Malkyr Olsail

A priest of the Un-Shallic religion. Believed by many to be a living saint. Known by few to be a man plauged by guilt.

0 · 206 views · located in Kingdom of Magic

a character in “We Are the Few”, as played by Wake



"Walk with faith in the light of Monah-Shall-la."

Name: Malkyr Olsail

Nickname: He is called Mal by friends but is more widely know as Saint Olsail by the public. Some among those who oppose him and his ideals refer to him as the burned man. In his past though, back when he was just a small time bandit thug, he was known as Malkyr the malicious. Few people outside his original home know of this last name and he would prefer to keep it that way. Bring it up is likely to get him angry.

Role: The Martyr

Age: 23

Gender: Male... Technically. Malkyr is actually a Eunuch.

Romantic Interest(s): none

Sexuality: Malkyr could be classified as straight.


"Sear this flesh. With great tolerance, may it endure the suffering of this world so that the soul with in may be purified."

Height: 5'10"

Weight: 138 Lbs

Hair: Hairless

Eyes: Blue

Description: Thin to the point of being seemingly malnourished, Malkyr's frame looks as though he is sickly and of poor health, yet he still manages to walk upright and firm as if he were well. A casual observer would notice that he is missing some of his fingers on his left hand. Though Malkyr has many scars and other blemishes his biggest disfigurement is what appear to be magically afflicted burns that cover practically his entire body. These burns generally leave him feeling sore most of the time, though he has become use to over the years and it now feels more as a dull ache.

Preferred Clothing: Due to the burns that scorch his body Malkyr has to cover himsel almost entirely with bandages that he needs to change occasionally. To help keep them from getting dirty he wears a thick over coat and large hat, which also help to keep out the heat.


"In her name I walk. By her voice I speak. By her hands I act. Freely shall I give of my self so that the misfortunate may find their way to Un-Shall-la's bosom, and enjoy peace and contentment in her embrace."

Personality: In part of his way to emulate, Malkyr has taken it upon himself to self discipline his behavior so that he may act in a way that would befit a priest of Monah-Shall-la. Having spent a long time in the care and tutelage of monks, he tries to hold himself to a higher standard of behavior. As such he mostly speaks firmly but politely, his speech often eloquent and formal in a attempt to be humble and modest.
He tries to humble himself and be modest. He is a kind man, having know what it's like to be in poverty and starving and as such shows great sympathy for others and is freely generous towards those in need. But this also makes him sensitive to certain behavior. Malkyr has a strong sense of justice and of morality, and he won't stand for any behavior he deems 'wicked'. This comes from very strong beliefs he has on salvation and purification, and are ideals he has decided to live, and die for.
These convictions of his are very strong, and some would accuse him of out right fanaticism. Their not far off, but this obsession with salvation does not stem from any of the lessons taught to him by his teachers, but rather a personal shame. Malkyr, though he likely will never admit it even to himself, feels deeply guilty about his life before joining the priesthood of Monah-Shall-la and has ever since tried to remake himself to put his past behind him. To this extent he would willingly sacrifice himself for what he believes is the greater good. For him, nothing is to great a price for salvation.

Oddities: Malkyr's taste buds no longer work, so he isn't picky about what he eats even if what he's eating is extremely spicy or foul tasting. Because of this he's gained a reputation for having an iron stomach.

Also, while it wouldn't be considered 'odd' considering that he is a priest, Malkyr does have a tendency to go into prayer at regular intervals. Usually this happens before certain meals or when he lays down to sleep. However he does seem to go into meditation at random times off his normal schedule. During these times he'll be unusually quiet and look as though he is struggling with a deep thought when he should be trying to clear his mind.

Likes: Wine or any similar type of alcohol. Sweet smells. Happy children. Poetry. Clean water.

Dislikes: Rudeness. Thieves and bandits. Cruelty. Greed. Getting his bandages dirty.

Dogs: He was attack by one as a child and often had to contend with wild ones as a child while growing up on the streets.
Fire: Just because he allowed his skin to be burned doesn't mean he wants to repeat the act.
Failing to redeem himself in the eyes of his goddess: As said before, Malkyr has a lot of buried guilt over his past actions.



"If you are the innocent who has suffered, come to me and I shall heal your pains. But if you are the wicked who has caused the suffering then hold your tongue and test not my patience! If you would continue your cruelty then be warned sinner, for my faith is strong and my fury righteous!"

Skills: Malkyr has learned much from both his upbringing among Monah-Shall-la's monks and his travels along then land. In his youth as an acolyte he was taught much in the ways of medicine and linguistics, both of which have become of great value to him. Firstly with the medicine as he has constant need of the skill to clean his wounds and alleviate his afflictions. His language skill has also helped him on his travels, allowing him to work out the dialect of foreign the peoples he visits and, most astoundingly, decipher the ancient writing that some find lining the interiors of the mysterious dungeons. He credits this as a major factor in his conquest of the dungeon within the holy city of Masha he hailed from.

He also has... other talents that he's not as proud of that he learned in his youth. Things that revolve around thievery and mugging. Things like how to drag a blade across the skin to maximize bleeding, or cut a belt strings to take someones purse without them knowing. As ashamed he is to admit it, Malkyr is quite quick handed with a knife and all that a skill like that would imply.

Weaknesses: Though Malkyr has been granted many virtues thanks to his Djinn he also has gained many vulnerabilities as well. Chiefly is the toll his many 'offerings' have taken on his body, and while he may have been blessed with him great physical prowess, it has also left his body rather frail and as such he can't withstand the same punishment he can dish out. Further more the lost of his left arm and eye has resulted in a deficiency in his left flank's defense. AND the combative use of his Djinn requires a price on his part, such as a little of his blood or having to suffer some bit of pain.

Only fill out this section if your character is a Magi or a Magician. If they are, please describe what their powers generally entail and how good your character is at using them.

Abilities: Ghul, the Djinn that serves Malkyr, is able to offer many powers, both active and passive. However they all require some form of... trade for use. To start with Ghul can increase his bearer's base physical traits, strength, agility, perception, reaction time and even recovery rate. Each and every one however requires Malkyr to give away a piece of himself.

Malkyr can also absorb the suffering of others. Diseases, injuries, and sometimes even curses or mental traumas. As long as the cause of the persons suffering isn't detached from them or enforced by powerful magics Martyr can remove it from the afflicted simply by touching them. However, the cost of doing this is to have the affliction effect Malkyr instead, giving his body the symptoms of what ever disease or the pain of injury his 'patient' had suffered.

Finally the actual combative powers granted by Ghul. By feeding a bit of blood into Ghul's dagger Malkyr can create and control a large amount of corrosive liquid. He has become very creative with his acidic powers, using his dagger to direct it like a whip and recently he's discovered how too convert it into a poisonous gas-like form.

Weapon(s): The Ghoulish Blade, a long dagger that houses Malkyr's Djinn.

Fighting Style: Malkyr is a bit of a glass cannon. He has used Ghul's sacrificial powers to great extent to enhance his physical strength and agility, but it has come at the cost of a weaker frame and weakened defense. To compensate for this, he's developed a fighting stance set around mobility and reach. Malkyr isn't the kind of person who can take to many risk in battle, so instead he prods at his opponent. Slowly mapping out their movements and wears them down and only launches a direct assault when he's sure he can come out on top. And when he final does take someone head on, they find out exactly how much surprising power is stored in that thin frame of his.



"Through humble beginnings was I set upon this blessed path. In my origins, by the mentors of adversity and sympathy, I was taught to see the light of Monah-Shall-la and marvel in her brilliance. Here and now I walk the lands far and wide, so that I might spread that light to those that need it, so all may bask in the warmth of Monah-Shall-la's love."

Family: He never new his mother, and would rather not talk about his father. There is an Abby in the holy city, one of several, which he spent his adolescence in. He considers the monks and nuns of that place to be his family.

History: Malkyr spent much of his youth as part of a small bandit gang on the outskirts of a city on the shore. Back then he was a belligerent little brat, quick to start trouble and concerned mostly with his own needs. He had to, for that place was a poor town filled by self-centered nobles that horded their own wealth, crime bosses profiteering on the underclass, and people more concerned with their own survival than one little boy.

After a series of thefts and vandalism on his part the towns guard had enough of him when he was caught stealing from a Shallic priest visiting the Governor. They nearly executed him then and there, but the priest intervened. Not only did he pardon the young boy, but he also allowed Malkyr to keep what he has stolen. This shocked the young boy, who until then had never seen a such selfless act. When he asked why, the priest smiled and simply said "It is not for me to judge what the desperate and downtrodden do to gain what they need. But it is for me to give them the happiness they deserve." He spoke with the priest a few times after that. And when he and his entourage left the city, he offered Malkyr to accompany him. An thus Malkyr eventually found himself in the Shallic Holy city of Masha as an acolyte of the goddess Monah-Shall-la.

There he studied everything the monks could teach him. This was a chance to start a new life for him and he wanted to make himself something better then what he was before. Just as that priest had done for him, he too now wished to bring Monah-Shall-la's light of salvation to the suffering. Still though, old habits died hard and Malkyr was just as much a trouble maker as before, just in a different way. He was still a wildly independent individual and still got into fights, though this time it usually was in the defense of someone else. He couldn't leave it alone if he saw someone in distress, either from being pushed around or just not having the ability to take care of themselves. Some would note that he was developing a worrying obsession of helping people even if it ended up costing him. This led to his risky behavior in 'borrowing' food and medical supplies, and occasionally butting heads with landlords and merchants over someone's debt.

As you can imagine, he would regularly get called before the tribunal for his actions. During such trials he would argue constantly that the clergy should do more to help the people, that the righteous Monah-Shall-la favors are those who do more then simply sit and pray. If they truly wished to spread the light of their Goddess across the world then they would do so by reaching out and giving people a hand to raise them to their feet. The passion with which he made these arguments would win over some, but also irritate others who believed they should remain detached teachers rather then peacekeepers and just saw him as another delinquent trying to justify his antics. He accepted his punishments, though in an increasingly disgruntled manner.

One night after a particularly heated shouting match between himself and a bishop, Malkyr practically stormed out of the lower abbey district. Furious with his superior's passive behavior and overly filled with young rebelliousness, he looked up to the towers of the great cathedral and made a choice. The cathedral, it was built around the entrance to one of the mythical dungeons. The spiraling ancient structure towering as the highest point in all of Masha. The clergy believed that since the dungeon appeared on a holy site then it had to have been created by their goddess, and a such it was test of her faithful to find her chosen. Malkyr didn't care for the rumor or legend. He was a determined young man bloated with pride and a desire to prove himself in front of those who thought him an rowdy naive child.

He entered the dungeon that night, much to the surprise and horror of those close to him. They expected him to perish like everyone else who had ventured inside. Instead though, an even greater surprise waited for them when they saw the dungeon collapse and a battered but victorious Malkyr emerge from where it once stood. This shook up the clergy greatly as they debated the meaning behind this. Malkyr, however, to what provisions he could said his goodbyes and left. He had what he wanted and was now sure of himself and his beliefs.

Heading West far into the desert, Malkyr wandered as a missionary. Everywhere he went he searched for people in need, teaching them what he knew medicine, agriculture, literature and mathematics. Dispensing what he called righteous justice upon those he perceived as wicked and cruel. And all the while spreading the word of his goddess.

Many years have passed since Malkyr left on his pilgrimage. Time and experience has tempered his rambunctious behavior and humbled him once more. In the years some tales of his exploits have spread, earning him much fame... and animosity. For while he has helped many in his travels, there are some who don't wish for the words of this priest from a foreign land to be heard, and would see him silenced.

Already he has begun to encounter the assassins sent for him.

Other: Details of the Monah-Shallic religion and Malkyr's place in it will be added later.

So begins...

Malkyr Olsail's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Malkyr Olsail

0.00 INK

#, as written by Wake
There was a large crowd of people amassed outside the city gates. So were locals, survivors of the fire who escaped bodily unscathed but lost their homes and now waited on the outskirts while the city officials decided what to do with them. Others were pilgrims and foreigners, come to see what had happened to the great tree and pay their respects. The later group was a problem for the guards, as keeping track of the large influx of these people was consuming of both time and man power. Something which caused great annoyance for those trying to keep looters out of the city.

But the men stationed at the gate that morning would have something to distract them from the endless complaints of visitors over the tightened security. At some point the constant murmurings in the crowd started to die down towards the back. This was slowly followed by a silence that confused guards gate guards. Sections of the crowd started to part over calls of "make way make way", and the men at the gate found their confusion giving way to surprise. Realizing who was coming, they moved to help clear a path in the crowd before standing at attention once more and bowing their heads in respect.

"Make way for Saint Olsail and the priesthood of Monah Shall-la!"

Quietly, a group of men and women dressed in ornate robes and carrying various symbols passed through the gates. Leading the group, flanked on both sides by fellow monks, was a man covered in bandages. It was for this man that the crowd parted and bowed.

The news of the Magi tree's demise had reached the Monah-Shallic's just as quickly as everyone else, and it was bitter and frightful to them as well, taking it a sign of ill omens. This man that lead the group had gathered up a group of fellow monks when he heard the news, hoping to bring in medical supplies. He had never seen the Great tree in person before, and like many others he wanted to see what had happened to it. But unlike most others he had... concerns over how the event had conspired. Concerns he wanted to verify for himself.

Quickly he entered the gates, allowing the guards t reorganize behind his group. "You've grown even more silent now that we reach the city, Sir Malkyr." An elderly woman from his entourage stated. "Is something bothering you."

The bandaged man stopped several feet from the gate. In the distance he could already see some signs of the fire. "I am just... wary of what omens I might see here." moments passed, and he allowed his companions a short rest from their journey. He tolk in the sight of the city, and it's people, regarding everyone around him with careful observation. What he was looking for though, would be difficult for another to say. Eventually he pointed to a nearby officer.

"You there, sir. Would you show my companions to a place where may rest for the night, and for myself the to the resting place of the magi tree."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Malkyr Olsail

0.00 INK

#, as written by Wake
Ashes... ashes everywhere.

Dried soot and cringed brick were all that remained of the once garden square of the magi tree had stood. Malkyr could only knee to the ground, picking up the burnt remains and watching them pour through his fingers. He had heard stories of the great tree, that it and its great wisdom had been a powerful influence on the faithful of Monah Shall-la. It was said that the current Rahmun had been a pupil of the tree in her youth. Like many, Malkyr had wished to have an audience with the wise Magi but never found the time to journey too Ilahi before. Now it was too late.

After a few moments of respectful silent mourning and pray, Malkyr brushed the ashes from his hands and stood. Looking upon the tragic sight, he took in the image of the crumbled buildings being cleared of ruble and burnt material. Observing it, he couldn't help but feel the gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach grow. The thought was worrying to him, but he couldn't help but think that such a fire couldn't have spreed so quickly, especially with the Magi tree so near to ward against it. It grew harder for him to dismiss this as simple coincidence.

But as he cast his gaze across the spot, he caught the sight of something that froze him where he stood. Someone... someone was having the audacity to clamber atop the remains of the great tress corpse. The mere act of it was nigh incomprehensible to him, as surely no sane man of moral standing would even think of preforming such a disrespectful act.

But then the man spoke. He called out too the crowd below. He spoke of how the tree had lied to them, how it held them back and that it was an act of fortune that its demise came. On an ordinary circumstance, the priest would not have even some much as allowed the man to breath another word of such insults. But strangely, he couldn't find the will to muster up the anger. He felt a queer sleepiness over take him. 'Yes', he thought, 'yes maybe it was for the best... that it happened'... he thought, finding himself suddenly unable to think clearly. The mans words felt so right, like it was something he should trust in. That it would be foolish not too.

But a wind brush against the priest face and suddenly his faculties returned to him. By the holy voice of Shall-la what was he thinking! But what fell trickery of Malabak had he allowed himself to put to mind such heretical thought! The return of his will brought with it a furious rage the likes of which the priest had not felt in such along time. He marched down from his place of observation, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd. With each step his blood boiled hotter and hotter, fueled by his outrage over the heretic's rant.

Finally reaching the forefront of the mass of people, Malkyr stamped his foot down, raise his arm at the speaking man, and roared with a righteous rage. "Be silent you impudent cur" His shouting drawing attention to himself and for once the crowd drew their eyes away from the heretic. "How dare you. How DARE you speak such poison! By what right do you have to call the great tree evil! By what inconceivable dementia do you think to call this tragedy a fortune! Have you no soul, you foul tongued blasphemer!?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Malkyr Olsail Character Portrait: Tesni Character Portrait: Salim Naghi Character Portrait: Junayd Kadeen

0.00 INK

June's head glanced up at the unexpected addition to the party, a young man who held a confidence she could honestly only dream about. He gave her a smile as he scooped the unconscious girl into his arms, breaking the magical connection between June and her, though she'd already done pretty much everything she had the capability to. Her heart would keep beating for now. Still, she wasn't sure how she felt about handing off a small, injured woman to a man she had no knowledge of and wasn't a crew member. So, quietly, she placed her hood over her head and followed him after they docked, just to make sure he was really taking the girl to a medic as he claimed.

The closer they got towards the center of the city, the more June felt her heart pounding in her chest and an inherent sense of wrongness fill her senses. Whatever magic had been used in the murdering of the Magi Tree still permeated the air, giving her goosebumps and creating a tangible uneasiness she couldn't shake. She wondered if other Magicians could feel it, or if it was something only another Magi could identify. If that was the case, then it only raised more questions as to what had slain her precious Tree, her one true friend in the world. And what she was supposed to do about it.

Lagging a bit behind the two in order to avoid detection, June arrived just as the red-haired man began speaking. June felt as if her breath had been knocked out of her chest in one punch seeing him stand upon the ashes of the fallen Magi, eyes going wide as she came to a standstill in the crowd. Even as her eyes welled up with tears, she listened to him speak, unable to pull herself away. She felt her anger being smothered, replaced with a horrifying realization of 'maybe he's right. I never wanted to be Magi anyway...' But just as quickly as the thought hit her, a sudden gust of wind blew past her, but not just any wind. She sensed immediately the power that broke the wall between her and her true emotions, and it made her eyes widen in surprise. Other Magi.

She didn't get a moment to react before someone chose to do it for her, shouting up at the man angrily with religious wording she didn't much care for, but understood the sentiment behind them. But she still felt the oppressive, yet subtle, magic being pushed against the crowd and she knew. Something terrible was happening, and the Wind Magi felt it just as she did. But she also noticed she wasn't the only one the wind had touched. So, why? Was it just that man, the priest, or were there others? And what was this man trying to accomplish by turning the city against a dead Tree? She wished the Wind would speak to her as the Tree had, give her some path to start on as to what she was supposed to do, but there was nothing other than the gentle nudge of a breeze. In her destiny, as always, she was alone.

Abruptly, June felt eyes on her and looked up, back towards the man standing on the Tree's ashes. Despite speaking to a rather large crowd and currently having an angry religious man shouting at him, his head was turned in her direction, and she knew, unarguably, it was her he was staring at. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments, and June felt a chill shudder down her spine. A quiet voice in her head said only one word: danger.

And then, chaos erupted.

"Maybe it's time we took our destiny into our own hands!" someone shouted from the crowd, who had been relatively silent until now.

"Yeah, who gives you the right to decide for us?! Who gives anyone?!" another cried, and before long the entire place had erupted into shouts, angry and so very wrong. June had no time to mourn her friend, nor time to be disgusted at the way its final resting place was being disrespected. She had to get out of there.

Breaking her gaze with the man on the stand, she quickly turned away and started weaving through the crowd, going relatively ignored in all the excitement. She found, once again, the injured girl in the arms of the man, awake now but still needing medical attention. "Come on, we have to get out of here!" she called to them both, placing a hand on the man's shoulder to get his attention before she flicked her hand, scooting a few people over with a tiny burst of energy to give them room to move through the crowd. She motioned quickly with her hand for him to follow her, getting in front to lead them to a safer place. She wanted to shout, to scream at them to wake up, but she couldn't. She just couldn't put herself at the front that way. She wasn't ready.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Malkyr Olsail Character Portrait: Tesni Character Portrait: Salim Naghi Character Portrait: Junayd Kadeen

0.00 INK

#, as written by H3R0

An indescribable sensation of both warmth and concern flooded through Salim at the time he stood in the square. He wasn't alone, not by a long shot. While there had been very few people when he first arrived, which surely couldn't have been more than a handful of minutes ago, the ashes of the Great Magi Tree were now surrounded with people with more arriving. He swore he'd just looked away for a moment and yet, it had to of been longer with the amount of people crowding the area around him. Tensions were in the air, nearly thick enough to reach out and mold into a disaster.

The man on the ashes was not a good man. That much was easy to determine. Nobody who could preach against the greatness of the Tree, of a pure of heart Magi, could be considered of a positive nature. Even if the man had a point to make, crushing the ashes under his bare feet was not the way to make it. Then again, it did manage to grab the attention of everyone around. Murmurs that he recalled once being furious turned into talk of agreement. The people of this Republic were agreeing with the man who was blatantly disrespecting their precious icon. That wasn't right. There was something off. Salim knew he couldn't be the only one to understand that this was wrong. All these people were crazy. They were absolute morons if they were swayed to an opposing opinion so easily.

"How dare you. How DARE you speak such poison! By what right do you have to call the great tree evil! By what inconceivable dementia do you think to call this tragedy a fortune! Have you no soul, you foul tongued blasphemer!?" The eyes of the crowd turned dangerously from their newest item of interest onto the thing that had interrupted them, a bandaged-up man who spoke in religious terms. Salim regarded him with mild curiosity, sniffing as he turned his head away. At least he wasn't the only one who thought the situation was fucked up. He wondered, vaguely, if the man was a citizen of the Republic of Ilahi, but decided it didn't matter to him one way or another. It wasn't his business. He had other matters to tend to, like...

As if on cue, the girl in his arms gave out a yelp and moved so suddenly that she fell from Salim's arms. He stared at her on the ground, not sure if he should help her back up again or if she would be alright to walk. He didn't think she would be, but he knew from past experiences that some chicks could be seriously defensive about their stupid personal space. Personally, he didn't get it. But whatever. He wasn't going to get his eyes clawed out of his skull for helping an ungrateful stranger. “I survived a bludgeoning, drowning, possible internal bleeding, dying from dehydration or starvation, and wake up to find myself being carried by a man I don’t know. . . .” The girl mumbled to herself. Salim wondered how hard she got hit on her head while she was in the sea. “So, are you the person who saved me, or my Prince Charming?”

An eyebrow raised against tan skin and Salim couldn't help but bark out a laugh despite the situation happening around them. Already, people were shouting and closing in on the man who had stepped up against the redheaded tyrant. Even still, Salim's attention was focused on the less important situation, the girl at his feet. "You can call me whatever you want girl, but I'm no fuckin' Prince Charming." Deciding she wasn't getting anywhere on her own, he lifted her again, ready to go about his way when he realized any path toward the medical building was blocked by angered citizens.

"Come on, we have to get out of here!" Swiveling around to face the one who'd touched his shoulder, Salim frowned at the Nymph from the cargo ship. He wondered, briefly, if she'd been the cause of his very faint paranoia that someone had been following him, but brushed it off. It was another thing that no longer mattered. There was too much going on around them. They needed to get to safety and he needed to get medical attention for the girl in his arms.

He started going through the small space in the crowd, huffing and glaring at a porkish man who bumped into him and had the nerve to call him out for it. "Calm down, what's wrong with you people?" Somehow, that didn't get through as well as he'd hoped and all it really did was earn a sloppily executed fist towards his face. Easily ducking, Salim balanced the girl in his arms and kicked at the guy, holding him back with one foot and getting angrier by the second. "Can you back your fucking gross, grubby hands off me? I'm kind of busy." When that didn't seem to work, he actually kicked the guy with intentions of knocking him away. "Freak."

Just as he cleared the crowd and managed to reach the blanket over the door of the medical building, a voice rang out behind him, somehow loud and clear even over the rising voices of the crowd. There was no doubt that it came from the man with the fiery red hair. "Magi." Who? Salim found himself stopping once again, glancing over his shoulder despite his sense of urgency. It was hard to see, but the man, although having been previously provoked, still stood firmly on the ashes, just slightly above the heads of those in the crowd. The man had his head turned in his direction, but Salim knew those cold, coal eyes weren't looking at him. Who's he calling Magi?

"I know you don't want to believe me," the man went on. He completely ignored the crowd around him and the religious person challenging him, although his hand was up between him and the bandaged person as if to tell him to wait. "You of all people would be the best one to understand what I have to say." Salim rolled his eyes and went inside the medical building, handing the girl off to a medical personnel and explaining what the noise outside was. Even still, the man's voice went on, just a vaguely discernible noise through the blanket. "Magi, listen. You have nothing to base your opinions from. So I issue a challenge."

From inside the building, Salim felt the ground rumble under his feet. Now that he knew the girl was being taken care of, he opted to glance outside, looking in every direction until he saw it. The man on the ashes faced the backside of the city. Following his open arms with his blue-eyed gaze, Salim, as well as the others in the area, could very clearly see a building pulling up from under the Earth. It was raised in the very outskirts of the city, a moderate distance away, a monument of destruction. When the building finished rising, tall and intimidating even from so far away, the ground stopped shaking and the man turned back to whoever he was talking to. Salim's eyes narrowed on the back of that Nymph from earlier. "So there it is." That was all the man said before he walked past the bandaged instigator, knocking shoulders with him on the way.

Salim waved the Nymph inside the medical building and closed the blanket behind them. He didn't say anything to her, instead going up to the girl he'd carried in there. "Are you feeling better?" It was marked with a hint of disinterest, but he thought that if he bothered going through the trouble of bring her there, he might as well ask about her condition. Some of the medics were Magicians, most were not. He had other things on his mind rather than her, however. Bigger things. Better things. I'm going to conquer that dungeon.

Swiveling around almost suddenly, Salim pointed at the Nymph. "You! You're suspicious." He dropped his hand to his side, leaning a bit on the table the other girl had been placed on, which seemed to concern the medics and got him shooed away from leaning on it. "What's your deal?" He had a feeling he already knew, but he decided he would leave it to her to tell him first. If he was right, he could use her. After all, conquering a dungeon alone was impossible.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Malkyr Olsail

0.00 INK

#, as written by Wake
The crowd exploded behind him. Instead of backing him in anger against the defiler, they chose rather to turn their curses upon Malkyr! He turned, shocked at this. Had these people not also revered the Great Tree? Why would they be so willing to take the words of this heretic that blatantly insulted their former protector. "What madness is this. Where have your senses gone!" This just earned him another round of shouts from the mass of angry people.

It was only after he got a good look in their eye, saw the diluted shine of awareness, and remembered his own earlier temporary leave of himself that he realized what had happened. 'You bastard!' He thought turning his gaze back too the man atop the ashes, his fury renewed with force. That was how he managed to bend the crowd to his will. He spoke of free thinking and yet he blatantly flaunted an enchantment upon the peoples minds! But before he could make another word or act upon his rage, the man simply held up a hand as if to silence the priest.

"You impudent little-"


Malkyr stopped at that. 'What'?
I know you don't want to believe me. You of all people would be the best one to understand what I have to say.
The red-haired man wasn't looking at him. Instead he was directing his attention somewhere else, further back in the crowd. Malkyr strained to see who it was, but the horde of people was to think. Briefly, though, he was able to catch sight of a group of people getting knock over and other moving bodies slipping further into the throng. 'What does he mean, another Magi?'

Magi, listen. You have nothing to base your opinions from. So I issue a challenge.
And then the ground rumbled beneath their feet. Malkyr found himself whipping back in time to catch sight of a gargantuan structure rising out of the ground and towering over the city far in the distance behind the heretic. It had been many years since he last laid eyes upon one, but Malkyr recognized the visage of a mythical dungeon when he saw one. No ordinary magician could make one of these just appear, not by themselves at least. 'This man isn't alone', he realized. Once more he scowled upon the heretic.

The red haired man finally deigned to descend from atop the Great Tree's corpse. He didn't even bother stopping to acknowledge the priest, simply knocking shoulders with him as he passed. His temper already pushed and stretched by this mans actions to the limit, Malkyr spun around and grabbed the red haired man by the arm and forced him to face him. He glared daggers of rage into the other man. 'Who are you? What are you planning?' The heretic, however only seemed to smirk at the priest. It was a mystery of the ages as to how Malkyr kept himself from drawing his knife and cutting out the mans heart then and there.

"This isn't over." He growled. The heretic just widened his smirk. "Yes it is..." He replied, forcibly pulling his arm free of Malkyr's grip "For now at least. I Do expect that we will meet again soon though." And once more he turned and walked away, dismissive in manner as he had been before. "Count on it!" Malkyr barked after him. He would have continued to burn his anger into the sight of the man's back, but he had other things to worry about now. Namely waking the enchanted people from their trance.

Finding a perch to stand on, Malkyr attempted to once more gain the crowds attention. "PEOPLE OF ILAHI" He shouted "please lend me your ears for just a moment." Already a few people had moved on, but some were still standing transfixed by the appearance of the new dungeon. Of those that stayed, only a portion paid any heed to the preacher. "Are you truly, as you say, thinking for yourself?" He asked. "One man appeared before you and said that you had been lied to. And you believe this man in an instant, without proof? I ask you now if you are truly thinking freely, if you can allow yourself to be swayed so easily?" The rest of the crowd started to slowly take notice of him. Among them he could see some squinting, straining against the power of the heretic's enchantment. 'Yes A little more' he thought. "Look deep within yourselves now. look upon your past. You lives. Meditate upon your own voice as for which teachings-"

That was as far as he got before a cabbage hit him upon the ear. "We ain't taking the words of a damned leaper!" Someone shouted. And once again the crowd turned on him. Shouts and angry yells and foul curses were aimed in his direction. "Please, listen to me!" He hollered back. He tried to call out to them, too wake them. Few people listened. Some left. Others grew angrier and angrier. Malkyr hoped against hope that he could break this accursed spell that held them with words alone. But as the mob started to throw things at him he found his doubt of having saved any of them growing.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Malkyr Olsail Character Portrait: Salim Naghi Character Portrait: Camille Campion

0.00 INK


It was a weird day. First off everyone was almost okay with the dumb Magi Tree being incinerated by who knows what, and that was enough to put Camille a little on edge. Of course, he just nodded his head and grunted when he was talked to, because he could honestly care less about everything in this dumb ass, filthy city. He just wanted to go home. Report to Father that he needed to send a person with better people skills and a kinder smile. Sadly, Camille knew that the Underground Boss would just smile kindly at him and say something like ‘but Camille, my son, you do have those skills’. Just thinking about it made the silver eyed male want to punch a few old men just to get it out of his system now.

The day was a nice day. A little on the hot side, but there was a soothing breeze in the air and it calmed the nerves that had been shot after finding out that most of the damn city didn’t care about the destroyed Tree. Feeling a little sad that no one seemed to care about it anymore, Camille wandered over to the site, only to find too many people gathered around. He would have called it a mass prayer or whatever, but it was obvious it wasn’t. “Be calm, people of the Republic.” Halting in his steps, Camille turned and found a tall, fiery red headed man standing on the ashes of the Magi Tree. There was an almost snarl on his lips, how disrespectful of other people’s religion. But no one commented on it. “The fall of the Great Magi Tree was a tragic one, but you’re all lingering too much in the past.” Tilting his head, Camille nodded, because he honestly agreed. It made sense, perfect sense. “The Magi’s demise has brought us a new beginning, hasn’t it?” Yes. “There’s nothing to mourn over here.” And there wasn’t. Camille found himself nodded again and he smiled. It was uncharacteristic, but the man on the ashes understood exactly what was going on. “…it’s teachings were holding you back from your real potential, teaching you all lies, you, your mothers and fathers, your children. Anything enchanted with magical words of a higher being can be twisted into beliefs, just like the crime that had gone on here for years before. I might even go as far to say that the fall of the Magi has quelled its power over you all and given you back your sense, returned to you your own free will, as all living beings deserve to have.”

Camille nodded his head again and hummed in agreement. This man on the ashes was totally worth listening too. Suddenly a burst of wind ruffled his hair. Lies. he heard it whisper. Or so he thought he heard it whisper. This man is wrong. and then the breeze vanished.

Almost immediately after the wind was no more, someone shouted from the crowd, accusing the man on the ashes of many things. At this point, the spell of whatever it was, was broken, and therefore the silver eyed male saw no reason to be standing around. Turning on his heel, he saw a wounded girl in some guy’s arms, and he was almost curious enough to ask what it was, but it wasn’t his business. He was definitely going to Father and telling him of this man. This crazy, spell binding man. He had reached the outskirts of the crowd and was just about to head back to his little hotel for the day when the fiery man spoke again. “Magi.” There was something about the sound of his voice that froze Camille’s veins and slowly he turned around. He of course, wasn’t the Magi, but something just didn’t sit right in this situation. “I know you don’t want to believe me. You of all people would be the best one to understand what I have to say. Magi, listen. You have nothing to base your opinions from. So I issue a challenge.”

The words chilled Camille some more. This man wasn’t on the side of justice. A sneer overtook his features, even when the ground shook and people shrieked in shock and surprise. The man on the ashes stood with his arms in the air, as if he was summoning something. Which he was. In the distance a building rose from the Earth. Even so far away, it was almost big enough to look as if it was closer than the edge of the city. It was, in one word, massive. “So there it is.” The man stepped off and disappeared into the crowd.

Camille stood where he was for a few minutes longer, fingers rubbing the leather on his whip. Seeing another figure step up, Camille narrowed his gaze and snorted. Trying to help these people was going to be a fruitless task. They would be better off burned like the Tree had. So with a final parting glance at the preaching leper, Camille returned to his hotel room.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Malkyr Olsail

0.00 INK

#, as written by Wake
Malkyr pressed his back against the brickwork and slumped down to his knees. While he had managed to weather the aggression of the mob largely unharmed he didn't do so entirely unscathed. The priest could still feel the stinging from the bruises under his bandages where some stones had hit. Some had even cracked the skin, leaving his bandages to darken as they caught the dripping blood. The smell of rotten produce hadn't helped much either. With food matter clinging to his body and staining his attired it left him feeling filthy and humiliated.

All this feed into a feeling of bitterness he felt. A gnawing anger with in him fueling a disgust he now held. At the heretic for his hypocritical message and what he had done. At the crowd for allowing themselves to be swayed so easily. And himself for being unable to stop any of it. All this was born more from emotional exhaustion than any true resentment though. And with out any proper outlet for his depression, Malkyr was left to silently brood by himself in his distaste.

He remained doing so for several minutes. Sitting against a ruined wall in the street and halfheartedly trying to wipe away the gunk that stuck to his bandages. At some point though he looked up to the newly arising dungeon the hieratic had conjured. He took a moment to reflect upon the experience. It was obvious that he was using some sort of witch craft to influence to crowd. That much was certain, as was the hypocrisy of him telling the crowd not to be swayed by another teachings while lacing an enchantment upon them to hear only his. The question became why? Why try to denounce the teachings of the magi tree? Why try to lead astray the citizens of Ilahi with such falsehoods?

Malkyr repositioned his legs until he was sitting cross legged in a more suitable thinking position. He rested his chin upon his hand, looking to the ground. Some trails of soot and ash still lay upon the ground, not yet cleaned up by the city in their attempts to recover from the fire. It was as he was observing the burned remains that a chilling thought occurred to him. 'He wanted to erase it's memory. To finish the job!' Why else would someone come along baring such a foul message, so recently after the magi tree's death. Malkyr had suspicions that the fire hadn't been natural. Wouldn't it make sense for a group seeking to manipulate the citizens of Ilahi to remove the one entity that would have held more sway on the people then them.

He returned his gaze to the dungeon and quickly another thought sparked in his mind. The red hair heretic called to another in the crowd. A magi he claimed them to be. He challenged them to enter the dungeon...

'That dungeon is a trap'. He realized and rushed to his feet. If Malkyr was right in assuming that the heretic was behind the great tree's demise, then wouldn't it make sense that he would seek to eliminate another of the Magi chosen by Monah-shall-la? He nearly tripped over himself running down the street before reason retook hold. No, he couldn't just go racing off after them. It was a dungeon. A place of dangerous magics, beast and traps. The priest had been in one such place before. Even if it wasn't a trap it would still be a place lethal to the unprepared. He needed supplies. Tools. Anything that could improve his chances. If he was going to do this, he need to be ready for whatever might try to ambush him while inside.

Turning on his heel, Malkyr raced back towards the local Shallic convent. He needed to hurry, but more then anything he couldn't let whatever else the heretic was planing come to fruition. He wouldn't.

As priest of the mother Goddess, and on his title of a saint, he would not let this foul treachery succeed.