The Knights of Artorias

Sevaecia

a part of The Knights of Artorias, by Revali.

A beautiful place with history forgotten.

Revali holds sovereignty over Sevaecia, giving them the ability to make limited changes.
314 readers have been here.
2,141 readers have visited this universe since Revali created it.

Setting

Default Location for The Knights of Artorias

Sevaecia

A beautiful place with history forgotten.

Minimap

Sevaecia is a part of The Knights of Artorias.

12 Characters Here

Khilith Hruind [3] Born and raised in the quiet night, he seeks the warmth of the light.
Vysella Celgari [2] Light exists in all darkness, and in turn, the dark in all light.
Aeva Löfgren [1] [WIP] "Don't ask for my opinion--I'm not kind in my words."
Editus Rayne [1] [WIP]"I suppose you've heard of me, the bastard, the son of a harlot mother?"
Sevaecia [1] [ NPC List ]
Darrow Faetoris [0] "I am a reaper, and death? my shadow."[WIP]
Alarik Borzen [0] "Quote" (WIP)
Archas Ilora [0] [wip] - submitted early for preview/layout reasons, very empty
Vessa [0] WIP

Start Character Here »


Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Aeva Löfgren Character Portrait: Sevaecia

0.00 INK

#, as written by Revali
Tyri was a bear of a woman. Tall and muscular like the men who trained in full armour, hair as dark and thick as the eye could see with ashed tips, and eyes as sharp and narrowed as any hawk. Beautiful in their own way, two-toned and rich in color, but Tyri earned her stripes, as she called them. The scars she bore, she'd tell the stories of how she'd received them to any one who would listen, and in great detail. She made it a point to tell every single detail, not bothering to leave out the grittiest aspects of it. Perhaps that was why Aeva admired the General, but she couldn't say exactly. Aeva had aspired to be like Tyri, at one point, but even with all the training she did as a youth could not help her achieve what Tyri had. And the General was nearing half a century in life, to say the least.

Whether it was because they were of different heritage—Tyri being born into the northeast near The Red Sands, and Aeva into the capital of Solaris—it was hard to say. Tyri often teased it was because she was of orcblood—everyone knew that was false, though.

"That'll be it for today, Löfgren," she spoke, straightening her posture out to her full height. Tyri was a few inches over six foot at this point in her life, but Aeva nodded her head, and placed the practice blade into its proper sheath by the barracks. Tyri followed suit, taking a drink from her waterskin before turning towards Aeva. "You'll need to prepare for the Passage, today. It begins at high noon," she stated, offering a sharp grin. Aeva resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and rolled out her shoulders, instead.

"I heard there are a large number of recruits for the Knights," she stated, accepting the waterskin Tyri offered and taking a drink from it. "Are you sure they were all hand chosen by the King?" she asked, wiping away a stray droplet of water from the corner of her mouth. Tyri huffed a light sound, the closest she'd ever come to sounding amused by something, and sighed through her nose.

"Aye," she replied in a nonchalant fashion. "Don't worry, though—they'll all be weeded out if any are unfit for the position after the Passage," she stated. Aeva nodded in way of reply. If she remembered correctly, over fifty people had been recruited, and out of those fifty, only handful had remained.

"I suppose it had a lot to do with your training," she stated, earning a snort from Tyri. Everyone knew the former General was no pushover. Her training regimes were considered extreme and old-fashioned, however; everyone who had made it past the training always turned out to be the best Royal Knights of Solaris. Shaking her head, Aeva followed Tyri towards the court. They would be assembling the recruits into the court in order to give them the details they needed for the Passage. Aeva already knew what that entailed; Tyri had given her the run down, but the others would also need to be informed before they started any kind of training.

"I'll meet you once the entrance ceremony is finished—I need to prepare for the speech before it starts," Tyri spoke, causing Aeva to nod her head. The Bear did not need to prepare for anything; she just wanted to get a drink in before anything else. But Aeva didn't mind. She was much too eager to think of anything else.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Khilith Hruind

0.00 INK

Khilith was dreaming about flying again. Well, he wasn't sure if flying was accurate; it was more like he was simply in the air while the world moved beneath him. He could feel the wind on his face and taste the vapor in the clouds as he floated. In front of him, a peak; at the peak, a cave. But as he approached the cave, something prodded him in the side, hard, and Khilith's dream shattered back into reality.

"Hey you, you can't sleep here!" came a voice from his side. Khilith slowly became aware he was lying in an alleyway, slumped against one of the walls. He slowly rose, willing his tired eyes to make sense of the scenery. What had happened last night after the fifth bar? Had he made it to a sixth? Khilith raised his eyes to meet those of the man who had poked him: a middle-aged street guard by the looks of it, and the staff the guard held in one hand being the culprit of the jab.

"...Wait, uh... what exactly are you?" the street guard asked, his brow furrowing in obvious confusion as he stared into Khilith's face. "I thought you were an orc but... those scales."

Khilith sighed, and began to examine the handful of bottles lying about him. Perhaps one would... Ah, but no luck. They were indeed all quite empty. He returned his attention to the guard, who had backed away to the mouth of the alleyway.

"Look, whatever you are, don't make trouble, you hear?" the guard said nervously. "We can't have people just sleeping out on the streets. If you need a place to stay, there's many an inn in town, and many'll take work for payment, you hear?"

"Indeed, good sir," Khilith said, his deep voice amicable as he slowly rose to his feet, one hand to his head as he strove to shake off the headache. "It seems, however, that I may have drank a bit too much the night before. I apologize for the trouble. I meant no harm, as I'm sure you did not in waking me."

The guard relaxed visibly. "Ah, yes, we've all been there. May I ask your reason for being in town?"

"I came to join the Knights," Khilith said, brushing himself off in a vain attempt to make himself presentable. He frowned at the obvious stains on his dark clothing, and sighed again. "I am to attend the entrance ceremony."

"Then you'd best hurry," the guard said, laughing. "The ceremony begins in just over an hour, and they'll want you on time."

"I guess that leaves no time for another drink," Khilith muttered. "Thank you, friend, I'll be on my way."

The guard stepped aside as Khilith walked (or stumbled) out of the alleyway and towards the castle, where the ceremony would be held. Perhaps by the time he arrived, his headache would subside.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vysella Celgari Character Portrait: Khilith Hruind

0.00 INK

Image
It was, perhaps, humorous as this lithe frail woman in gently flowing violet robes was seeking Knighthood. However, as she scurries toward the gate in hopes of catching up with Khilith, since she had not been far behind at all, she radiates a sort of confidence that only a small thing could have with such seemingly impossible task set out before her. Vysella hopes to hide behind the other man, but she soon caught the eye of one of the sentries that had a hard time believing what was before them now.

"Oh, hello, she begins, offering up a small and cheerful wave. "I am here to become a real Knight," she beams with pride. Sure, she's small and unseeming, but the underdog in every novel eventually becomes the top dog. Not that her story would end so fruitfully, but she could at least be optimistic about where she was headed.

A slight laughter slipped from the lips of one of them, and they murmur something. She already knows that she'll be the laughing stock of all of the Knight potentials; physically inept, svelte, a tad timid of nature. But she had other things to offer; things that others often missed in the fray of being the big bad meat shield.

They grant her entry, and her swift heeled feet take her through the gates. Just as she thought about going ahead and dismissing the fact that she was being made fun of, she turns around swiftly and sticks her index finger out at the both of them. "I was hand chosen by the King! You'll really regret picking on me," she promises them both. It would have been threatening coming from anyone else but the meek redhead.

Regardless of whether they say anything back to her or not, she pivots back to face the courtyard and looks up at this new place. Hand chosen by the king! What a fateful thing, really. It must be destiny. She admired him so much because in him she saw a sort of kinship that only gentle souls could have in this dark times. It was a relief to have him on the throne, and she couldn't wait to meet him face-to-face.

Alas, there was an hour to go and Vysella had nothing to do and nowhere else to be. Instead, she just idles around. She's a bit nervous coupled with a whole lot of lost. She has to remind herself that she trained for this. She was one of the chosen. Even if she wasn't exactly physically intimidating, she had a place somewhere in all of this chaos.

She had proven herself to be a great healer and an even better alchemist. She had a knack for putting herself in harms way to offer someone else a way out, and to make sure that the warriors of the unit were in a position to fight when needed. Healers are often the unsung heroes of war, and it was no different for her. She loved it - the ability to seal a wound or inspire others to bring their best to the battlefield. Everyone could train to be a fighter, but only a few have the patience and the willpower to use their abilities to woundmend. It was a dangerous job out in the field, but so long as the others have her back, she has theirs indefinitely.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Editus Rayne Character Portrait: Vysella Celgari Character Portrait: Khilith Hruind

0.00 INK

A lone man walked the path towards the castle, dressed in armor that had been hastily strapped on, leaving him to adjust it every once in a while. His expression was sullen, trying not to make eye contact with those that looked upon him. They whispered to one another, keeping their distance from him like he were some ill omen. He was a strange man, of the like from a foreign land, darker complexion and eyes a hot yellow, messy hair black as night with a strange bluish glisten to it.

He had no real name, no lineage that was obvious to him, things that even a lowly peasant would have in comfort. Rumors spread about him, that he was born of a devil, or cursed at birth, and he wouldn't be surprised if they were right. They called him Editus Rayne, a bringer of misfortune. Ever since he could think on his own, he has known only a cycle of unending struggle, and the cruel cold within and without. He didn't even know why he had survived this long, or cared to do so. He was here, now, hand picked to be sized up for the role of knight.

Why am I even doing this? This is laughable, I'm not fit for a knight, they know it well, and yet... picked by the king himself? Why? he wondered as he scratched through his hair with slight visible frustration. From everything he knew, from what all people have said, the king wasn't the kind to pull such a cruel prank. They say he is a good man, a righteous man, concepts foreign to an unwanted child grown into a cynical man. Everything to him was a subject of suspect, as much as his own existence was. Just, what the hell even is a righteous man? he wondered in frustration. He wanted to see it with his own eyes, what is truly the brightest of virtues.

He looked ahead to the gate, taking a deep breath and exhaling, blowing his messy hair from his eyes. By no surprise to him, others had come before him, likely more enthusiastic than him. What sort would these others be? Glory seekers, looking for their slice of fame and fortune? Were they the noble sort that looked down on blots like himself, was there going to be a fight as soon as he entered their presence? He wasn't afraid of conflict, he wasn't afraid of battle, and he certainly wasn't afraid of being honest.

"Well then, o' noblest of parties, the stray mangy dog, Editus Rayne, now walks among you!" he cried out with an irreverent yet smooth tone, thick with flagrant disregard of even his own self. He then fished out something from his bag, a rolled up piece of parchment with the undeniable royal seal. "Perhaps I was mistaken and this is my arrest for some crime instead, but this summons I received seems to indicate that I was called for... service?"