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it is currently season 1, the year 1449 NE. The continent of Tnarem balances on a precarious edge between survival and destruction. Wars rage between nations, fractures open in the Mete. The world as the Tnaremi people know it is dying and they are left with a choice: act or perish with it.
All of the information you need to become better acquainted with the world of Sergonia and its inhabitants can be found here. Anyone wishing to join the Ericourt will be able to find the essentials here.
High Mercian Common Markish Common Mercian No Information
Yes, bound and born awake
Goals & Motivation
He owes fealty threefold: to the Carnifex, to the Augury and (to an arguably lesser degree) to the Veturii and Mercia, herself. Felix knows no other way than the way set down by his tutors within the college grounds. By the Bellator of the Praesidium. As a child, he was branded with the mark of what he was: an abomination; a walking reminder of what should not be. Mortal men, in his eyes, have no right to wield the power of the Gods. His goals are simple: magic must be controlled. Those who possess it must be taught to master it. Those who refuse must be held accountable. It would be unjust to say he enjoys killing - but it is a necessary evil. One he is more than willing to carry out to serve the Carnifex and through it - all Tnarem.
He is a child of Typhos, his abilities ones that only belong in the hands of the Four. Felix has strong faith and he takes comfort in the fact that his submission to the Augury as a child and the subsequent years he has spent within the Athenaeum have set him on the path to eventual balance within. With every rogue caster he apprehends, it is his belief he, and through him the Carnifex, spare their souls total consumption by Salis and the eternal torment of Ifran in the thereafter. For if he was born a child of chaos, he will be a tool of balance.
Broad-shouldered and brawny with angular features and a strong jawline, the Black Thorn of Lebissa is difficult to mistake for anything less than the Mercian he is. His low-lidded eyes are dark, fitted beneath thick eyebrows and a nose long and rather wide, carrying a slight cleft at its tip. His mouth is not wholly ungenerous in shape but often seems rather thin and unforgiving due to its penchant to settle into a naturally resting frown.
If left to his own devices, Felix prefers darker colors in his wardrobe choices but he is none the less a conscientious dresser, aware of his rank and the impression he delivers upon the world through it. He will occasionally favor dark reds in his outer robes, typically accented in rich gold stitching and is rarely to be seen without his sword at his hip.
Felix is a man of strong convictions that he wears as plainly as the mark beneath his eye. He is a quietly assertive, no-nonsense individual who values strength, integrity and commitment above all else. He demands it of himself and holds the world - and in particular his fellow augurs and members of the Carnifex - to the same standards. Inwardly, he is a man who wrestles with his own self loathing. Proud to be Mercian, he is a pariah to his own people and the disgrace of his House - the first born abomination that led to his mother’s downfall. Felix is governed by an almost fanatical belief in his purpose for being what he is and doing what he does and this will always color his interactions with others - particularly witches who do not view their abilities as the inherent danger to Tnarem that the Augury does. As a justicar he is persistent, methodical and calm, preferring certainty over impulse - particularly as relates to the execution of rogue witches. A devout Templar, he reconciles the taking of any life as a necessary evil, but each must first have their trespasses weighed against the necessity for such a final judgement.
Academic (2) - Magic
His education was sufficient for a child of noble birth, if not particularly spectacular. Felix is no scholar, but he is well versed in the theories, families and general practice of magic, it being the area of study he excelled at most during his schooling. He also showed particular promise in the study of magic as a form of battle craft, learning the benefits and drawbacks of magic being utilized during times of war.
Diplomatic (1) - None
Having spent most of his youth within the walls of the Augury, Felix is certainly no diplomat. His opinions when given are always resolute and to the point, unadorned with anything save the bald truth as necessary, but he is entirely capable of holding a civilized conversation. Whether the conversation will be of any length or substance is another matter and typically in the hands of his conversational partner. He does not enjoy small talk, viewing it as a waste of his time and energy but when engaged on topics that hold his interest, he will tolerate even the most inane of gatherings. Felix views the world through a narrow lens and this is particularly apparent when he is in social situations. He is not a man who understands the games of court, guile and artifice are not his to wield nor are they likely to register with him when attempted.
Martial (3) - Battle-related magic, guerilla tactics, large-scale battle strategy
Hailing from a martial people and a bloodline known for their strength, leadership and resolve, Felix is no exception to this despite his isolation from his House. Muscular and brawny, he is an adept swordsman who is familiar with several weapons (though is known to prefer a sword, often carried at his hip) and has sound knowledge of battle magic, particularly its strategic uses. Felix also has a strong understanding of military ranks and systems, both local and abroad and has been known to participate in blood sports, when time and occasion allow for it.
Relationship with House
Felix was given into the care of the Augury at the age of five. His awareness of his family and their place within Mercian society, therefore, was far more theoretical than anything drawn from true memory for many years and was largely as he preferred. Unlike some others he was educated alongside, Felix held no grudge against his parents for ridding themselves of a child who posed a threat to all around him and considers their actions to this day to be emblematic of the proper course of action any family member should take upon discovering a witch in their midst. His relationship, or the lack thereof, with the Veturii continues to be strained. He is at once revered and reviled for being an Augur. His status as Born Awake affords him some measure of respect, but for others is a further source of disgust and fear.
- Felix is a powerful augur, born awake and skilled in Paramancy and Mauermancy
- Felix was an athame for the Praesidium in Mercia for many years before joining the Carnifex
- He is a Justicar in the Carnifex
- He once tore a man's heart out and ate it in front of him
- Felix is immune to poison
- Felix doesn't have any empathy, he had it magically removed in order to better serve the Carnifex
- Felix is surprisingly fond of animals
- He is directly responsible for the deaths of many rogue witches in Mercia and Dubhion
- He enjoys killing rogue witches
Born into Mercia's most prominent family, Felix is a member of the nobilicus of Raevenna by birth but he has long since been the black stain on his family's otherwise impressive record. A blight best forgotten except for rare occasions when his status as a born awake augur or his position within the Carnifex is of particular use to mention. He was born in the month of Vulcus, some few weeks before the autumn equinox. It was thought a promising sign at first, a newborn son, the first child, born in the days of the young, virile god. But promise turned to horror, when the truth was revealed. Not strange accidents after all, or malicious servants spreading rumors - but a newborn witch in the Veturii nursery.
Felix was dispatched to the Augury in Raevenna a full year earlier than some at the age of five, his presence a source of recrimination and guilt that could no longer be tolerated. They called him venenata spinam, the poisoned thorn of Raevenna and it is a variation of this moniker Felix carries with him to this day, for not only was he the thorn in the side of the Veturii, he was the ruination of the marriage between his father and mother. Durante Veturia, certain it was his wife's womb to blame for his son's condition, was quick to end their legal union.
Within the walls of the Augury, Felix settled into an education that informed and sculpted a child's sense of rejection and carved from it a young man of strong will and stronger determination. Born with a limited, if powerful, set of abilities, he had never known a reality that was not beset by the whispers of the Pale, or the troubling dreams of shapeless, mist-laden lands. But under direction, pushed by master augurs; he forged might from his weaknesses. He found purpose in his studies of magic and its many uses, the nuances of each school of it. Felix's talents were twofold: he was skilled in all magical forms of communication, from the otherworldly creatures of the Pale he'd known as a child that scared his family so, to other augurs - that unwavering resolve of his also took his skill in a far darker direction.
Once it became apparent he was also a skilled mauermancer, his ambitions were made clear. He was a fit for a most coveted position within the Praesidium, he would train to join the ranks of the athames; those most trusted of augurs. Allowed to step outside their guarded walls for a necessary, if blood-soaked, task. They gripped the witch’s shoulders to hold her still. Drew her arm out until her wrist was laid flat; the palm drawn into a tight fist. A tall Mercian seated himself across from her, expression solemn. He was young, perhaps no older than eighteen, but he carried himself with the assurance they all did.
She spat at him.
“We are going to have a conversation, witch,” he began, as if she had not moved at all. “You will answer each question honestly. I don’t recommend withholding anything. At the end of this conversation, you will face an important decision.” His eyes regarded her tear stained face intently. She was no older than he was, dirtier, perhaps, but close. “For your sake, I hope you make the right one.” A glance to the corner of the room, where a figure stood observing the younger augur. There was a moment of silent exchange and a muscle ticked in Felix Veturia’s jaw.
“Bring me the knife.” He instructed.
In his early twenties, he was officially placed within the college and there he remained for many years; allowed to set foot outside the Augury walls when the Carnifex had need for skilled augurs to join their ranks to hunt down and silence witches who refused to recognize what was law. Although he was at last able to set foot within the courts of Raevenna and join his family once more as his duties allowed - he rarely did, nor does, to this day. Court life felt a strange dream he'd suffered once and it never quite sat in agreement with him - he was many things, in his mind - but not destined for the royal court. Instead Felix did as he had always done: he devoted his time to his calling. To the same calling that had been there from his first breath.
And, after years of service, his dedication was given reward. Acceptance into the ranks of the Carnifex as a justicar. The boy could be no older than thirteen, Felix was convinced of it.
He’d led him on quite the merry chase through the streets of the capital, his skills with mutomancy advanced enough that he’d been shifting form into stray dogs, cats and even the occasional vermin to avoid detection within the ancient stone walls. Too quickly, the justicar had surmised almost at once. His panic at realizing who the Pull had led him into the path of was draining his magical reserves faster than his scrawny body, and the Source in his veins, could hope to maintain. He was on the verge of acute withdrawal or collapse.
A half-starved commoner who thought he was somehow better equipped than the Augury to control his casting. The sheer arrogance of it never ceased to astonish Felix, that they would hide like cowering pups in the populous, these witches, at large and fully capable of inflicting carnage when-so-ever they chose.
They weren’t simply rogues - they were destruction in wait.
His journey had brought him to one of the city’s less reputable bathhouses where the pleb had taken refuge inside one of the caldariums, likely hoping the steam would conceal him from Felix’s baleful gaze. But Raevenna was unlike other cities he tracked witches in - it was his home - and estranged as they were, it meant a degree of familiarity that other cities lacked. It meant that the figure that swung himself down from his saddle and pushed a hood back to reveal his face was greeted with a mixture of apprehension and uncomfortable respect from those who had spilled out into the streets to observe the appearance of the black rider.
“Novi Felix.” The elderly proprietor of the bathhouse greeted him, his lined gaze wary.
“The boy.” He pressed at once, impatience rising in him. “Where?” He had no time for the old man’s superstitions this day.
He gestured and Felix slipped through the door into a world hazy with heat and slow rising steam. He could feel the boy’s presence nearby, the unmistakable twinge in his gut growing stronger with every step. “Come, boy.” He boomed, feeling perspiration gathering at his temples. “Enough hiding.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Came the reply, the voice thin with fear and exhaustion.
“You are an unsanctioned witch.” Felix observed, cautiously feeling his way forward. “That is enough.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You are. One way or another, puer dominum.”
There was a ripple of motion, a sudden dart from the thick coils of steam and the boy crashed bodily into a conjured shield. His body crumpled to the tile where he lay gasping, winded from the impact.
“Stay down,” Felix commanded curtly as the boy began making motions to get to his feet, his heels sliding on the wet tile. His nose was bleeding, a trail of bright blue dripping his true nature onto the slick floor. When he began to rise again, the justicar let out a low curse and reached down to pull the boy to his feet bodily. He rid him of the blood stains, tied his wrists and guided him from the bathhouse, fingers around the nape of his neck. “This boy is a witch.” He addressed the crowd that had gathered, staring and muttering among themselves. “He has surrendered himself to the will of the Augury. I hereby take him into custody.”
It was not until he had the boy safely stowed on his horse and himself re-situated that he heard it; a shouted curse. The old insults: Abomination! Shame, Felix Veturia! Felix drew the hood up and stirred his mount into motion, leaving the shouts in his wake.
Felix is currently in Dubhion with a small number of his fellow justicars overseeing the temporary refuge for Augurs displaced by the fracture in Inshmore. Officially, his orders from the Carnifex are to maintain order while the fracture is being studied, but with the arrival of the Gran Schecolei in Dubhion, there can be little doubt that the presence of witch hunters is intended to send a strong message - and act as warning, too. The voices woke him. He’d slept poorly, as was always the case when he rode by carriage and as his senses returned to him, Felix found the bone deep weariness lingered. As did the unease. Across from him, a set of dark eyes had been observing. Tatiana had grown alongside him in the Augury; they had joined the ranks of the Carnifex side by side. In another life, he imagined she’d have made him a good wife.
“How you manage to sleep anywhere baffles me.”
In this one, she settled for acting like one. There was a low sound of amusement. “You might too, if you put your damn books away once in a while. Give it here and I’ll put it to better use.” A large hand gestured at her.
“We’re not far now, are we?” She asked, fingers tightening around the volume. She knew better than to hand a book over to the likes of Felix Veturia, the last occasion she had he’d thrown it out the window of a moving carriage.
Felix drew the hangings back. “No,” he returned, surprised.
Outside, the snow-covered terrain of Dubhion whipped by. In the distance, he could see a hive of activity. The camp, then. Rows of tents and lit fires, bodies small as insects roving between them. His gut clenched, by the Four the sheer mass of casters here was staggering. No wonder the Carnifex had demanded a stronger presence, he thought idly.
“What do you see?” She pressed him.
“Bello.” He rumbled in the high tongue, almost to himself. “It looks like a fucking war front.”
Magical Abilities Explained
Although Born Awake and therefore more powerful than his Born Asleep peers, Felix is also bound and his families of magic are likewise limited. While he has a working knowledge of all schools of magic and the theory behind their uses and how they might be cast, he himself is capable of only two: Paramancy, his strongest magic by far and to a slightly weaker extent, Mauermancy. From a young age, the act of communication, to both the Pale and other Augurs, has come the easiest for him. It is almost second nature to Felix, to hear the murmurings of what lays beyond the Mete. As a skilled fighter, his talents in shield projection and conjuration have come to be of utmost importance to him in the field, often calling on partial wards to ensure sensitive Carnifex matters are not overheard by prying ears. But it is perhaps in wresting, that darker of talents, where his strongest power lays. Felix has an uncanny knack for pushing his will upon the unwilling. It is not in and of itself a talent he relishes the use of but when he is forced to use it, or feels it is justified, it is the one area he is the most experienced.
Consequences of Being Awake
It is the Pull that torments Felix the most and has done his entire life. From the moment he could crawl, he was chasing after voices that only spoke to him, none other. Drawing him incessantly toward others that shared the same sense; the same skill. It was the Pull that was to blame for his isolation as a small child, for his being bundled up and sent away to the foreboding walls of the Augury. It is the nagging voice in his ear at all hours; the restlessness that drives him to push himself to harsh extremes in the line of duty. It is his clearest reminder that he has much to do yet, to make his amends with the Four. Both the Song and the Dream are more muted consequences for him, though both do come in waves; sometimes stirring him from uneasy slumber and plaguing his waking hours like a dull chorus; shrieking their rhapsody inside his skull.
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Last seen Apr 13 2018, 08:25 AMCreated on December 15th, 2017has made 14 postsplayed by Jacqui