Description
Thin, bony features protrude from this human's face. Her skin, pale and
milky, makes her look unhealthy and frail. Much more white than her skin, her
elderly-looking hair falls in long braids down her back. Cavernous yellow
eyes make this wan beauty look very lean, even on her facial features.
Ties closely to her with straps and ropes, her outfit consists of assorted
robes and armors, each covered with a fine layer of dust. Closely attached to
the satchels on her back is a single large tome, the words on the cover
unreadable due to excessive scratch marks.
Role
Our learnings of luck, tragedy, and irony.
Added Sun Nov 23 17:47:48 2008 at level 8:
Nothing lasts. Proleteria had been surrounded by this concept her entire
life. She was born in a humble farming family, somewhere in the open plains
near Voralian City. She could never remember the exact location, as there was
no longer any evidence that a farm had even existed in that location. As a
young child, she did as any daughter in a family unit did; she took care of
the tedious chores. She would clean the floors, feed the animals, and keep as
many things as tidy as possible. A monotonous life-style, yes, but a safe
one. Though, as the world always shows, things turn for the worse.
At the peak of the harvesting season, Proleteria's father caught a
feverish disease and died a quick, horrible death while Proleteria watched.
Immediately afterwards, her mother was trampled by the cattle she
single-handedly tried to herd. Being alone on a farm had no real benefits for
a young girl, especially when two corpses were rotting near-by and you had
not a soul to care for you. Proleteria knew this much, even though she was
young, and decided to leave the small farm-ship and head for a more populated
land. Of course, being as the laws of probability were, it just so happened
that a roving group of bandits came upon the farm the day Proleteria's mother
died. They quickly ransacked the entirely homestead, lighting fire to the
crops and killing all of the animals. Proleteria had quickly hidden herself
in the tall grasses the moment the bandit group neared, attempting to survive
the onslaught. As luck would have it, she had accidentally hidden on top of
an ant-bed. It took the raiders less than five minutes to find the hopping
and screaming child stripping her clothing off. Though the situation seemed
dire and perverted, it just so happened that the bandits were actually a
raiding group of Outlanders who focused on animal's rights, they had invaded
to free all of the domesticated creatures being imprisoned at the farm, but
ended up being very hungry after all of the raiding, giving them leeway to
hunt the creatures they had originally come to free. Without a hint of
vulgarity, the raiders quickly dressed Proleteria and tended to her wounds,
giving her a basic map towards Galadon and sending her on her way. Her farm
didn't last, her parents didn't last, and the raid didn't last.
Walking to Galadon, she fumbled and bruised her shin. So it goes.
Bard-hood
Added Thu Nov 27 22:13:48 2008 at level 15:
Upon entering Galadon, Proleteria was greeted by a hearty group of
teenage thugs. It took less than half an hour for them to beat her senseless
and take what few valuables and coins she had. Though her welcome to Galadon
consisted mainly of bruising, she still thought it was a pretty town. When
she finally woke up from her beaten, unconscious position on the ground, a
few wealthy merchants were walking by. Each spared her a small, sympathetic
glance, and tossed her a few coins for her troubles. Just as luck and fate
always showed, the best of things could come from the worst, and vice versa.
Using her new-found skill, she started panhandling, gathering up
coins for some unknown voyage she might take. As she slowly scanned the city,
gathering as many pity purses and coins as she could, she ended up at the
entrance to a bar. A haunting melody pierced through the rambling sounds of
the bar's patrons, grabbing Proleteria's full attention. She made her way
into the raucous bar, weaving her way between waiters and commoners,
following this enchanting tune.Moving closer to the sound, she saw a small
hallway down the east side of the bar, the music echoing down the dark
passageway. Walking into it, she finds a humble but colorful looking man
sitting on a bar-stool, his back against the wall and his hat covering his
face. He plucks at the lyre in his hands with expert movements, each note
floating through the air.
Moving closer to him, Proleteria thought about how wonderful it would
be to have that skill-The ability to enchant others, influence emotions,
share knowledge, and give pleasure; all with music. Dirty, and looking like a
tramp, she reached into her purse and pulled out the only bunch of coins she
had, extending them to the man. He grinned slightly, took the handful of
coins, and ushered her inside.
Proleteria barely had enough money for her classes, much less her
food, but she was learning. She entered the guildhall as a orphan tramp, and
was now an orphan bard. Though the change was not great, it was an
improvement from her former plight. And though she lacked wealth, even the
Guildmaster took note of her inherently talented voice. Proleteria was proud
of her musical talent, and was happy to finally find something she was good
at in life. Of course, as soon as she realized she was happy, she found
herself being confronted by a group of students also enrolled in the classes.
They insulted her, taunted her, and made sure she knew that she wasn't nearly
as wealthy as they were, and that if she wanted to live she would stop taking
the spotlight.
Since her singing intimidated others and brought threats to Proleteria, she
began singing in the alleys of Galadon at night. She liked the way her voice
echoed off the alley walls, and liked that the alley cats followed her as if
she were serenading them. On her way back towards the guildhall one morning,
one of the cats gave her a nasty bite on her calf. It bled for a good hour.
Life as it is.
Added Wed Dec 3 17:12:38 2008 at level 37:
The world is a tragic place. The history of Thera shows this to be true.
Through the betrayals of the Gods, the theft of power between factions, the
battles of the BattleRagers, the traitors of the Empire, and so on. The list,
Proleteria was sure, could go on forever, showing that tragedy was the prime
force in both the present and the past. Currently, the world was in just as a
tragic position as always, and just as confusing. Proleteria continued her
training in the bard's guilds, learning many famous songs written by master
tragedians, each describing their situations and moments of true tragedy.
While entranced with her studies, she was becoming more and more distracted
by the callings of the world.
Proleteria saw many factions, each recruiting to their cause, present in her
home city. There were dark-robed priests from the Empire preaching their
orderly beliefs to those who would listen, leading their mentally subjugated
converts to the darkened lands north of Hamsah. Just as empty their preaching
was, there were a massive number of Gnomes chattering like children about
their Nexus and the ways to promote magic in Thera. These factions, as far as
she could tell, were just using their members as slaves. "Join us and do what
we say, you'll have purpose now and a reason to live". It all just sounded
empty to her.
Though her life seemed bland at the moment, Proleteria thought deeply in her
heart that though she may have bad luck and moments of true depression, she
would have some passion towards a cause eventually. Though, of course, she
had no idea what that was, yet. This entire lack of purpose, though she
reasoned it logical, was entirely depressing. She had no passionate reason to
wake up in the morning. Drinking helped pass the time by, but she didn't feel
dedicated to a cause, and it was killing her inside. She begged, hoped for
someone to say something convincing, she listened with alert ears to the
recruiters, hoping for just a single statement that would arouse some kind of
passion in her like music did. Nothing. It was all empty.
A sudden change.
Added Thu Feb 5 08:12:36 2009 at level 45:
Standing in front of the Fortress, Proleteria did as she had before. She
stood back, sat on the ground, and took a big swig of wine from one of her
many canteens while watching the Orc Chieftain, Urgok, swing into the large
guardian of the Fortress. "Better to be helping him than bashed under him",
she concluded as she swished the wine around in her mouth.
Suddenly, her body had a jolting spasm and she dropped her canteen to the
ground. Everything in her vision began to spin, and there was a sudden urge
to hop up and run away as fast as she could. As she held herself in agony,
she felt a sudden darkness rise up in her mind. Normal things that wouldn't
seem too pleasurable (Striking orphans, for example) now seemed much more
viable as a way to relieve stress. Trying to shake the thought from her head,
she stood and gazed at herself in a small reflective pool of melted snow. She
looked the same . . . . . But she felt differently.
Knowing that a small ballad about the Sirine's singing would make her feel
more complete, she raised her white fiddle to her hands and went to strike a
chord. Upon playing the instrument, she found she couldn't sing. Immediately,
her mind went blank. "I've been singing all my life. I built up money to pay
for my guild teachings. I still remember the songs, I still remember the
words, I still remember how to play - But I just can't get the sound to come
out of my throat!". Mumbling these things to herself, she took another glance
at the now frenzied chieftain striking the Maran Guardian. Feeling nothing
but loss at that scene, she looked past their combat to see a Paladin sitting
inside of the gate, preparing to guard his home. No doubt, she thought, he
put some kind of curse on me. Quickly, in her head, she went through her past
battles. Being murdered by Elves while very young, being attacked by elves
when she was older.It only seemed logical that this would be another Elf
causing her this strife.
Pulling the wine to her mouth for another drink, she audibly swore, "You took
it a bit too far, bub. You don't mess with my voice. Ever. That's all I
have.". Still knowing that she was very vulnerable without her singing,
Proleteria still knew how to wield a blade.
Before the Chief knew the wiser, Proleteria ran off back to Galadon to ponder
her lack of voice and the obvious elf that caused her pain. Resolved to gain
her voice back, she set in search of some kind of doctor, hoping for some
kind of diagnosis.
PK Wins
Dec 4, 2008 |Lv 39|Aran'gird|Marztia vs 1: Proleteria (100%,KB)
Jan 25, 2009|Lv 45|Hamsah Mu'tazz|Zikat vs 1: Proleteria (100%,KB)
Jan 26, 2009|Lv 45|The Eastern Road|Jnoxri vs 3: Ahtieli (3%), Proleteria (32%), Urgok (64%, KB)
Jan 26, 2009|Lv 45|The Eastern Road|Borkahd vs 2: Urgok (63%,KB), Proleteria (36%)
Jan 27, 2009|Lv 45|BattleRager Village|Malthalia vs 4: Proleteria (0%), Ikbe (37%), Zhurn (54%), Ahtieli (8%, KB)
Jan 27, 2009|Lv 45|Hamsah Mu'tazz|Jnoxri vs 2: Proleteria (98%,KB), Zhurn (1%)
Jan 27, 2009|Lv 45|Galadon|Vorata vs 1: Proleteria (100%,KB)
Jan 28, 2009|Lv 45|Galadon|Borkahd vs 1: Proleteria (100%,KB)
Jan 29, 2009|Lv 45|The Eastern Road|Zaltais vs 2: Idosuka (2%), Proleteria (97%, KB)
Feb 3, 2009 |Lv 45|Galadon|Mughol vs 1: Proleteria (100%,KB)
Feb 3, 2009 |Lv 45|Galadon|Wendarl vs 1: Proleteria (100%,KB)
Feb 3, 2009 |Lv 45|Galadon|Corticas vs 1: Proleteria (100%,KB)
Feb 3, 2009 |Lv 45|The Spire of the Blood Tribunal|Selene vs 3: Zizzle (56%,KB), Dereli (43%), Proleteria (0%)
PK Deaths
Nov 28, 2008|Lv 20|Galadon|vs 1: Achatoch (100%,KB)
Nov 30, 2008|Lv 31|The North Road|vs 1: Ceyraia (100%,KB)
Jan 22, 2009|Lv 43|The Inn of the Eternal Star|vs 1: Sydd (0%,KB) *Assassinated*
Jan 25, 2009|Lv 44|Loch Terradian|vs 2: Ceyraia (19%,KB), Canir (80%)
Jan 25, 2009|Lv 45|Eaststride Road|vs 1: Ceyraia (100%,KB)
Jan 25, 2009|Lv 45|A Virgin Forest|vs 1: Cyrn (100%,KB)
Jan 27, 2009|Lv 45|The Spire of the Blood Tribunal|vs 1: Ceyraia (100%,KB)
Jan 27, 2009|Lv 45|The Spire of the Blood Tribunal|vs 2: Zikat (0%,KB), Vorata (100%) *Assassinated*
Feb 4, 2009 |Lv 45|Forgotten Crypts|vs 1: Satebos (100%,KB)
Feb 4, 2009 |Lv 45|Galadon|vs 1: Woldrun (100%,KB)
Feb 8, 2009 |Lv 45|Galadon|vs 1: Grawshen (100%,KB)