Early in the Evil's time, many holy places were hunted. They served as beacons to those who might resist, could offer restoration to those who feared, could undo some of the Evil's influence in ways that few others could, and offered the threat, however unlikely, that some great divine presence could be brought forth from beyond the known world. Fearing that they would be consumed in the violence, one such church made provision to hide in a nearby cave. A spring was found, preserved food for a great many was stored, the valuable library was being transported... At one time, a student and teacher of the faith were storing some of the last books when the bells rang in warning. The teacher left to seek lost students and guide them to safety, the student was told to stay and wait...
Their farm had been prosperous enough. Taxes could be paid, they never starved, they could afford new clothes before the old wore through... A sickness of the wife and mother had left them with few children, but the neighbours helped with the harvests when needed. There were few striking memories, a handful of toys, a rare meal, a battered and worn picture book forged by an ancestor, the excitement of a festival, being sung to sleep with a favourite song... Their daughter was still young when the rest of the family fell to plague. A little thing, only a few houses affected, thought to be caused by a fey curse, or a cloud of bad air... The farm had been claimed by those who helped in the past, but the land could not be intruded upon for a season, lest ill omens be disturbed and the troubles spread. With the harvest spoiled, and troubles to be mended, a stray girl could not be kept, so the church became her natural destination...
The church life had been complex at first, but simple with routine. Tend the small field, hear the words, learn the books, clean the rooms, tend to the few pilgrims as the codes decreed. Sometimes a party would leave for one of the surrounding villages. They would return with tales of ills treated and faiths renewed. Her time was peaceful, taking solace that plagues and famines could be warded off, and that there was a place to be found if she could master the teachings. As the troubles brewed with Evil's stirring, she had thought them to be warded off like so many before. So when the time to wait came, she trusted, and waited...
There were many books to study, and much to meditate upon, and food needed to be prepared and there were maintenance duties to attend to. The time in the cave was simple. There were thoughts, of course, memories of a lost toy, wishing to hear a mother's voice, and the ever-present expectation that the teacher return and recall her from the cave. She reconciled herself with her duty to protect the books and continue her training. With time the concerns wore down, thoughts of others dimmed. The monotony of the duties wore down all else. Reading the same books, meditating upon the same lessons. It was always the same, but there was always just a little bit more each time...
As time wore on, the food dwindled. How much had there been? Enough for a season? A dozen ranking clergy and... 30, 40 students? There had never been a care to eat much, but it could not have been all that long. While considering how much supplies should remain before leaving, a call was received from elsewhere upon the world. A dream with clarity of thought, the touch of another thinking mind. It was a call of need, for some reason aid was required. Returning to the church they found ruins and bones. Large bones before smaller. Bones marred by teeth. Eroded book bindings surrounded by washed ashes. The toppled walls of a faintly familiar room, four had called this their place once... She shed a tear for a life she had somehow lost. She shed a tear for a corpse that must once have been known to her. She gazed around and saw a place of loss. Lives, places, things, knowledge, she would never recover a single one. She felt that this was but one place, and sensed that great disaster had spread, and knew that this had become a world of loss... They swore that they would not be party to such losses. They swore themselves to the path of restoration.
Rest was granted to the remains of the church, laid in place and blessed with sanctity. The books were stowed for preservation, and a stone herald was left upon the holy ground to guide those who would seek such knowledge. What food could be carried was taken and a path was felt and followed. In time they found a man of simple looks and capable gait. Upon meeting they could sense that they were two parts of a larger fate. "Greetings!" Spoke the farmer, "What is your name?". "It is a joy to meet you" Came the reply, "I... seem to have lost it..." but briefly recalling the teacher that told them to wait in safety: "I once knew someone of courage and conviction, I would have them remembered. If a name is needed, you may use 'Miranda'.".
Short dusty off-white robes, brown pants, A sturdy brown belt, a tied sack with a carrying-strap, dried food, several water sacks strapped to belt, a wide-brimmed off-white very-dusty folded conical hat, a small collection of small wooden toys, a light light-blue scarf, worn brown leather gloves, Simple leather shoes, a cloth necklace with a small cloth sack containing cleansing herbs, two plain walking sticks(One resting on back, tucked into belt).
advanced Reading, basic farming, consoling and calming, friendly and polite, detached(difficult to provoke, difficult to reach, skilled at remaining calm in personal circumstances), combat avoidance, basic stick-swinging, basic stick-blocking, extreme Divine theory(generic/archaic), advanced magic theory(divine/restorative), supreme mastery of sitting in a cave, diagnosis.
Restoration: Return to a preferred state. Senses harm. Works better on things with wills to be familiar with their state, less effective upon corruption or distortion.
Resistance: Refute the presence of the hostile. Senses hate. By focusing upon meditation a field is emitted that quells violent emotion, diffuses dangerous magic, reduces the force of weapons, and repels those of ill intent. Weakens over distance, weaker against those of high cohesiveness/density, and is a constant inhibition rather than a solid shield.
Purity: Unravels the twists from the corrupted and dissolves pure corruption. Senses corruption. best against static targets, motion can make corruption difficult to identify and lead to a more twisted victim as their substance is pulled and tangles. The wielder applies their own strength against that of corruption to destroy it, and their own skill, patience, and determination to restore the scars left by corruption. Some wounds are too great to heal...
All magics originate from the wielder and thus generally require touch, but can be injected into a surface as spirit tendrils that can spread through surfaces seeking targets, though the strength of the magic dims with distance.
Feeling a touch lost here for some reason, so feel free to criticise.
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Topic: Living Legends Sign up (5/12) (Read 1937 times)