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Jolai Revthi

A gentle giant, Jolai is a heidrox druid easily identifiable by the horns on his head, oh, and also those giant bat wings.

0 · 144 views · located in Nazria

a character in “The Age of Change - Year of the black march”, as played by piearty

Description

Jolai Revthi
Male
Heidrox
6'6"
40 (equivalent to a 25 year old human)

A stocky, average height heidrox. Considered young, equivalent to a 25 year old human, by his kind. Has horns on his head, though they don't do much good as they are small and curve backwards. He also has large bat-like wings on his back, which serve less as functional flying aids and more as attractors of negative attention from other races. He can glide with them, slow falls, and jump farther and higher distances than average with their assistance, but that's about it. He tends to wear a dark blue cowl and cloak in case he needs to hide these features, which is quite often-- His wings can fold very close to his body and hide under the cloak if need be. Otherwise his simple, inconspicuous clothes are mostly designed to work around the wings.


A gentle, somewhat melancholy person, Jolai usually feels awkward and out of place around others, due to his physical presence, namely his wings, being so in the way. He tends to bend and flex them repeatedly when he gets upset or agitated, which makes things worse. The most comfortable position for him is having his wings out, slightly extended, but as that tends to garner negative reactions from others for a variety of reasons, he's gotten used to folding the wings under his cloak around company and simply being uncomfortable.
Jolai has a tendency to speak slowly and thoughtfully. He prefers being in a group but has found himself independent and alone far more often in his life than he'd like. For various reasons he's strived to be friendly, agreeable, and demurring, and prefers to follow rather than lead. However he is not a doormat; often he doesn't care how things will go and thus will go along with them happily, but if he does have an opinion, he will be rather firm about it.


Jolai is a competent fighter in his regular form and is familiar with basic hand-to-hand combat. He can take quite a few hits, but fighting isn't his favorite thing. As a druid, he tends to shapeshift into either a raven, a panther, or a wolf (or whatever their equivalents are in this world) and thus these forms don't take more than the usual amount of effort. He carries high energy foods and stamina tablets in a belt specifically to bolster him for transformations. Otherwise he travels light, and doesn't carry any weapons aside from a small knife.


Jolai lived in a small heidrox village that got burned to the ground in the war. His family managed to escape, luckily, but as far as they know their village's highly localized culture, history, and language live on only in them. He speaks this language and the common language. Jolai felt compelled when he was younger to somehow avenge the loss of his village and thus set out on his own, but having no real goal or plan on how to do this he found himself mostly wandering Nazria alone, joining the occasional adventuring group out of curiousity and amenability.

So begins...

Jolai Revthi's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Garem Nocht Character Portrait: Aki Sifa Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia

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The evening drags on in this isolated section of the world, people are returning from their days in the fields while others still are fast asleep in bed. The land of Nazria is still in its throws of daily movement and none are stopping to pay heed to the changing winds or the the cooling air of the night. For those that stand watch however, it is just the beginning of their duties. The small city of Kontr sits idle, holding its position as it always has as one of the most diverse trading locations in all of Nazria. Behind its sandstone walls, beaten by the arid winds rushing in from the western planes. Sits a city filled to the brim with people of all cultures and walks of life.

But be it a butcher or a tanner, the hunters to the clergy.
Our story starts were many stories do.
In a well known tavern sitting in the center of the city known as the Purple Wurm, patrons talk and drink themselves into a stupor to forget the troubles of life and celebrate another day of harsh living survived.


The air of the tavern is filled with spiced meats and the aromas of sullen drink. Buxom woman pass with the slightest winks, carrying their load of drinks from table to table, only stopping to swat the idle hand and blow and pressing kiss. This place is a testament to the mix of the lives within the city, with the visions of so many races within the multitude of faces in this crowd. One must concentrate to catch a glimpse of the passing elf, or the towering warrior that ponders by. However all of these faces and all of these lives are the usual in this town, always here in this tavern at this time and only a few are here by chance, or providence if that is more accurate.

The entertainer sitting idle at his table however, was pulling attention his way.


Because in the back of the tavern, there sits a table that is nearly devoid of patrons scrambling around it. All that sits there is a man no one knows and more interestingly, no one had seen arrive. He sits in his seat, with a large mug in front of him and several silver pieces scattered beside it. He plays a guitar and keeps his head held low, drumming out low notes and humming to himself as if the whole world did not matter. His visage however was what drew the most attention from those around his table, eyes locked on his tattered clothes and the look of his skin stretched thin on his boney hands.

His voice on the other hand was clear and smooth, every sound his voice made seemed clear and precise. Those that plied their attention were caught in his story and listened with great care.

"The winds of change are blowing my friends.. and soon all with cease to be as you know it." He strums several small times before tuning his guitar for the third time that night. Each pluck of the strings, letting a fine trail of dust free from the instruments frame. "But do not fear, for all this change is exactly what has been seen before and will always come to pass."

"The real question is, where will you be when the march comes through?" He says with a draw in his breath, laughing at the blank stares from a number of onlookers.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Garem Nocht Character Portrait: Aki Sifa Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia

0.00 INK

#, as written by Alligot
Atma






The Purple Wurm. The Prancing Stallion. The Red Lion.

The Vibrant Lotus. The Timid Mouse. The Opulent Guardsman.
The Hopping Stag. The Gilded Dragon. The Three Points.

Which was it, again?


The names of all these inns and taverns often blended together for Atma. Memories that were never hers often collided, fighting like wildcats for her attention, her notice. Though these places never truly seemed to change regardless of distance or even time. There was always the smell of spiced ale and sizzling, fatty meat. It was always incredibly dim - almost too dim for her poor eyesight. They were all even named in similar ways.

The same people. Different faces. Different names.

Always the weary drunks, the frilly serving girls.
Always the tired farmers, the cautious traveler, the boisterous entertainer.

Atma personally knew nobody here. Once in a while, she'd see a face, and hear a whispered name, recall the memory of another. In the dim light, it was too difficult for this. Yet it wasn't too difficult to quickly and efficiently stereotype everyone currently inside. After all, taverns were always the same.

Like all taverns, there was always someone playing music. Here, she could hardly hear it over the noise and bustle. The gentle, precise touch on a guitar, the owner of which seemed impossibly old - even to Atma. She had not paid him much mind. She'd heard worse. She'd heard better. The man was quiet in both tone and play.

Then he spoke about the march.


The March of Darkness.
The Black March.
An omen brought on by fog.
Ask.
It never hurts.
It's what - - -


Atma shut her mind - closed the gate. It could never truly drown out their gossips, forever lingering in the back of her mind, but at least she could ignore it. It was strange, though. Most, from what she had heard, had started to flee the fog - the death that reportedly came alongside. She seemed to be the only one heading straight for it.

She again glanced around at the patrons, taking a sip of cider.

How many of them are fleeing? And how many of them are as foolish as I?

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Garem Nocht Character Portrait: Aki Sifa Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia Character Portrait: Veran Del'Lok

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#, as written by piearty
Sitting in the back corner of bars, head low, hood up, hiding in the shadows, was never Jolai’s favorite thing; it made him feel like a common criminal. But when sitting out in the open, even with his wings curled under his cloak, he tended to get, to put it mildly, rather unwanted attention, and he assumed the patrons at The Purple Wurm would think just as well of heidroxes as the next bar over and the next—that is, not well.

He had been wandering around aimlessly again for a few weeks, sometimes with people, sometimes not. When he was with people during that time, a topic became more and more apparent on travelers’ lips: a march. A fog. Something on the horizon, and, from the fearful way that people often spoke of it, something bad. They wouldn’t speak very much of it, if he asked—only that they needed to get away. It made him curious. He wanted to know more. And, since that was a purpose as much as any, and he had been purposeless for far too long, he meandered over to the nearest city to try to find out about it.

First a rest and a drink, he had thought, and this was how he ended up in the Purple Wurm. He figured after that he’d speak to whomever seemed friendly or knowledgeable (preferably both) around town.

He hadn’t expected to find someone of that description so soon.

For here in the bar was a man strumming a guitar and singing—singing of the march! Though Jolai was quite a ways away from the singer, he heard the words quite clearly, and when he heard mention of the march, he pricked up his ears and listened harder.

The man’s words were quite vague, and he chuckled as if he enjoyed this fact. Jolai supposed if he wanted to know more, he’d have to get up and ask him. The thought did not make him happy. Drawing attention to himself in a tiny, enclosed space with a lot of people? He drew back into the shadows at the thought of it. Not that he didn’t like people, of course. He just liked the ability to run away quickly when it turned out they didn’t like him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Veran Del'Lok

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The sound of the Inn bustled on as many of the patrons began to shuffle in and out, keeping too themselves in the end of things and only caring about their own lives. Those that crossed paths and spoke only did so sparingly, even then however that too ended quickly. However the man in the back of the Inn kept playing and from time to time, would take a swig from his tankard, using a silver piece to pay for his poison.

He had the look of an old miner, with years spent below the earth. His hair; dark and matted from the days spent without water and the cracked nails on his fingers. His skin pale and gaunt with the years of abuse, but he kept on playing his guitar as if the ailments could never truly bother him. As he lifts his head from its bowed position, one eye shows from below the draping of his hair, a deep gorgeous blue and almost glowing in the light of the lamp on his table. A few of the other patrons continue to watch him and listen, as if was their entertainment for the full night. A few laughing and pointing on as well as a few lost in their thoughts during his strumming and tuning.

"But you know its all just fates design" He said with one last sip, before placing the tankard down and sliding his fingers down the neck of his guitar. A smooth and sorrowful moan escaping the confines of its frame. "The rules of fate will always apply, how do you think I got this little gem..?" He proceeds to slide back his hair revealing what would have been his left eye. Instead however there was a patch surrounded by a multitude of scars, as if his head had been caved in with a hammer. He just laughs as the little joke played its way out in his mind and let the hair fall back into place before returning his hand to his guitar and looking around is table. Taking in the multitude of faces to be seen.

"But there are exceptions to fates plan.. those that exist outside the desired order & chaos. People who can make a difference.. heh." He grasp three silvers up from the table and places them directly in front of himself, flipping them as he spoke. "It could be the lonely outcast, a heidrox from afar who lost it all in the war. No where to go, no place to call home.."

Another coin flips on the table "Or maybe the adventurous little kin-ling, always on the prowl for another mission, another quest and the next coin to grace his pocket. His years of fighting for another behind him and now he just fights for himself.."

The last coin he palms for a moment turning it on the tip of his fingers "Or the lost little girl.. a human with no voice of her own. So many in one little space and not one of them her own.."

"Fate has so much more in store for these three, but more so to come. Though they travel and see the light behind the darkness, will they come to see the darkness that masquerades as light itself.
* * * *

Both Veran and Atma feel something shift in the air, as if the world around them had become colder and more somber with the dying of the last light of day. It is however magical in nature and vastly unnatural to this world, with several voices within Atma speaking in stammering riddle. On the other side of the table Jolai can see something is not right as well, the usual pest in the tavern were quick to vacate, every rat down to the smallest insect began to flee.

Like a mass exodus was about to occur.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Veran Del'Lok

0.00 INK

#, as written by piearty
Jolai was contemplating whether to get up and ask the singer about the march, lost in thought until the mention of heidroxes, which grabbed his attention immediately. Mention of his race rarely went well. And as the singer continued, “…from afar who lost it all in the war…” Jolai’s wings began to stir nervously under his cloak.

“Nowhere to go, no place to call home…”

Is he talking about me? Jolai wondered, his brow furrowing. That didn’t seem like a good thing. Was he infamous? Wanted for some unknown crime? It was a rather accurate description of him, though, he noted, there were many who lost things in the war, and many who found themselves stranded. Perhaps he’s talking about another, he tried to reassure himself. Were there other heidroxes in this bar? He swept the corners and shadows with his gaze, but there didn’t seem to be. Perhaps there was a heidrox living in the town that the singer was referring to.

As his wings continued to stretch and bend, more agitatedly now (he was grateful for the shadows that hid this), he had the sinking feeling that there wasn’t, and the singer was talking about him after all.

What had he been saying before that? Why had he mentioned this specific heidrox anyway? Jolai tried to remember. Something about exceptions. And fate. He knows something, something about me. I must ask him now, no excuses.

He began to stand up but started as a furry something ran across his foot. Quickly he peered under the table to identify it (a rat) and was shocked to find another, and another, running out from the corners and holes in the walls. Cockroaches were among them, along with other bugs. He blanched a bit and his wings flexed further, despite himself. He tried to tuck them back in, but they resisted.

Raising his head back above the table, he looked in the direction the rats and bugs were going. Out of the tavern, out, out all, out the door and into the sunset. What is happening? He glanced around at the chattering patrons. And why is no one else noticing?

A chill ran through his body and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. If anyone will know, it’s the singer. He glanced back at his wings, which were forming a noticeable, shifting lump underneath the cloak. Sighed. I’ll take the risk of being chased out, if only to find out what is going on. And with only the slightest hesitation, marched out from the shadows to the man.

“Excuse me,” he said firmly, then paused. He hadn’t exactly formulated what to ask. Then, feeling a bit stupid, he asked, “What are you talking about?”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Veran Del'Lok

0.00 INK

#, as written by Alligot
Atma







"Or the lost little girl... a human with no voice of her own. So many in one little space and not one of them her own..."

The mute slowly stood - her stance momentarily unsteady. The singer had once been a mild curiosity. Now... she didn't know. Her thoughts pulled at her this way and that way, various instincts urging her to run - to kill - to flee - to confront. She didn't dare expose her mind further because for once, she could no longer understand the melody beyond. They spoke in stunted syllables, in alien tongues.

Her glaive was heavy in hand. The weight was familiar - welcomed. It reminded her where she was, tethered the thoughts that made Atma to the earth, even while every sense seemed to scream. The chaos beyond - once, so familiar, was now a riddle to her again, just like when she was a child. Even the very air in this world seemed to betray her now. Breathing seemingly became more difficult, and she swore her lungs would freeze with every stolen breath.

But - nobody else seemed to notice. Not the patrons, not the workers.

Nobody but her.

Her gaze locked to the singer. He seemed a man worn by the world. An aging mountain, waiting to crumble from hundreds of years of constant erosion - waiting for the slightest wrong wind to release him. He spoke in riddles almost more confusing than the dead. Talks of prophesy, fate. Of light and dark. And of the world that lurked beyond her thoughts. Normally, she paid doomsayers no heed. Yet, not a single living being was to have known about the world that lurked behind her mind.

She had only taken a first step before she saw a shrouded figure approach the singer. They must have been very tall, for even despite the hunched appearance, they seemed to tower above everyone in the building.

"It could be the lonely outcast, a heidrox from afar who lost it all in the war."


The memory was thrust into her thoughts. She was rather certain it wasn't her own. She gave the man a second look - scrutinizing subtle movements she had missed earlier. It could be a heidrox - the heidrox. Who else would have approached the singer after those words?

She heard the confronting man ask something, though she hardly made it out. Her pace stopped just a few feet short of the duo. Perhaps it was fortunate that the other one mentioned had asked first. Her own method of questioning would have been much less pleasant, and considerably more invasive.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Veran Del'Lok

0.00 INK

The man crooned his face over as the taller of the three approached him, stepping a finger on his strings to quiet them in that moment. He looked up at Jolai for a moment before flashing a small grin, the left side of which opened to show several cracked teeth, slightly blackened from the years of abuse. "Aww.. always first, never the last.." He lays the last silver piece down and returns to lightly strumming his instrument, with no real tune in mind.

"All I talk about is fate and its plan... though my purpose here is just to spread word of the march" He pulls up his tankard and drinks deep from its contents, chugging heavily until the last of its treasure is spent and knocks it back on top of the table. His skin being so dry that the edges of his mouth crack open and nearly blister from just the act of drinking.

"But don't you think its a strange coincidence that I sit here, speaking of you and things to come... or some trick of the gods?"
His cold blue eye shoots past Jolai's side and right toward Atma, his gaze meeting hers as she stared on. Only for him to meet her with a wry smile as well. Only to return his attention back to his guitar "Either way, there isn't much time left for this place now.. such a shame too, I really enjoyed the drink." He says with a deep sigh as he catches his stings once again.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Veran Del'Lok

0.00 INK

#, as written by Alligot
Atma





Forget about the man's voice or knowledge. He himself seemed unnatural. Like as if the gods themselves made a caricature of the most weathered, beaten man they could fathom. Atma swore the only way a man like this could stand is either with a miracle or with magic. Of course, it could be an illusion. It could be no man at all, or perhaps a much younger-seeming sorcerer disguising their features. Maybe it might actually be a messenger of the gods, though Atma doubted that most of all.

Atma stole a glance behind her as the singer finished speaking. Only a few vermin were still fleeing from the tavern by now and the rest had likely already made their escape outside, where some joyous predator would eat their fill. Would she share their fate, as prey for the march?

She gave the singer a last, scrutinizing look, before rapidly turning about and leaving. She half-expected the strange chill to disappear once she stepped out, but it did not. It still smothered the air as her eyes started to adjust to the dark, moonlit streets. Her hearing was poor - yet she did not hear anything amiss. The growling of some alley animal in the distance. Laughter and noise coming from within the inn. Nothing seemed wrong - nothing sounded wrong. Yet, everything still felt wrong. She felt foolish, mentally debating on whether or not the singer's warning had merit. It could be part of an elaborate scheme... or, maybe he was right.

Well, she had dealt with traps before.

Atma started to jog in the direction of the western walls, specifically heading for a certain chapel. The building was modest, save for an obscenely large belltower that one could plainly see peeking over the grand walls as they entered. She hoped that once she got there, she would see nothing but plain sand. She knew she might see much more.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Atma Gatae Character Portrait: Crowen Antillia

0.00 INK

The path Atma travels on is slightly devoid of people, everyone heading home to bed or those starting their night on watch with the guard are all that can be seen. Though the odd passerby from the enjoying the nights festivities is not unheard of and she was could see them stagger by with a drink still in hand.

The western gate was soon in sight now as her feet padded on the cobblestone below and the chapel itself was even more close. As she looked, the men on watch would peer on both sides of the large walls to check for any trouble that could be present. There was an odd commotion though, people coming with with a haste in their step and though she was too far away to hear them, or see their expressions. It was simple enough to know that something was wrong with the way the night was turning out.

* * * *


As she rounded the corner and crossed the street to get to the chapel, she could see it was a decently sized gathering place for the people on this side of the city. It was one of the only buildings in the city save for the barracks and municipal building. In fact it was one of the oldest as well, being there since even before the walls were a thought on the citizens minds. It was a large elongated building with stain glass windows gracing each side and a thick large wooden door, painted red with a matching carpet cascading down the steps to the street. The pride of the chapel was its tall bell tower that sat high above the cities skyline, catching the light of the sun with its large polished brass bell. Her feet made it to the base of the stair before looking up to see figures conversing at the top.

Two men stood at the door of the chapel, holding a conversation between one another and paying no mind to the patrons as they left that nights service. One was easily determinable as the deacon, thanks to his bright red garb and singular golden chain. The hair upon his head, unshaven or trimmed for several seasons was long, gray and thick with time. The same was for his bear too, nearly draping over the amulet hung upon his chest and he spoke with the usual air of authority, despite his calm demeanor.

"Well Crowen, I'd like to thank you again for helping with Morgans vassals. It was unfortunate about dear friar Hagen though.. such a shame." He handed over a small purse of coins to Crowen who accepted them with a measure of piety. "I know, if only others could learn not to play with powers they don't fully understand. That would make both our lives far easier." The deacon nodded in a solemn response before lifting his head to the night air. "I think its time to tend to the rest of the flock.. go in peace Crowen" "And you as well father Janos" The two shake hands and part with the deacon returning inside and Crowen walking down the steps till he reaches the bottom.

"It is considered rude when you listen listen to the conversations of others." He says as he turns an eye over to Atma, while producing a small red pipe from a pouch on the side of his armor. "If you've come for absolution then you'd best hurry. Father Janos will be closing the doors soon.. and its in your best interest to get inside"

* * * *


Several voices clamour for attention from within Atma, some speaking of a voice that he does not speak with and a voice that follows him, just like the others that follow Atma from time to time. However one voice can be heard speaking above the others, for it had only one thing to say, repeating on calm words. He knows

* * * *


While inside the tavern, Jolai kept his eyes locked on the musician as he slowly played and laughed. "Its okay young man, things always look bleak before the light comes.. here" He grabs a silver from the table and flicks it through the air, twirling towards Jolai. Causing him to catch it in response and look back at the musician as he tips his head once again. "Just hold tight and enjoy the ride young man, the night is far from being over."
In that instant a group of men, guardsmen clad in their armor pour in through the door of the tavern. A commotion easily caused by their entering, but they said very little. Instead they went through the crowd calling out names and picking faces from the crowd. Some responding with a title that draws them to the guards and others names being called with the word militia on its tail. It seemed the guards were calling their men back into action and organizing some sort of militia from previous names.

Jolai hears the musicians voice once more as he laughs again, only to turn and see that the odd man was now gone. The only evidence of his existence now was the large mug, now turned over and draining its contents on the table.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jolai Revthi Character Portrait: Veran Del'Lok

0.00 INK

#, as written by RCJJ23
Image





As the girl left the tavern, Veran almost followed her, compelled by the magical atmosphere but he held still. He still wanted to see what the ragged man would say, but he was mainly silent, strumming his instrument with an aimless yet tuneful sound.

When the guardsmen burst through the door, Veran's hand gripped around his sword and drew it slightly, and among the clamor, it was silent. When he realized what they were doing, he set his blade back into its scabbard. When he glanced back at the ragged man's direction, he was gone, with the hunched over Heidrox standing still in front of the table where the ragged man was. Quickly, Veran got up from his table. What had just happened soured his mood, and he felt like taking a walk would help him, until he felt a hand slap his shoulder, and he turned to face the one who did so.

It was a guardsman, his face young and familiar. He was slim, the body underneath holding against the leather and mail of the town guardsmen. He was one of the sentries that had allowed Veran to pass into Kontr.

"Oi, you're that Ranger that's in town ain't ya? Serve the people and all that right? Well, you've seen what's 'appening, come on; you've got to help us man the walls!"

Veran groaned slightly. He'd cast himself as a Ranger that was passing through on the way back from his latest mission, and with his garb, bow and sword, who was the guardsman to argue? The man was either too new to realize that Rangers mainly operated separately from any city guard, and they held no sway over any of the Ranger Corp's actions. Or he was just too stupid and arrogant and over gorged on ale to think straight. Either way, he shrugged off the guard's hand and slipped through the crowd of men and into the night air, half expecting the unnatural air to dissipate, but to his displeasure, it did not. He did not plan on actually helping the city guard, he still felt like it would be intelligent to go and check on what had stirred the guard into such action.

He made his way to the walls, slipping through the night silently. After sneaking his way past the distracted guards, it stepped onto the sandstone walls' battlements, looking over where the guardsmen were looking. He was in the shadows, and his clothing blended against the sandstone, any guardsmen were unlikely to spot him, and even if they did, he could claim that he was a Ranger, seeking to help, then slip away once again once they left.

He took a look over the walls.