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PostSubject: Medieval Fantasy   Tue May 20, 2008 9:49 am

In a medieval world, two countries are at war. The king of one country is sending a hired assasin/war-mage and a group of his own warriors to the other country to kill their king. He hopes to end the war by doing so.

I will be playing the mage, and he is male. The warriors going with him may be male or female, but they must serve the king. Plot/Setting elaborated on in my introduction

He rode somewhat awkwardly, bouncing in his saddle instead of being 'one wi' th' fucking hors', dahm-eet!' as the hostler who'd been trying to teach him to ride was apt to say.

In truth, he could ride quite well. He just thought it was extremely amusing to see what shades of red king of Dhara's chief hostler could turn when thoroughly vexed at his newest student. Of course, the poor man couldn't quit and tell him to go find someone else - it was by the king's decree that the hostler taught him to ride.

He did, after all, have a mission.

The wind blew through dark brown locks, and his sturdy, black, woolen cloak lifted in the breeze. Clinging to Shadow's reigns, he seated himself firmly in the saddle and urged the gray mare forward like a true horseman.

A fine white shirt - complete with billowing sleeves - tucked into brown breeches which were in turn tucked in a pair of broken-in leather boots.

Just by looking at him, it would be almost impossible to tell that he was a mage. Sort of - the slim, dark blue staff topped by a clear orb the size of a child's fist basically screamed MAGE! but other than that, he was rather proud of the fact that he looked ordinary. And besides, the staff really didn't do anything save act as a focus, amplify his power, conceal a hidden blade, and act as a good 'mysterious object.' Not much at all.

Without the light blue hue of the staff, his dark blue eyes seemed quite normal, and without the staff, his intense gaze seemed inquisitive rather than mysterious and powerful. Not that he was very powerful in the stereotypical “TURN BREAD INTO WATER” mage type, but he had his own, unique talent.

A grin graced his lips as he rode Shadow into the courtyard, and the chief hostler stared at him, jaw gaping. It was only a few hours before he’d be meeting up with the others who would be working to solve this case in the Great Hall, and was high time to start acting like the high and mighty wizard he was. It was time to get serious.

As serious as he ever got, anyways. A fun-loving creature, he managed to make a joke out of every situation. He absolutely adored making people irritated - like the head hostler, for one - but he only really tried to annoy strangers.

Annoying people he liked, or people he had to spend extended periods of time with always turned out to be a bad idea. Always. He had a scar to remember a fiery redhead he'd annoyed, once.

Dismounting properly - instead of falling off the horse, as he'd always done before – the warmage Emry Conte shrugged his cloak over his shoulders, the butt of the staff firmly planted against the dirt.

He favored the man with another smile - but not an apology for pretending like he had as much experience in riding as a four-year-old - he made his way towards the guest rooms he had been staying in. They were quite nice, actually, but then again - he was a mage hired to help end a war and murder the king of Carthak.

Or, it might end the war, if he wasn’t caught, the king had said in a tone that had insinuated that Emry was unreliable. That Emry might quit on the job - but he wasn't that kind of warmage. Unlike some wizards-for-hire, Emry was as good at his job as he said he was, and he actually had a sense of honor.

The king had paid him, and he deserved Emry's loyalty until the mission was done. And he would see the mission through to its finish - or die trying. The words weren't just for show - he meant it.

Growing up, he'd been the son of a poor fisherman in a village bordering on Dhara and Scanra. His father never paid taxes to either, and considered himself a citizen of Borderland - that is to say, he was a citizen of either country when it suited him.

Emry had taken this view in life, though he had received mage-training in Carthak. Now, he considered himself a wandering weather wizard, with no obligations except to those who paid him.
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