A set of role plays I'm writing about my characters who are both really old and have seen a whole lot. Feel free to critique or comment!
Roleplay from Torsaan ka Habb (4 hours, 25 minutes ago)
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High in the crags of Eagle's Glen, Torsaan sits meditating. He has hiked an hour or so from his encampment alone. His retinue is probably enjoying dinner, but Torsaan felt obliged to leave and wander. In his Eaglin Estate they are probably having a great feast with music and dancing. Torsaan however is sitting high in the mountains, shivering as the wind blows through him. He is old now, his beard long since silvered. He hasn't shaved his head in some time, his tight curly hair is also silver. His sight is failing him. The healers say it is age, other priests suggest it his connection to God or perhaps a curse from the Mapaxilists.
Though he usually wears an extravagant robe of red, purple, and gold, Torsaan is wearing a robe of purple and white. White, emptiness, Purple, royalty. It is perhaps fitting. He sometimes thinks of his brothers. Xanio is long since dead. Though it is not custom, Torsaan wishes that a monument was built. Somewhere he could feel connected to him. It seems so long ago that he received the news that he was slain in Amdor. Horace, another faithful, was killed in the melee but Xanio was killed charging the walls. The allied forces had pulled back but Xanio thought otherwise. He rallied his men ahead and 42 of them charged the walls. They managed to climb them, but Xanio was knocked off and then buried in arrows.
They say he is a god now. Both of them. Torsaan is told he is a living god, and when he ascends to their heavenly plane he will share in their great powers. Xanio is a god now. Xanio-Kargnchha is prayed to by some in times of fear when bravery is needed. Torsaan wonders what sort of God can barely read anymore. Torsaan wonders how his brother, his brashness, his humour, his anger, his kindness, his eccentricities can all be distilled down to Xanio the Valiant, Kargnchha of The Word. Some strange idol, some caricature of the man that was, the man long since decayed and eaten by lizards and vultures.
Torsaan thinks about his other brother, Karibash. Strange man he was. They did not see each other as much as he saw Xanio, but Xanio loved him as closely as he did Torsaan. The strongest, the fiercest, superlatives were the only descriptors. Torsaan wonders what his brother looks like now.
Hundreds of years ago, his own ancestor hung from one the cliffs here for days until he had a vision. That is how The Word began.
Strange. Torsaan rubs his beard.
Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb (just sent)
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Karibash sits at his Eidulb estate. It overlooks the harbour and is an old building, built during the Everguard days. He thinks back to the South-East. Born in Neralle, he can only think of the forests. Thick, lush leaves adorning great and massive trees of all kinds. Sometimes he and his friends would climb as high as they could, more a test of bravery than climbing ability. Karibash would sometimes win, sometimes lose. He didn't mind. It was the hand he was given. He lived blissfully. Incongruous, with the wars that raged around him. It didn't matter, hide in the trees, hide in the cupboard, pick up that dagger and Tor forbid any man walks in. His mother was a minor noble. A pleasant lady, he lived comfortably. Then at age 6 he was sent to the Toren Stronghold high in the mountains. Military academy, so he may one day lead great armies and not just fight like some fool. Karibash remembers the strictness, the rigour, the lessons. He merely wished to learn how to fight: wrestling, duelling, sword play, shield work. Not foolish maths.
Karibash smiles. He was a terrible student. But it all changed when his father arrived. Not much past 8 years old and whisked away by the dark man from over the seas. He had only heard of him through his mother, some minor noble in a far off desert. But he was the descendant of great and powerful kings. Warriors who had slain hundreds of men. Fierce beings of legend amongst his tribe. And so he travelled with his father. The sights he saw. Sirion, Isadril, Fontan, massive cities. And he toured through Atamara too, York, Suville, Metemec, Strombran, Barad Falas. He met some of his family, learning that he was the second of three brothers but only meeting the younger one In the forests of Tara. One day though, his father told him his mother was angry and that he would have to return to Neralle. His desire to know more of his past quenched, he obliged. And he was happy. He found some of his old friends still living and made new ones. His father returned, this time with the other brother. Xanio.
Karibash will never forget the day he met his older brother. Though Karibash was massively tall, Xanio was taller still. Though Xanio was far skinnier than Karibash, he walked with a confidence unlike anyone else and for the first time in his life Karibash felt small. Where Karibash was quiet, Xanio was loud and bombastic. He quickly became leader of the group. Karibash would lose at checkers, laugh and say good game. Xanio would become enraged and flip the board screaming curses, and just as quickly as he flew into a rage he would be all smiles and laughter again. They became fast friends, seemingly polar opposites, but Karibash understood. Xanio was smart. Ridiculously so. Cunning. Crafty. Charismatic. Things Karibash aspired to be. Things Karibash believed the descendants of warrior-kings ought to be.
Xanio was smuggled out of the South-East late at night. Karibash had been seen in a compromising situation and the son of a lord threatened to expose him unless he provided a sum of 200 gold. Confiding in Xanio, Xanio stormed out to protect his younger brother. A heated argument, the flash of daggers, and suddenly the son of the lord laid with his guts spilled. Karibash and Xanio would never see each other again, though they exchanged letters regularly. It was difficult when Karibash learned of Xanio's death. But it was fitting. Facing 900 Falasani warriors, Xanio simply laughed and scaled the walls. The funeral was not difficult for Karibash, merely the fact that he couldn't see the face of his beloved brother again. So strange, so characteristic of him. In all his intelligence, Karibash could never explain why Xanio would charge 900 men besides "it seems a Xanio thing to do".
Karibash is old now. His hair silvered, though he shaves it bald. His goatee is growing more unkempt, he can't be bothered recently. His body is a canvas of old scars. He is no longer the giant intimidating man he once was. Descendant of desert warriors and Toren berserkers, now a withering old man. Fitting though. Xanio, in all his greatness, all his glory, could not handle the simple confines of this world. He had to expand, grow, push. And so he left the world in a fitting fashion. Karibash though, he was different. He could bear it. Like steel, he weathers year after year, blow after blow, ache after ache. Xanio was what the world needed, Karibash what it deserved. Flamboyance and talent versus perseverance and endurance.
Karibash wonders what his younger brother looks like, Torsaan. He had last seen him when Xanio died. Met his son there too. Karibash could never discern his motives. Xanio would describe Torsaan as a man yearning for greatness, but unsure where to look. The smartest of them all though, by far. Smarter than Xanio even.
The ships blow through the harbour in Eidulb. It is a sight he has seen, many years before. Nothing truly changes, simply the players. Strange.
