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0 · 259 views · located in Calisma

a character in “Calisma”, as played by Celedia


Full Name: Geoffrey

Gender: Male

Age: 32

Height: 6’2”

Race: Human

Class: Necromancer


Skills: A sense of humor, an unmatched fashion sense… Oh, wait. Skills that could be useful. Well, it depends on how useful people find the ability to raise the dead or cast spells of questionable intent.

I mean. Quite honestly, the Thirds probably wouldn’t care for him. Them and most anyone of good moral standing. He is more adept in the art of magic that twists bodies, minds and souls alike than anyone else.

He is amazing at survival and the art of traveling, seeing as how he has trouble staying in any one place for too long. Few people seem to welcome his kind and those that do embrace his lifestyle are not the type of folk that he would wish to hang around. On a related note, he is also amazing at bare-knuckled brawling since people in taverns like to prove they're better than one another by engaging in fisticuffs!

Weakness(es): Happiness. Kittens. Sunlight.

Or not.

He is a fragile man in the sense that he has no training in physical activities other than straight up tavern brawling though that particular skill came about as more of a hobby than a necessity. He has minions to do his bidding. Why would he wish to dirty his own hands?

Also, he is a social outcast and has to deal with all of the stigmas regarding his chosen profession. No one cares for Necromancers until a horde of undead are battering at their doors and how long has it been since that has been a problem? He also has an aversion to Paladins and all things shiny and holy. Their auras make his skin feel itchy.

Equipment: The only piece of equipment that is of note is a spell tome though he keeps it more for nostalgia’s sake than anything else. He has his incantations and such memorized but it was his first spellbook and thus, special to him. Other than that he has some gold, the clothes on his back and a small assortment of personal items and survival gear that travel with him.

Personal Quote: There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

Description: Tall, dark, devilishly handsome. Toned from a life lived on the road but not overly muscular. His dark chestnut-hued locks hang down to his chin in unruly waves and his eyes are a similarly dark shade yet the superstitious people he has run across claim they glow a bright red at times. He dresses for travel, wearing leather and linen mixed with furs for colder climes.

Personality: It seems that Geoffrey fancies himself a comedian… Or perhaps he thinks so because his only constant companions cannot speak for themselves thus he has gone a tad batty. He seems to crave attention and affection yet his chosen profession leaves him wanting for both. Easily amused, he tends to find humor in the strangest places and will occasionally laugh out loud at seemingly somber events.

History: Geoffrey had a childhood with the potential to be boring and normal. However, he soon discovered that he had special powers when he passed by a neighbor’s house on his way to the market and their recently deceased and buried dog came trotting along after him. At first, he thought that it was the devil himself coming to claim him so he took off as fast as he could and since his panicked mind was chanting, ”Run, run, run, RUN!” So too, did the dog as the poor zombified pup thought that he was being commanded to do so.

Lesson learned. He actually kept the dog around for a time as his first true pet which creeped out anyone that discovered this information and his parents tried to keep it a secret for as long as possible. It wasn’t until he accidentally summoned his first skeletal human companion that they decided he needed training to control his powers and off they sent him to a necromantic cult.

Life with the cult was boring and torturous but he seemingly survived and at the age of 18 they released him into the wild. The cult gave him tasks to perform in the name of whatever deities they pretended to consort with but Geoffrey ignored them and instead sought his own path through the world. Sadly for him, not many people liked much less tolerated necromancers and after his first or perhaps second mob of angry farmers wielding torches and pitchforks did he decide to live a more solitary existence. Nowadays, He explains away traveling by claiming to be a merchant and he actually has wares to back up his claims. Odd trinkets and baubles that he has either found in his travels or has plucked from the corpses of followers which he has summoned.

I mean, c'mon, they're dead. They don't need that rather unique, enchanted ring whether it was a family heirloom or not.

He does have his own hidden lair, of sorts, but he has recently decided to venture to Paetax for unknown reasons. Well, unknown to you, not him. He knows the reasons he's wandered to the capital, of course. :)

Anything Else: He likes big books and he cannot lie.

So begins...

Geoffrey's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Geoffrey Character Portrait: Emma Armelle
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#, as written by Celedia
Approaching the city of Paetax was never really an obstacle for the average traveler but the duo wandering through the lush green farmlands bordering the massive stone walls of the capital was anything but average.

Or normal.

“Why in the world do ye wear armor anyway? Yer dead. I don’t see how leather bracers wrapped around yer bony forearms is going to prevent a second death, Bubbles.”

A necromancer scowled at the silent skeletal warrior traipsing through the fields beside him and with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, the man spoke up to fill the void.

“Honestly and where d’ ye even put that sword of yers? Do ye just….” Geoffrey shifted his arms so that his hands clasped around an invisible weapon before he thrust them towards his pelvis in an awkward manner. “Lodge it into yer hipbones ‘er something? Seems a bit awkward, it does. Unseemly even. Wouldn’t want to get ‘round pretty lasses with a sword jammed in yer nethers.”

Faking a shudder, the necromancer raised his hand to shield his eyes against the rising sun so that he could calculate the distance they had left before they came upon any people. People in general had a tendency to dislike him. Well, at least when he was walking around in the company of the dead so he would have to send his companion to another plane when he neared the city limits.

That, however, took another three or so hours and with a fond wave and a farewell which was unsurprisingly not returned, Geoffrey came upon the main road leading towards the city gates and he was shocked to see that there was actually a line to enter the city today.

Not one for waiting around, Geoffrey pushed his way to the front of the line and tried to stroll casually passed the guards but a large armored hand stopped him in midstride.

“Sorry, sir. You have to be cleared first. Please step in line…” The guard motioned to the back of the queue which was thirty-some-odd people long and the necromancer scoffed at the thought.

“Line? I have no time to wait in a line, peasant!”

The guard’s brow shot up as Geoffrey puffed out his chest and pointed to one of the large bags strapped around his torso.
“By the GODS man, do ye wish to delay the diralgraun pelt that has been specially commissioned by the soon-to-be King himself?! He needs this for the crowning ceremony! Before, even! It has to be sewn into a….”

He stumbled for just a moment upon his words, trying to think quickly so that the guard would be so overwhelmed with information that he would have no choice but to let him through.

“Pair of matching snivlets! Aye! Ye can’t let the King be snivlet…less… CAN YE!?”

The commotion caused several of the citizens standing in the line to turn their attention towards the pair and the guard became flustered, waving the necromancer through as he blubbered, “Very well sir just… Go. Just go.”

Practically preening at his quick thinking and offering up a prayer to whatever God had a hand in that debacle, Geoffrey wandered down the cobbled streets on the look out for something to eat and he found a rather lively looking tavern called the Dancing Dragon. Music blared out of the doors even though it was still before midday and with a shrug, the necromancer slipped inside for a bit of grub.

Within the tavern, Geoffrey would be greeted with what could only be described as something of a scene. A small gathering of regulars had gathered around one of the tables to the side of the room, where a card game was taking place. Or at least, was taking place in theory. The players were currently far too preoccupied with arguing with each other that nothing was actually being played at all. The group of five consisted of four men and one woman, the last of which seemed the only participant who hadn't gotten herself into a fit of incomprehensible spluttering - possibly no small part due to the fact that the large number of coins on the table were squarely placed in front of her. The dark-haired woman lounged boredly in her chair, only half paying attention to the other four accusing her of all manner of foul play. Her staff was propped up next to her, its bladed end glinting warningly in the light.

" way you could possibly know what to do on so many consecutive hands without knowing exactly what we were holding." one of the men was protesting, "There hasn't been a bluff you haven't called or a strong hand you haven't folded into!"
Emma yawned, giving the man a dry stare. "Perhaps you're just remarkably easy to read," she suggested, "That's certainly what I'd assume were I playing a game where knowing what the other player is thinking is very important, and I was losing spectacularly. You might as well all stick your cards face up to your foreheads with glue for all the success you have in lying. On a side-note, never go into acting. Unless the role calls for a collection of clueless fools, in which case, go right ahead! You're practically professionals at that already."

She sighed, waving a hand dismissively and scooping the coins from the table into a small sack. "I think I'll call it there, though, friends. A game's no fun when there's no challenge. If I wanted an easy way to take your money I'd just rob you, violently. Come to think of it, that would probably be more fun too. Can I give the money back, and then rob you for it this time? No? Oh, you're all such spoilsports." Emma shrugged her shoulders and rose to her feet, taking up her staff. "Unless anyone has anything else to say, I'm going to go spend my winnings on getting outrageously drunk. I look forward to beating the idiocy out of whichever of you decide to try and take advantage of my inebriation to take the money back. I know you'll try to, but really, being drunk just means I'll hit harder and care less if I kill you. So good luck, for what it's worth."

Humming, Emma left the men searching for words to retaliate with as she crossed to the bar and ordered herself a drink. "Anyone want to make a bet on how many of them try to mug me on my way out?" she asked the other patrons at the bar, "I'm going to go with three, just enough to make them feel confident, but accounting for any cowards or, indeed, any of them with half a brain."

Geoffrey had stood right within the entrance during the debacle and though he did snap his mouth shut so that he didn’t look like a complete imbecile, it took him another full moment to approach the bar to stand next to the lady now speaking to the crowd at large.

“Nay, lass. I’m betting ye that only two of ‘em will approach. Ye see…” He turned, leaning his elbows against the countertop as he pointed back to the men now seething amongst themselves as if trying to gather the courage to retaliate. “The big ‘un… He’s not exactly the brains of the operation, ye see? So he’ll probably come wailing atcha but he’s a big oaf an’ I bet yer a lot more….” His eyes slipped over the woman beside him, taking his time to appraise her form before a teasing grin curved his lips. “Agile than he is, aye?”

Continuing his assessment, he motioned to the next largest man who was currently shaking his head vigorously. “Next one, he’s probably got a wife at home an’ thinks it’s in poor taste to beat up a lass whether she fleeced ‘im or not.” Offhandedly, he remarked, “No offense, of course.”

The next fellow had a hand clasped upon what appeared to be a battered hatchet and a quick once over told Geoffrey that he probably had hidden blades in his boots at the very least. “That one is the one ta watch for, lass. Steeled up everywhere. But that last one….” He rested his elbow back upon the counter and simply inclined his chin towards the last of the four deviants that the woman had been gambling with. “He looks too plastered ta even stand up straight much less come over ‘ere and cause ya havoc. Probably going ta go take a sleep in the corner soon.”

With his assessment of the situation given, Geoffrey turned around to face the counter, flagging the bartender down for a pint before he flashed another disarming grin towards Emma and introduced himself, "Name's Geoffrey. If you'd like an escort home t'night, I'd be more than willing."

Emma snorted, "You, I like you." she stated, casting Geoffrey a smirk, "You should take up work as a detective. Or perhaps a writer, if you made that all up on the spot. Impressive, either way. Not exactly a conventional way to chat up a lady, but were I not such a raging cynic I'm sure it would have worked."

She folded her arms, angling herself towards the newcomer and leaning onto the counter. "It's a pleasure, Geoffrey. I'm Emma, and we'll have to see just how much alcohol I get down my neck before I get back to you on the escort. I'm quite confident I could manage without, but a little company on a late-night walk seldom goes amiss."

A chuckle escaped her lips, before she downed a gulp of her drink. "Oh, I know, deduce me now! What deep insight into who I am can you draw from a quick glance, hm?"

“Ah. Ye see… When ye’re as much as an outsider to society as I am, ye tend to watch and categorize people. Ye don’t have such frivolous things as conversation to work into the mix.”

Another grin swept his lips and he passed coin to the barkeep in exchange for his ale, quaffing a third of the beverage before turning his eyes to Emma. Thankfully, he was just as cynical as she was because he assumed there would be no chance of escorting the lass back to her room anyway so what was the harm in telling the truth as he saw it? The worst she could do was… Well, kill him. That would be rather inconvenient.

The silence stretched between them almost to the point of awkwardness until he finally voiced his assumptions. “Ye’re powerful and not just because of yer beauty. Ye threatened four grown men without the blustering of someone trying desperately to bluff their way out of a heavy situation without so much as batting an eyelash. I’m assuming whatever skills ye possess are dangerous and quick whether it be a knife to the belly or perhaps ye can melt faces with a touch because ye also allow strangers to get relatively close to ye and don’t seem to distance yourself from people which rules out ranged abilities like archery or the like.”

He kept his voice low so that she would be the only one to hear him and to anyone else it would look as if they were simply having a casual conversation. The sly, tilted grin that occasionally curved his mouth would probably also make it look like he was flirting with her, which he probably was doing in his own way.

“Ye carry yourself with confidence and ye seem able to handle yourself which makes me wonder if ye’ve faced yer fair share of hardships but ye don’t seem saddened or depressed which makes me believe that ye’ve risen above the obstacles and are now quite satisfied with life in general.”

He cast his gaze up, meeting her eyes with his own as he quirked a brow and asked, “How am I doing?”

"I've found," Emma began with a smile, "That the important part about having power is not, in fact, the power. It's making sure everyone else is thoroughly convinced that you have it, and avoiding being called on the bluff. Much as you could likely walk through the corridors of the palace itself so long as you were carrying a ladder and a toolkit with a sense of purpose to your stride, it's all about appearances."

She tilted her head in a pause for consideration, then flashed a knowing smirk. "That's not to say that I don't have the means to back up my talk, but even if I did not, perfecting the confidence of someone who knows they have the upper hand is enough to ward off most trouble in places like this, depending on how drunk the offender is. Too far gone, and they might not pick up on the subtleties." Again, she halted to think, drumming her fingers against the glass she held in her hand. "Now, hardships, hmm... I suppose compared to a life of luxury, you're quite right. But really, everyone below a certain familial net worth works through hardship of some form or another. Making a fuss over it would just be entitled."

"My hardships are neither more nor less trying than those of many low-born, or otherwise financially lacking people. But you're right that I am indeed rather satisfied with where I stand, though I'd wager I'd be a lot more satisfied were I standing on a significantly larger pile of gold. Who wouldn't? But good job, really. Not many people consciously pick up on the whole 'she could probably kill me' bit. A shame, really - it would certainly lead to less poor life decisions being made."

“Ah, let’s go back to that significantly larger pile of gold portion…” Geoffrey grinned over the lip of his mug as he took another sip before resting his glass down upon the counter to free both of his hands. Leaning back on his barstool, he cast an overly obvious glance at her feet before pulling himself upright again. “Does that mean ye’re already standing on a pile o’ gold? That it’s just not enormous?”

Laughing a bit at his own joke, he crossed his arms and settled them onto the bar. “Now as to the last part, I wouldn’t be giving me the benefit of the doubt, if I were ye. I simply assume anyone can beat me to a bloody pulp. Leads to less poor life decisions being made on my own part…”

“At least in public.” He added in a soft mutter.

"More of a mound than a pile, really. But don't you know it's rude to ask someone about their finances? Tsk, for shame." Emma tutted disapprovingly, though the smirk on her face made it clear that she was far from serious.

She paused to consider Geoffrey closely, "Now come, you mean to tell me you don't have your own bag of tricks up your sleeve? Nobody gets this savvy without having a way to get through a few scrapes here and there when people get worked up at the smartass."

Another sly grin lit the necromancer’s features as he lifted a hand into the air, gesticulating as he spoke. “Well, quite honestly, finance is the very first thing I bring up with a new acquaintance. I can’t be seen speaking to simply anyone, ye see. They must have a money pile at least this tall…” He showed her the height of this imaginary gold mound by placing his palms, one on top of the other, a good six inches apart. “Before we can move on to the next level of friendship.”

“And aye, ye have an eye on ye too so ye must be a smartass yerself. I am fantastic at brawling. Fisticuffs, as it were. Any other skills that I may or may not ‘ave acquired throughout my life is also tied into the next level of friendship thing… When we reach the next tier then I can break out such witty one-liners as ‘I’ll show ye mine if ye show me yers.’” He finished his statement with an obvious wink before he turned to his mug and drank down the rest of his ale before tapping the rim to signal the bartender for a refill.

"Funny, people normally comment more on my mouth before they decide I'm a smartass," Emma replied with a smirk, "And brawling? I'd never have pegged you for the sort. Me, I prefer hitting people with a stick or impaling them with the pointy end. Less blood splatter, you know? Not that I make a habit of it, I find I can talk my way out of most things, as you've seen. They don't call me Emma the Glib for nothing!" There was a pause, "Well, actually they don't call me that at all, but if they did, it would be for a reason."

The raven-haired woman made a show of yawning and glancing at the door. "I think that this place is wearing on me," she remarked, "I don't suppose I could take you up on that offer of a walk back to my place, could I?" Emma grinned, "Don't go getting any ideas, mind. The only company I'm interested in tonight is verbal, and the walk home is ever so dull."

Geoffrey slipped another coin towards the bartender to pay for his second drink as well as give the poor man a tip and after draining the rest of his ale he pushed back his stool. The wooden legs scraped roughly against the floorboards and he bowed slightly at the waist, gesturing with both hands towards the door.

“After m’lady…” His brow cocked and he laughed at her clarification of terms for walking her home. “Ah so yer simply letting me in on the fun that’s about to happen when you get jumped in the alleyway, aye?” He rubbed his hands together briskly as he straightened back up. “Hopefully there’s time for verbal company after that, then. Although don’t think I’ve given up on the dream of making things more intimate at a later date. Unless that gets me stabbed with the sharp, pointy end of the stick and then I take back everything I’ve said.”

Weaving his way through the thinning crowd, the necromancer got to the door first and held it open for his newest companion.
"A good disclaimer to have," Emma remarked with a chortle as she proceeded out the door. Two of the men, as Geoffrey had predicted, were conspicuous in their absence from the table from before. "Ah, here we go again..." the dark-haired woman remarked, rolling her eyes as she walked out into the cool night air. Her breath misted in front of her as she stepped into the street, levelling her gaze at the two men loitering in wait and leaning casually on her staff.

"Well?" she prompted, "I'm waiting. This is the part where you demand the money back, right? Then there's the part where I refuse, you turn violent, and then I thrash the both of you with a bladed stick and leave you bleeding on the ground, right? I've done this one before, don't worry. You can just follow my lead."

There was a pause where the two men hesitated to act, before one of them piped up. "Er, maybe we should just talk this out-" he started, before Emma interrupted.

"Yes, we could do that. The conversation goes like this - you leave me alone, and you get to keep what's left of your dignity! A fair deal, I think, far less than you deserve. Don't you think, Geoffrey?"

The necromancer pretended to look fairly indignant at the turn of events. The two men were backing down and she was going to let it happen? He let his jaw fall slightly, leaving his mouth agape as he stared from the dark haired lass to the two would-be muggers and back again.

“Ye’re going to let them go? Honestly?” He feigned distress, gesturing broadly to the men in front of them before turning towards his new-found friend with his arms folded acrossed his chest. “Ye promised me fun, I believe and letting these two go wouldn’t be quite as fun as messin’ with ‘em. Aye? Can’t we just….” The eyes on the two other men widened as Geoffrey made a fist then slammed into into his opposite palm with enough force that the sound of impact could be heard throughout the entire alleyway. “Y’know. Smack ‘em around a lil?”

"Really Geoffrey," Emma tutted, "You're a terrible influence. Can't a girl be a good person once in a while?" The raven-haired woman laughed, cracking her neck. "But if you insist..." She hefted the staff in her hand, twirling it expertly around to level it at one of the men. "I'll try to avoid hitting you with the sharp end," she said to him, smirking, "Promise."

The weapon whistled through the air, smacking against his side once to unbalance him, sweeping around to take his feet out from under him and slamming down to catch him across the gut after he fell, knocking the wind from him.

Geoffrey practically preened as Emma decided to indulge him but after her swift moves with the staff, the other man decided to flee for his life which left the necromancer without an opponent of his own.

“Oy, ye’ve got ta be kidding me! COME BACK HERE!”

He turned from his brief chase, deciding that using magic wasn’t the best idea in Paetax when he still didn’t quite know the layout or the dangers involved and when he moved back towards Emma he delivered a swift kick to the downed man’s ribs just because.

“Unfair. Who runs away from a fight?”

"Well, in this case, I'd say someone with half a brain. Only half, mind. Don't want to flatter him too much." Emma chuckled, "If we happen to be set upon by a pair of oafs again, I'll make sure to give you the first pick." With a final cursory glance at the fallen man, she shrugged her shoulders and started to walk. "I'm sure he'll be fine. There aren't too many murderers in this part of the city, right?"

Geoffrey shrugged in response to her question then realized that she had already started off without him so he offered a verbal response as well. “Couldn’t tell ye, Emma. First day in the city but it looks like the place to house murderers and such.”

He spun around but continued walking backwards so that he was facing their fallen foe while he addressed him. “No worries though! Pick yerself up and head back to the tavern an’ I’m sure ye’ll be all right!” Spinning back around, Geoffrey came closer to Emma and fell into step beside her. One hand lifted to ruffle his hair a bit before dropping down to swing freely by his side once more.

“Swear ta the gods fighting t’would be a lot more fun if so many of the prickly bastards weren’t against the use of magic.” The words came in a low murmur as they made their way down one alley and turned onto a slightly wider street.

Emma raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" she queried, "Geoffrey, you don't mean to say you're a renegade are you? A sealless mage, a danger to all the realms who is undoubtedly about to tear the very world asunder with his dangerously untrained powers?" She folded her arms in mock disapproval, "Why, I ought to report you to the authorities this very moment."

Geoffrey had the good sense to look shocked and appalled by such a statement, even pressing his hand to his chest to emphasize his reaction. “Me?! Have ye seen me do so much as twitch a finger in the air? By the Gods woman, be careful when ye throw ‘round such accusations!”

“I simply meant that t’would be fun to see such things in a fight.” He coughed into his hand, clearing his throat though his eyes stayed focused at whatever interesting sights were in front of him.

Chuckling, Emma nodded her head and winked. "Of course," she said, "How terribly presumptuous of me. Really, that's the logical explanation. Absolutely. Just a little fireworks, yes?"

The path Emma led them on seemed to be taking them towards the centre of the city, as was evidenced by the steady increase in quality of the buildings and the growing frequency of night-watch patrols. Though they attracted a few suspicious glances, there was nothing stand-out about either of the pair to have them challenged. As the palace gates came into view, Emma turned to Geoffrey. "Well, this is my stop." she said with a smirk, "Is this the part where I say, 'surprise'? Bet you weren't expecting that."

Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked from Emma to the palace and back again. “Ye’re the Princess, aren’t ye?” He sighed heavily and shook his head, as if the puzzle pieces had clicked together for him.

“Wait. The bored Princess escapes the confining life of the Palace to mingle with the peasantry?!”He shot Emma an amused look though he was quite obviously trying to remain serious.

“Nope, too far fetched. I don’t believe in fairy tales.” He inclined his chin towards her palatial digs and quirked a brow.
Emma laughed, "Not quite," she replied, "Noble blooded, though. Never mind the name dragged through the dirt by the last generation, turns out if you show up on the royals' doorstep with the right family name and talk at them for long enough you can blag yourself into using the palace as a fancy hotel. A few earnest lies - or rather half-truths, I should say - go a long way."

Geoffrey chuckled and edged away from the Palace steps, as if simply being nearer to the royals would bring out the Thirds. Though to anyone watching it would just look as if he were getting ready to leave and make his way to the inn.

“I would ask ye for a grand tour but I assume that they don’t allow visitors an’ the like. So I’ll take my leave of ye. Sleep well, noble-blooded but not the Princess Emma with the sharp and pointy stick. I have a feelin’ I’ll be seeing ye ‘round.”

"And you, definitely-not-a-mage Geoffrey," Emma replied with a smirk, "Hold onto that feeling. I know I plan to be wherever the trouble's at. That is, of course, if there's trouble. But there's always trouble, isn't there?" she winked, "You just have to know where to look."

And with that, she swept away towards the palace without so much as a glance back.