Post by tarth on Oct 19, 2013 15:15:44 GMT
Age: 28
Position: Purewater, godking
Tribe Origin: Talisraak
Language: Tali - Common Dialect
Relationships: N/A
| Allies | Enemies |
Personality: Norvosio is a man of the sea; he shares its rages and its calms. The man is difficult to keep up with, his moods are ever-shifting and he has more energy than a boy half his age. Being the spiritual leader of his tribe, Norvosio is expected to hold himself to some standard of nobility, but he was born a fisherman’s son from the South before becoming a Purewater. Norvosio freely mixes with the common folk, trading tales with oarsmen and playing with the children of the fisherfolk. You’ll find him more often searching for wisdom at the bottom of a wineskin than praying before the waves.
He is a rough man’s man. He prefers strength and skill over beauty and intellect, the workmanship of artists are entirely lost on him and the finer things in life are a subject of disdain. A true man needs only a spear and a boat to be happy. While not entirely stupid, he is a stubborn man that refuses to falter in any act. He knows only one way of doing anything and that usually entails force.
He is wise in a certain common way. All of the knowledge he has ever acquired came from experience, and the few lessons his doddering predecessor passed onto him before his mind began to fade. While he may not be able to do arthimetic, set him aboard a ship and he'll feel perfectly at home. His communion with the commoners has only served to heighten this and distance himself from the wealthy nobles who each fight for control of the islands.
Norvosio lives a conflicted life, torn between country and duty, love and religion and so he has grown into quite a thinker. Often sitting posed a top a rock and staring off into the distance wondering about all manner of things both mundane and extraordinary.
While incredibly devout, Norvosio doesn’t believe himself to be Purewater material. Norvosio frets that he is not the right man for the job he has been handed, he performs the rituals with visible discomfort and self-doubt. He is very aware of his background and misses the simple life he once had.
Back Story: Norvosio was born the fourth son of a fourth son, and naturally was the subject of torment from his older siblings, all male. His daily was packed with a mixture of chores and adventure. He was hardly an exceptional child, whereas two of his older brothers had sailed around Talisraak in their first ships by the age of ten, ever the late bloomer he completed the circuit at the age of twelve. His skill with spear and sword were passable, his harpoon was above average but by the time he was old enough to go whaling season storms kept him ashore. It was in those long months of waiting that he glimpsed his salvation from the mundane and his doom.
Katlaya was a girl of sixteen and the pride of a noble family that owned a fleet of whaling ships known as the Worsoll’s. At first sight, Norvosio was smitten, pledging that he would win her favor on her Maiden Day. He stole away with his family’s prized possessions, adorning himself in gold and pearls.
He passed for a nobleman, and tried his earnest best to win the young girls heart against suitors that brought entire boats with holds filled to the brim with treasures of the sea. The whitestone hall that the ceremony took place in was packed with Northerners and Southerners alike. The most honored guest of all was the white hair Purewater with milky grey eyes and a hunched back. When it was finally his turn to present the trinkets he had collected the girl looked at him with eyes mixed with joy and laughter, but before she could even so much as part her lips the Purewater spoke.
Norvosio always remembered that moment, in his dreams she spoke before the old man. It didn’t matter if it was a yes or no, just that she answered. In his nightmares, the Purewater dragged him into the depths of the sea chained at wrist and ankle. To become the next Purewater, one must abandon all earthly ties. Love, gold, family and friends, all of it was left behind. Every dream he had left him that day, replaced by endless scrolls and lectures. Being the Purewater was a respectable position but it was a boring one. At least while under the leash of his predecessor. The man had lived ninety or so years and only remembered the first twenty, but it was twelve more years before he died and Norvosio took all of his responsibilities.
Now as the Purewater, Norvosio finds happiness in lingering in the life he left behind, the Bayhouse of the Purewater is home to only spiders and dust motes.
Miscellaneous
Activity: Average
Stat Spread:
Triggered: +2 to Might
Writing Demo:
Norvosio woke with the sun breaking its rays atop the glass-stone roof of the Bayhouse. He bolted upright and stumbled off of the stone tablet he called a bed. Even living in that hut by the sea with all three of his brothers had been more comfortable than this. The crashing of the seven-damned seven waterfalls echoed around him, supposedly whispering tales of the future in his ear but all he heard was their thunderous and unintelligible grumbles. His stone cot rested beneath an enormous altar, once splendid, now covered in cobwebs and dust depicting an amalgamation of all of the faces of the God of the Water carved into a stone wheel. All the forms that man had seen him take. One that interested him the most was in the center was a beautiful woman whose legs were scaled and joined like a fish, her arms stretched and coiled into two great sea serpents at her sides. Norvosio stared into her eyes, dark holes that held gleaming white pearls and saw Katlaya, or his mother, or the old sea hag down by the wharf who always gave him rotting fish head when ever he made the rounds. Before he had become the Purewater, the effigy had gleamed bone white but now was covered in moss and lichen, and the water that had flowed throughout its every channel had stopped.
Upon the maidens head rested the skull of a sea dragon, it still retained some of the fiery paint around its maw, the rest had chipped away. It's powerful wings fanned out on both sides of its skull and cast a frightening shadow across Norvosio's face. It glared at him accusingly. All of the faces looked menacing. The serpents jaws were gaping wide, the storm king had his arms crossed, withered sirens clawed at him with skeletal rock fingers. Maybe it was the wine still sloshing around in his gullet or the haze of his dreams but Norvosio turn and ran in panic, stumbling down the steps more like a fool than a king. Much less a god. He turned back to look at his spirit-haunted home. It seemed to spill shadows from its mouth, but other than that it was completely still. He didn't dare take a step back up. There were two many eyes staring at him, too many mouths speaking his failures.
He gathered up his dignity and turned his back on his gods. The villagers would have smiles and gifts, whereas here he found curses and ghosts.
Norvosio woke with the sun breaking its rays atop the glass-stone roof of the Bayhouse. He bolted upright and stumbled off of the stone tablet he called a bed. Even living in that hut by the sea with all three of his brothers had been more comfortable than this. The crashing of the seven-damned seven waterfalls echoed around him, supposedly whispering tales of the future in his ear but all he heard was their thunderous and unintelligible grumbles. His stone cot rested beneath an enormous altar, once splendid, now covered in cobwebs and dust depicting an amalgamation of all of the faces of the God of the Water carved into a stone wheel. All the forms that man had seen him take. One that interested him the most was in the center was a beautiful woman whose legs were scaled and joined like a fish, her arms stretched and coiled into two great sea serpents at her sides. Norvosio stared into her eyes, dark holes that held gleaming white pearls and saw Katlaya, or his mother, or the old sea hag down by the wharf who always gave him rotting fish head when ever he made the rounds. Before he had become the Purewater, the effigy had gleamed bone white but now was covered in moss and lichen, and the water that had flowed throughout its every channel had stopped.
Upon the maidens head rested the skull of a sea dragon, it still retained some of the fiery paint around its maw, the rest had chipped away. It's powerful wings fanned out on both sides of its skull and cast a frightening shadow across Norvosio's face. It glared at him accusingly. All of the faces looked menacing. The serpents jaws were gaping wide, the storm king had his arms crossed, withered sirens clawed at him with skeletal rock fingers. Maybe it was the wine still sloshing around in his gullet or the haze of his dreams but Norvosio turn and ran in panic, stumbling down the steps more like a fool than a king. Much less a god. He turned back to look at his spirit-haunted home. It seemed to spill shadows from its mouth, but other than that it was completely still. He didn't dare take a step back up. There were two many eyes staring at him, too many mouths speaking his failures.
He gathered up his dignity and turned his back on his gods. The villagers would have smiles and gifts, whereas here he found curses and ghosts.
