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Maros Esnefon

Nature? More like a playground for the senses.

0 · 325 views · located in Scarkim

a character in “Scarkim”, as played by Ikiros


Name: Maros Esnefon

Age: 22

Sex: Male

Race:Human(ignore the ears in the image, if you would)

Country of Origin: Krass

Mediere specialty: Plant Mediere

Maros Esnefon, a native of Krass and specialist of the Plant Mediere, stands at a rather short height of 5'7", with dark brown hair and olive-toned skin. Despite the choice to wear baggy, rather loose, earthen-toned clothing, It is obvious that he has a fair amount of muscle. His eyes are deep green like his favorite tree's leaves, and he stands with a slightly aloof air, as if nothing seemed to bother him any more than the next thing. His main set of clothing is a green tunic, decorated with abstract golden-yellow designs, a pair of soft cotton pants, a thick leather belt with several small pouches tied to it, and a pair of worn leather boots. Despite his air of foolishness and apathy, one can see that he is more than capable of causing harm both with his scarred fists as well as the stone-topped staff he carries with him.


Maros is incredibly easy-going, more likely to strike up a conversation than fight with a passing stranger. His connection to the plant life around him is the cause of his being so laid back, as the idea of such slow functions as the growth of a tree have caused him to view the human life as nothing more than overwork. Not to say that he isn't a hard worker, when he needs to be. Having grown up on a farm, Maros knows the benefits of hard labor and patience. Because of his childhood and his choice to use the Mediere of the Plants, he finds himself outdoors more often than not, preferring the sun on his face and the grass under his feet to the stone or wood of buildings and cities.

Being outside
Living plants

Hard work
Congested areas

Maros is incredibly weak to fire, spell-wise. He's terrible at fighting with words, as well, which is why he tries his best to keep situations peaceful when he can, and simply avoids a fight altogether, when he cannot dissuade any of the combatants. He also happens to be illiterate, due to his upbringing, though he knows enough math to make sure he isn't ripped off when trading for supplies.


Maros carries with him a slough of objects, all chosen for use in his wild lifestyle. He has a bedroll tied atop his small leather pack, the whole mess of which he carries slung over his back when traveling. Upon his belt he has several pouches, one for salt, another for coin, and a third for objects that catch his eye, no matter how random they might be. For him, if it fits there and he likes it, he'll hold onto it.

Aside from his simple supplies, he also carries with his two distinct weapons. One, a staff, is topped with a rather large, smooth stone wrapped in the gnarled roots at the stave's end. Along with this, he has a shortbow slung over his shoulder for the purpose of hunting small game such as rabbits and the like. To facilitate this form of feeding himself, he has a small quiver of about 15 hand-made wooden arrows, each hardly more than a sharpened stick with fletchings, hung to rest sideways in the small of his back.

And, to top it all off, Maros has at his disposal some weak plant-based Mediere. For him, he uses it mainly to bring berries and other floral edibles to ripeness, though he has been known to coat his skin in a network of nettles and thorns if threatened. Although he is nowhere near perfect with it, he does show a higher then average aptitude and acceptance of the crystals, and using them seems almost natural to him.


Maros grew up as a peasant, his father no more than a farmhand for the local lord. He'd never complained about it, though, as he'd never thought to know anything beyond working a field. And thus things remained calm, quiet, and peaceful for him and his family for a eighteen years. Now, despite his dislike of thievery, Maros had become a bit of a troublemaker in his town as he matured. He never seriously hurt anyone or anything with his antics, but he would bother people to no end, either by skiving off work to simply wander about in the woods, taking in the sights of nature, or by trying to catch the eye of a local maiden.

By coincidence, the maiden was not as she appeared and was actually an illegal mediere dealer. Now, she wasn't selling any from outside the country, but she had cheaper, knock-off version of the plant mediere found in Krass. She'd offered Maros a special offer, a sampling, of her product, and he had accepted. The first time he tried to use it, the crystal fell from his body and his mind was forever changed. Before, he had been lively and content. Afterwards, he no longer saw the point of doing things so quickly, or even why they ought to be done at all.

His family, seeing the obvious effects of something dangerous, sent him into the wild in order to try and remove the stain they saw on their family. He went, almost too willingly, and ended up nearly dead. He was found by a patrol of Krassian Troops who, upon questioning him, decided he needed to see a physician. They took him to the nearest outpost, and the resident healer, an old man who had taken years to learn the ways of Plant Mediere, knew the effects for what they were. He healed Maros' body, but the damage to the boy's mind was done, and could not be reversed. That very same old man was the reason for Maros gaining his first, true mediere.

Maros stayed at the outpost for roughly a year, during which the old man taught him the basics of using the new crystal in his right arm, but despite the man's pleas for him not to leave, Maros could not help but feel drawn to the wide world beyond. They outfitted him with a bow and some supplies, the old man giving Maros the stone-tipped staff, before they sent him on his way.

It has been several years since then, three cycles of the seasons passing in full, before Maros is seen again. This time, he simply seems to be coming to town to hear the words of the world and to find out if anything has been happening since his last true contact with his people.

So begins...

Maros Esnefon's Story


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Character Portrait: Maros Esnefon
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#, as written by Ikiros
From the crest of a grassy hill, Maros looked down upon a small village. He was only coming into town to get himself a new bowstring, as he'd recently broken his current one while out hunting. He looked around himself and then knelt to the ground, his fingers brushing the tops of the long green grass. A smile passed over his face as he felt a warm wind rush over the fields and him. He looked back at the copse of trees he'd camped in.

"I'll come back, my friends. Do not worry about that." He chuckled gently and then started down a slightly-worn path to the village, his eyes lazily scanning the area around him as he moved.

The wind picked up slightly, ruffling Maros' brown hair playfully. He felt one with nature just then, despite the fact that he hadn't even activated the Mediere in his right arm that day. He released a contented sigh, only to see a speck in the distance. Maros, never one to pay much attention to his directions, had been traveling South at the time, and he was just seeing Rafien coming North.

"Hail, friend, and good travels to you," he cried to the young-looking man, his hand raised in greeting. He would have used both, but his other hand was occupied with holding an odd-looking staff, its gnarled end wrapped around a smooth, green stone.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Maros Esnefon Character Portrait: Rifien Sezio
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Mintold's capital drew ever near, while taking in the beauty of the foreign land a man wondered over the hill, with what appeared to be a cane or staff for combat or support. This man seemed different, the design of his clothes seemed to hint at the fact he was a foreigner. If he was on level ground with this incoming identity they would be eye level, but this man was standing on the hillside. Not feeling safe, Rafien began to wonder the intentions of this stranger, not being from this country might mean several things. Before jumping to conclusion Rafien remembered he too was an outsider to Mintold, conclusions should not be made on those he knows nothing about. Just as he was going to say something to the figure the man called out to him. Waving one of his arms in the air, suddenly this presence was less threatening. Not wanting to lower his guard to soon Rafien decided to reply in a sensible manner.

"And good travels to you as well," Rafien said gauging the response of his new acquaintance. As the gap between them shrunk Rafien realized that this stick was not a walking cane as he originally thought, but a staff, something about staffs and other unique weapons rubbed him the wrong way. A sword can come from only a certain number of directions, a staff or weapon made to channel Mediere as if it were an extension of the person was more concerning. Stopping about 10 feet from the person Rafien decided to gather a little more information.

"Seems you, like I, am a foreigner of Mintold. I am actually heading just up ahead to the capital, what business have you in Mintold friend?" Rafien asked trying not to give off an aggressive or too friendly vibe. Conflict this early would not end well for anyone in these types of situations. The best thing to do keep your guard up and hope for the best. With any luck at all this man would just be traveling through on his way to sell goods or visit distant land. Rafien hoped that this person would not be aggressive for he simple facts that fighting so close to the capital would draw unnecessary attention and he wished to stay under the radar. Not that Rafien was not a talented fighter but he did not wish to simply fight anyone but those he felt needed to die.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Maros Esnefon Character Portrait: Rifien Sezio
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#, as written by Ikiros
Maros stepped lightly through the swaying grasses, smiling gently as they seemed to leans towards him as he passed. He trailed his free hand absently through the taller bits and what few bushes were on his way, but otherwise he did nothing as he approached Rifien. He looked over the man, noting the large blade and various bits of armor that he wore. Maros, no novice to battle, recognized that if he were to fight her and now, he would likely lose. Then again, the seemingly simplistic man really had no reason to fight, as Rifien had done nothing to provoke him, nor had he done anything to harm the wild. Not that Maros knew of, that is.

"My business in Mintold? Is that where I am? Huh. Anyways, I'm simply coming out of the wild to stock up on some supplies like salt and other such things that I cannot find in the forests. If you'd like, I can travel in with you. Two people out together are less suspicious than two individual wandering, in these times." He chuckled and then tucked the staff through the straps of his medium-sized pack, letting it rest between the leather and his back so that his hands were free.

"Trust me, I'd rather just get in and out, rather than be picked on by some bored city guard. Knowing them, they'd likely stop you, but if we enter together and get stopped, I can say I hired you to protect me as I traveled, since I only have this fancy staff of mine. I would have my bow, but I left it at camp..." He trailed off, growing slightly whimsical and light with his voice, almost as if he weren't all there, mentally. It was, in fact, very close to the truth, though he was feeling a slight current in his mind that was similar tot he currents of plant growth around him.