[ooc] profile
Character Name: Cyrus Hawthorne
Background: Thycias: the teeming capital of Escur. Cyrus was born to a family of doctors in this hub of activity. He, like his older brother Solomon, were brought up to be respectable, educated gentlemen. Cyrus knew how to read, how to write, and the inner workings of healing magic. But out of everything, what he knew best was that he despised the dull life of a city doctor. You sat. You studied. You waited with patience for patients. The occasional house call or accident was interesting, but those weren't enough. There was, of course, the option to become a ship's doctor, but that was no change of pace - just a change of place.
Whenever he could be, Cyrus was out of the house and causing a ruckus with other boys in town. This drew the attention of the town guard on more than one occasion, but he never got in any serious trouble. Didn't stop the son of the Captain from forming one hell of a grudge against Cyrus, though, and he's still got the scars to show for it. They're old now, faded, but they exist.
But Cyrus's favorite person to make trouble with was Tovei Kan'neira, the son of an immigrant from the desert country of Mazi'ir. Tovei, like most Thycias-born Mazi'ira, lived on the streets. Cyrus's parents knew of their friendship and disapproved, but Cyrus would never let something like that stop him. He and Tovei were as thick as thieves, and they shared everything. When Tovei was inducted into the Coalition, Cyrus learned of this, too, but Tovei couldn't tell him everything. He burned to know more.
Over the next four years, Cyrus gleaned as much information about the Coalition as he could. The Coalition was dedicated to the study and practice of deconstructive, or dark, magic. Cyrus had read about it, heard about it, but never had he seen it in practice. He learned that Tovei, while a member of this Coalition, was not a practitioner - he was merely an 'eye', someone nearly unaffiliated who could gather information without seeming suspicious. Tovei's mother, too, was an eye, and a damn good one. Sometimes, people would take on apprentices in the ways of deconstructive magic.
Cyrus grinned like the devil himself when he learned that.
When Cyrus came of age one year later, Tovei offered to introduce him to one such person, and Cyrus took him up on the offer. Within the week he met a rather harsh woman named Sycora Novitas, a rather pronounced member of the Coalition. She was getting older and wanted to find a suitable replacement for when her age became too great. To his luck, she chose Cyrus as this person. She gave him a fortnights' preparation, and then he was to come live with and train under her. He was ready within two days, but he gave it those two weeks. He wrote up a quick note and, with Tovei's help, left that night.
The next few weeks left his body dead tired but his mind absolutely alive. This magic was so foreign to him; even using it felt different. And Sycora had so many different books in her library, all of them on magics and theories and anatomy. For the first time in his life, Cyrus had a passion for scholarly business. But, of course, that wasn't everything Cyrus was doing. Sycora had him doing chores and running errands and these, Cyrus didn't appreciate, but he tolerated. If it let him continue learning this mysterious, taboo magic, he would do it.
About a month after he began living with Sycora, he encountered the being called Rem. It was an informal meeting that went something like this: late one night while Cyrus was organizing Sycora's library, Rem decided to inspect the newcomer. First, Cyrus was observed at a distance, but then Rem drew closer. Eventually, Rem stood just behind Cyrus, staring at him unblinkingly, until Cyrus turned around.
Cue shout. Cue Cyrus smashing the intruder in the head with a book. Cue Rem being completely unfazed.
Sycora arrived, moments later, to find Cyrus threatening to hit him again. It took some time, but she calmed Cyrus down enough to explain that Rem's strange appearance - purely white eyes, gray skin that looked unnaturally smooth - were normal for his species. Species? Cyrus wondered. There was no animal nor human nor elf who looked like that, and he said as much to Sycora. She merely gave him a knowing look and explained that Rem was a naturally formless being called an Atra. She continued, explaining that Rem had lived with her for many years and was both trustworthy and not to be hit with books. Cyrus got extra chores for a week and a grudge that lasted much longer.
But over the years, Rem grew less cold and creepy and Cyrus realized what a curious person the Atra was. As Cyrus put his grudge aside, the two grew closer and things became easier on them, as well as on Sycora. "Fewer squabbling children in the house," Cyrus had once heard her mutter, but he didn't mind. He later told Tovei, who had become Cyrus's personal eye, about it, and the two shared a laugh.
It was many years later when Sycora got her hands on an old journal written by a night elf. According to it, there was a way to increase your magic's power and amount, and the key to it all was an Atra. If they made physical contact with an open wound and willed pure magic into it, the subject's body would absorb it and adapt to it. Sycora spent months researching this, and the day finally came when she chose to implement this. Cyrus was against it, but who was he to tell his teacher what not to do? He couldn't even read the journal she'd gotten. It might very well be safe.
Once the wound was inflicted on Sycora, Rem began the transfer. The sense of magic in the room grew incredibly strong and Sycora's hands glowed, dark and light magic mixing and curling like smoke up her wrists. Cyrus stood on the sidelines, bracing for something, anything to happen and then --
he woke up.
Welcome to the Elegante, Mister Hawthorne.
Appearance: Being an elf, Cyrus has a longer lifespan (roughly double that of a human). Cyrus is in his early sixties, but he appears to be half of that, topping out at the equivalent of thirty-five, if not slightly younger. Another effect of being an elf is that Cyrus is very short - only five feet, four inches tall. His frame is small but lean, and while he doesn't have the muscle tone to be very strong, he's by no means weak. His hair is brown and cropped short, for ease of care, and his eyes are a dark blue. His ears are elongated and pointed, although I don't trust my ability to Photoshop this feature into his icons.
In addition, Cyrus has many scars. Most are small, many are faded, but areas of interest are his palms and an area high on the blade of his left shoulder. His palms are mottled with many scars due to deconstructive magic use; their texture has been roughened and their appearance is less than pleasant. The other mark, on his shoulder blade, is the mark of the Coalition: a star consisting of five branded lines. Every member receives one.
Spoken / written languages: Mid-world Elvish (common) and a spattering of Mazi'ira.
Abilities: First, some basic rules of magic: everyone is born with a limit of how much magic is in their body. Some are born with more, some with less, but naturally the magic wants to stay at an equal level. If the magic is used to any degree, it will eventually come back if one gets enough food and rest. On the Elegante, it will take longer than normal for Cyrus's magic to regenerate, leaving him fatigued for even days afterward, depending on how much magic he's used.
Cyrus is capable of two kinds of magic: regenerative and deconstructive. These two magics are in the biological branch of magic, and as such, they work only on living, physical beings. Both magics require physical contact between user and subject.
Regenerative magic is, in short, healing magic. If one is skilled enough, they can heal anything from small scrapes to hemorrhages to broken bones - but it does have its drawbacks. Bones, if not set properly first, can be healed incorrectly, and due to the speed and nature of the healing, there's an increased risk of scarring. It cannot regrow organs or limbs, nor does it heal existing scars or cure illnesses. In addition, the greater the injury is, the more energy it takes from the healer. Normally, Cyrus can knit a shin bone and heal the surrounding area and face fatigue for roughly six hours afterwards before it begins to alleviate. On the Elegante, this will be increased to nine hours of moderate-heavy fatigue and then, with rest, mild-moderate fatigue for the rest of the day.
Deconstructive magic is the opposite of healing magic: it's a weapon, and nothing more. It inflicts wounds where the user lays their hands on the victim, and the longer the contact is held, the worse the injury becomes. The appearance of wounds is akin to abrasions in that the skin seems to have been scraped away. The pattern of injury is typically that of a circle due to the fact that the magic is expended through the palms. Deconstructive magic does occasionally backfire on the user, especially in times of great stress or when used by those who are inexperienced.
Aside from his magic, Cyrus has some informal fighting experience. He knows weak points and he's quick, if not that strong.
Items: Only his clothing.
Third Person Sample: "You're in for it now." Cyrus grins, laces his fingers, and pushes his hands outward. Eight satisfying pops are heard. He settles into a side-bodied stance, his bare fists raised. "You sure you want to do this?"
Tovei grins in return. Despite the many physical differences between the two men, they mirror each other. "That is a question?" Tovei replies, accent still lingering after all these years. "Is not like great Mister Hawthorne to have caution."
"Just don't want you tiring out too quick. It's been so long since we've sparred, I'm sure you're out of practice. And what's the fun if there's no challenge?"
"You pay for cockiness with bruises later."
"And you won't?"
Tovei merely chuckles, and in seconds, he's on Cyrus. There's a punch to the face coming, but Cyrus sees it. A straight shot like that is simple to block, simple to jam, simple to counter - so of course there must be something else behind it.
Cyrus is correct. While he blocks the high attack, a punch comes in low and strikes him in the gut, but he twists just before impact and the strength is lessened. He hears Tovei laughing and instead of laughing with him, it fans Cyrus's flames. When Tovei tries to pull back, Cyrus grabs his arm and twists it into a lock. "Not much you can do from here," Cyrus taunts, a playful edge to his voice. "Want me to--"
He can't even finish his sentence before Tovei charges forward, and Cyrus loses his balance. Before he can hit the ground he regains himself, but at the cost of letting Tovei go free. Tovei's backed off again, but there's a glint in his eyes that says he'll be at it again in moments. Breathing heavier now, Cyrus stands back and waits. And waits. And then he drops his hands, baiting Tovei - and the dark-skinned man takes it. But not the way Cyrus was expecting him to.
Tovei kicks his leg up, but Cyrus retaliates by putting an arm up and turning away. The kick makes rough contact with his shoulder and Cyrus grunts, but before Tovei can bring it back he wraps an arm around it and pulls. Tovei's sent sprawling onto the ground and Cyrus pins him in seconds, shifting the event from sparring to wrestling.
It carries on for a few minutes, but then Tovei emerges on top, holding Cyrus down by his shoulder. He's got the height. He's got the weight. Cyrus is tiny next to him. He cocks one fist back, ready to strike -- but then something hollow and hard hits him on his back. With a sort of confused gasp, he moves to look, but Cyrus catches him with a hook punch to the jaw. Tovei reels back and spits out a curse.
Cyrus smiles, guilty. "Ohh, sorry, man. Is that blood?"
"Yes. Jadda..."
Cyrus then looks to whatever had distracted Tovei. It's an empty bucket. But where did that come from?
"Are you quite finished with your display, now? "
There she is: short blond hair, sharp green eyes, and wicked tongue.
"It wasn't a display, ma'am," Cyrus replies, respect sidling into his tone. "We were sparring."
"When you should be working." Sycora folds her arms across her small chest and glares down at the both of them.
Tovei spits red onto the grass and hauls himself to his feet. He offers Cyrus a hand up, and Cyrus takes it.
Sycora sighs, rolling her eyes. She turns and walks back into the house, but as she leaves she gives them these parting words:
"And put your shirts back on."
First Person Sample: I seem to be aboard some seafaring vessel.
I know it's not Sol's ship; it can't be. One of the decks is covered in fire and another is made of Hael-damned flowers. I've heard a few people talk about where we're going and how we got here, but nothing is clear. No one even regularly speaks to the crew. It's not a slaving ship, as far as I can tell, but why we're even headed to this Golden Shore is beyond me.
[Sigh. Cyrus taps his the pink end of his writing implement against the paper, and then he shifts lower and begins writing again.]
Possibilities:
- I've been kidnapped.
- I'm drugged.
- I'm drunk.
- I'm dead.
- All of the above.
[Cyrus pauses, nods, and then adds a check-mark next to 'all of the above'.]
Background: Thycias: the teeming capital of Escur. Cyrus was born to a family of doctors in this hub of activity. He, like his older brother Solomon, were brought up to be respectable, educated gentlemen. Cyrus knew how to read, how to write, and the inner workings of healing magic. But out of everything, what he knew best was that he despised the dull life of a city doctor. You sat. You studied. You waited with patience for patients. The occasional house call or accident was interesting, but those weren't enough. There was, of course, the option to become a ship's doctor, but that was no change of pace - just a change of place.
Whenever he could be, Cyrus was out of the house and causing a ruckus with other boys in town. This drew the attention of the town guard on more than one occasion, but he never got in any serious trouble. Didn't stop the son of the Captain from forming one hell of a grudge against Cyrus, though, and he's still got the scars to show for it. They're old now, faded, but they exist.
But Cyrus's favorite person to make trouble with was Tovei Kan'neira, the son of an immigrant from the desert country of Mazi'ir. Tovei, like most Thycias-born Mazi'ira, lived on the streets. Cyrus's parents knew of their friendship and disapproved, but Cyrus would never let something like that stop him. He and Tovei were as thick as thieves, and they shared everything. When Tovei was inducted into the Coalition, Cyrus learned of this, too, but Tovei couldn't tell him everything. He burned to know more.
Over the next four years, Cyrus gleaned as much information about the Coalition as he could. The Coalition was dedicated to the study and practice of deconstructive, or dark, magic. Cyrus had read about it, heard about it, but never had he seen it in practice. He learned that Tovei, while a member of this Coalition, was not a practitioner - he was merely an 'eye', someone nearly unaffiliated who could gather information without seeming suspicious. Tovei's mother, too, was an eye, and a damn good one. Sometimes, people would take on apprentices in the ways of deconstructive magic.
Cyrus grinned like the devil himself when he learned that.
When Cyrus came of age one year later, Tovei offered to introduce him to one such person, and Cyrus took him up on the offer. Within the week he met a rather harsh woman named Sycora Novitas, a rather pronounced member of the Coalition. She was getting older and wanted to find a suitable replacement for when her age became too great. To his luck, she chose Cyrus as this person. She gave him a fortnights' preparation, and then he was to come live with and train under her. He was ready within two days, but he gave it those two weeks. He wrote up a quick note and, with Tovei's help, left that night.
The next few weeks left his body dead tired but his mind absolutely alive. This magic was so foreign to him; even using it felt different. And Sycora had so many different books in her library, all of them on magics and theories and anatomy. For the first time in his life, Cyrus had a passion for scholarly business. But, of course, that wasn't everything Cyrus was doing. Sycora had him doing chores and running errands and these, Cyrus didn't appreciate, but he tolerated. If it let him continue learning this mysterious, taboo magic, he would do it.
About a month after he began living with Sycora, he encountered the being called Rem. It was an informal meeting that went something like this: late one night while Cyrus was organizing Sycora's library, Rem decided to inspect the newcomer. First, Cyrus was observed at a distance, but then Rem drew closer. Eventually, Rem stood just behind Cyrus, staring at him unblinkingly, until Cyrus turned around.
Cue shout. Cue Cyrus smashing the intruder in the head with a book. Cue Rem being completely unfazed.
Sycora arrived, moments later, to find Cyrus threatening to hit him again. It took some time, but she calmed Cyrus down enough to explain that Rem's strange appearance - purely white eyes, gray skin that looked unnaturally smooth - were normal for his species. Species? Cyrus wondered. There was no animal nor human nor elf who looked like that, and he said as much to Sycora. She merely gave him a knowing look and explained that Rem was a naturally formless being called an Atra. She continued, explaining that Rem had lived with her for many years and was both trustworthy and not to be hit with books. Cyrus got extra chores for a week and a grudge that lasted much longer.
But over the years, Rem grew less cold and creepy and Cyrus realized what a curious person the Atra was. As Cyrus put his grudge aside, the two grew closer and things became easier on them, as well as on Sycora. "Fewer squabbling children in the house," Cyrus had once heard her mutter, but he didn't mind. He later told Tovei, who had become Cyrus's personal eye, about it, and the two shared a laugh.
It was many years later when Sycora got her hands on an old journal written by a night elf. According to it, there was a way to increase your magic's power and amount, and the key to it all was an Atra. If they made physical contact with an open wound and willed pure magic into it, the subject's body would absorb it and adapt to it. Sycora spent months researching this, and the day finally came when she chose to implement this. Cyrus was against it, but who was he to tell his teacher what not to do? He couldn't even read the journal she'd gotten. It might very well be safe.
Once the wound was inflicted on Sycora, Rem began the transfer. The sense of magic in the room grew incredibly strong and Sycora's hands glowed, dark and light magic mixing and curling like smoke up her wrists. Cyrus stood on the sidelines, bracing for something, anything to happen and then --
he woke up.
Welcome to the Elegante, Mister Hawthorne.
Appearance: Being an elf, Cyrus has a longer lifespan (roughly double that of a human). Cyrus is in his early sixties, but he appears to be half of that, topping out at the equivalent of thirty-five, if not slightly younger. Another effect of being an elf is that Cyrus is very short - only five feet, four inches tall. His frame is small but lean, and while he doesn't have the muscle tone to be very strong, he's by no means weak. His hair is brown and cropped short, for ease of care, and his eyes are a dark blue. His ears are elongated and pointed, although I don't trust my ability to Photoshop this feature into his icons.
In addition, Cyrus has many scars. Most are small, many are faded, but areas of interest are his palms and an area high on the blade of his left shoulder. His palms are mottled with many scars due to deconstructive magic use; their texture has been roughened and their appearance is less than pleasant. The other mark, on his shoulder blade, is the mark of the Coalition: a star consisting of five branded lines. Every member receives one.
Spoken / written languages: Mid-world Elvish (common) and a spattering of Mazi'ira.
Abilities: First, some basic rules of magic: everyone is born with a limit of how much magic is in their body. Some are born with more, some with less, but naturally the magic wants to stay at an equal level. If the magic is used to any degree, it will eventually come back if one gets enough food and rest. On the Elegante, it will take longer than normal for Cyrus's magic to regenerate, leaving him fatigued for even days afterward, depending on how much magic he's used.
Cyrus is capable of two kinds of magic: regenerative and deconstructive. These two magics are in the biological branch of magic, and as such, they work only on living, physical beings. Both magics require physical contact between user and subject.
Regenerative magic is, in short, healing magic. If one is skilled enough, they can heal anything from small scrapes to hemorrhages to broken bones - but it does have its drawbacks. Bones, if not set properly first, can be healed incorrectly, and due to the speed and nature of the healing, there's an increased risk of scarring. It cannot regrow organs or limbs, nor does it heal existing scars or cure illnesses. In addition, the greater the injury is, the more energy it takes from the healer. Normally, Cyrus can knit a shin bone and heal the surrounding area and face fatigue for roughly six hours afterwards before it begins to alleviate. On the Elegante, this will be increased to nine hours of moderate-heavy fatigue and then, with rest, mild-moderate fatigue for the rest of the day.
Deconstructive magic is the opposite of healing magic: it's a weapon, and nothing more. It inflicts wounds where the user lays their hands on the victim, and the longer the contact is held, the worse the injury becomes. The appearance of wounds is akin to abrasions in that the skin seems to have been scraped away. The pattern of injury is typically that of a circle due to the fact that the magic is expended through the palms. Deconstructive magic does occasionally backfire on the user, especially in times of great stress or when used by those who are inexperienced.
Aside from his magic, Cyrus has some informal fighting experience. He knows weak points and he's quick, if not that strong.
Items: Only his clothing.
Third Person Sample: "You're in for it now." Cyrus grins, laces his fingers, and pushes his hands outward. Eight satisfying pops are heard. He settles into a side-bodied stance, his bare fists raised. "You sure you want to do this?"
Tovei grins in return. Despite the many physical differences between the two men, they mirror each other. "That is a question?" Tovei replies, accent still lingering after all these years. "Is not like great Mister Hawthorne to have caution."
"Just don't want you tiring out too quick. It's been so long since we've sparred, I'm sure you're out of practice. And what's the fun if there's no challenge?"
"You pay for cockiness with bruises later."
"And you won't?"
Tovei merely chuckles, and in seconds, he's on Cyrus. There's a punch to the face coming, but Cyrus sees it. A straight shot like that is simple to block, simple to jam, simple to counter - so of course there must be something else behind it.
Cyrus is correct. While he blocks the high attack, a punch comes in low and strikes him in the gut, but he twists just before impact and the strength is lessened. He hears Tovei laughing and instead of laughing with him, it fans Cyrus's flames. When Tovei tries to pull back, Cyrus grabs his arm and twists it into a lock. "Not much you can do from here," Cyrus taunts, a playful edge to his voice. "Want me to--"
He can't even finish his sentence before Tovei charges forward, and Cyrus loses his balance. Before he can hit the ground he regains himself, but at the cost of letting Tovei go free. Tovei's backed off again, but there's a glint in his eyes that says he'll be at it again in moments. Breathing heavier now, Cyrus stands back and waits. And waits. And then he drops his hands, baiting Tovei - and the dark-skinned man takes it. But not the way Cyrus was expecting him to.
Tovei kicks his leg up, but Cyrus retaliates by putting an arm up and turning away. The kick makes rough contact with his shoulder and Cyrus grunts, but before Tovei can bring it back he wraps an arm around it and pulls. Tovei's sent sprawling onto the ground and Cyrus pins him in seconds, shifting the event from sparring to wrestling.
It carries on for a few minutes, but then Tovei emerges on top, holding Cyrus down by his shoulder. He's got the height. He's got the weight. Cyrus is tiny next to him. He cocks one fist back, ready to strike -- but then something hollow and hard hits him on his back. With a sort of confused gasp, he moves to look, but Cyrus catches him with a hook punch to the jaw. Tovei reels back and spits out a curse.
Cyrus smiles, guilty. "Ohh, sorry, man. Is that blood?"
"Yes. Jadda..."
Cyrus then looks to whatever had distracted Tovei. It's an empty bucket. But where did that come from?
"Are you quite finished with your display, now? "
There she is: short blond hair, sharp green eyes, and wicked tongue.
"It wasn't a display, ma'am," Cyrus replies, respect sidling into his tone. "We were sparring."
"When you should be working." Sycora folds her arms across her small chest and glares down at the both of them.
Tovei spits red onto the grass and hauls himself to his feet. He offers Cyrus a hand up, and Cyrus takes it.
Sycora sighs, rolling her eyes. She turns and walks back into the house, but as she leaves she gives them these parting words:
"And put your shirts back on."
First Person Sample: I seem to be aboard some seafaring vessel.
I know it's not Sol's ship; it can't be. One of the decks is covered in fire and another is made of Hael-damned flowers. I've heard a few people talk about where we're going and how we got here, but nothing is clear. No one even regularly speaks to the crew. It's not a slaving ship, as far as I can tell, but why we're even headed to this Golden Shore is beyond me.
[Sigh. Cyrus taps his the pink end of his writing implement against the paper, and then he shifts lower and begins writing again.]
Possibilities:
- I've been kidnapped.
- I'm drugged.
- I'm drunk.
- I'm dead.
- All of the above.
[Cyrus pauses, nods, and then adds a check-mark next to 'all of the above'.]