Heroist
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Tao Kug
Conviction: Ira
Origin: Eastern Federation
Attributes
Attack: 10+3-1
Health: 100+30
Defense: 0
Accuracy: 10+2+2
Evasion: 10
Speed: 10+2+3
Will: 10-5
AP: 3+1
Charisma: 10+3
Beauty: 10+1
Crit: 0%
Event Points: 1
Weapon Specialties:
Katar III
Experience: 1500-500*3-20%=300
Inventory:
Katar
Unassuming Cloak
Savings
Hardtack
Shattered Medallion from Home
This land is lonely and long abandoned by the almighty Creators. Filled with the bleak sorrow of forgotten ancestral tales, forever bound in the icy silence of a deathly slumber. The sea breathes oblivion, its dull tides crashing against the black stones of the rocky coast, as if the mythical Mana and Dante clashed in opposition, never able to divide the natural elements of the universe. But with the passage of merciless time, even the fiery dance of water and stone lost its vibrant colors, involuntarily succumbing to a hopeless truce of decay and gloom. A gray rainy shroud enveloped the faceless mountain ranges, binding the desolate wooded groves nestled at their feet in eternal fog. The rare, muffled cries of forest creatures tear through the icy veil of sorrowful sleep with an alien, grating echo.
Tao can hardly believe that his homeland once breathed with life: waters teeming with fish frolicked merrily among rainbow reefs, high snowy peaks sparkled in eternal sunlight, and melodies of tribal tunes gently flowed in cozy, neatly decorated gardens. But then, as some said, a rich lord took a liking to the cozy natural bay that fed this humble settlement; others claimed that a mysterious demon-dragon, flying over the great mountains, melted the eternal glaciers with its hellish flame; still others insisted that the cause was a curse placed by a drowned girl who had been violated by the elder's sons. All that remained etched in the dark depths of Tao's own memory were soldiers in beautifully ornate armor, but he himself long ago ceased to know how genuine those childhood memories were.
Tao knows another thing well: rain, dampness, cold, hunger, death. But Tao also knows light: for he has a best friend. Since childhood, the two of them have been breaking through against the entire hostile world towards the cloudless peaks of the giant mountains, just to catch a glimpse of the pure blue sky. Along the tangled path of naive dreams and harsh life realities, they walk the martial path of chosen Ira, eradicating injustice with the symbol of a Roman sword and dispelling the dark fog over the heads of other orphaned children of the eastern archipelago.
Tao sympathizes with the sad story of Eolia's fall, which is in some ways certainly reminiscent of his own destroyed homeland. As a peacekeeping squad on behalf of the Federation, he and his best friend head into the frontline lair of bloodthirsty beasts ravaging an innocent, doomed country. Tao is convinced that their path will inevitably lead to the establishment of an unbreakable peace and bring long-awaited prosperity to Eolia. Shortly before the end of the battles, their squad is ambushed, and Tao, having sustained a serious wound, is sidelined for a long time.
Tao again treads on the cold, stony sand, a boundless gray plain skirting the desolate black coast. The quiet murmur of the waves increasingly yields to the growing drone of the autumn rain. Heavy drops, with weighty impacts, bend the sparse, tattered leaves of stubborn plants; bold gusts of storm wind snap the withered branches of dead trees. The black sea mass foams under the blows of the escalating elements; enraged waves spew streams of dirty foam at the warrior's feet. Tao never wished to return to this grave-like land again, but his soul and mind demanded a final meeting with past dreams and bitter disappointments.
The meager rays of the pale sun hide behind the silent peaks of the western mountains, casting a faded shadow with their last glimmers onto the silhouette of another warrior. This man, like a motionless statue, stood waiting for Tao on a tiny sandy isthmus surrounded by the agitated sea. Without delay, Tao also steps onto the thin gray path, barely visible in the approaching rainy twilight. The air becomes unbearably heavy and literally charged with electricity, filling the tense atmosphere with the rumbles of the approaching storm. With each step, the silhouette of the other warrior grows larger, until their blurred reflections merge into one in the seething veil of sea waters.
"And I thought our last meeting would be like a friendly duel." — a painfully familiar voice pierces Tao's soul, as if drowning out all other echoes of the storm. A flash of light glints off the blade of his Roman sword, but Tao still does not hear the thunderclaps.
"My sword shattered eight years ago." — Tao replies.
After his wound, he never managed to regain his former form, and besides, he could no longer contain the inner revulsion caused by this once-valiant weapon of the goddess of martial arts. For four long years he trained in a new skill, somehow subconsciously completely losing the old one. During this time, Tao continued his pursuit of the traitor who had destroyed their squad, though he had always known perfectly well where he should find him.
"Do you plan to fight with this toothpick, my friend?" — asks his former comrade with bitter disappointment, obviously craving a more spectacular battle.
Tao knows that he was inferior to his friend even before, and in his current state, he has even less of a chance in a fight against him. However, he also knows that the healers have given him no more than ten years before his body finally refuses to obey his will. Instead of the suffering of a useless cripple, a warrior's death worthy of him on the battlefield, in a battle for vengeance and justice, at the hands of his only comrade — what else could an outcast like him hope for?
"But why did you betray us?" — the question, involuntarily tearing itself free, one that had tormented Tao's mind all these years.
"You understand perfectly well yourself." — a clear voice rings out in his mind without delay. "You remember all those boastful declarations from Federation officials, and then the military concerts, the loud celebrations and parades on Peace Day, but what in reality? A trio of usurpers celebrates a triumph over a tormented, mutilated country, and you and I were accomplices at that bloody feast of vultures!"
Previously so surprisingly clear, the echoes of the speaker's desperate shouts now fade in the growing peals of thunder. In the white lightning bolts piercing the water, the reflection of his furious eyes burns with a fiery blaze.
"Even the Federation is no better than the rest!" — he continues relentlessly. "In this godforsaken world, there are no more valiant people, valiant nations, valiant countries. Do you remember how we swore not to let anyone else suffer the fate of our village? So why didn't we perish along with the brave defenders of Eolia?"
Tao doesn't know what to say, and doesn't want to answer this pointless monologue. Whether his friend is right or not, it doesn't justify the vile betrayal. No matter how bitter, filled with the pain of mistakes and remorse, the path may be, a true warrior is destined to follow the will of his decision to the very end.
Again lightning flashed, the grim walls of sea waves soared upward, seething cold currents flooded the sandy islet, and with the first thunderous blows of the celestial chariot, the two comrades simultaneously rushed towards each other, raising their deadly blades for the final attack.
The harsh veil of dark clouds dispersed, but was replaced only by dense clumps of a gray, misty film. The sandy shore, battered by the weather, was even more littered with dirty black boulders thrown up by the fury of the elements from the very seabed. It brightened slightly, but the thickened milky fog only added a new, devastating gloom to the surroundings. The abandoned cove seemed to sink again into its restless, suffocating slumber.
Tao's shirt was soaked through with freshly spilled blood. Painfully moving his legs, growing heavy and sinking into the wet sand, he barely managed to drag himself onto the rocky shore, where he finally gave vent to the rage burning his heart.
His friend had betrayed their squad, betrayed the ideals of their martial valor, and now had betrayed his own fate as well, yielding to him in a deadly duel and allowing himself to be killed. His friend had deprived the Federation of a worthy warrior, deprived him himself of a worthy death, deprived Ira of a worthy servant, deprived Eolia of a worthy defender.
A new wave washed his comrade's Roman sword ashore. Mechanically picking up the weapon, Tao strode quickly towards a rocky elevation overgrown with low, thorny bushes, beyond which an old, half-dead grove lay. In a rage, he slashed at the innocent foliage, left deep dents in the thick tree trunks, uprooted bushes, and mowed down the sparse young shoots. Dropping the sword, he bent down to pick it up and discovered with astonishment that the weapon's blade was broken exactly as his own Roman sword had once been. In a fit of helpless despair, Tao began snapping the sharp branches, scratching his hands, shoulders, and face. And then from the depths of his mutilated body tore a cry of pain and rage, which with an ugly echo proclaimed the surroundings hidden in eternal slumber, sending a flock of frightened birds into the gray sky.
Tao knows that his service to the Federation is long over, and his fate is of no interest to anyone. He knows that he actually died in that fateful thunderstorm, or maybe eight years ago, or maybe in childhood, when their village was raided by unknown villains. Military honor does not allow him to shamefully take his own life, nor does it allow him to sink into the darkness of despondency and melancholy. Tao is certain only that his attitude towards the fate of Eolia has not changed in the slightest over these years. And even if his own path has already come to an end, the path of his friend, who so shamefully rejected his own duty despite his strength and skill, must still continue. Therefore, Tao will step onto the path of his comrade, whose name has been forever erased from his memory, and will fight for him and for Eolia — for everyone whose home has been defiled.
Conviction: Ira
Origin: Eastern Federation
Attributes
Attack: 10+3-1
Health: 100+30
Defense: 0
Accuracy: 10+2+2
Evasion: 10
Speed: 10+2+3
Will: 10-5
AP: 3+1
Charisma: 10+3
Beauty: 10+1
Crit: 0%
Event Points: 1
Weapon Specialties:
Katar III
Experience: 1500-500*3-20%=300
Inventory:
Katar
Unassuming Cloak
Savings
Hardtack
Shattered Medallion from Home
bio
***This land is lonely and long abandoned by the almighty Creators. Filled with the bleak sorrow of forgotten ancestral tales, forever bound in the icy silence of a deathly slumber. The sea breathes oblivion, its dull tides crashing against the black stones of the rocky coast, as if the mythical Mana and Dante clashed in opposition, never able to divide the natural elements of the universe. But with the passage of merciless time, even the fiery dance of water and stone lost its vibrant colors, involuntarily succumbing to a hopeless truce of decay and gloom. A gray rainy shroud enveloped the faceless mountain ranges, binding the desolate wooded groves nestled at their feet in eternal fog. The rare, muffled cries of forest creatures tear through the icy veil of sorrowful sleep with an alien, grating echo.
Tao can hardly believe that his homeland once breathed with life: waters teeming with fish frolicked merrily among rainbow reefs, high snowy peaks sparkled in eternal sunlight, and melodies of tribal tunes gently flowed in cozy, neatly decorated gardens. But then, as some said, a rich lord took a liking to the cozy natural bay that fed this humble settlement; others claimed that a mysterious demon-dragon, flying over the great mountains, melted the eternal glaciers with its hellish flame; still others insisted that the cause was a curse placed by a drowned girl who had been violated by the elder's sons. All that remained etched in the dark depths of Tao's own memory were soldiers in beautifully ornate armor, but he himself long ago ceased to know how genuine those childhood memories were.
Tao knows another thing well: rain, dampness, cold, hunger, death. But Tao also knows light: for he has a best friend. Since childhood, the two of them have been breaking through against the entire hostile world towards the cloudless peaks of the giant mountains, just to catch a glimpse of the pure blue sky. Along the tangled path of naive dreams and harsh life realities, they walk the martial path of chosen Ira, eradicating injustice with the symbol of a Roman sword and dispelling the dark fog over the heads of other orphaned children of the eastern archipelago.
Tao sympathizes with the sad story of Eolia's fall, which is in some ways certainly reminiscent of his own destroyed homeland. As a peacekeeping squad on behalf of the Federation, he and his best friend head into the frontline lair of bloodthirsty beasts ravaging an innocent, doomed country. Tao is convinced that their path will inevitably lead to the establishment of an unbreakable peace and bring long-awaited prosperity to Eolia. Shortly before the end of the battles, their squad is ambushed, and Tao, having sustained a serious wound, is sidelined for a long time.
Tao again treads on the cold, stony sand, a boundless gray plain skirting the desolate black coast. The quiet murmur of the waves increasingly yields to the growing drone of the autumn rain. Heavy drops, with weighty impacts, bend the sparse, tattered leaves of stubborn plants; bold gusts of storm wind snap the withered branches of dead trees. The black sea mass foams under the blows of the escalating elements; enraged waves spew streams of dirty foam at the warrior's feet. Tao never wished to return to this grave-like land again, but his soul and mind demanded a final meeting with past dreams and bitter disappointments.
The meager rays of the pale sun hide behind the silent peaks of the western mountains, casting a faded shadow with their last glimmers onto the silhouette of another warrior. This man, like a motionless statue, stood waiting for Tao on a tiny sandy isthmus surrounded by the agitated sea. Without delay, Tao also steps onto the thin gray path, barely visible in the approaching rainy twilight. The air becomes unbearably heavy and literally charged with electricity, filling the tense atmosphere with the rumbles of the approaching storm. With each step, the silhouette of the other warrior grows larger, until their blurred reflections merge into one in the seething veil of sea waters.
"And I thought our last meeting would be like a friendly duel." — a painfully familiar voice pierces Tao's soul, as if drowning out all other echoes of the storm. A flash of light glints off the blade of his Roman sword, but Tao still does not hear the thunderclaps.
"My sword shattered eight years ago." — Tao replies.
After his wound, he never managed to regain his former form, and besides, he could no longer contain the inner revulsion caused by this once-valiant weapon of the goddess of martial arts. For four long years he trained in a new skill, somehow subconsciously completely losing the old one. During this time, Tao continued his pursuit of the traitor who had destroyed their squad, though he had always known perfectly well where he should find him.
"Do you plan to fight with this toothpick, my friend?" — asks his former comrade with bitter disappointment, obviously craving a more spectacular battle.
Tao knows that he was inferior to his friend even before, and in his current state, he has even less of a chance in a fight against him. However, he also knows that the healers have given him no more than ten years before his body finally refuses to obey his will. Instead of the suffering of a useless cripple, a warrior's death worthy of him on the battlefield, in a battle for vengeance and justice, at the hands of his only comrade — what else could an outcast like him hope for?
"But why did you betray us?" — the question, involuntarily tearing itself free, one that had tormented Tao's mind all these years.
"You understand perfectly well yourself." — a clear voice rings out in his mind without delay. "You remember all those boastful declarations from Federation officials, and then the military concerts, the loud celebrations and parades on Peace Day, but what in reality? A trio of usurpers celebrates a triumph over a tormented, mutilated country, and you and I were accomplices at that bloody feast of vultures!"
Previously so surprisingly clear, the echoes of the speaker's desperate shouts now fade in the growing peals of thunder. In the white lightning bolts piercing the water, the reflection of his furious eyes burns with a fiery blaze.
"Even the Federation is no better than the rest!" — he continues relentlessly. "In this godforsaken world, there are no more valiant people, valiant nations, valiant countries. Do you remember how we swore not to let anyone else suffer the fate of our village? So why didn't we perish along with the brave defenders of Eolia?"
Tao doesn't know what to say, and doesn't want to answer this pointless monologue. Whether his friend is right or not, it doesn't justify the vile betrayal. No matter how bitter, filled with the pain of mistakes and remorse, the path may be, a true warrior is destined to follow the will of his decision to the very end.
Again lightning flashed, the grim walls of sea waves soared upward, seething cold currents flooded the sandy islet, and with the first thunderous blows of the celestial chariot, the two comrades simultaneously rushed towards each other, raising their deadly blades for the final attack.
The harsh veil of dark clouds dispersed, but was replaced only by dense clumps of a gray, misty film. The sandy shore, battered by the weather, was even more littered with dirty black boulders thrown up by the fury of the elements from the very seabed. It brightened slightly, but the thickened milky fog only added a new, devastating gloom to the surroundings. The abandoned cove seemed to sink again into its restless, suffocating slumber.
Tao's shirt was soaked through with freshly spilled blood. Painfully moving his legs, growing heavy and sinking into the wet sand, he barely managed to drag himself onto the rocky shore, where he finally gave vent to the rage burning his heart.
His friend had betrayed their squad, betrayed the ideals of their martial valor, and now had betrayed his own fate as well, yielding to him in a deadly duel and allowing himself to be killed. His friend had deprived the Federation of a worthy warrior, deprived him himself of a worthy death, deprived Ira of a worthy servant, deprived Eolia of a worthy defender.
A new wave washed his comrade's Roman sword ashore. Mechanically picking up the weapon, Tao strode quickly towards a rocky elevation overgrown with low, thorny bushes, beyond which an old, half-dead grove lay. In a rage, he slashed at the innocent foliage, left deep dents in the thick tree trunks, uprooted bushes, and mowed down the sparse young shoots. Dropping the sword, he bent down to pick it up and discovered with astonishment that the weapon's blade was broken exactly as his own Roman sword had once been. In a fit of helpless despair, Tao began snapping the sharp branches, scratching his hands, shoulders, and face. And then from the depths of his mutilated body tore a cry of pain and rage, which with an ugly echo proclaimed the surroundings hidden in eternal slumber, sending a flock of frightened birds into the gray sky.
Tao knows that his service to the Federation is long over, and his fate is of no interest to anyone. He knows that he actually died in that fateful thunderstorm, or maybe eight years ago, or maybe in childhood, when their village was raided by unknown villains. Military honor does not allow him to shamefully take his own life, nor does it allow him to sink into the darkness of despondency and melancholy. Tao is certain only that his attitude towards the fate of Eolia has not changed in the slightest over these years. And even if his own path has already come to an end, the path of his friend, who so shamefully rejected his own duty despite his strength and skill, must still continue. Therefore, Tao will step onto the path of his comrade, whose name has been forever erased from his memory, and will fight for him and for Eolia — for everyone whose home has been defiled.
Whatever