Introduction
Plot
In a mystical land, filled with stunning landscapes and majestic cities, lie the inhabitants of a world that has lie in relative peace. It has been two-hundred and fifty years since the last Great Intercontinental War. A era of peace that has earned the bold moniker of, The Age of Content, has lasted since the Treaty of Seven Kings was written in circa 843 A.D.S. Since then the Seven Great Nations have prospered from the prolonged harmony and the horrors of war seemed all but a memory.
Continued political workings have continued nevertheless to ensure this "Age of Content" lasts for eons. Since then the Rumedian Embargo has been lifted and trade seems to have reestablished itself amongst the global Sea Channels. Even the more isolated nation of Almekia has allowed foreign trade, unseen for many generations. The world of Edàin has also seen an overall decrease of violence itself, not even the inter warring fiefs of Saverilla and Luther have noticeably lessen. It seems peace is on the rise and no one is attempting to spoil it.
Strife and famine have also reached all time , lows in the world. Agriculture and sanitation have been on the rise, especially in nations like Perialis and Pavaren. In other news, the Nations have been reducing arms as well. No longer in war time, all of the military power has been condensed and no longer are creating more arms. Meaning the threat of full scale war, has decreased significantly. It finally seemed that world peace was no longer unattainable, a fleeting dream now made a reality. Yet, even in this time of peace, evil can never be truly gone.
It was the beginnings of a normal day, the sun rise from the east bringing with the joys of a new day. People rose and tended their fields and it would seem, not even the weather would damper their day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. In the sleepy town of Rukaugh laid the Tomb of The Scion, the greatest hero ever known in Edàin. He had powers far beyond any mortal man and instead of using those powers for evil, he used them for good. Honored for all of his struggles against injustice and evil in the world, the King of Luther ordered the construction of the tomb when he died. The Commission built it in his home town. The Funeral itself, was the largest event of the century and one that had people from all over the world attend. They mourned for the loss of their greatest savior. That was over a thousand years ago.
Now on the eve of his death something frightful occurred. At night the earth shook and convulsed as cracks began to rend the town asunder. In the tomb came an explosion of hellfire and brimstone. Demonspawns poured in the hundreds as the began to kill Rukaugh's inhabitants. This hellish army was lead by the very symbol of heroism, The Scion. He wore armor as black as the evening of a new moon. His helm was pointed and jagged and following him like a shadow, was a long, black cape. The he swung a huge, black blade. The blade had a long handle, and a huge pointed guard. The blade itself extended nearly as tall as the Scion himself, and had an arc like point at the end. The blade sported three marks, like exclamation marks, that run down from near the guard of the blade, to a point were a twisted swirl reaches near the middle of the sword. The mark glowed red with malice, as the Scion swung the blade and the town was immediately engulfed in flames.
The Scion wasn't pleased with his initial act of destruction, he desired more. Soon the World's Greatest Hero, turned into the World's Worst Nightmare. The Scion launch a campaign of destruction and carnage, towns, cities, they were nothing underneath the dark boot of The Scion. Entire armies took arms to challenge this threat to their kingdoms. Not even military might was enough to stand up to The Scion and his Demonspawns. He even single-handedly eliminated the Army of Pavaren in all but a few weeks.
Realizing the dire threat to their way of life, an unexpected individual would rally all of the Seven Great Nations into war. It was the King of Rumed, Felafian. King Felafian created the King's Assembly, a union of the Seven Kings and they combined their armies and challenged The Scion to a Last Stand. Such an event was unprecedented, never before has such an alliance came into fruition.
The Grand Army of The Assembly faced the hordes of Demonspwan led by The Scion himself. In a climatic battle, the largest ever seen, dragged on for Seven Days. The Seven Days Battle, concluded with the Assembly fending off the Scion. Impressed with the Kings so readily placing differences aside and joining together in battle. The Scion himself admitted they defeated his army, but not himself. He recognized this final attempt had left their side battered and broken. They needed a respite and The Scion gained a dreadful, horrible idea, one that would finally break their spirits. The Scion called for an audience with the Assembly so he may present an ultimatum. Seeing not much choice, they agreed.
When the King's Assembly convened with The Scion he presented his ultimatum. "While I can summon more Demonspawn and finish this war, I have decided against it." Surprised by this, the Kings obviously wished to know why. "Why? Why indeed." "Despite it being a simple as killing all of your here and now, I find it in bad taste." "You have demonstrated something I never thought possible." "I am willing to extend to you an opportunity, to end this conflict once and for all." He spoke, his voice hollow and haunting. The Kings readily listened. "In ten years time I shall return and hold a tournament." "Yes that's right a tournament, one that will decide the fate of Edàin." "You are to choose one champion, one champion from each of your respective nation." "You are to send these champions to Ulmath Island and from there they will compete for your fate." They asked what are his conditions. "The Conditions are simple, if any one of your champions are victorious then I shall leave Edàin forever, but if I am victorious, then you are to give me complete and utter control of the world." The Scion spoke. Then the King of Tavaro then asked, "What if we refuse?" "If you refuse to even participate in the tournament then I shall summon more Demonspawn and destroy you all here and now!" He spoke agitated from the impudent question. Seeing not much options they agreed.
So for Ten Years, the world has recovered and licked it's wounds. All preparing for the final showdown between their champions against whatever horrors The Scion has planned. What will be the fate of the world? This burning question will be answered in the tale that follows...
Geography
This is a description of the Seven Great Nations our heroes hail from.
1. The Nation of Tavaro: The land southern most from Ulmath Island, is divided by The Mogren Channel that connects the Immaculate Sea and the Taisol Sea. Small strips of land connect this nearly disconnected continent from the rest of the continent. These strips of earth have been called the Sliver Highway. Tavaro is known for its large cities that are built upward with many majestic towers that overlook the ground city. Their culture is rich in a material know as Metilin, a special metal that is mined and used in their architecture, weapons, and tools. The monarch of Tavaro is King Mothias who rules from the capitol city of Drugada.
2. The Nation of Saverilla: The kingdom that lies north of Tavaro. This is one of two of the Great Nations that lie on The Grand Central Continent. It is a large piece of land that is populated with multiple forests, lakes, plains, and hills. The capital of this kingdom hangs below the shadow of the massive Mount Eranden. Saverilla's Northern border cuts off just right at the mid-point of the mountain that stretches between two nations. Saverilla is known of there wondrous lake towns and cities, In fact the capital rests comfortably on Saverilla's largest lake, Teberon. The capitol is aptly name Teberia. From here King Remiel commands one of Edàin's most impressive Naval force rivaling the Rumedians and the Almekians.
3. The Nation of Luther: Named after its founder Holis Luther. This kingdom was originally founded as part of conquest in name of Luther's King from the northern country of Rumed. Luther however in an attempt to break free from his oppressive ruler, claimed the country for his own. After a Revolution, Luther and his colonists broke from the Rumedian crown. In respect to Luther they named him King and he promised prosperity from tyranny and became Edàin's most liberal king. Centuries later it is now under the leadership of King Balemus. The kingdom, besides its politics, is well known for its dense forests were it plays host to many different creatures. This kingdom borders the Northern half of Mount Eranden. The capitol is named after Luther's son, Daveran City. This is the other Great Nation that lives on The Grand Central Continent.
4. The Nation of Rumed: The land north of Luther is a some what smaller continent compared to its southern neighbors. Rumed owns an extensive record as the Nation that has attempted to become the single, undisputed world power. Through out all of its tries it fails to become the superpower it wishes to be. For now the Treaty of Seven Kings has prevented further Rumedian aggression, but the country's checkered past still makes it the most untrustworthy of the seven nations. With the arrival of the Scion however, King Felafian was at the foremost head of the King's Assembly. Using the might of the infamous Rumedian army at the frontlines of the invasion. Rumed is well known for its military strength as well as its unique cuisine found from the special herbs and spices that grow in this country. The capitol of this nation is Foltez.
5. The Nation of Pavaren: On a separate continent that lies east of Ulmath Island. It shares the land with its sister country of Perialis. Pavaren is known for its unique artistic creations as well huge extravagant cities. The luxuriousness of the country comes from its gold and silver mines, making it one of the richest countries in the world besides Perialis. The capitol of the is city is known as Eragothra, meaning City of the Era. The richly King Amer rules Pavaren.
6. The Nation of Perialis: Sister country to Pavaren, these two often share resources since there are some royal relatives in the courts. There has been much of talk of Pavaren and Perialis uniting under one rule, but this debate has been going on even before the invasion began. Perialis is known for its unique tapestry and jewelry. And they own the largest diamond mines in Edàin. The capitol is named Detherura, meaning city of majesty. For now tragedy has struck in the royal family as the former King Averian died during the invasion. For now the crown has been given to the young Prince Darrien, he is assisted by his mother Queen Miranda and the Royal Advisor Morris Garran.
7. The Nation of Almekia: This country actually rests of a series of Islands of various size that live in close proximity of each other. Its the only country to lie on the Taisol Sea and is furthest from Ulmath island. The Almekians would either have to traverse eastward through the channels found near Rumed or Tavaro. Or travel westward past Pavaren. Mostly surrounded by water they do not have a massive ground force but have a rather large Navy. They have developed however, special weaponry by using a coarse grey powder that is highly flammable. The Almekians have created explosives, cannons, and most remarkably guns.( Please note that these guns are primitive, they are not machine guns or any of the other weaponry we have today.) The capitol rests on the largest of these islands and is named Suriani and is ruled by King Oranu.
The Prophecy
In ancient times, the Oracles of the Ancient Race foretold the coming of a new era. One where the Race of Man would be in control of their own fate. They also foretold the mass genocide of their race at the hands of Man, but The Ancient Race did not believe their own true companions would turn on them in such a way. Centuries past and The Oracles were ignored but their power of foresight was never wrong.
They knew their race would be killed off by Man and while The Council did not heed their words, the rest of their kind did. They feared for their lives and demanded their Councilmen would prepare for their defense. Mass panic ensued. In relief efforts the Council conceived a meeting with the Oracles and asked for their opinions. They told them there was nothing they could do that would stop their race from dying out. However they did speak of a silver lining. Ages after their race has been overthrown, there would be a harbinger of their race. A scion, the one would restore them back into the world.
In order for the public to be calmed, they had written the Prophecy on a special tablet and it was to be a message, a message that they have not met their end. Soon this Scion became a symbol of hope of the Ancient Race, as they prayed he would come and save them from their prophesied doom. For a long time this hope soon gave way to doubt and as man began to rise in population and intelligence, they feared the worst. Some began to protest and asked for a call to arms, but it went against their Code. They would never harm or oppress mankind, it was against their ethics and beliefs.
They also warned anyone who broke this code would be severely punished. This did not stop the more paranoid ones from attacking humans. Their acts of violence caused man to retaliate and soon a series of conflicts broke out between humans and defectors of the Ancient Race. This would soon lead to the fulfillment of the prophecy. Man became intelligent and they industrialized, they fought against the Ancient Race. Knowing their time has come the Ancient Defenders of Man, accepted their fate. Not all though where as receptive.
Survivors dispersed and seemingly disappeared from Edàin. This hunt for the remainders gave birth to The Age of the Slayer. It was a time of fear and persecution as mankind grew in strength and in numbers and hunted for the Ancients. They would snuff out any and all they could find but something remarkable happened. After the end of the Slayers, one Ancient survived and he did his best to live his life in secret. He lived for many years, as The Ancient Race are said to be immortal. He would however, fall in love with a human. She was kind to him and did not look at him like a monster. They would see each other and a romance was born.
They were in love but their love had to be a secret, for if they found their was another Ancient, they would most certainly kill him. The human woman would soon be pregnant with the Ancient One's child. Such a union was unheard of and would be considered blasphemy for both races. Yet, before he could watch his son grow, he was discovered. In their defense he stopped the men from killing his wife and child, but at the sacrifice of his own life. The mother and the child escaped and she would raise them far from their old home. The Child would grow up and possess extraordinary powers. The combination of a human and an Ancient made a being who is more powerful than both. He would often be ridiculed and abused by others for being different, luckily they didn't know how different. In the town of Rukough he would grow up, but one day the town was threatened to be destroyed by a terrible land slide.
In defense of the town, the boy exposed himself and used his abilities to save Rukough from destruction. In this display rather than being cursed he was thanked. The Citizens were undeniably grateful to the boy and hailed him as a hero. His mother seeing this told him a family secret. She spoke of the Prophecy that was told by his father. She suspected he was suppose to be the one the Scion. The boy was naturally curious of his father, but his mother never spoke much about him. He was always a mystery to the hero. Regardless he took on the mantle of The Scion and began to perform more acts of heroism beyond his home.
After his mother died he traveled the world, stunning the populace with his great feats of strength, speed, and powers. He became the Greatest Hero ever Known and was hailed as such. He made many friends and enemies along the way but he always did what's right. His greatest achievement was when he defeated the Wielder of the Demon Blade. Although foreign relations between all of the Nations were, uneasy to say the least, there was one thing they could all agree on. That was when their was trouble, then the best man for the job was The Scion.
One of his last quests was to help end aggression between the Nations. He was ultimately working towards a peace treaty but his untimely death would cause a halt to this plan. No one knows how The Scion died but the world mourned their loss. He was honored and given the most beautiful tomb, one that would rival kings. Place in the heart of Rukough, his mother's grave was also moved to this tomb. On the Epitaph were words written by each of the Seven Kings in honor of The Scion and all of his hard work.
The Children of Destiny
"Underneath the Star of Destiny, seven children shall be born, all from different lands. Each will bear a Mark of Destiny and given the power of The Scion." -Unknown Prophet.
The Essences of The Scion
This is where you will reserve an essence of your choosing. You see the power of The Scion has been split into seven essences. Each incorporating a major power that belonged to the Scion. I will also give you brief descriptions that may help you imagine what you would do with what is given to you.
1.The Essence of Fire (Basically the ability to generate fire and resistance to heat and flames):(Binsetsu)
2. The Essence of Strength (Unnatural determination, willpower, and of course superhuman strength): (GotDraggedIntoThis)
3. The Essence of Speed (Amazingly fast on both one's feet and mind): (DocBlargle)
4. The Essence of Perception (The ability to see or sense things most people are unaware of, as well as see things coming such as, the future, magic, and presences): (Open)
5. The Essence of Fortitude (Unusual longevity, health, and the ability to regenerate wounds): (Genesis Rhapsodos)
6. The Essence of the Mind (One who is incredibly intelligent and has Psionic abilities): (Kura Ravengade)
7. The Essence of the Spirit (Intense Inner Potential and spiritual power. Considered the most difficult of all the seven essences to use and control. Although difficulties are ensured, one may be able to draw upon the true power of The Scion if one can earn its respect that is): (Seveneleven)
Character Reservations
The Champion from Rumed: (Genesis Rhapsodos)
The Champion from Tavaro: (DocBlargle)
The Champion from Saverilla: (Kura Ravengade)
The Champion from Pavaren: (Open)
The Champion from Luther: (Binsetsu)
The Champion from Perialis: (Seveneleven)
The Champion from Almekia: (GotDraggedIntoThis)
Character Sheet
- Code: Select all
[size=150]General Information[/size]
[i]Name:[/i]
[i]Age:[/i]
[i]Height:[/i]
[i]Weight:[/i]
[i]Build:[/i]
[i]Gender:[/i]
[i]Nation:[/i]
[size=150]Description[/size]
[i]Hair Color:[/i]
[i]Eye Color[/i]:
[i]Facial Features[/i]:
[i]Attire[/i]:
[size=150]Personality[/size]
[i]Behavior[/i]:
[i]Habits/Tendencies/Quirks[/i]:
[i]Likes/Dislikes[/i]:
[i]Fears[/i]:
[i]Hopes/Dreams[/i]:
[size=150]Essence[/size]
[i]Essence[/i]:
[i]Abilities[/i]: (Tactics, skills, what do you normally do with your essence?)
[i]Techniques[/i]: (You can make up four techniques that you have specifically created, using your Essence. This also includes one Over-the-Top ability you are allowed to use, at a time I chose.)
1.
2.
3.
4. (Over The Top)
[size=160]Weaponry[/size]
[i]Type of Weapon[/i]: (Sword, Axe, Bow, Etc.)
[i]Name of Weapon[/i]: (Optional)
[i]Length[/i]: (If any)
[i]Width[/i]: (Optional) (If any)
[i]Thickness[/i]: (Optional) (If any)
[i]Weight[/i]: (Optional) (If any)
[i]Ammunition[/i]: (If any)
[size=150]Background[/size]
[i]History:[/i]
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The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 6 authors
Setting
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Narration
Posilidia Harbor, Rumed
In the world of Edàin there once lived a fantastical warrior with powers unfathomable. He was called The Scion, the prophesied hero of an Ancient Race long since forgotten in the annals of history. He used his gifts for the benefit of all mankind. He faced numerous threats ranging from monstrous, magical, and political. He was forever sown in the Looms of Fame and his name was known throughout the world. Then the Passing of a Legend, The Scion met his end and was entombed in his hometown. His tale to be retold forever more in the hearts, spirits, and imagination of Humanity.
That was over a Thousand Years Ago...
It was only Ten Years Ago that the Man, the Myth, the Legend, made his historic return. That day would live on in infamy. The Scion changed, he was consumed by a darkness so foul, so terrible, that the world suffered for it. His reign of terror scorched the very lands he once protected. A dark stain on the Fabric of Time. He led his diabolic army of Fiends as he brought the world to it's knees. In the twilight of the war the Seven Kings gathered and an ultimatum was reached. That ultimatum was a Tournament, one that would decide the fate of the world.
Now Ten Years hence, the balance of Edàin lies in the hands of seven, complete strangers. All of each chosen as Champions, representing their individual nations. All in order to compete in this dark Tournament, but despite the challenges ahead, the greatest challenge starts within....
Our story begins in the harbor of the city of Posilidia. The center most Port Town and resident of the largest naval base in the Rumedian Military. It is a dreary day, one where it appears the sun isn't shining has brightly as normal. A certain dismal glare hangs above the weary heads of the townsfolk. Going about their lives in, less than joyful tones. The cobblestone streets are muddy and populated with puddles, from the recent rainfall. The sky itself had a slight overcast and a chilling wind. The buildings themselves seem to copy the mood of hopelessness. Entire complexes and establishments were closed, windows boarded up and grime and smudge on the walls.
There was much crying and praying for a better day, as the homeless gathered in the alleyways and shelters. Those of more means, were either gone or packing up looking for greener pastures. For it the Champions were to fail, they know the Cities would be the first to be destroyed. They would flee for the countryside hopefully away from what only seems inevitable. There was little faith or confidence as the masses seemed to have all but given up. The only light to be found is from the young children, who playfully splash in the puddles. Only to be dragged away by frightful parents.
This is the scene that befalls this day of all days. The Champions shall gather and from there, head for their destines. Who knows what the future holds for these seven brave souls, perhaps it's victory or death or perhaps something greater than anyone could possibly imagine. One thing is for certain, May the Progenitor have mercy on their souls...
You are one of the champions as you enter this city. Heading for the designated meeting area at the Posilidia Harbor. Once all have gathered, there will be a chartered ship, to take you to Ulmath Island, where the Tournament is held.
Meskal Kender
Posilidia Harbour, Small Church, Rumed
Meskal kneeled before the statue of the Progenitor in the hall of the small church, his hands folded together and held in front of his face, his head bowed and eyes closed. He was dressed in his family’s armour, his helmet lying beside him and his great sword hung in its scabbard on his back. To some it might seem he was praying. Perhaps he was, at first. He had at first lit a candle in front of the statue to the Progenitor to pray. That was almost two hours ago now. Now he knelt there, thinking of the route his life had taken. He remembered the day he left the capital of Luther, Daveran city without any fanfare. His departure was marked by quiet and unease. Only a few people showed up to watch him leave, the rest were guards of the rival noble houses, there simply to make his departure as short and unimportant as possible. Meskal couldn’t bring himself to care, then or now. The fact his mother and sister had deigned to show up was more than enough. When Meskal had burned the Scion to ashes and lifted his family’s banner in victory they could no longer do anything to stop his family’s second rise to glory.
But what preoccupied his mind most was his father, who had fallen in battle in the first battle against the Scion. The man’s whose armour Kendel was wearing now, almost in reverence, as if part of his father’s spirit still inhabited the old armour, watching over him. He wondered what his father would have thought of Meskal going off to face the Scion, after he had done everything he could, called upon the last of his political clout and favours he had left, to stop his son from going to war ten years ago. Would he nod, pride in his face and wish him glory and favour in the upcoming battle? Or would he frown and rail, shouting his anger from the rooftops? Meskal didn’t know. And perhaps, it didn’t matter, his father was gone and now that his uncle had passed away, Meskal was the head of house Kender. For all the good that did. He had fought tooth and nail to be chosen as champion and despite his skill and dedication to Luther dwarfing that of most of the other hopefuls, he was only chosen because the Politicians wanted to get rid of him and save their own sons and daughters from the fate of facing the Scion in battle. Fools, all of them. Once House Kender once more had the power they deserved they would be the first to be ousted from positions of power.
Meskal opened his eyes and looked at the small fire burning at the tip of the candle in front of him. The candle had grown small in the time he had kneeled here. For a moment he remembered with annoyance there had been no priest to light the candles within the church, that Meskal had to do it himself. Perhaps the priest was lying in the back room, drunk to the point of utter uselessness, like so many other priests in the city of Daveran city had been for the last few months. Perhaps the priest had fled to the countryside, foolish cowardice gripping his heart tight, as despair forced him to flee. There was no point, even if the other champions failed, Meskal would fight, fight until every foul monstrosity of the Scion and the Scion himself were burned to ashes and Meskal stood victorious. There was no point in believing otherwise. To believe otherwise was to believe in inevitable failure, the utter annihilation of every single person at the hands of the Scion. No, Meskal still believed in victory, had to believe in victory. He lifted his gaze from the candle’s fire he had been staring into to look up at the statue of the Progenitor. ”May the Progenitor watch over me.” Meskal said quietly, before collecting his helmet and standing up, before marching out of the small church.
He looked up at the sky, before switching his inquisitive eye to the streets around him. The sun seemed dimmer somehow, as if the dreary townsfolk of the city had somehow forced it to adapt, to change to suit their dismal states of mind. The streets were mostly abandoned, he had thought the church would gather a large crowd on a day such as this, but with an absent priest they would have likely gone to another church to huddle together and pray. It saddened Meskal to see the abandonment of godly duty on a day such as this, but there was nothing to be done. Priests were not infallible and some were more fallible than others. The sound of sudden splashing drew his gaze around, to see a child smiling happily to herself even as she jumped in the puddle and began splashing the water at one of her friends. The scene brought the ghost of a smile to Meskal’s grim features. He might be here to reclaim the honour of his house, but the future of children such as these were at stake as well. No, that was the wrong way around. He was here to fight for the future of such children, the honour and glory of his house were merely a side effect of his inevitable victory.
With sudden determination he marched towards the harbour front, to the designated meeting place for the champions. He was interested in meeting them, to see what the other countries had offered up as their champions. Would they be like him, sacrificial lambs thrust forward out of a twisted desire to save their own hides? Or would they be true warriors, chosen amongst a thousand others for their amazing skill? There was only one way of knowing, though he certainly hoped they would not be like him. Just because the fact he was the best choice for the country of Luther happened to coincide with the fact he was also politically expendable, didn’t mean the same would happen in the other nations. As he marched closer to the designated meeting point he already saw the single trunk he had taken with him when he left Daveran, it seemed the urchins he had paid to bring it here were true to their word, as he expected them to be. With a frown he noticed he was the first to arrive and sat down on the trunk, setting his helmet down beside him and placing a candle next to it, which he lit with the snap of a finger. Now he would have to wait for the other champions. He closed his eyes and folded his hands together in front of his face, before he started to pray once more.
Damian Maleck
Posilidia Harbour, Market, Rumed
Damian walked down the streets of Rumed through the market, on his way to the harbour. The guards assigned to make sure he followed through with his promise to go had left him at the city gates, by orders of King Mothias. His belongings were all stored in a large bag he carried on his back, most of them gifts from the royals of Tavaro. He personally had no real belongings to speak of except for his small emergency dagger. He looked around the city, finding it very different from the towering buildings of Drugada, all gleaming in Metilin. Besides the merchants from Tavaro, Damian was sure the only Metilin in this city was his katana, Black Mist. The powerful qualities of Metilin allowed it to be forged into a lightweight yet sharp weapon, which was why all guards and soldiers of Tavaro used it in their own weapons, mostly katana as well. Of course, his was quite special, considering his was a personal gift from King Mothias himself. All of this expensive equipment, the fine leather cloak and coat as well, led to the question.
How did a street rat and thief to boot find himself in this position?
The answer was simple. After exposing treason in the nobles of Tavaro using his particular talents, the King offered him a deal. If he used his incredible speed and reaction time for all of Edàin, he would have his crimes pardoned, and be offered enough rewards to get him out of life on the street and be able to live comfortably his whole life. While Damian enjoyed his little profession, it had too many occupational hazards to warrant further puruit of it, so he took the deal.
While thinking on these things, he noticed a young boy with some food, obviously stolen, running from a number of guards. Showing sympathy to a fellow street rat, he "accidentally" knocked over a number of barrels on top of the guards, breaking the chase. "OH, I'm sorry!" he said with obvious sarcasm. "I really should watch where I'm going!" Damian, with his hightened awareness, saw the guard reach for his sword. To nip this in the bud, Damian rapidly drew his own katana first, adding "I don't think so. You wouldn't want to harm the champion of Tavaro, would you?" The entire market went quiet as he gave his evidence, the Tavaro sigil that clearly marked him as such. The guards backed off, signally buisness to return to usual. Damian slipped into the ally, and found the boy hiding behind a crate. Damian tossed him a small purse of money, saying "Find some place to stay for the night. A word of advice as well: don't steal from someone you can't out run." With that, he left the wide eyed youth.
Damian finally approached the meeting spot. He was a bit on edge, as he already knew he would now be dealing with a different world then what he was used to: the world of nobles. In general, Damian didn't trust nobles. The only one to break this trend was King Mothias, who Damian now considered a friend. All others, as far as he was concerned, were corrupt up to their ears. However, Mothias told Damian early on that most of the other champions would be of nobility, and thus warned him to watch his toungue. This was something Damian already knew. On the street, there were plenty of people whom he didn't like, but had been forced to work with, so he knew first hand this was possible. So long as he didn't say anything stupid, that is.
He arrived at the meeting spot to find an armoured warrior waiting for him. The style and worth clearly indicated a noble. It looked like his fears were right on the mark. Not one to back done at the begining of a great enterprise, Damian took a deep breath, and approached. It seemed that the man was praying, something Damian hadn't done in a long time. He used to be a religous man, but that was a long time ago, before he and the Progenitor had a slight "disagreement". Wanting to get introductions over with quickly, he said "I hate to break your little prayer there, but the Progenitor isn't the one fighting the Scion. We are. I'm Damian Maleck, champion of Tavaro."
Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes
Posilidia Harbour, Main Street, Rumed
Being totted along inside a horse drawn carriage, sat the lean, pale nobleman, Fraisier Hughes. He sat as his white and gold trimmed carriage passed by the worn out townspeople. Even seeing such a grand sight as the pristine carriage, was only met with gloom. True some did marvel and wonder who was inside, otherwise they were too self-absorbed in their own pity. Fraisier felt likewise, in fact very lukewarm about all of this. Not to mention rather nervous to boot. He had very little confidence what he, and whoever else was dragged into this, were about to do. How can seven warriors beat a warrior, which a thousand warriors could not triumph?
It was pure ridiculousness! Still, even when Queen Miranda herself had commissioned him to enter, he did not voice objection. Sure, he is objecting to everything now, but no one will hear his discontent. Such was his life, always thinking and never acting. Always too shy and timid to even stand up for himself. What a poor choice for a champion indeed! Who cares if he has skill with a sword? It will make very little difference to a warrior who can destroy the world. Yet, in all of his timidness he was whisked henceforth and now finds himself in a dire situation. Fraisier could only look down in his palms and curse his shyness. Why can't he speak up!?
All of this self wallowing isn't going to change the facts. He was about to meet six other people and he hoped they will be nice fellows. He really hoped they were nice. Fraisier can't even remember a time he was so nervous. What are they like, what do they do? Are they heroes, nobles, warriors, or killers? Whatever they are he sure hoped they will treat him decently or if not, at least ignore him. He then looked forward as the carriage driver continued to steer the horse down the long street. Despite it being the main street, little activity could be found. It seemed Fraisier wasn't the only one who had a lack of confidence. He wish he could say otherwise, but he couldn't help but agree. They might as well be committing suicide.
"Maurice." "How much further?" Fraisier quietly asked.
"Eh?" "Oh can't be far now Lord Fraisier!" "I am almost positive we shall reach the harbour!" He spoke cheerfully.
"Good, good." Fraisier mumbled as he continued to sigh. What fate lies before him?
Soon the sea air began to invade Fraisier's nose. They were nearing their destination, it won't be long now till he will meet his fellow champions. He was not looking forward to it. In fact he can't help but start to shiver at the oncoming meeting. He hopes he won't make a fool of himself. Oh who is he kidding, he will screw up royally no doubt. Perhaps he will be the first one there, or maybe the last. Perhaps he could avoid introductions? No, he will have to meet them eventually, being together for a tournament with no other company besides enemies...he will have to speak sooner or later. Best do it now when there is no immediate dangers.
"Alright Lord Fraisier!" "We are here!" He spoke as he pulled the carriage up before the harbour. Maurice stepped down and opened the door with the sigil of a dove upon a vine, the symbol of the House of Hughes. Fraisier held on to his case were his clothing is contained. He stepped down from the steps of the carriage as he reached the cobblestone street. His rapier, Aurora, fastened against his hip. He was dressed in the obviously frilly Noble attire. He must certainly be out of place with warriors in more, battle oriented gear. Still he wasn't one to wear armor, it always threw him off balanced. Maurice then closed the door behind him.
"Shall I take your luggage Lord Fraisier?" Maurice asked.
"Why, yes thank you Maurice." He kindly spoke as he handed him the case.
"It's of no consequence Lord Fraisier." "I shall bring it to your ship." He spoke.
Fraisier merely nodded. Fraisier and Maurice walked along the pier and soon they came upon two men, who looked out of place as well. They must be the Champions. Nervous, Fraisier cautiously walked near them but he kept a fair distance. He was trembling and looked rather pale. He then nodded at them. "Uh...G-Greetings." He mumbled. Finding it hard to formulate words. Then Maurice stepped in.
"Good Day fine sirs!" He spoke with pep. "I am Maurice and may I introduce his lordship, Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes, of the House of Hughes of Perialis!" He spoke with much gusto. Fraisier only slightly looked their way, obviously rather embarrassed. He hated when others introduce him, especially in such grandoise a fashion. Now they most certainly think him a snob! He wish he could speak otherwise, but he was rather intimidated. He then gulped as he adjusted his neck tie. He then raised his hand and waved a hello, the best he could offer at the moment.
"So then, do you fine sirs know which ship you shall board?" Maurice asked, hoping to drop this load off for Fraisier.
The Nation of Saverilla Crest ~'.'~'.'~'.'~'.'~'.'~'.'~'.'~'.'~'.'~ The Abbilati Crest
The breeze was soft on her face, gently brushing across her skin, stroking it, cooling the small sunburn that she had received after falling asleep in the sun the day before. It was quite noticeable in her normally-pale skin, with her bright green hair only intensifying it.
Atonia sat atop the large, beaten-down old building that was once an apartment complex for several families. Not that it still wasn't; people still lived in the building. The environment was terrible, but it was a home, and a home it would remain.
Despite her upbringings, she respected the people that had less then she had growing up. As she sat, munching on an apple she had stolen from the basket of a rich man's maid, she mulled over her thoughts.
Yes, she was, indeed, a princess. But she did not feel like one. Instead, she felt as though she were a common thief at that moment in time. She had been traveling throughout the nations for several years now, learning the customs of the people of the nations she would one day be conversing with. She had been living among the middle class and poor people, and had often gone without to learn of their ways, to live as they did.
However, one month, two weeks, and four days earlier, she had received a letter via pigeon from her parents, the current rulers of the Nation of Saverilla. It stated that they wished for an audience with her, to which she agreed. It was not as though she and her parents did not get along; in fact, she adored seeing them. She only wished that they would respect the choices she made, respect her choices for her life. She understood why they were as protective as they had always been, but it could become a bit stifling at times.
Atonia bit the remainder of her apple and flicked it over the edge of the building, leaving it for the birds and other animals that would pick at the remains. She supposed it was time for her to drop in on the small group of men below her, who were no doubt the other competitors she would be joining for the tournament that was to come in only a few weeks time. She took a few moments to go over the meeting with her parents, though, and stretched out her legs before her, crossing then at the ankles.
They had welcomed her with open arms, and she had stayed in the kingdom for one week, to visit with her family and have some time to relax. Two days after she had arrived, her parents and the Council of Saverilla had held a meeting, in which she was to attend. She was then informed that she had been chosen to represent Saverilla in the tournament. She had heard rumors of the battle that would occur, but had not once thought that she would be the one chosen to fight for her Nation. She never once thought that her parents would have allowed it. But the Council's decision had always outweighed the King and Queen when it came to the protection of the kingdom, so they truly had no choice in it what-so-ever.
Finally, Atonia slid down the roof and to the edge, where she balanced perfectly. A church was beside the building, which then led to the docks, leaving a small road in between the two. The gathered men were standing before a statue of the Progeniter and had now surpassed introductions. She had been informed that, of the seven nations, she was the only girl, aside for one. Having traveled through each nation, she recognized the attire of each man in accordance to where they were from.
She flipped from the side of the building and atop the statue of the Progeniter - for she had never truly believed in him - and easily slid down his arm. The people that saw gasped and called further attention where she now was perched in the crook of his elbow, her derriere fitting perfectly into it. "Well, hello down there," she called cheerfully to the people staring in disgust and shock up at her. She swung her legs slowly back and forth, the white cape that was attached to her white, skin-tight clothes flowing with her movement. "What a fine day it is indeed, Perialis!" she cheered in agreement. She placed her hands on the statue's arms beside her and flipped lithely from it, dropping the several feet and landing without a problem in the middle of the small circle of men. She turned around and held a finger up in front of a poorly-dressed man and smiled. "You are from Tavaro, and," she turned to the remaining one, the one clad in heavy armor, " And you are from Luther," she stated confidently, stepping back and out of the circle as she did so. She straightened her outfit, crossed one arm behind her back, and one across her stomach, just above her hips, and then proceeded to bow. "Atonia Abbilati, Princess of Saverilla, at your service. It is a pleasure to meet you all," she smiled as she straightened and faced them. She turned to 'Perialis'. "I have actually been here for awhile. We'll all be taking that ship," she said, pointing to a medium-sized boat that sat in the water. "It will no doubt be a tad cramped, but we'll have to deal," she shrugged.
Riley, Paolimi
Posilidia Harbour, East Dock, Rumed
The blue haired woman was quite an odd sight, her hair sat in a loose pony-tail, she had never travelled this far from her home, but she didn’t expect to be stared at so much, although now that she considered it, she wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, her hammer resting over her back, which was pretty much bare to the world, she was wearing what was essentially a chain mail sports bra and plate pants, when you thought about it from a combat sense, it was pretty much useless, but it was her “uniform” none the less and no one else could tell her otherwise.
The woman, Riley, hailed from Almekia and she was pissed off, her boat arrived on the opposite side of town and for what? All for her to walk all the way to the other port, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN. How was she meant to take this seriously when they screwed her around like this? No use complaining verbally, Riley quickly grabbed her rucksack and began to head off towards the other port, she was visibly angry and many people gave her a wide berth, she was muttering to herself,
“What a bunch of jokes, I mean really…. Dumbasses, the whole lot of them.. Im meant to represent them? Why not put me where im meant to be?”
Riley had almost arrived at her destination, in fact, she could see a small group of people, near the boat she was due to depart on, she began to increase her pace, eager to arrive at her destination, eager to meet the other six champions, each was representing the other nations, each had their own unique techniques and abilities. Riley began to run towards them, but that’s where she made a small mistake, she had bumped into a group of men, sailors she thought, either way, she had pissed them off, one of them shoved her, shifting her to the side one bit, big mistake, Riley was going to apologise, but she was pissed, she threw a quick right hook that sent the sailor flying into the wall, he was launched with such a force that he was instantly knocked unconscious. Riley was efficient, she grabbed her hammer off her back and stood, ready to fight, however the sailors wanted no part in it, tending to their unconscious comrade. With a nod, Riley quickly readjusted her equipment and went forth to join the other champion’s, she shrugged and rubbed her hair and introduced herself,
“Umm… Hi Im Riley, from Almekia, I hope you guys can actually fight, unlike those weaklings” She said as she pointed back at the sailors, the one who received her punch was still unconscious, perhaps she went too far?
Galen
Posilidia Harbor, Rumed
Galen stood gazing out over the sea. His green eyes stared unblinking at the waves that lapped lazily against the harbor side. Galen loved the sea: ancient, unchanging, and misunderstood. He liked to think they had these things in common. He had spent much of the last ten years secluded in the woods, away from prying eyes, but he had missed the sea. Indeed sense he had arrived in Posilidia he had done little else but gaze at it's unfathomable depths.
A tolling bell shook him from his reverie, and his tranquility was shattered. His gaze swept across the rest of the dock, from which he stood a little apart. It was full of people, bustling about their daily lives albeit soberly. They know they will soon be dead. Galen shook his head violently, as if his despair was something he could physically shake off. But it wasn't. Galen had been there ten years ago, he had seen the Scion brush away Rumed's finest with impunity. Galen was helpless before such might, they all were. and then this place, and my country, will burn.
He sighed heavily and donned his helm, looking at the sun's position in the sky. Nothing left but to push onward. There may be little hope, but Galen wouldn't quit now. He adjusted his great-sword on his back and then began a slow walk towards the other end of the harbor. Today was the day the others were supposedly arriving. He was admittedly nervous to meet his new comrades, they were likely to be his last after all. Yet his blood stirred now that the time had finally come to campaign once again.
Galen stopped abruptly as he saw an armored man standing all alone, head bowed. He wasn't sure how he knew, but something was different about this man. He was one of the champions. Galen stood frozen in fear. Human interaction was getting harder and harder to deal with, and this situation was already so full of despair. As he he hesitated more and more champions came up to join the man. He couldn't hear their conversation but they seemed a lively bunch. Taking a few deep breaths Galen strode forward until he was a few feet away from the rest. "Greetings," he said lamely, his voice sounding flat and metallic beneath his helmet.
Meskal Kender
Polisidia Harbour, Docks, Rumed
Meskal had barely sat down to pray before he was rudely disturbed by the second of the champions to show their face on the docks proper. Meskal spared a second searching glance for the man, but he could discover little of interest. A plain man wearing skilfully made, practical clothes. He supposed that was for the best, no need to bring one’s fineries here, especially when they will be of no use against the Scion. When the young man spoke Meskal frowned, unfolded his hands and stood up, clearly irked by the man’s words. But before he could speak two new arrivals presented themselves, these two more like Meskal himself and one of them obviously of noble birth. Meskal listened to the second man’s introduction and was sad to hear the silent despondent one was supposed to be the champion of Perialis. But the sudden arrivals did not end there, for it seemed Meskal had arrived but moments before the other champions.
A woman dressed in finer clothing, with a familiar face, though he could not quite place her. Meskal snorted when she introduced herself as Princess of Saverilla. Either she was lying or anyone with even the slightest inkling of power in Saverilla had lost their minds. His eyes narrowed as he studied the strange woman, trying to figure out if she was truly the Princess of Saverilla by sight alone. His concentration was quickly broken however when the sound of something hitting another thing with force came from the dockside buildings. A quick glance in that direction revealed to him the source of the unusual sound. A fairly tall woman, standing near an a group of sailors, one of which was either slumped against the wall and unconscious, or taking a nap. When the woman introduced herself as the champion of Almekia, Meskal nodded in greeting. And finally a giant of man, taller even than Meskal appeared as if out of nowhere and hovered a few feet away from the newly formed group and gave a simple word of greeting.
These were to be his comrades in arms then? This poor bunch of thugs, princesses, spoiled brats and giants? Perhaps they didn’t have as big of a chance as Meskal had hoped at first, if this was the best the other nations could produce. With a grimace he looked over his fellow champions and took a deep breath. With an accusatory finger pointed in Damien’s direction Meskal finally spoke. ”How sad, are you so frightened that you would take away another man’s solace in prayer? Or are you simply a pathetic cur, not willing to spare another a bit of happiness in their beliefs?” He shook his head in disappointment and turned to the woman who seemed to have sent a sailor flying with just one punch. ”And you! What point was there in hitting that poor man? Clearly he was no match for you. Did you hit him simply to feed your own ego by showing others how strong you are, or do you enjoy hurting others so much you couldn’t help yourself?"
Meskal shook his head in disappointment once more, before turning to the despondent looking youth. ”And you! That man won’t be fighting in the tournament for you, so don’t let him speak for you either, lest he says something you will regret.” Meskal shook his head one final time before he straightened his back and turned his piercing gaze to each of his fellow champions in turn. ”Now that I have said my piece, I shall introduce myself.” Meskal said, his chest sticking outward slightly and his eyes slowly going over his fellow champions, even as his voice grew a little louder for his introduction. ”I am Meskal Kender, master of the house Kender and chosen champion of Luther. I greet you fellow champions and pray we will be victorious in our struggle against the foul Scion!” Meskal spoke, his voice filled with pride and conviction, even as the fire of the little candle still situated on his trunk seemed to suddenly burn more fiercely.
Damian Maleck
Polisida Harbour, Docks, Rumed
Damian examined his new allies as they arrived, his hightened rate of thought allowing him to gain more information in a shorter time. He already wasn't too fond of the noble, as he appeared to represent the average traits of a royal knight, religous and honorable to a fault. Damian was honorable as well, but he abided by a different kind of honor: the honor of a thief. This was an idea he doubted any of the other champions would understand or respect, but he wasn't going to change his ways for them.
The man was about to respond when another champion arrived. This one was accompanied by what looked like a servant, and reaked of the priviliged life. If Damian could place bets on who the weakest link would be, he'd bet his entire savings on this guy. It didn't help that the man stunk of doubt and fear as well. Damian, showing no sign of it outwardly, grimaced on the inside. Only the most daring and bold would survive this, and this man didn't have an ounce of either.
Then, Damian was surprised by another member atop the Progenitor's statue. Her clothing clearly signified nobility, but her actions indicated otherwise. Damian could not help but be impressed. As she introduced herself as a princess, he couldn't help but be even more impressed. Perhaps he would not be entirely lonely on this buisness. Any noble who could act like this in public, let alone an princess, had Damian's respect, though not neccesarilly trust. Damian but everyone new to him at arm's length out of habit. In his buisness, misplaced trust could get you killed.
Then Damian saw another girl approach, after having sent a sailor flying. He couldn't tell from what walk of life she hailed from, but she clearly could fight. Finally, a giant knight appeared, who apparently had been watching the whole time from his relaxed position. He didn't seem to be a talker, which Damian respected. He gave a curt nod back to the knight.
The first champion finally spoke up, but appeared to be just as self-righteous and predictable as Damain expected, lecturing him on interupting prayer, and introducing himself with the most pompous introduction Damian every saw. "Typical noble" Damian muttered under his breath. He approached the pompous jerk and gave retort to his little speech, all while absentmindedly tapping his fingers together on both hands. "Afraid? If I had any doubts that I would survive this, I wouldn't be here. I came here of my own free choice. I also dislike the term cur as much as I do thug or brigand. They do a diservice and act as misnomers of my profession. Call me that again, and you may find your belongings magically appearing in my cabin. Don't preach your Progenitor crap to me either. The Progenitor has never offered me any help before, so why would he now?"
Turning away from the morbid buisness of threats, he addressed the whole group. "Now that most of us are here, let me introduce myself." He decided to give a traditional Tavaro greeting, though he dealt with an outside crowd. He wanted them to know exactly what he was. "I am Damian Maleck of Tavaro. Son of no one." He turned to the princess of Saverilla, as he wanted allies within this group as quickly as possible. "Nice technique back there." he said. "Pardon me if I offend, but I wouldn't expect a princess to carry on like that. That was impressive for one of means."
Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes
Posilidia Harbor, Rumed
Fraisier nearly jumped out of his skin as the, formerly silent knight, snapped at the majority of them. Already Fraisier felt even more useless than previously. He knew he generated a bad impression, but he didn't mean it. He has quite the difficulty in trying to make new friends, or at least acquaintances. Still the one called Meskal of The House of Kender, was correct in his assumptions. Fraisier isn't the most courageous man. He wasn't cowering behind Maurice, and probably a degree of this trouble was in fact wrought by him. Still Fraisier bares no ill will to anyone except himself. He always did blame himself before anyone else. Then came more unnecessary fire upon himself.
"Now you listen here Kender of Luther!" "That is no tone to speak with a man you haven't even begun to know!" "Young Master Fraisier is an kind and gentle soul!" "There is no need to make such worded threa-" He was cut off by Fraisier's hand on his shoulder.
"Please, he is correct." Fraisier mumbled in his ear.
"But Master Fraisier, that is no way to speak to someone." Maurice argued.
"No, it is quite alright, I understand his criticism...I can't rely on anyone." Fraisier rather solemnly spoke.
"Master Fraisier." Maurice spoke as his face went from outrage to a frown. "I apologize for speaking out of terms...I am only a simple servant, please forgive my impudence." Maurice humbly spoke.
"Well Master Hughes, thanks to the kind Mistress here I shall take your luggage upon the boat." Maurice spoke.
"Uh yes, I'll join you." Fraisier spoke.
"Are you sure?" "Carrying luggage isn't your concern." Maurice spoke.
"No, I'm going to have to take care of it anyway, your not commissioned for the voyage to Ulmath." Fraisier spoke.
Maurice sighed. "I know...lets get it done and I'll say my goodbyes." Maurice spoke Fraisier took the last of the luggage. Fraisier then bowed before the others, still having a nervous look on his face as he attempted eye contact and then quickly scooted off.
Fraisier and Maurice entered the ship chartered for their voyage as the two Perialisians bored the ship. They entered one of the cabins and began to place the assorted luggage within. Maurice then looked over to Fraisier.
"Well good luck Master Fraisier." "It was an honor to serve you for the time we spent." Maurice spoke as he gave out his hand. "Oh wait sorry, I'm supposed to bow." Maurice corrected himself.
"No it is quite alright, I'm actually more comfortable with a handshake." He spoke with a smile.
"Are you sure?" "Handshakes are for common folk." Maurice spoke flabbergasted.
"In the time you have known me, you should know I don't care about that stuff, here." Fraisier spoke as he held out his hand.
Nearly beside himself he took his hand and shook it. "It truly was a please, Young Master Fraisier." Maurice spoke as he stopped. "I'll be telling Master Hughes that you safely arrived on schedule." "Please...take care of yourself Master Fraisier." Maurice spoke with apprehension.
"I shall, tell my family I love them." Fraisier spoke as Maurice nodded and left him alone.
Maurice came upon the dock once more as he exited the ship and returned to their pier where the other champions are. He looked towards them all. He then bowed before them.
"Please...do your best." Maurice spoke to them as he left for the carriage. He sat up upon the seat and saw Fraisier standing upon the deck as he waved goodbye. Maurice waved back and then whipped the horses, ushering them to move, and so they did. Soon the elegant and richly carriage disappeared within the city streets. Now Fraisier was truly alone. Already he wasn't sure what kind of company these champions would keep. Already, it would seem he won't be making any friends again. They all seem either confidant or aggressive. Perhaps qualities needed for such a job, and Fraisier is neither of those things. He certainly was the odd man out.
He did wonder of the other knight, out of all of them, he is the most mysterious. Not to mention, some what distant himself. Perhaps Fraisier isn't alone at being alone. He sympathized with the large man, but he can't assume anything. A Knight is a man of war, who knows what kind of person he will turn out to be. The same could be said of all of them. He really shouldn't make unfounded claims, but their behavior thus far haven't spoken either wise. Still, Fraisier can't help but fall into despair, that he will hopelessly fail to gain favor. This will truly be a long voyage.
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The Nation of Rumed
One of the Seven Great Nations. There military prowess is one of both fear and respect.
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View All » Add Character » 9 Characters to follow in this universe
Newest
Riley Paolimi
Heavy Hitter and the Champion of Almekia
Galen
The Weary Knight of Rumed
Meskal Kender
Nobleman from the disgraced house of Kender and chosen Champion of Luther.
Damian Maleck
Street Rat and chosen Champion of Tavaro
Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes
Nobleman and chosen Champion of Perialis
Trending
Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes
Nobleman and chosen Champion of Perialis
Meskal Kender
Nobleman from the disgraced house of Kender and chosen Champion of Luther.
Galen
The Weary Knight of Rumed
Riley Paolimi
Heavy Hitter and the Champion of Almekia
Damian Maleck
Street Rat and chosen Champion of Tavaro
Most Followed
Riley Paolimi
Heavy Hitter and the Champion of Almekia
Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes
Nobleman and chosen Champion of Perialis
Galen
The Weary Knight of Rumed
Damian Maleck
Street Rat and chosen Champion of Tavaro
Meskal Kender
Nobleman from the disgraced house of Kender and chosen Champion of Luther.
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