The Wanderer

[Open] A man from a different place and time appears in the Irtuen Reaches. Unprepared for the inhospitable conditions, he consoles himself with the sound of his own voice as he fights against the frigid chills and attempts to uncover the mystery of his estrangement from home.

Divided by the Slyscera Mountains, the northern frostbitten territory of Khy'eras is where the Dwarven city Domrhask was founded. Naturally, this area is difficult to navigate to due to surrounding geographical obstacles and weather. Read more...
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Wanderer
Character
Explorer
Level
01
23 / 23 HP
20 / 20 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Summoner and Wizard
Posts: 7
Joined: February 21st, 2020, 6:10 pm

The Wanderer

Post by Wanderer »

Time is a fickle thing. It appears to flow as a steady stream, but finds itself captured by gravity and the vastness of space. In spite of the immutable power of time, the flow of time can be manipulated, and butterflies can cause cataclysms within it's bizarre currents. It ties itself to the things around it, controlling and altering everything on such a fundamental level that it's simply accepted.

For a chronomancer, however, time is even more than simply fickle. Time is dangerous. It marks the inevitable march to death. It warns that every item will find a resting place, eventually, and that every object will cool and become static. Time is a frightening thing, filled with the violent fury of the past and the chilling entropy of the future. Life bends a humble knee to time, knowing that only time will beget and betray it. For a chronomancer, time is a god.

Few know this better than the shivering husk of a man, draped in blue cloaks as he tries to save his precious warmth against the bitter wind. Hunched against the side of an outcropping on a snow-draped mountainside, it's clear this man isn't prepared in the slightest for the weather. How he even got up on the side of this mountainside without gloves or proper boots is damning proof that this man simply doesn't belong. Instead, he is freezing to death, his thin beard and the hood of his cloak little comfort against the thieving wind that is hungrily stealing his heat.

How did this happen? Well, luckily for us, this man doesn't seem too shy about talking to himself as he curses into the wind.

"Silenti's balls! How did this happen?!"


...So much for that, then. He doesn't know any more than the rest of us. He does seem happy to yell at the glacial winds, though, his voice lost mere feet away from him as the howling gales seem eager to scream back.

His clothing gives us some hints, at least. The blue cloak he desperately clings to is well-made, with fine fillegree along the shoulder pads and neckline. On the back is the striking image of a howling wolf's head. It screams of wealth and luxury. The clasp at his throat reinforces that idea, a jade stone with a similar design of a wolf in profile, howling upwards as if towards the moon. His shoes, rather feeble things made of deerhide and leather, are equally ornate, with intricate threading and signs of little wear. In truth, the man is completely out of place in the craggy mountainside.

At least he has all the time in the world. With a grunt and a scowl on his snow-frosted face, the Wanderer disappears. No, seriously! He just blinks out of existence!

Five minutes later, he reappears in an equally unsatisfying fashion, fifty paces away and clearly distraught. The wind buffets him and he curls against the side of a cliff, repeating that familiar curse: "Silenti's balls!"

Shivering, he struggles and curls up in a small hole barely large enough for his body, wrapping his cloak around him like a blanket. If the winds don't stop, our hero will surely die here on this mountainside.

Even chronomancers run out of time, it seems.
Word count: 545
Wanderer
Character
Explorer
Level
01
23 / 23 HP
20 / 20 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Summoner and Wizard
Posts: 7
Joined: February 21st, 2020, 6:10 pm

Time Collapses

Post by Wanderer »

Our hero is freezing. The weather outside won't lift, and he hides in his cloak to shake off the bitter chill that impermeates everything. As a chonomancer, he senses entropy.

There is a hill, and there is a ball on the top of that hill. Eventually, that ball will roll down and settle in a valley.

The balls in this case is his heat. The hill is him freezing to death. As the ball rolls down this dangerous incline, the Wanderer feels himself slowly freezing. The wind is stealing his heat. The cave is protecting him, but it's not stopping that inevitable crawl down the incline. He is dying, and he looks at his hands to find that his fingers are turning blue. He will either die on this hill, or climb down it trying. Either way, Time wins.

All hail to the time god.

Thirty minutes pass with him struggling against the bitter cold. Thirty minutes as he watches his blood chill, his body cool, his very bones become frigid in the brutal onslaught of ice and snow. Eventually, he realizes that if he stays here, he will die. Eventually, he realizes he's all alone.

Standing up and wrapping his cape around him, the Wanderer enters the world of snow and ice, and begins his precarious descent down the mountains that were so eager to strip his life away. On his travels, he stumbles across frigid rocks, breaking his left arm in the fall. He slides down treacherous slopes, breaking his left ankle to catch himself. He collapses into a frozen cavern and nearly dies when his head finds the brutal end of a stalactite. The Wanderer wandered a little too far, and found himself at the receiving end of nature.

You might ask: "Why didn't he use his time powers? Surely he has some capacity to deal with these problems?!"

You would be wrong.

Time is a fickle thing. Our hero seems afraid to use these abilities, knowing what they're capable of. Moreover, he refuses. Time, for him, has led him down into a terrifying stream of death and survival. He won't die because of Time.

Instead he smiles, climbing down a cliff face, his fingers numb and barely able to hold on.

"Silenti's balls," he hisses, another time.

His fingers release.

He falls.
Word count: 386
User avatar
Harroc Crownegrove
Character
Disciples of Balance, Defender of the Woods
Level
01
24 / 24 HP
21 / 21 MP
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Race: Elemental and Shapeshifter
Class: Druid
Posts: 141
Joined: August 5th, 2019, 1:48 am
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Re: The Wanderer

Post by Harroc Crownegrove »

Harroc hated the cold, it lacked all of the things about the warmth and magic of the jungles he was so comfortable with. Even with his Druid rites to resist the dangers of nature he found it crept into his bones along the mountains.

Unfortunately, he was here, and his duties called no matter what his Honey back home might wish. So he was upon the cliff faces and ridgelines, running the dangerous paths that shift and disappear on the whim of the ice and wind.

He moved in his great wolf form, the only shape he understood that could truly ignore much of the brutal weather. Even still, today was not the day to be travelling, and he hoped to encounter nothing of note so he could simply return to the valleys below and enjoy a nice rest.

His strides were long and a great wave of snow bursting forth with each bound forward. The wind took the snow and whisked it away, new swirling white immediately filling the space left behind. It was as if he was dashing through sand that wanted to cling and clump to his fur.

He reached a crest, skidding to a halt and looking around quickly. There wasn’t terribly much he could see given the constant press of blizzard, but he caught something odd out of the corner of his eye. In the briefest glimpse he’d seen something that looked like a plummeting stone, but was a vibrant blue.

He let loose a howl, hoping he was not about to encounter something troublesome, and began to bound down the far side of the rise he’d scaled. He moved quickly, feeling the cold beginning to sap his strength more and more as he left the scant protection of the cliff faces.
Word count: 300
Wanderer
Character
Explorer
Level
01
23 / 23 HP
20 / 20 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Summoner and Wizard
Posts: 7
Joined: February 21st, 2020, 6:10 pm

A Wrinkled Wolf In Time

Post by Wanderer »

If mountainsides and frozen cliffs don't frighten you, then add a wolf to the mixture and you'll find yourself in pure terror. Or perhaps you're the paragon of courage. This Wanderer certainly isn't. He's not just frozen in terror. He's frozen.

Almost, at least. Shivering and struggling against the wind, the bestial cry from his next trial barely rouses the man. As thoughts race through his head (is it coming to eat him? To save him?!) he can barely lift his head against the howling wind to look towards Harroc. He doesn't trust his senses, convinced that Harroc is a fragment of his dying mind, but something about the canine form evokes his better self.

This isn't a dream. He's about to be eaten by a wolf as he freezes on the side of a mountain.

Time God, now's your chance to help!!!

And Time lends a hand. It slows down, and for a blissful five seconds, Time almost stops. Moving faster than any human should be able to, the Venefican explorer stands up from his wind-bound crag and walks around the wolf. His reactions seem improved, his stamina immeasurable, his eyes blur with a frenetic energy that hints at their uncanny seeking as his flickering form examines the threat that now faces him. His broken leg and the limping maneuvers it incurs seem inconsequential as he vibrates around the wolf, moving so fast that his staggered footprints barely impact the snow. It doesn't last long. Five seconds for the Wanderer seems like hours, for he stumbles back against the cliff face after this bizarre feat of magic, his expression resigned, his face even more haggard. Time won't be saving him.

Glaring towards the animal, he croaks out a complaint. "You're no wolf!"

It seems the Wanderer knew better than to shun a possible blessing. Instead, clenching to the warmth of his cloak, he smiled towards the animal.

"I'm lost. Uhh..." His eager eyes stare at the trail behind the wolf. A trail that might lead to warmer pastures. "Want to lend a hand?" A crooked smile is offered as a broken and chilled hand waves at the beast, but desperate eyes betray the truth that haunts this man. He was at the mercy of a predator. He's convinced that this is where he will die.
Word count: 386
User avatar
Harroc Crownegrove
Character
Disciples of Balance, Defender of the Woods
Level
01
24 / 24 HP
21 / 21 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Elemental and Shapeshifter
Class: Druid
Posts: 141
Joined: August 5th, 2019, 1:48 am
Has thanked: 5 times
Been thanked: 4 times

Re: The Wanderer

Post by Harroc Crownegrove »

Harroc noticed the strangeness suddenly as he came into sight of what was now clearly a man. He shifted, his place changing, and essence suddenly sprang up all around him. There was a trail, it swirled around the Druid and then led back to where the man now stood. He growled, pushing on the force of presence the Great Wolf carried.

This was a spellcaster, one who could act without being seen, one who was one the mountainside acting as if he were lost. This man was extremely dangerous, though it was unclear if he was an enemy. Harroc’s hackles rose and he stood his ground for a moment, reading the fear coming off the man in waves.

When there was no shift but the snows and wind, he lept backwards, shifting to his natural state, a heavily cloaked wielding a staff like the magical weapon it was.

“Come to me first,” Harroc said, standing ready to spear the man with a shard of stone in an instant if he posed a threat. He would not let the man die if he meant no harm, but his dealings as of late had made him wary.
Word count: 196
Wanderer
Character
Explorer
Level
01
23 / 23 HP
20 / 20 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Summoner and Wizard
Posts: 7
Joined: February 21st, 2020, 6:10 pm

Shaping Time

Post by Wanderer »

Harroc was probably right concerning the dangers of the man in blue. Manipulation of time itself is a dangerous practice, with only the most fearless (or ignorant) of mages even attempting the craft. Imagine the possibilities; enemies frozen in mid-motion, completely defenseless, their arrows standing still in the air as the sorcerer can literally walk circles around them. Of course, there are a great many limitations and risks to this type of ability. A sorcerer can find themselves locked in time, within a single moment, until they die of starvation, old age or suicide. Time also creates bizarre anomalies in perception, even slowed down only a little. Light changes colors as the wavelengths that carry that precious information to your eyes slows down. Eventually, it slows down enough that it becomes infrared, leaving the viewer effectively blind, forcing the chronomancer to create their own source of light. Going back in time is virtually impossible, not only for the paradoxes it causes, but for the virtually infinite energy required to achieve the feat. It's for this, and many other anomalous properties of chronomancy, that there's no simple single cantrip that can bring time to a crawl. Instead, sorcerers must employ a series of spells in rapid succession to ensure that they don't lock themselves in a sightless abyss, frozen by the molecules around them, unable to breath the oxygen that now refuses to move until they asphyxiate and perish.

Of course, Harroc wouldn't know about these limitations. Most beginning chronomancers didn't even realize the long list of dangers that time manipulation can hold, thinking the craft would be as simple as freezing time so they can catch up on sleep. Technically, the Wanderer didn't even know some of the properties of time travel, as experienced as he might be in the craft. It turns out that time and space are the same thing, and one simple experiment with the fabric of time left this man horribly displaced in space as well. Truth be told, he was beyond lost. He didn't even know how he got here, leaving no footprints in the snow for him to follow back home, no sense of the direction he should head, nothing.

Even the sun looked different to him, brighter and unmasked by the haze of clouds that covered his home.

Holding his hands up to demonstrate he's unarmed, the Wanderer nodded towards Harroc. He was at both times relieved and frightened by the fact that his assumption about Harroc not being a wolf was correct. On the one hand, this meant he had a lifeline towards civilization and warmth. On the other hand, he might've been able to fight off a simple wolf using the same abilities he used to study Harroc moments earlier. In his weakened state, it was unlikely he'd be able to mount an effective assault against another magic user.

"Sorry, look, I mean no harm." The Venefican slowly walked towards Harroc, making sure not to make any gestures that might seem like he was preparing a spell. "You're probably wondering how I got here. I.. uhh... I did a little... hmm, how to explain this.. I was testing something out. It didn't work, and I found myself in these blasted mountains. I think I teleported somehow, though that seems impossible. It's a little more complicated than that, but.... well, maybe I can tell you more after you point me in the right direction?"

Unfortunately, he had little to offer Harroc in terms of material possessions. Aside from his fine clothes, he had nothing to his name, as he didn't think carrying a coin purse would be necessary when practicing his craft. Helpless, all he could do was hope for the best and plan for the worst. The best being making it to warmth before losing any of his fingers. The worst being freezing to death on this mountainside.

"Please.. I'll make it worth your while. I mean.. I can't pay you, not yet at least. But once we get back to civilization and I reach the House of Veneficus, they'll pay you handsomely."


What the Wanderer sadly doesn't know is that he's the only Venefican in all of Khy'eras. There could be no reward earned from a House that doesn't exist. Let's leave him this little glimmer of hope in an otherwise dreadful situation, shall we?
Word count: 725
User avatar
Harroc Crownegrove
Character
Disciples of Balance, Defender of the Woods
Level
01
24 / 24 HP
21 / 21 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Elemental and Shapeshifter
Class: Druid
Posts: 141
Joined: August 5th, 2019, 1:48 am
Has thanked: 5 times
Been thanked: 4 times

Re: The Wanderer

Post by Harroc Crownegrove »

Harroc watched the mage intently, wary of any sudden movements of hand or whisper of arcane words. “You will tell me more, wait there,” he says finally when the mage stops in front of him. Harroc sweeps his arm out, pulling at the snow and ice.

There is the faint groan of weight shifting, an increase in the power in the air as the snow resists his demand, and then suddenly a dome of snow rises up and encloses them. The sound of snow being crushed and hardened continues, loud in the enclosed space now that the wind is a muffled wail.

“Do not move, I am almost finished,” Harroc says as he turns his focus to the ground, putting out his hand as the snow slides out from beneath their feet like the tide retreating into the sea. Cold stone is revealed and the druid narrows his eyes as he pulls a bowl of stone emerges to boot height.

The moving of the snow done he looks to the mage. “I will cast upon you, I mean no harm,” he says firmly before reaching his hand out and instilling the man with the same resistance to the elements he has himself. “Now, sit, I will make a fire, and you will explain to me without chattering teeth.” Harroc sets to work preparing a fire, gathering a few dense logs from his pack.
Word count: 233
Wanderer
Character
Explorer
Level
01
23 / 23 HP
20 / 20 MP
0p / 0g / 0s / 50c
Race: Human
Class: Summoner and Wizard
Posts: 7
Joined: February 21st, 2020, 6:10 pm

Re: The Wanderer

Post by Wanderer »

Fire! Warmth! Even elemental resistance! The wandering mage was eager for these boons, and he had to restrain himself from touching the blessed flames that flickered in front of him. He had difficulty mustering words in the light of that mesmerizing glare. Part of him wanted to jump into the fire, to roll in the embers, to put those coals in his mouth so he could eat the precious heat. Instead, he simply sat down by the fire, holding his fingers above it. Fingers that were turning blue from the frost.

Harroc asked a question, and he had to answer. Holding his hands above the flames, he nodded, resolute. No lies here. If he was going to die in this circle of ice, he would die an honest man.

"Fine," he replied after a few moments, gathering his composure. "How did I get here? Well, let me tell you, it wasn't easy, and truth be told, I don't even know. My name is D'jarin, though most people just call me the Wanderer. I suppose that might be more accurate now, than ever. I... I'm a chronomancer. Time is my bread and butter, so to speak."

Staring at the fire, he shook his head, droplets of melting snow dripping from his beard.

"I never meant to go so far forwards. My teacher, he said, don't push the limits. He said don't .... And so I did. I went forwards. My entire family.. My country.. My world... I skipped it all. I went too fast." He stared at the flames, his sorrow pulling itself out of his soul. "He said don't. And he said there's no way back. I didn't know. I should've listened."

Burning coals were never as fascinating.

"I tried to go back. In time. In spite of this world. In spite of him? I tried. And... Now I'm lost. It's really cold here. It's.. Oh god."

His finger was burning. Frostbite had set in, and the odd smell of burnt bacon was beginning to fill the structure Harroc had made. His finger was burning.

"Ohh, oh no."


Storytime over? The sorcerer found himself preoccupied with the lost digit. Even with the sorcerous protections, he had burnt his numb finger over the fire, and in desperation, he held it close to his chest.

"Silenti's balls!" he hissed, curling his hand close to his chest. Pausing time or not, his finger had met a brutally warm end.
Word count: 405
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