AlijhamJul 12, 2016Jul 12, 2016 at 07:29 AM
#1
I realized that a lot of characters don't know Ali well enough to know his backstory, and although I don't get to do it often, I really enjoy telling his story. I've been developing it for five years now, and have been writing and revising pieces of it over again until they were to my liking. I thought some of you might enjoy to read what I have so far. This thread is going to shed light on the most important and defining moments in Ali's life, pre-meeting all of you guys. There are some events that are much smaller than others, in addition to some pieces being only guts so you can better understand more significant pieces in the future. Please feel free to leave feedback on this thread.
In this section, Ali is fifteen years old. There are significant life events of his that happened prior to this, but those are some that should be learned during roleplay. This is one of the only sections that will take place in his home cult of Hircine. Here is the beginning:
His lungs burned as he gasped for air, fingernails broken and bloody from digging into his father’s thick, hide-covered arms, so determined to break free from the chain of fingers clasping his throat and worked into his ratty, damp hair. He had no time to act, no time to breathe, no time to think before his head and shoulders were once again submerged. The water wasn’t even deep. He wished that it was deep, though, or at least deeper, so that the knots on his forehead would stop developing due to the rocks. Slimy globs of algae cushioned some of the unforgiving riverbed decor. His whole mouth was filled with the taste of salt; minerals, and decaying marine organisms; being unearthed beneath the sand by his face and his own blood. His scalp scalded as he was yanked up by his locks.
The father pulled him up momentarily. The young one’s mind graced over the fact that more of his tears, snot and red secretion blanketed his face than river water. Bold and gritty, he launched a huge wad of bloody phlegm he had been keeping into the older man’s face. He knew exactly what was coming for him, but he would take it rather than suck up.
He let out a cry as his trembling, wheezing body was once again knocked free of breath.
“Xarineau!” Came from the bushes. It was a grizzly voice, an elf with a limp emerging from the vegetation. “That’s enough.”
The father looked up to his name, leaving the boy to the dirt. Still yelping for air, he curled up to groan and writhe his pain away.
“Your wife was asking for you.”
Xarineau nodded. He turned, fists clenched. “Don’t let him go too far,” he said, jabbing a thumb at his son. “I don’t want him near Wood Orc territory tonight.”
The limping elf watched the other descend into the wood with a nod. He was surprised he let him go so easily. Perhaps he was already close to finished? After the newcomer was sure the father had crunched his way far enough through the trees, he leaned down to hold out a hand. It was hastily slapped away with a growl.
“Get up, Alijham. You can’t lay there forever and wriggle,” he insisted. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up, letting the boy brace himself on his stubby, half-legged body. There wasn’t a protest; just a small groan.
He brought him to a hut right through the groundcover and damp trees. It was a tree itself, contoured by the magics of the other bosmer that inhabited the land before them, with various small tents outside full of recent game, not-so-recent bosmeri pottery, and bones. He sat Alijham down on a stone counter, covered in a layer of hide and dimpled with messy designs and years of ware.
He slipped behind a furred divider of the room and rustled with bottles and leafy salves. As soon as the older mer left, Alijham began to cry into his hands.
He soon re-entered. A frown graced his cracked lips, as he set down his stash of alchemical devices aside and picked out a wet cloth. He began to wipe at the blood on the elf youth's face.
“Uncle Epis, I’m so sick of this,” Alijham said through his tears.
“I don’t like it when he puts his hands on you, either,” Epis replied with a sigh. “He does it because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t feel like you or I, Alijham, there’s something wrong with his mind. Do you understand me? He doesn’t know how to keep his emotions under control, so when he feels too much, he just snaps. When he sees you, he sees your brother.” he paused. “And you know how much faith he put into your brother.”
“He acts like he’s the only one who has ever felt that burn,” he sobbed. “He loved Berana? Well I loved him too. It’s not my fault I can’t be what he fucking wants me to be! I can’t be like Berana, I don’t have that kind of patien--”
Epis pressed a finger to Alijham’s lips. “Stop,” he said tenderly. “You’re better than to think like that."
Alijham sighed. He worked a hand through his matted hair, full of soggy leaves and dirt, while Epis resume his wound blotting in the newfound silence. The young elf hunched over and watched his uncle clean him and apply salves to his scrapes and knots, his head almost completely blank. He could hear his pulse within his thoughts, blood rushing to the throbbing, oozing bumps: thump, thump, thump.
“Whatever Xarineau does is what Hircine wishes of him. Being the high priest is both an honor and a burden, Alijham. He must follow through with all he is presented with. You’d do well to remember your allegiance, because it has never been a choice. The gift he has bestowed upon you can never be taken away.”
Alijham looked up, but said nothing.
“Hircine’s appreciation for you is as much of a mystery as your father’s, at this point in your life. You are still young and have yet to prove your true worth to the both of them.” He took his shoulders. “You are a predator, boy, but do not think that you cannot also be prey if you slip from the wolf god’s ways. You are his hunter.” He gave him a shake. “Stay true to it. I was not so lucky as you, to have the ability to change at birth.”
“I know,” The nephew replied.
“If you know, then always use it wisely, and do not take your standing for granted. You are lucky to live past ten in this land of Green Pact wolf-haters. Your father will never be your greatest enemy.” Epis let go of him. He turned and sat at his alchemy counter, turned opposite of his relative. “Now get some sleep.”
In this section, Ali is fifteen years old. There are significant life events of his that happened prior to this, but those are some that should be learned during roleplay. This is one of the only sections that will take place in his home cult of Hircine. Here is the beginning:
I
His lungs burned as he gasped for air, fingernails broken and bloody from digging into his father’s thick, hide-covered arms, so determined to break free from the chain of fingers clasping his throat and worked into his ratty, damp hair. He had no time to act, no time to breathe, no time to think before his head and shoulders were once again submerged. The water wasn’t even deep. He wished that it was deep, though, or at least deeper, so that the knots on his forehead would stop developing due to the rocks. Slimy globs of algae cushioned some of the unforgiving riverbed decor. His whole mouth was filled with the taste of salt; minerals, and decaying marine organisms; being unearthed beneath the sand by his face and his own blood. His scalp scalded as he was yanked up by his locks.
The father pulled him up momentarily. The young one’s mind graced over the fact that more of his tears, snot and red secretion blanketed his face than river water. Bold and gritty, he launched a huge wad of bloody phlegm he had been keeping into the older man’s face. He knew exactly what was coming for him, but he would take it rather than suck up.
He let out a cry as his trembling, wheezing body was once again knocked free of breath.
“Xarineau!” Came from the bushes. It was a grizzly voice, an elf with a limp emerging from the vegetation. “That’s enough.”
The father looked up to his name, leaving the boy to the dirt. Still yelping for air, he curled up to groan and writhe his pain away.
“Your wife was asking for you.”
Xarineau nodded. He turned, fists clenched. “Don’t let him go too far,” he said, jabbing a thumb at his son. “I don’t want him near Wood Orc territory tonight.”
The limping elf watched the other descend into the wood with a nod. He was surprised he let him go so easily. Perhaps he was already close to finished? After the newcomer was sure the father had crunched his way far enough through the trees, he leaned down to hold out a hand. It was hastily slapped away with a growl.
“Get up, Alijham. You can’t lay there forever and wriggle,” he insisted. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up, letting the boy brace himself on his stubby, half-legged body. There wasn’t a protest; just a small groan.
He brought him to a hut right through the groundcover and damp trees. It was a tree itself, contoured by the magics of the other bosmer that inhabited the land before them, with various small tents outside full of recent game, not-so-recent bosmeri pottery, and bones. He sat Alijham down on a stone counter, covered in a layer of hide and dimpled with messy designs and years of ware.
He slipped behind a furred divider of the room and rustled with bottles and leafy salves. As soon as the older mer left, Alijham began to cry into his hands.
He soon re-entered. A frown graced his cracked lips, as he set down his stash of alchemical devices aside and picked out a wet cloth. He began to wipe at the blood on the elf youth's face.
“Uncle Epis, I’m so sick of this,” Alijham said through his tears.
“I don’t like it when he puts his hands on you, either,” Epis replied with a sigh. “He does it because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t feel like you or I, Alijham, there’s something wrong with his mind. Do you understand me? He doesn’t know how to keep his emotions under control, so when he feels too much, he just snaps. When he sees you, he sees your brother.” he paused. “And you know how much faith he put into your brother.”
“He acts like he’s the only one who has ever felt that burn,” he sobbed. “He loved Berana? Well I loved him too. It’s not my fault I can’t be what he fucking wants me to be! I can’t be like Berana, I don’t have that kind of patien--”
Epis pressed a finger to Alijham’s lips. “Stop,” he said tenderly. “You’re better than to think like that."
Alijham sighed. He worked a hand through his matted hair, full of soggy leaves and dirt, while Epis resume his wound blotting in the newfound silence. The young elf hunched over and watched his uncle clean him and apply salves to his scrapes and knots, his head almost completely blank. He could hear his pulse within his thoughts, blood rushing to the throbbing, oozing bumps: thump, thump, thump.
“Whatever Xarineau does is what Hircine wishes of him. Being the high priest is both an honor and a burden, Alijham. He must follow through with all he is presented with. You’d do well to remember your allegiance, because it has never been a choice. The gift he has bestowed upon you can never be taken away.”
Alijham looked up, but said nothing.
“Hircine’s appreciation for you is as much of a mystery as your father’s, at this point in your life. You are still young and have yet to prove your true worth to the both of them.” He took his shoulders. “You are a predator, boy, but do not think that you cannot also be prey if you slip from the wolf god’s ways. You are his hunter.” He gave him a shake. “Stay true to it. I was not so lucky as you, to have the ability to change at birth.”
“I know,” The nephew replied.
“If you know, then always use it wisely, and do not take your standing for granted. You are lucky to live past ten in this land of Green Pact wolf-haters. Your father will never be your greatest enemy.” Epis let go of him. He turned and sat at his alchemy counter, turned opposite of his relative. “Now get some sleep.”
Edited Jul 13, 2016 at 01:39 AM by 0
Sigmund GriefJul 12, 2016