Description
Through the stench of strong liquor you notice the gangling figure of this
swinging human saunter into your view. It is hard to tell from a look what is
it that he is upto, at best you'd wager he is a traveller, heading someplace
to shed his words and speech. Upon his dusty clothing hangs a swollen
traveller's backpack that seems to be stuffed beyond its limit, screaming for
help like an elf in a giants grasp. His features are dull. Raven eyes and
dull pink lips do no serve to get bound within your memory. His jawline is
elongated and oval, like the sideward rim of an rusted axe-blade, with chips
of hair that could pass off as a beard. His clothes are a mixture of leather
and animal hides, panhandled from unsuspecting travellers mostly. But what
his appearance and attire lack, that lies in his manner and voice. There is
something about the man that makes it evident, that when he strums his
harp...even the angels descend to listen. Begging to take a closer look and
urging him to turn to you and sing your demons away, you also notice that...
Role
A Poem
Added Wed Oct 25 17:10:26 2006 at level 23:
Like many a teenager laid to waist.
In a father's dream and mothers haste
To see their son in riches deal
They forgot the light of life, to reveal...
He rushed to me, that hapless child
At Galadon's edge, the emblazoned wild
It called to him, it called him out.
History's quote is oft the future's shout.
At my feet, he fell, Dviyant he uttered.
"Lad, stand up, Arise!" I muttered.
He told me a story to move my heart.
That now I to you, in verse, impart.
That human boy, he had nor harp nor bow.
Yet Dark Runes spun, with the words he'd throw.
I shed a tear, never might my wanders may
Show me such in the light of another day...
A bastard child of the Galadon Mayor
A man who needed a lot of prayer.
His father refused to acknowledge his son.
The bastard abandoned since his life begun.
And through tricks and treats from wealthy thiefs
He had bought his vests, his harps and briefs.
He had saved all his pennies by serving
Men with crowns and riches underserving.
But through all the test and trials by fire.
Little did change his burning desire.
To feed his mind the lost History of Thera
To find his Godess and with words to share her.
He now walks with lessons taught in time.
That his words twist and maul into rhyme.
To fuel all the dreams he could never dream...
And by fire his cold, damp heart to redeem.
Vanyonilyn the Wandered.
Players Note
Added Thu Oct 26 05:43:22 2006 at level 28:
Dviyant was born to the Galadon mayor's whims and mistake. He was thrown in
in the streets and his mother was sent to the Hamsah prison, for the guards
to destress themself upon her flesh as and when wished, until her death.
As a child, the screams of seperation still echo clearly in his woe-laden
ears. He spent his childhood on the streets with thugs. They taught him
everything a child is not to be taught. But when he started to learn the
brazen art of panhandling, the Mayor took notice and sent guards in his
street to bash up the lad and throw him beyond city limits.
Helpless and aimless, his starving carcass cum body lay in the weald...until
he came across Vanyonilyn there. Taking pity on the child, Vanyonilyn took
up the role of a guardian, and introduced Dviyant to the ways of the bard.
His hatred for the cities was evident in his chaotic and unorderly attuning.
Due to his disgust towards the incessant words of hope and happiness he
turned to the dark path, but as he proceeded to learn the nuances of the
harp and horn he saw the magic that words could create.
He saw the thunder in a song and the bliss in a mug of liquor, the nectar
of life. His meaninglessness faded and he saw reason, but not just that.
He, having suffered, decided to use the gift of words and fate, to propell
others away from the dark abyss that stared every soul in the eyes.
He would use his words and verse to show people a path, while still walking
his own...
He heard of Lady Ashfoot and at once felt a oneness to the ways of the fire
dances, and decided to learn of it and preach it. Unless...