Kilien Basmarc
Throw a dog a bone.
Appearance
Affable countenance.
Pensive daydreamer.
Flock of seagulls haircut.
Facial hair - rarely clean shaven.
Several visible scars.
Elongated canines.
Requires reading glasses.
Simple clothing, rarely wears armor.
Sports a sleeve of tattoos.
Wears piercings and jewelry, usually made of natural materials.
Often found smoking.
Skills and Abilities
- Lollygagger
- Expert Whittler
- Dayjob Whistler
- Trinket Collector
- Reliable Punching Bag
- Exceptional Melee Combatant
- Stupidly High Pain Tolerance
- High Threshold for Alcohol
- Remarkable Stamina
- Enhanced strength, speed, and senses - grows stronger the closer to a full moon, at its peak during transformation, at its lowest during new moon phase
- Can enhance the rate of healing by feasting on raw meat/flesh
- Absorbs Mana Upon Contact
- Skilled College Mage
- Turns into large, horned werewolf under the full moon or when induced by the burning of mugwort leaf or fed wolf's blood
- Highly allergic to silver and wormwood/artemisia plants - most herbal healing remedies cannot be used on him
Personality
Easy going. Rolls with the punches. Giver. Passive. Cursed.
Has a strong dislike of cats.
Has a strong dislike of cats.
Heritage
Born a child of Rovani and Anirian Heritage, Kilien stands at a crossroads of freedom and tyranny.
~~~~
"You've... not heard of us?" well that wasn't something he came across very often. Usually it was outsiders beyond the realm of Vel Anir but this marked a first for him in years.
A hand lifted to paw at his beard in thought, "Mm... I don't know all the exact details because the story changes every time I hear it ... and it always varies depending on who tells it. The gist is, my people once lived peacefully alongside the Falwood elves in the south. When Vel Anir's army showed up to the city of Rova, we refused to ally with them against the elves in their own war - so they tried to conscript us. But Rovani were also gifted with a lot of mages and were taught powerful magic by the elves, so they fought back. Unfortunately they didn't really stand a chance against the Anirian army, and our home was completely destroyed."
A frown pulled at his face, "Now we're a migrant people of scattered family clans. Most Anirians hate us because of the rumor that we're descendants of elven half breeds, but also because we generally refuse to bow to Anirian rule and have a habit of causing a lot of trouble for roaming Anirian military units. Every once in a while, though, we get tangled up with Anirians and it results in mixed families like mine. I've got my great great grandfather Amel Basmarc to thank for that. He fell in love with an Anirian Lady and they had my great grandfather Berren Basmarc who ended up as a Dreadlord and served as a Proctor at the Academy for a while. Swordmaster, I think."
Kilien heh'd at himself, "Pear fell pretty far from that tree, though. I'm shite with a sword."
~~~~
"Do you know how you will die in this life, Basmarc?"
"I might," he replied, "I come from a family of Rovani. Fortunetelling and Soothsaying is sort of their thing."
~~~~
"My grandmother taught me how to make tea," he said to her idly with a small but proud little smile, "said there's magic even in that. With the right knowledge one can imbue a tea with greater meaning for stronger effects... and clearer readings."
Rovani did like their esoteric powers.
"Are you going to read my tea, Basmarc?"
"I could try," he offered with a shrug, "it only really works if you're willing. Reading the leaves of an unwilling party creates bad feedback and interference. Sort of like trying to read a book through scratched lenses."
The kettle was steaming now - nearly ready.
"Ma Paksi was the best at reading tea leaves. She was never wrong."
~~~~
"Mmm," he pondered that question, lifting the dangling hand to idly rub his pinky finger over his brow, "there's plenty of Rovani around if you know where to find them, but I couldn't tell you who's left of my immediate family. Not seen any of them since before... you know, prison."
"Awful to hear." She said simply, lifting the mug and tilting the tea towards her lip. Still too hot, Vittoria lowered the mug and pursed her lips to be rid of the tea droplet. "But at least you are not the last. Your customs and language would not die with you, I imagine."
"Naw, plenty of other Rovani to keep the traditions alive..." and that thought did make him happy. Theirs was a people rich in culture, history, and tight family bonds - the Basmarc family wasn't the only one, of course. There were dozens of other bloodlines, royalty even. But they weren't Anirian people and were generally frowned upon in Anirian territories.
Not nearly so badly as elves, but they rated only slightly higher.
~~~~
"Sure," he replied casually, "but I'd rather wait in the sun on the river bank then in this ruddy little carriage."
Rovani were people of nature - they liked their sun and rain and wind and water. They moved with the seasons and the herds in wagon homes and on horseback, sticking to the off-beaten paths and the seldom-traversed areas that most people knew little about.
Given the option, Kilien would nearly always choose to be outside.
He side-eyed the girl playfully, "Got something against naps?"
~~~~
The question he'd asked her being when the last time was she'd visited his grave.
To him, to his people, paying homage to late family members was as normal as afternoon tea. Rovani kept the likeness of their loved ones in the form of sketches or paintings in their possession. Whenever their caravans stopped and made home, those images were set out within the wagons so that their late loved ones could be there, too.
Do you ever just go to talk to him? he'd asked.
She must have misheard.
~~~~
Kilien's head remain on a swivel as he watched performers traipse about. A man on stilts. A juggler. A magician (of all things). A contortionist. A fire eater. The revelry of normal folks about such mundane tricks, Kilien wondered if they lived their entire lives without witnessing true magic. It was so easy to forget how much of the world was untouched by it.
He contented himself to watch it all at Vittoria's side, a look of warm amusement plastered on his face as he sipped lemonade. "It reminds me of home," he said to her, leaning closer to her ear so she could hear him over the din of the festivities, "whenever Rovani gather in numbers it's always a party. Bonfires, dancing, stories, music, food and drink." The Initiate loosed a heavy sigh as he allowed himself to dip into the nostalgia of his youth.
~~~~
Biography & Lore
The great grandson of Berren Basmarc, former 2nd Level Dreadlord and Swordsmandship Proctor of the Academy.
Proctor Basmarc would have gone down in Anirian history as one of the foremost skilled swordsman of all time. Holding accolades to his name from a wealth of victories during his career as a Dreadlord, Berren took up the role of Proctor in his late 40s after the death of his own former mentor at the request of the Academy Head. Infamous for carving his way across the landscape of Anirian enemies in his time, Berren met an unfortunate response from the deep Falwood during an Academy mission with his star students.
It was there he was waylaid by a Druidic curse that transformed him into a hideous beast, making him the very thing he'd always cursed those of the Falwood to be. A strange and bastardized form of lycanism, the disease is passed down to every male descendant born under a full moon via the curse.
Kilien is the second to inherit his great grandfather's ...gift.
Up until the revolution, Kilien had been raised among the Foresaken in the undercity beneath Vel Anir where he was primarily used for experimentation and as a target to train the Foresaken half-breeds on. After the Revolution at the age of 17, he was brought to the Academy after having his memory tampered with. While older than most in his year, Kilien has not the training nor experience to graduate with those of his own age group.
Kilien does not remember much of his life from before.
Proctor Basmarc would have gone down in Anirian history as one of the foremost skilled swordsman of all time. Holding accolades to his name from a wealth of victories during his career as a Dreadlord, Berren took up the role of Proctor in his late 40s after the death of his own former mentor at the request of the Academy Head. Infamous for carving his way across the landscape of Anirian enemies in his time, Berren met an unfortunate response from the deep Falwood during an Academy mission with his star students.
It was there he was waylaid by a Druidic curse that transformed him into a hideous beast, making him the very thing he'd always cursed those of the Falwood to be. A strange and bastardized form of lycanism, the disease is passed down to every male descendant born under a full moon via the curse.
Kilien is the second to inherit his great grandfather's ...gift.
Up until the revolution, Kilien had been raised among the Foresaken in the undercity beneath Vel Anir where he was primarily used for experimentation and as a target to train the Foresaken half-breeds on. After the Revolution at the age of 17, he was brought to the Academy after having his memory tampered with. While older than most in his year, Kilien has not the training nor experience to graduate with those of his own age group.
Kilien does not remember much of his life from before.
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