JusteunjueNov 22, 2018Nov 22, 2018 at 01:52 AM
#1
ESO @name: @Justeunjue
Character Name: Broineach
Race: Breton
Age: 30 ish
Sex: Male
Status: Single
Orientation: Straight
Affliction: none for now (got WW but will not RP it and not doing anything in game with it so far)
Physical Description: Nondescript Breton of average height and build, shoulder length black hair, light grey eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, scar on face
Background: Backstory below
He was much better at it now. The searing, electric jolts remained above, occasionally arcing to but
never quite cleaving the surface. Above was pain, below a refuge, insulating the part of him that felt
things. He could submerge this part of him quickly now, surrendering to an enveloping coolness as his
awareness floated down, down, swaying gently in a cocooning liquid. It had taken many beatings to
find this escape into the deepest pools of his mind; here he could bear the pain, at least for a while.
This time was different though. This time it was not a cane, not an implement meant to correct a child.
This was designed to maim, to part flesh, to bare bone. A bolt of unbearable pain snapped his eyes
wide, attention hyper focused to the moment. His mind reeling, overcome by that animal part of him,
fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or flight...
Fight! He must fight or surely he would die. He must fight or surely the brute would visit this barbarity
on his sibling. The brute, face contorted in a mask of rage, a rictus of cruelty curling thin lips; the brute,
one arm raised with a tentacled whip following in a whistling arc, the other arm pinning the boy's
wrists to the rough hewn kitchen table in an iron grip. It was this unreasoning malice though that saved
the boy on that day. He had hauled him off his feet, slamming him onto the table, scattering crockery
and utensils about, some of which had crashed to the flagstone floor. As he shifted his weight so as to
direct the cruel instrument with maximum effect, his foot slipped on a fragment of pottery. Momentum
propelled him forward and down, forcing him to relax his grip on the boy’s wrist.
It was enough. It happened in no time and with no thought, just feral instinct. A fourteen inch chef’s
knife somehow appeared in the boy’s hand. A desperate swing propelled the sharp blade. The Gods
must have been with the boy that day for the edge found it’s mark on his tormentor’s neck, severing
flesh in a red mist. A geyser of hot arterial blood gushed, splattering the table, the boy and the
flagstones. The brute froze, all malice drained from his visage to be replaced with a puzzled,
uncomprehending expression. There were no death throes, no clawing or gasping, he just slumped
down, life draining from his eyes. It was a surprisingly gentle passing and perhaps undeserved.
The boy stood there, breath coming in hoarse gasps, not quite understanding what had just happened.
Slowly realization crept in, leaving him aghast. His life and that of his sister had from that moment
became irrevocably altered. Amena! He whirled around to a small girl child, her eyes saucer wide,
paralyzed in fear. “Am!” he cried, “Did he hurt you?” He was unaware of the ghastly sight he made,
covered in congealing blood, hair plastered into a carmine coloured skullcap, his eyes still coal bright
with violence. The child flinched, coming out of her daze, and regarded the creature before her. Her
brows knit, a lip quivered and a keening, heart wrenching wail erupted. “Am, oh Am!” he cried again,
“It is all right now. He will never lay a hand on you again” Hearing her beloved brother’s voice calmed
her somewhat, and her cries died down into ragged whimpers. “We must get you away. I will take you
to Nan’s”
Thus he was parted from the one true thing in his life. He could not stay, the word of an orphan child
held no sway against a guild member. A hasty trial and a noose awaited, of that there was no doubt. He
was an outlaw now, banished from his birthplace.
Now the fraught journey of a fifteen year old boy from Daggerfall to the Gold Coast is a tale for the
hearth and another time dear reader. Suffice it to say that the mettle of a boy child was tested and
was tempered.
The years passed and he made his way through the alleys and hidden, damp places of Anvil.
He made his way with the thieves and the dark brothers, amassing modest wealth and a modest renown.
His trials had left him taciturn, always making for the shadows, always looking to be unnoticed, always
looking for escape.
Amena was never far from his thoughts, and from time to time he travelled to Daggerfall, his acquired
skill in evasion affording him the chance to observe his sister unseen. He could not risk meeting her. He
still had a bounty on his head and would not risk entangling her in any way. Nor would he risk her
loosing him once again. So he watched from afar, and inquired among the locals as to her situation. From
time to time he paid the merchants to surreptitiously discount her purchases, hoping to ease her way.
On one such visit he observed her making her way from the tavern where she was employed. She had
blossomed into a striking young woman, with a kind face and calm demeanour. She was well liked by
members of both sexes, steadfast in her female friendships and desired by the men. She had a natural
talent though, with kindness and good humour, to turn unwanted advances in into true friendships.
On this night though a natural affinity was not enough. Anvil is a rough and ready place, with dark
corners known to be avoided, and this night her customary caution failed her. It had been a trying
evening, with a crew of Nord seamen in from a long voyage. She was tired and somewhat cranky, and
for her pallet as soon as may be. So she abandoned her usual well lit route from Enrik’s public house to
Engra’s hostel and cut in behind the buildings. She wanted to fetch fresh water from the well in any
case, and had left a bucket there to be filled on her return. As she approached the well it happened.
They emerged from the shadows, six or seven of them from all points in the compass. With a start she
dropped bucket and made to cry out. “Now now, no need for that”, cooed the taller one. Cooed with an
undertone of such menace that her cry stopped short. From behind a calloused hand clamped over her
mouth. Other hands grasped her arms holding her firm. Another hand began to wander, sending a
frisson of fear through her. In a flash, arm blurring in motion, the taller one launched a small dirk into
the offending appendage. A quick guttural squawk was followed by a rapid withdrawal. “I said we are
not to damage the merchandise in any way” he barked, “I will not loose gold to your appetites”. An odd
contract to be sure; Bretons where not usually fodder for the slave pens, and he had never had a request
to deliver a named target. Still gold is gold and there was a lot of it to be earned for what was after all a
small, relatively risk free job.
Broineach’s face paled at the scene, paled for a moment only, then became fearsome with cold purpose.
His daggers flashed, one down, two down, cries of pain as the blade bit. Cries of alarm joined in as they
rallied to this unexpected, deadly intrusion. Those close to Amena quickly bound her and made to
whisk her away into the shadows, but not before she caught site of the whirling, desperate interloper.
Their eyes met, and in an instant the years fell away, and she saw the same bright violence in the eyes
of the brother that had rescued her once before. A double shock then, too much to bear! She went limp,
overwhelmed. On this night though there was no rescue, the guards had been roused and Broineach
could not reach her in time. He knew he must retreat, he would be of no use to her swinging from the
gibbet.
He made haste to withdraw, hugging the shadows, making for the thieves guild, anguished, angered.
There was nothing to be done until the ruckus died down.
It was not until morning that he set off. His guild contacts had called in favours, and leads had
been forthcoming. Face set in grim determination, he swung open the den’s door, and with a dagger on
one hip and a fourteen inch chef’s knife on the other, he set forth.
Character Name: Broineach
Race: Breton
Age: 30 ish
Sex: Male
Status: Single
Orientation: Straight
Affliction: none for now (got WW but will not RP it and not doing anything in game with it so far)
Physical Description: Nondescript Breton of average height and build, shoulder length black hair, light grey eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, scar on face
Background: Backstory below
He was much better at it now. The searing, electric jolts remained above, occasionally arcing to but
never quite cleaving the surface. Above was pain, below a refuge, insulating the part of him that felt
things. He could submerge this part of him quickly now, surrendering to an enveloping coolness as his
awareness floated down, down, swaying gently in a cocooning liquid. It had taken many beatings to
find this escape into the deepest pools of his mind; here he could bear the pain, at least for a while.
This time was different though. This time it was not a cane, not an implement meant to correct a child.
This was designed to maim, to part flesh, to bare bone. A bolt of unbearable pain snapped his eyes
wide, attention hyper focused to the moment. His mind reeling, overcome by that animal part of him,
fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or flight...
Fight! He must fight or surely he would die. He must fight or surely the brute would visit this barbarity
on his sibling. The brute, face contorted in a mask of rage, a rictus of cruelty curling thin lips; the brute,
one arm raised with a tentacled whip following in a whistling arc, the other arm pinning the boy's
wrists to the rough hewn kitchen table in an iron grip. It was this unreasoning malice though that saved
the boy on that day. He had hauled him off his feet, slamming him onto the table, scattering crockery
and utensils about, some of which had crashed to the flagstone floor. As he shifted his weight so as to
direct the cruel instrument with maximum effect, his foot slipped on a fragment of pottery. Momentum
propelled him forward and down, forcing him to relax his grip on the boy’s wrist.
It was enough. It happened in no time and with no thought, just feral instinct. A fourteen inch chef’s
knife somehow appeared in the boy’s hand. A desperate swing propelled the sharp blade. The Gods
must have been with the boy that day for the edge found it’s mark on his tormentor’s neck, severing
flesh in a red mist. A geyser of hot arterial blood gushed, splattering the table, the boy and the
flagstones. The brute froze, all malice drained from his visage to be replaced with a puzzled,
uncomprehending expression. There were no death throes, no clawing or gasping, he just slumped
down, life draining from his eyes. It was a surprisingly gentle passing and perhaps undeserved.
The boy stood there, breath coming in hoarse gasps, not quite understanding what had just happened.
Slowly realization crept in, leaving him aghast. His life and that of his sister had from that moment
became irrevocably altered. Amena! He whirled around to a small girl child, her eyes saucer wide,
paralyzed in fear. “Am!” he cried, “Did he hurt you?” He was unaware of the ghastly sight he made,
covered in congealing blood, hair plastered into a carmine coloured skullcap, his eyes still coal bright
with violence. The child flinched, coming out of her daze, and regarded the creature before her. Her
brows knit, a lip quivered and a keening, heart wrenching wail erupted. “Am, oh Am!” he cried again,
“It is all right now. He will never lay a hand on you again” Hearing her beloved brother’s voice calmed
her somewhat, and her cries died down into ragged whimpers. “We must get you away. I will take you
to Nan’s”
Thus he was parted from the one true thing in his life. He could not stay, the word of an orphan child
held no sway against a guild member. A hasty trial and a noose awaited, of that there was no doubt. He
was an outlaw now, banished from his birthplace.
Now the fraught journey of a fifteen year old boy from Daggerfall to the Gold Coast is a tale for the
hearth and another time dear reader. Suffice it to say that the mettle of a boy child was tested and
was tempered.
The years passed and he made his way through the alleys and hidden, damp places of Anvil.
He made his way with the thieves and the dark brothers, amassing modest wealth and a modest renown.
His trials had left him taciturn, always making for the shadows, always looking to be unnoticed, always
looking for escape.
Amena was never far from his thoughts, and from time to time he travelled to Daggerfall, his acquired
skill in evasion affording him the chance to observe his sister unseen. He could not risk meeting her. He
still had a bounty on his head and would not risk entangling her in any way. Nor would he risk her
loosing him once again. So he watched from afar, and inquired among the locals as to her situation. From
time to time he paid the merchants to surreptitiously discount her purchases, hoping to ease her way.
On one such visit he observed her making her way from the tavern where she was employed. She had
blossomed into a striking young woman, with a kind face and calm demeanour. She was well liked by
members of both sexes, steadfast in her female friendships and desired by the men. She had a natural
talent though, with kindness and good humour, to turn unwanted advances in into true friendships.
On this night though a natural affinity was not enough. Anvil is a rough and ready place, with dark
corners known to be avoided, and this night her customary caution failed her. It had been a trying
evening, with a crew of Nord seamen in from a long voyage. She was tired and somewhat cranky, and
for her pallet as soon as may be. So she abandoned her usual well lit route from Enrik’s public house to
Engra’s hostel and cut in behind the buildings. She wanted to fetch fresh water from the well in any
case, and had left a bucket there to be filled on her return. As she approached the well it happened.
They emerged from the shadows, six or seven of them from all points in the compass. With a start she
dropped bucket and made to cry out. “Now now, no need for that”, cooed the taller one. Cooed with an
undertone of such menace that her cry stopped short. From behind a calloused hand clamped over her
mouth. Other hands grasped her arms holding her firm. Another hand began to wander, sending a
frisson of fear through her. In a flash, arm blurring in motion, the taller one launched a small dirk into
the offending appendage. A quick guttural squawk was followed by a rapid withdrawal. “I said we are
not to damage the merchandise in any way” he barked, “I will not loose gold to your appetites”. An odd
contract to be sure; Bretons where not usually fodder for the slave pens, and he had never had a request
to deliver a named target. Still gold is gold and there was a lot of it to be earned for what was after all a
small, relatively risk free job.
Broineach’s face paled at the scene, paled for a moment only, then became fearsome with cold purpose.
His daggers flashed, one down, two down, cries of pain as the blade bit. Cries of alarm joined in as they
rallied to this unexpected, deadly intrusion. Those close to Amena quickly bound her and made to
whisk her away into the shadows, but not before she caught site of the whirling, desperate interloper.
Their eyes met, and in an instant the years fell away, and she saw the same bright violence in the eyes
of the brother that had rescued her once before. A double shock then, too much to bear! She went limp,
overwhelmed. On this night though there was no rescue, the guards had been roused and Broineach
could not reach her in time. He knew he must retreat, he would be of no use to her swinging from the
gibbet.
He made haste to withdraw, hugging the shadows, making for the thieves guild, anguished, angered.
There was nothing to be done until the ruckus died down.
It was not until morning that he set off. His guild contacts had called in favours, and leads had
been forthcoming. Face set in grim determination, he swung open the den’s door, and with a dagger on
one hip and a fourteen inch chef’s knife on the other, he set forth.
Edited Nov 22, 2018 at 01:54 AM by 0
GnarlyarchfiendNov 23, 2018