The Story Behind Roman Marvarak

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The Story Behind Roman Marvarak

Post  Damxge on Tue Feb 14, 2012 3:00 am

Based on the RP by LordTomyh. My character Roman,'s history.

Slowly and neatly, I traced words onto the blank tan colored page before me. The incantations and effects of each new spell I learned as well as small sketches and side notes filled the large, leather-bound book. I was on the last page too, just finishing the incantation for a nasty little spell designed to enchant objects. When touched the object would light the individual touching it on fire. Though this fire would not be smothered, would not be doused. I smiled as I finished the last word and blew gently on it to dry the ink. All of the other students used magic to write their journals, but I preferred doing it by hand, feeling the parchment, made from human skin, under my hand as I scratched out my words in an overly neat fashion.
Standing from the small desk, I glanced around the room. It was small, only ten feet by ten feet with a six foot ceiling. The walls were made of crude wood, many cracks and gaps in which were filled with grey clay from a nearby creek. The floor was of simple cobblestones, many of which were uneven and protruded at odd angles, just right to catch one’s toe on. In one corner sat a small cot, the other my desk and a three legged stool. The only other notable influence on the room was the door, a small, thin metal door that was rusted and corroded from years and years of hash weather.
Shoving the ornery door open, I stepped out into a small courtyard ringed by twelve other small square huts like my own. In the center of the large dirt circle was a fire pit, a huge black cauldron resting on the embers. One boy, not older than twelve rested by it, stirring it lazily with a long wooden rod. Two more boys, older these, stood by another hut, talking in hushed whispers. We all wore the same black monks’ robes and soft leather shoes. My long blonde hair was tied back with a piece of red ribbon, a gift from my beloved. I walked quickly to the cauldron and glanced in, the putrid black tarlike substance inside barely moved as the boy moved the wooden stir back and forth monotonously.
“You’re doing this wrong Bailey!” I said, snatching the pole from the young boy, my voice raised in anger. This was the black firebrick used to keep the fire burning hot and strong, and if it was not stirred well for ten hours as it boiled, it would cake and release any flammable gasses it contained.
“Well if you’re such an expert, how about you do it?” Bailey asked, his voice high and snobby. He stood up and began walking away, stretching and yawning. I scowled and spun to face his receding back.
“Get back here you stupid sloth!” I yelled, my voice thundering around the camp, magic enhancing it greatly. The boy spun to face me, a sneer set on his smug little mousey face. His close cropped black hair was greasy and slick, he had obviously not been bathing.
“Why should I?” he whined, “Obviously I do it wrong,” he turned away and began to walk away again. The boy was smaller than me, but had been with the master longer than anyone, practicing his dark craft since he was five; while I had only been with the master for barely a year and was unknown to most of the other apprentices. But I had been practicing magic before I could walk, I trained under a great white mage since I was four, casting all sorts of useful magic. I had then began dabbling in the darker side of magic, when my master found out, he scolded me and ordered me to stop. I did not. When he found that I had not heeded his words, he’d turned the Tutores Tatet on me, trying to have me imprisoned. In my escape, he was killed as well as several other Tutores guards. I then searched out Master Girardeau and pleaded that he takes me in. He had been hesitant, though after I showed him the magic I could wield, he had accepted and privately tutored me for the next year.
“Get back here and do your duty you pathetic pig!” I bellowed after him, just as he opened the door to his cabin.
“Or what?” he asked, turning again to face me, he was clearly aggravated I was ordering him about. From around his feet emerged chains, sliding up around his legs like snakes, their black metal shining in the bright daylight. He smiled, obviously feeling his little piece of magic would frighten me enough I would leave him be.
“Or I’ll stick you like a hog,” I hissed, my anger distorting my face into a twisted mask of rage. The other apprentices had gathered now on either side of us, whistling and catcalling, trying to provoke a fight. With a cry of anger, the small boy thrust his hand toward me, the chains around his feet lashing out in a blur of motion, howling as they whipped toward me. Lifting my hand, I caught one chain, it wrapped around my wrist like a python, trying to crush the bones. The others just seeped to slip past me, thudding to the dust around me. Jerking hard, I yanked the chain, dragging the boy’s left foot out from under him, dropping him to the dirt. In the same motion, I lifted my right hand, chains of my own reaching up to wrap around the boy’s body. With a scream, he unleashed a shockwave of dark magic, destroying the chains and driving me backward.
Hopping to his feet, I thrust his hand at me again, this time sending a jet of fire rippling toward my head. Dropping to my knees, I lifted both of my hands over my head, bringing them together on either side of the stream of fire. Yanking down, I pulled the long chain of fire after my hands as if it were a rope. Drawing my left hand back, the whip of fire trailing behind it, I struck at him with my right, several rocks from the ring around the fire ring flew from their places, hurtling lightning fast at the boy.
Yelping, Bailey dove out of the way, the heavy stones splintering the front of his cabin, obliterating something made of glass inside. The boy had barely rolled to his feet when the whip of fire wrapped itself around his waist, pinning his hands to either side. He screamed in agony as the fire burned white hot and scorched his arms and waist. He fell to the ground, still screaming, the rope of fire becoming hotter and hotter, cooking him. Jerking, I threw him into the dust, letting the fire go. It disappeared as any fire would into the air, leaving the badly burned boy laying in the dust. His skin distorted and blackened.
Slowly, I walked over to him, the other apprentices whispering to each other around me, “You ever cross me again Bailey,” I whispered into his ear, one of his bloodshot eyes open and watching me, “I will kill you,” Straightening, I walked back over to the fire and began stirring the firebrick solution. My master was not going to be happy when he found out about Bailey. Fortunately, he wasn’t due back for another five days.

Probably going to be continuing this Happy


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Re: The Story Behind Roman Marvarak

Post  LordTomyh on Sun Feb 26, 2012 1:42 pm

It is wise not to forget one's past. otherwise they are likely to repeat their mistakes in the future


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Despite this mask of happiness I drown in dark despair.
The world may be your canvas but what you paint on it beware.
The pen is mightier than the sword. It has no limitations.
Imagination has cursed us all with life.

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