Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on May 26, 2015 20:06:40 GMT -6
The mage followed Duma as they entered the tavern. Propping himself down next to the green-haired man, Ravvus grabbed hold of the mug of ale. ”Cheers.” Ravvus nodded as he took his first sip. Almost immediately, the blond man's face scrunched up in distaste. With visible discomfort he swallowed the liquid and then shook his head. Ravvus was a lightweight and he would be the first to admit it. Alcohol wasn't really his style. At best it was a social lubricant and at worst it was literal poison. Since the mage had few friends with which he socialized or celebrated, and was uninterested in harming his body outside of a battle, he tended to drink infrequently. But one did not go to a bar and abstain from drinking. The mage intended to drink sparingly, but drink nonetheless. Hopefully he would not become too inebriated.
Ravvus starred at Duma as he spoke. When the swordsman mentioned his interest in helping the guilds, the mage simply starred blankly and blinked twice. So, Duma couldn't help achieve his goals as a mage, but he was more than willing to help him with guild work. There was something very ironic about the fact that Duma had proposed help to Ravvus, but the mage ended up providing the swordsman with work. Not that such consequence was ill. As the mage had stated previously, the guilds could use an experienced sword.
”Ah, yes. The ever-problematic war of the Prophet.” The mage chuckled. ”The other Pathfinders might not admit it, but Etruria's zeal has been hurting business. We've got this big fellow, a Nabatan. He's one of the most capable leaders I've ever met. Yet, I fear he won't be staying in the Pathfinders much longer. Our superior disparages against him for the mere fact that he's an outsider.” The mage took another sip and then shook his head. ”Well, it is more than that, but the color of skin, and his country of origins, do play fair roles.”
The mage cast Duma an odd glance. He'd said something which had caught the blond man's attention. ”The Pale Compass' headquarters is located in Edessa. If you're ever there, just ask a guard or one of the civilians. If they don't know where it is, they can point you to someone who does. It's a fairly well-known group, not as well as the Pathfinders, but most Edessan's are familiar with it..” He stammered “But, you said that you're Etrurian? Really?” The mage inquired, his voice and his face reflected his surprise. ”You look half-Sacaen, half-Bernese to be honest. Lycian, even. All kinds come from that country." Ravvus examined Duma's face more closely. "Are you full Etrurian, or is there a little Sacaen in your blood?”
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Post by Duma on May 27, 2015 6:36:56 GMT -6
Duma listened to Ravvus talk about the Etruscan guild and its fair share of problems. The mage said something that unintentionally irked him. The bit about the Nabatan being disliked for his origins and apperance. Duma was raised in a mercenary guild in one of the busiest cities in Elibe. That meant exposure to people of all class, colors, combos, professions, and backgrounds. He learned to measure a person's worth based on skill and mannerisms. After all the mercenary guild had no idea who or what their next client or job or companions were going to be. They could not afford to be prejudice. He mentally sighed. He knew not all folks were as open minded or raised as he had been.
"Sounds like Eturia hasn't changed much if they are still thinking like that." He spoke with some discontent. Good. Glad I left. He took another sip as the Mage continued his talk.
"Edessa. Hmm." Duma had a vague idea where the city was but he would need to double check with the map later. And the guild seemed pretty well known. That was both a boon and a burden.
Then Ravvus did something he wasn't expecting. He got close. The mage was trying to figure out his origins by staring at his face. He was used to this childish curiosity from children whom would often approach him and ask questions about his scar. Which he would then respond with a falsified but entertaining story of heroics. But when done by an "adult" it was a little bit embarrassing. He felt a faint blush appear on his cheeks.
"Uhm..." He gently pushed Ravvus away from his face. Then cleared his throat. Regaining his calm and collected composure.
"Yes. I'm from Eturia. To be specific I was raised in Eturia. You see I was adopted by the guild. Supposedly, my parents found me and my twin sister in the ruins of a Lycian encampment. I think.. we were newborns. I do not know where my blood ties are. And to be honest I do not care. My home, my family, is with the guild." He paused for a moment. Letting his words settle.
"I have traveled for years absorbing cultures and noticing the habits of people from all origins. I need to be well versed in these things because I do not know where the next job comes from. Though I do have an unnatural fondness for Sacae. Perhaps it might be my unknown blood calling me home.. or it could be due to my upbringing as the guild constantly traveled back and fouth between the nations." He shrugged. Who knows.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on May 28, 2015 19:19:36 GMT -6
The mage felt himself being pushed back by the 'Etrurian' swordsman. Ah, yes. Ravvus seemed to have forgotten himself whilst examining Duma's appearance. He hadn't meant to get so close, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. The blond man couldn't help but break a small smirk at seeing Duma drop his formidable facade. He was usually so concentrated, so serious. Yet the invasion of his personal space seemed to fluster him. Ravvus made a mental note of that. If When the two of them fought again, the mage might be able to use that to his advantage.
So Duma had only been raised in Etruria. The mage's suspicions were immediately satisfied. He would have found it very hard to believe that Duma was fully-blooded Etrurian. Green-hair like his tended to come from Sacaens, where as blonds like Ravvus were usually Etrurians or Nabatans. That was such a curious thing. The hair color of Elibians tended to reflect the country of their blood. The golden hair of Nabatan's was reminiscent of the yellow sun and rolling sands they lived under and within. The Sacaen green-hair alluded to the rolling, endless plains of green in Sacae. Ilian's had pale blue or white hair, similar in color to the snow and water in which they lived. Even those of the Western Isles tended to have dirty, brown hair, much like the unclean and messy towns they lived in. Ravvus had traveled all over Elibe, but it was only now that this occurred to him.
Ravvus discovered that he had a newfound fondness for the green-haired swordsman. He was a traveler like Ravvus, and, like the mage, his adventuring had helped him discard notions of nationalism. Duma the swordsman was not a man of one country, but of many. They appeared to have something in common after all. Perhaps the two were not utter opposites. ”That's it.” Ravvus pointed a finger at Duma. ”I think it is your blood calling you home. Green-hair tends to come from Sacae and the way you wield you sword is reminiscent of their bladework.” The mage brought his pointer finger and thumb close so that they were almost touching. ”Precision, speed, deadliness. It's a very Sacaen blade style.” Ravvus chuckled. ”Funny, that unnatural fondness isn't it? I like magic, I like learning, I was a decent student back when I was in school. But I've always loved fighting more than anything else. No matter how much I travel, I still get that tick. That occasional tick to go back to where I was born.” With memories of home flooding his head, Ravvus took a slightly longer swig from his mug. He still had no interest in becoming inebriated, but he figured talk of his home befitted such revelry. ”The Western Isles!” He proclaimed grandly. He moved his right hand in front of him, as if he'd just removed a veil. ”No place quite like it. You'll get in trouble picking fist fights with random strangers here, but not there. Nope, the Islanders love a good brawl.”
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Post by Duma on May 28, 2015 20:40:07 GMT -6
Duma blinked at Ravvus wild revelation. The mage pointed at the swordsman square in the face and exclaimed that he had figured out Duma's origins. Duma couldn't help but go a bit cross eyed trying to stare at the accusing finger. It was so close to his face.
"You do know it takes more then hair color to ascertain one's origins right?" He asked with a bit of curious tone.
"People marry and mix all the time. Some times willingly sometimes not. Kids are born they grow up. So on and so fourth." But Ravvus kept on commenting on his sword play.
"My mother taught me the blade." He proclaimed with pride.
"When I surpassed her..." He stopped and thought for a moment.
"The rest has been learned from mostly other Saceans... Okay, I'll give you that one. My blade work is reminiscent of the Sacean style because I was... And continue to be taught by mostly Saceans." He quietly took another sip of his drink. Ravvus was from the Western Isles. And he liked to fight. His mind gave a small chuckle. The mage reminded him a bit of Yorick. They both shared a love of battle. Both were hardy, stubborn, passionate, perhaps that is a thing with those from the Isles. He knew Yorick's upbringing was tough, but it made her strong. Fighting is all you doing the isles.
"You remind me of a companion of mine. She's from the Western Isles as well. You both are so passionate about having a good brawl." He smiled.
"I admit I do not frequent the Isles often. As it usually forces me to go through Eturia to get there. And I usually do not stay long. But now I understand where you get your passion from. And I know that you will want a rematch down the line." He had a bit of a smirk.
"Pretty sure you've been itching to punch me in my face. I do not mind. Wait, no I mind the physical punching. Just not the thinking kind of punching. And I'm certain we can learn a lot from each other."
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on May 28, 2015 22:00:53 GMT -6
Ravvus waved his hand dismissively. ”Yes, yes, it's more complex than hair color, but I'll bet you more than anything you've got Sacaen blood in you. Look at me. My dad was from the Isles, my mom from Etruria. I got stuck with the golden Etrurian locks, but I've got the fighting spirit of a Westerner.” The mage paused for a second, realizing that he had not only failed to provide any evidence in favor of his argument, but might have instead strengthened Duma's argument. He blinked a few times, embarrassed and then peered into his mug. “How much have I had to drink...” He muttered, attempting to shift blame for his comments on the alcohol. The mug was about half empty at this point. He hadn't been drinking particularly fast or slow, but the mage did feel like he had a buzz going.
”Another Westerner, really?” Ravvus inquired with glee in his voice. ”Well, I suppose I'll have to meet her some day. Maybe greet her by starting a fist fight.” He mused. That would be nice. Ravvus didn't tend to meet a lot of Western natives in his travels. Most of them couldn't leave the islands, they didn't have the money or the means. Those who did were either pirates, brigands, people who had been kidnapped by said pirates, or members of the Etrurian court/military. Ravvus generally didn't run into that sort. One tended to find pirates on the sea, and Etrurians returning from the isles weren't technically natives.
And then Duma said something which made Ravvus smile. It was like the swordsman had read his mind. An easy thing to do, given their conversation at hand. ”You bet your ass, I do” Ravvus said in response to Duma's comment about a rematch. ”But next time, I think we'd best use our weapons of choice.” The mage patted his travel satchel. ”My book.” And then pointed at Duma's sword. ”Your blade.” The blond man held his right hand out to the side, as if to interrupt his train of thought. ”Of course. That will have to wait until some time later in the future. I wouldn't want to fight you, with sword in hand, with but a simple fire tome. No, no. Next time we fight, I'd like to have some knowledge of fimbulvetr.” Ravvus closed his eyes and smiled. ”And that might take some time.”
”I'm certain we can.”The mage spoke as he arose from his stool. Ravvus immediately felt the effects of the alcohol. His balance was off. ”Ugh” He groaned. After situating himself, he turned to Duma and spoke. ”Well, I've fooled around in Lycia long off. I need to head north and meet with the Pale Compass.” And a few petrologists if he could make the time. In the midst of the job, Ravvus had forgotten all about that strange rock he'd found in the desert. He was still interested in the piece of granite, and had yet to meet someone who recognized it. But he intended to discover all of the secrets it held. ”Duma.” He began for the last time before the two would part company. ”It has been an unexpected pleasure meeting you. I hope we can work, and fight, again in the future and remember” He paused, offering a handshake. ”That offer to assist with the Pale Compass still stands. I imagine they'd enjoy having a sword like yours.”
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Post by Duma on May 29, 2015 16:50:22 GMT -6
There was a smirk on Duma's face when Ravvus started talking about his origins. Unwittingly confirming more of Duma's previous statement over his own.
"You've only had.. part of the one drink." Duma smiled at the prospect of Ravvus meeting Yorick. The two he thought would get along. He decided to give the mage a word of caution.
"Heh, good luck. She's a tough as nails fighter who could Molly Whop me." There was truth to that statement.
Next time we should use our weapon of choice. Books vs Swords. Duma's smirk faded back into a bit of a serious face. He hadn't had a serious duel against an anima mage since Mila. But the swordsman would not dissapoint Ravvus, he was looking forward to watching him grow and master more spells. He believed was something noble about wanting to better yourself.
He shook Ravvus hand.
"I will look into the offer to aid the Pale Compass. And yes, when we have both grown stronger we shall have another Duel." He felt a strange sense of pride and kinship to Ravvus. Perhaps the next time they meet will be in Ilia. Ravvus left to tend to his own business leaving Duma alone at the bar. Though Ravvus first annoyed and confused the swordmaster he was a bit disappointed to see him go. He saw shades of his past self in Ravvus. From out of his bag he pulled out his journal and began writing. He made a new entry for Ravvus and his two guilds. Duma would spend the rest of the evening eating a light meal at the tavern and thinking of where to go next.
(End support)
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