a long time now, he has lived under the shadow of the smoke mountain, even taking its name as his own, "Smoke" when he ventured out interacted with some of the locals. Without someone worthy of his esteem, he quickly grew bored, and this led him to make twisted games of his old habits. Once every few decades, he would go out and find the richest, most self important overlord on the island that he could find. He would work his way into this man's trusted confidants either through service or through money. Normally, this scheme ended up with Smoke betraying his new found playthings, and leading another war band into possession of whatever group Smoke had decided to end. Of course, caution was something he had to use, and he did stay mobile around the mountain, but he liked to think of it as keeping him sharp.
Now it's been almost three hundred years since he left Arcadia and great things are in motion. Maybe it's worth going out and checking on the actions of the world's leaders and citizens one more time. There's certainly enough chaos on the wind. There's something else too though. A stink that he couldn't remember ever smelling before. It was always almost on the tip of his remembrance, but never quite there. Word of monsters came with it though....
Yes... There were enough things going on across the continent to warrant another look. Maybe there'd be a treasure worth holding onto besides the gold and battle trophies he carried.
Feldsky alt
