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Ozmorin Edenile the Lonely

"Honor and honesty are tales told by the grave diggers"

0 · 561 views · located in The Kingdom of Ethia

a character in “Ethia's Crusades”, as played by Words of Oz

Description


Ozmorin Edenile
____________________
The Lonely
____________________


Image

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Personal Information
____________________




Full Name
Ozmorin Edenile the Lonely

Description
A ranger that, since birth, survived the harsh world and the harsh wood.

Age:
26

Gender:
Male

Race/Main:
Human

Honorifics|Titles|Nicknames
Kown as "The Lonely"

Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual

Birthplace:
Unknown
.
Date of Birth:
Not official (26 years ago)

Marking|Tattoos|Piercings:
None

Height:
6"0"

Weight
About 200lbs

Physical Condition:
Fairly strong. Highly dexterous and agile, even for a smaller size man. Highly genius.

Current Residence
Drifter

Former Residence
None

Family/Relatives:
Not known.

Friends/Comrades:
A fox he named "Little Eden". Also a silph (wind elemental) he calls "Kind".
Image
Image

Enemies
None

Rivals
None

Organizations/Tribes/Clans:
He was a ranger, but left.

Disabilities:
He has a blinding hate for all knights and pious people.

Personality:
Very cold and hard, but he is also pensive and philosophical. He spends much of his day contemplating matters.

Likes:
Being outside, hunting, and wordplay.

Dislikes:
Drinking, being in city, and someone having authority over him.

Psychological Condition:
Very philosophical and genius.

Alignment:
Nuetral. He is out for himself and Little Eden



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Equipment
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:Attire:
(Picture above)

:Protection:
Light scale armor with a leather jerkin over it.

:Weapon(s):
A longbow, a bastard sword nicknamed "My Pen", a hunting dagger, and a hatchet.

:Accessories/Misc:
He boasts his mind is his greatest weapon.

____________________
|Abilities|Traits|Racial|
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Ozmorin is in fact , to be blunt, a genius. Having grown up in the woods, he is an expert tracker and hunter, as well as an expert bowman. He plans everything out to the fine points, and usually has twelve or so contingency plans, all in the matter of minutes. Since he spends most of his days pondering, he is cynic and has an expert opinion on most of life's big questions, but it is also crippling because he wastes no time expressing his opinion (this hurts him for he is an atheist). He writes poetry for fun on occasions. Being a friend to a wind elemental, he traditionally gets help from her, but many think he s insane because, usually, only he can hear her. He is an austere believer in the human race, and he puts the survival of mankind over any god, king, or person ( he ironically only travels alone). He has a soft spot for woman and children, and will be the first to save the maiden or child.

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History
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Ever since birth Ozmorin has been alone. His parents left in the middle of the woods to die when he was but a little over one week old, and a nearby wind elemental named Edenile overheard the fater say "May the elements take the poor fuck." Edenile, taking it as an invitation and sensing the babe's genius, took the boy and fled into a grove with a hollow in a massive oak, and there she cared for the child with tender care, naming him Ozmorin. Wind elemtals love thought, poetry, philosophy, and of course like all elementals, the respect of nature, so Ozmorin has always been sharp of mind, also, he learned to make a friend of a forever-young fox he nicknamed "Little Eden" and he nicknamed his mother, Edenile, "Kind" when he learned the word. Since the age of four, Ozmorin had to hunt for his own food and outsmart the animals that were bigger than him and read their body language to understand them, and so by the age of ten he was a good of a hunter as a grown man with the best of his abilities and he was accepted by the elementals as one of them. However, when he was twelve, Kind sent him to join the human Rangers so he could get more human contact, and there he learned his love for mankind and quickly excelled in their fighting skills, mastering them by the age of sixteen. Many if not all expected him to be the Commander of the Rangers in no time, but one day he just walked into the woods and never stopped, re-uniting himself with Little Eden (Kind being a wind elemental never left his side). He has been drifting aimlessly among the realms of men, elves, and nature, surviving and contemplating the things he sees and experiences on his adventure (he keeps his ideas in his journal).



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So begins...

Ozmorin Edenile the Lonely's Story

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Ozmorin walked along a road with his nose deep in a book, as usual. He penisvely strutted along indulged in a tome titled The Classical History of the Orcis People and he furrowed his brow often while straining to find information he did not previously have knowledge of, but his concentration was occasionally diverted when he could feel, by habit, the stares of his short fox companion on him, almost piercing into his mind. Knowing that Little Eden could read his body as well as Ozmorin could read his books and vise versa, Little Eden gave the look that spoke If you know it all, why read it?, and Ozmorin gave the amused response, "If I followed your philosophy, my Little Eden, I would never read at all. But nay, every book has a sentence of knowledge at the least I did not know, so I read on." So once again Ozmorin absorbed himself in the pages, well endowed in blood, and Little Eden took her gaze to the morning wood, seeming to stare off far into the distance.

It was a beautiful morning, and as far as the eye could see, lush green stretched on either side of the grey stone path. Yellow light softly lit the picturesque scene of life and radiance on each border of the stone road that, even it, was made gorgeous by the brisk seeing stone that was the morning, by the paintbrush that seemed to add a lightness to all which was called in the morrow, but none appreciated this more than Ozmorin. He looked back down at Little Eden as she gave him a blank stare, pondering almost at him, and in response he abruptly stopped and turned to face her.

"What?" he said in his most obviously oblivious tone.

Little Eden dropped her head in a Seriosly?.

Ozmorin put his hand on his chest and shook his head in a dramatic display of ignorance. "What?!?"

Her stare intensified as she seemed to say Really? Are you serious?, but as she was about to turn away in exasperation, a familiar sound stopped her still.

A devious and playful smile was painted on Ozmorin's lips as he pulled out a small bird's cooked leg, and his smile broke out into a cheerful laugh as Little Eden took to feverishly turning, jumping, and yapping in excitement for her food.

"So you want to break our fast. Then let us, my Little Eden," He gently spoke as he carefully placed the miniature meal before his only companion, and he softly stroked her head as she nimbly, but to what seemed to her ferociously was to him cute, eating the meat bit by bit, a slight smile on his face as he admired her beauty.

When he looked up, he strangely found several figures on the road approaching, and he was contemplating for a while before his merry face turned grim in realization of their clad.

"Dul isteach ar na coillte. Anois!" (Get into the woods. Now!)

He spoke the archaic tongue, the tongue had spoke to him when he was small and the only speech any of the elementals used. A language that was spoken only by trees, long before the birth of the first elf, man, or orc, but he never knew what conversation material the trees would honestly have.

He knew well what the approaching group of men were, bandits, so Ozmorin and Little Eden dashed into the forest, staying in a distance to where they could see the road, and, knowing there was no possible chance of detection, listened in.

"I know it wrong, but what can we do? I gotta feed meh family." one said.

"But banditeering, I dun wanna kill nobody." said another.

"An we won't, we just gonna scare em. Just enough to get through the winter, remember? Our children will die without us, remember? Starve right well till death without this, without us!" the first retorted.

Ozmorin was on the verge of stepping out and offering what change he had in a deal for them to head home, maybe give them his food as well, but the noise of a cart stopped him. Approaching from the very same direction the men were, a cart pulled by two horses traveled along with two men for passengers, but Ozmorin could almost sense the wolf with them.

The next few minutes played out in horror. They stopped the cart, but before he could explain so things remained controlled, a wolf ripped the throat of the man that spoke second. He could almost feel Little Eden's sadness as she watched the man cut through the untrained men, no doubt farmers, and then show a confident swagger as if he killed twenty rangers! Ozmorin took his bow of his back, a bow that could pierce a knight's plate armor from a hundred and fifty yards, and hear it's purr as he pulled it back with an arrow knocked and ready. He held, aiming with dead accuracy at the man's jugular, as he watched the burly brute mercilessly kill a father, the first to speak, as he was already on the ground, and images of a little girl crying at the door, waiting for her father that would never come, hungry!, flooded his mind whilst the life of the savage laid in his hands. When suddenly, a voice that was like the sweetest breeze cutting through boggy and heavy summer air whispered in his ear.

"Let him go, would you be no more of a tyrant sitting on death's throne if you knew not his story first, you would be no better, no?" and as he heard Kind's familiar voice, he slowly relaxed the string of his long bow. When the cart was well out of sight, he stepped out into the road.

Ozmorin walked among and looked down upon the dead, the slaughtered, with grief, and he silently closed their individual eyes. He looked down the road from where they had come, the opposite way the cart was traveling, and he thought of trying, even if for naught, to find their families and do what he can. So, with purpose, Little Eden and he continued their walk, but it was entirely different. Within minutes they walked with their thoughts heavier than before, and the morning seemed to lose its sweet taste. Ozmorin swore, although impossible, his little fox friend shed a single tear.

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Twas a beautiful day, and everything seemed brighter to the young Valkeryia soaring over the tree tops. Freedom made everything seem more clear, more vibrant. It was glorious. The only thing that marred it was the exhaustion he felt from flying two days straight. Every beat of his massive wings burned, and it was all he could do to stay in the air. His eyes ached, and were starting to close of their own accord...

CRASH

Agony struck him in his right wing. The world was passing by in violent flashes and then he hit the ground. When he awoke, all he could think of was the pain in his wing, for it was horrendous. When he looked, it was bent at an odd angle, missing feathers. As he staggered to his feet, he held the wing close to his body while the left wing went to its normal position. He had fortunately landed near the road, and so he limped towards it, groaning with pain as he did so. His sword was sheathed, while his armor was hopelessly dented, thus he took it off and threw it to the side, keeping his tunic and pants on. He moved down the road for what seemed like eternity when he came upon a traveler in a cloak with a great long bow strung and slung over his shoulder. He gathered up what air he could and called out

"Hail stranger! I am sore injured, and I ask thee that may heal me. I am of the Valkeryie race, and I throw myself at thy mercy." and with those words, he fell to his knees as pain and exhaustion overtook him...

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Ozmorin and Little Eden slowly trailed their way along the cobblestone road, neither talking but with a thousand thoughts, as a light breeze would seemingly at random flicker past Ozmorin, and he took it as proof, as he had a thousand times before, that Kind was there. She obviously stayed hidden to avoid being seen, although there was a miniscule chance that anyone that they came upon could actually see her manifest, but occasionally she would concentrate enough to dab at Little Eden's nose, causing a wild and futile chase in which Little Eden would playfully dive at nothing, attempting to catch an invisible foe. However, it seemed the grim mood would seep back in and both would return to walking in an awkward silence. This pattern repeated itself for several minutes until Kind gave one last try at lifting their spirits. Suddenly, all to Ozmorin's surprise, a massive gust of wind gusted at his feet, causing him to lose his balance and being sent forward in a comical tumble, and Ozmorin, laying on the ground in a mess, with his outfit being thrown askew, gave an angered glare at no specific thing. He held his discontented face for a mere few seconds before boasting out in a bellowing laughter, and he quickly swept up Little Eden, peskily ruffling her hair in a kiddish and jolly way. When he finally sat her down again and their chuckling was done, they continued walking with a slight smile, for they had but almost, almost, completely forgotten about the carnage.

They walked lightly for only a few seconds before a clearly injured Aina came tumbling out of the brush, and Ozmorin could tell his wing was broken. Dashing over worriedly, Ozmorin decided to help, but he wanted to know he was not obliviously joining a fight and putting Little Eden in danger.

"Woah! Settle down. First, tell me how you obtained these wounds." Ozmorin was straight forward and authoritative.

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The stranger rushed over to the ailing Herandyl, asking how he had gotten his wounds. Herandyl's eyes, bleary with pain, gazed at the stranger and studied him more closely. A strong face, this was man who radiated authority. He found himself telling the man his whole story. "I am Herandyl Riolus, of the Aina. I have broken contact with my people and fled, and I flew for two straight days. I fell asleep whilst in the air, and I believe my wing was broken on contact with a tree. That is how I was injured. Nothing more. Nothing less. Now I must ask, are you skilled in healing? For my injuries are beyond my skill." As he spoke he gulped with pain and his voice wavered. A fresh bolt of pain hit him as he shifted a bit while he told his tale, and an involuntary groan was torn from his throat. "Help me... there is no one else... please..."

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Ozmorin listened carefully. To him, it seemed like a sound alibi, so he simply nodded and headed out into the woods, leaving Little Eden curiously looking at the stranger. When Ozmorin returned, he came back holding a queer assortment of herbs, ranging from dark purples to bright oranges, and he very casually handed them over to Little Eden. She quickly devoured them, and Ozmorin waited patiently with his hand out, expectantly.

"You may find this gross. Sorry." Ozmorin was soft and apologetic.

Little Eden hacked for a few seconds, but then regurgitated what used to be a gorgeous bouquet of flowers into a slimy pale mush, and the puke was promptly plopped into Ozmorin's hand.

"I know it must be rather putrid, but it came from a time before healing magic. It probably works better too." And with that Ozmorin smeared the disgusting chunky sludge on the wing, letting it seep into the pours and hopefully find its way down to the bloodstream.

"Your wing should be feeling better soon, and within a couple of days and a few more viles of, well, vile, you should be good to go. The pain should somewhat subside, so slow down and tell me exactly what you are doing, my dear fellow?" Little Eden stared ponderously.

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Herandyl's stomach flipped over in disgust as the pale sludge was slathered over his wound, but the searing pain in his right wing faded to a soothing coolness. His tortured muscles unclenched as the pain left, and he sagged in relief. He looked at the stranger with thankfulness in his eyes, and then a stream of words began flowing "How did you know how to do that? That was amazing! I wouldn't know how to do that. Who's the fox? I've never seen a fox, only in books. Can you actually shoot that bow, it looks powerful. Is that a bastard sword? I use a longsword myself, as you can see. Oh wow! Are you one of the rangers of Ethiafell? Even in my homeland we've heard stories of you!" His voice was slightly breathless, his wonderment obvious to see. What had seemed to be a terrible day was now looking up indeed. His wing was healed, he had someone new to talk to, and a very interesting person at that. Life was not all that bad after all. For the first time since his crash, Herandyl was glad he had run away.

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Ozmorin was struck with question after question, and all he did was give a confused look to Little Eden. He began speaking soft and slow, as if speaking to a child of five years, but he was sure the Aina would find it sincere. That already brought a smile to his face.

"That was simple archaic-medicine, when magic was only a whisper and no two-legged creature walked the earth, well maybe bears at times, and the regurgitation was just to mix it quickly and let it work faster, I had no time to act and had to treat quickly. Or so I thought. To answer your second question, yes, I have been trained to use a bow since I was four as to survive, but I digress, I am no ranger. Although I once was. Finally this is 'my pen'. Oh! I almost forgot your most important question throughout your rambling, for this is Little Eden, a fox which was born over ten-thousand years ago and come from a time, like most things I have been taught, when elementals ruled." He patted the top of the fox's head lovingly.

Ozmorin held out his hand and helped the boy to his feet. He looked off down the road and sighed, it was miles until the village where the families were and he could tell that the fancy to help had left him, and Ozmorin, being raised by the wood, is no man to fight intuition. Looking now to the woods to his right, he knew that if he trailed through the forest for miles, he could arrive in the town of Caintry within the day, and he preferred the lush green to the grey stone. Suddenly hearing the slight shuffle of his new companion, he sighed once more realizing he may not be able to tread the thick brush as well with those wings, and he obviously could not fly with such an injured wing. Sadly he could not follow, and Ozmorin looked down at Little Eden and, as he expected, she could see his decision making.

She simply and casually waved her head toward the wood, clearly saying Leave him, there is a village close and I want grub. He will be fine. Let us finally get of this road

Ozmorin nodded and turned to the winged boy. "Sorry, but the way we are going you cannot follow, and there is a village that way," he pointed down the road," where you can get medical supplies. This is farewell, my fellow." Ozmorin placed his hand on the Aina's shoulder in a sarcasticly empathetic way, and then sharply turned into the woods, Little Eden close behind.

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Herandyl stared in shock for a moment, then two as his savior walked off, and then he made a decision. "Hey, wait! I'm coming with you! I'm a good swordsman! And I can fly! Surely thats useful?" While saying that he charged into the underbrush, chasing the elusive ranger that was not a ranger and his companion. Branches tore at every inch of Herandyl but it did not deter him. For in him was the blood of the Aina, and he would not bend to some thistles. Forcing his way through, yelling the occasional "Hey! Wait!" he doggedly pursued Ozmorin. Then, it happened. Not being familiar with moving through the dense wood, he ran straight under a branch that was a little too low, and it scraped the top of his head in an extremely painful way. With a quick curse he unslung his sword and begin hacking his way through the wood in a fit of anger, the sharp sword slashing the bushes with ease, and thus he continued his hunt. He would not be left behind. No, no he would not.