Name: Azkhael Konj'hirath.
Description: A middle-aged hatcuri male of average stature with a large amount of dark, golden-hued scales and a bony crown of spikes adorning his head. He seems to be wearing a ornamented set of light chainmail, which stretches up to just past his collarbone. The armor is mostly covered by full regalia, gilded gloves, boots, robe and cloak, the later accompanied by a similarly decorated hood which hides his face. Under the hood, attached through a set of chains to the torso stands a black metallic facemask, wreathed by a silvery serpent shaped circlet bearing an empty socket. An engraved gnarled staff rests amidst his right hand, a symbol of mage hood among the Curiates' inhabitants.
Background:
Born to greater nobility, back in the Mainland, Azkhael's upbringing left little to desire, giving him a vast base of knowledge which would serve him well for the rest of his life. His unnatural magical prowess was discovered early in his life by direct relatives, being sent away at the age of fifty, his formal education concluded, to study under the tutelage of a Mage-Lord in the Curates. Inspired by what he'd learnt of the First Emperor's reign and ungodly magical mastery, Azkhael quickly took to his newfound way of life, giving his all to the apprenticeship.
The ordeal contributed heavily strengthen his belief in the Empire's decadence and the necessity of bringing about a new age, marked by arcane supremacy, as the one under which the Hatcur of old prospered. Overall, a result of his eccentric yet powerful mentor's obsession with Ancient Hatcur, a trait which soon came to be shared among the two of them. A century and a half of dedication to The Art would pass before the Mage-Lord would think his apprentice ready to join him in his research on the artifacts of yore as a fellow wizard, granting him an engraved staff which would henceforth serve as symbol of his standing. Yet it was not meant to be, for eight hundred years was too long a life even for a longevous hatcuri as his mentor was.
Only on his deathbed did the Mage-Lord finally part with his greatest secret, lying within a vault deep into the tower's dungeons, protected by scores of spirits, bound to the area through an adjacent ley line. Azkhael, now the tower's sole proprietor, a custom among the more reclusive mages, set to tap into the magical source, slowly altering its guardians' bindings through the years so that he'd be able to claim what was now his by right. Nearly a decade passed, the vault had finally been turned in full, allowing him entrance.
There he found but a map, the fruit of centuries of research, and a richly decorated garment bearing a peculiar circlet, eerily akin to the description of what he knew to be a long lost imperial artifact. The crown bore no magic itself, as far he could determine, yet it stood as a symbol of power within Hatcur, an artifact better left unfound lest a truly worthy emperor, no less no more than a mage, rise to the throne. Upon further inspection, the map had several landmasses outlined, indicating the location where certain items of great renown, mundane and magic alike, were lost...
Most notably, Omat-Ebect, bearing the circlet's image, was crossed out, which meant it had probably been mistakenly placed among the immense amount of gifts granted to the region's nobility in the empire's early days, after which it was somehow retrieved by his mentor. In spite of the innumerous opportunities which lie within the map, what now held Azkhael's attention truly was the circlet's socket, far too pronounced to be a mere engraving. With the item's nature and condition determined, his path was set clearly before him: he'd have the completed crown and the remainder of the lost Crown Jewels, under his possession; Nothing less would do. (...)
Using the resources once availiable to his deceased master and family, now the sole inhertor to both, he manages to determine the missing gem's likey whereabouts, having learnt of an artifact pursued by a now disbanded Holy Order. (...)
Traits:
- Noble
- Hatcuri
- Wizard
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Two figures stand on deck, overlooking the horizon.
"Master, the Captain has informed me of which we should be arriving at Polca shortly. Are you sure of which your absence won't be noticed back at the Capital... Should any of the Imperial retainers find out what you are searching for, the consequences would be grievous!"
"You worry needlessly, Iocaun, all has already been taken care of... I've been planing this voyage for years, no less would acceptable. The High Priest has been... Persuaded... Of which I am on spiritual pilmgrimage and a certain old friend of mine, the Admiral Ponday, will make sure that the appropriate would-be travel comprovants are provided for. More importantly, I've left a steward in charge of the household and granted him a copy of my personal seal, I doubt the Emperor or any of the other nobles will care as long as they can get my vote when trying to pass their whimsical decrees; That decadent court of His is but a waste of my time."
"Very well, Master. Would you have me do anything additional once we've arrived at the destination?"
"Nothing much, just travel southwest, to Vasir, take the guards with you, and use this *throws a small bag towards Iocaun* to set up a base; You will be serving as my sole link to Hatcur for the years to come. Also, I suppose a reminder is in order as your memory has proved awfully lacking as of late... Should you come in contact with any of our kin, you are to immeadiatly aprehend and interrogate them; Or, should they resist or prove to have any knowledge of my presence, summarily dispose of them. We absolutely cannot risk anyone coming back to Hatcur with news of my expediton. I will retire to my quarters for now, there is much I need to meditate on, do what you will."
Author
Topic: You Are King II: Tales of the Storm Coast (Winter 416a) (Read 231601 times)