The Legacy of Edward Mason

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The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

The Legacy of Edward Mason

Post by The Broken Sword » April 30th, 2021, 8:08 pm



Edward Mason

“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”

- J.R.R Tolkien, The Two Towers

[[ Most spoilers redacted, but minor ones below - read at your own risk. DO NOT METAGAME! ]]

Theme

Image


Full Name: Edward Mason
Birthdate: 26th of Goldleaf
Birthplace: Arkhess

Appearance
Age:Late Twenties to Early Thirties
Height: 5'10"
Weight:172lbs
Eyes:Dark
Hair:Brown
Skin:Farmer’s Tan

Physical Description:

Edward, an Easterner by birth, stands at an average height of five-foot-ten, with short brown hair, and equally dark eyes. His complexion is dark, but not enough to mark the man's peculiar lineage. Mason usually takes to wearing neutral tones, with which it is easier to hide the fact that his clothes are not in pristine condition, and a lack of rings, torcs, or jewelry of any kind indicates that he is not a man of skill or wealth. In fact, what equipment he does possess appears in rough shape, salvaged and pieced together out of necessity rather than design.


Personality


General Health: Hardy, hale, and lively
Profession: Farmer
Faction Affiliation:Rural Resident of Riverside
Languages:Common
Accent: Eastern
Roleplay Tools: None currently.

Personality Description: Mason, though friendly, is uncertain at the best of times -- and, though he genuinely wants to do the right thing, he doesn’t always have the courage to do so. This might explain his generally quiet demeanor. Still, for all of his flaws, the Easterner is easy to get along with.

Strengths: Patient, caring, honest, loyal, benevolent
Weaknesses: Ambivalent, fearful, indecisive

Governing Virtue: Compassion
Governing Throne: Cowardice
Last edited by The Broken Sword on June 3rd, 2021, 4:40 am, edited 1 time in total.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Edward Mason

Post by The Broken Sword » May 20th, 2021, 10:14 pm

"It was the strangest dream..." Edward's voice carried softly across the common hall of the tavern. Directed at no one in particular as his heavily calloused hands cradled a tankard of frothy ale. The kind you could almost chew, it was so thick. "There I was, standing in a field of impossibly golden wheat, as far as the eye could see. Enough to make a baker weep."

He lifted the tankard, glancing toward the nearby hearth for a moment as he drank deeply, leaving his mustache glistening with miniscule droplets of his chosen beverage. " There was this great oak in the middle of the field, and as I drew closer to it, I could see a face carved into the ancient bark."

He chuckles softly, drawing the back of his hand across his face to remove the lingering moisture. "And, as I circled around, a great booming voice began to shout 'Sacks of food, sacks of food, sacks of food!' as if to command me to turn those bountiful fields into feed."

Another long pull of the tankard, and it was finished off. Edward set a couple of coppers upon the bar -- a great sum for such a poor farmer as he, and he lifted a hand in fairwell. "Well.. I suppose I ought to produce a few sacks of food.. don't want no trees haunting my dreams again."

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Edward Mason

Post by The Broken Sword » June 3rd, 2021, 4:53 am

A massive plume of smoke roiled toward the heavens, blackening the skies, and casting a gloom across the countryside. The pungent smell of burning flesh reaching as far as Mason's farmstead to the north. He knew the odor well, having witnessed the pyres before. The young man peered out his window, or what little of it he hadn't boarded up at the terrible sounds of battle -- men and women shouting in the chaos, crying out in pain, and the unmistakable sound of steel crashing against steel.

He felt a deep emptiness in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him, as if his very body was offended by his cowardice. Alas, when the call to arms went out, Mason did not grab his longbow, nor his spear -- but rather, he slid the heavy chair toward the front of his hovel, jamming it against thick wooden door and retreated to the opposite corner of the room.



"Decus above, let this not be the end..."


He prayed that the battle did not come to him. And, perhaps it was for this reason that Mason's farm remained untouched by war.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Edward Mason

Post by The Broken Sword » July 3rd, 2021, 9:51 pm

It had not come for him -- what fighting there had been largely remained well to the south. And, the farmstead remained untouched by the fires that came after. If there was anything to be thankful for, it was that. Still, it took the young man a handful of weeks to gather the courage to leave the small wooden shack. A weathered longbow clutched in his hand. The town was gone, gutted by fire, and driven to the ground by relentless rains thereafter. He had seen the man responsible for the blaze. A silver-haired fellow, whose constant use of drugs and drink had given him a sunken and hollow look. Galryth Winterborn, one of the esteemed Assembly, was a shadow of the man he had been before. And, who could blame him? Everything the man had worked toward had been ripped away, and given over to forces of entropy and decay. He didn't know what to say to the man, terrified of the company he kept, towering figures armored from head-to-toe, so he said nothing of consequence, and retreated to his homestead.


"I wonder if anyone will return..."


Mason was alone, for the most part, nestled between a collection of ruined settlements and a haunted forest. He didn't know what was left for him anymore. Tending the crop was the only thing that kept him sane. But, every now and then, he would hear approaching feet, and scurried away quickly to hide from what he could only imagine was the armies of strangers returning to finish the job. Sleep didn't come easily, and when it did, his dreams were filled with terror. Buildings ablaze, rivers of blood coursing through the streets, and a sky blackened with the dark wings of scavengers.


"...but, is there anything to return to anymore?"

He sighed, collapsing behind the small table he had fashioned, and buried his face in one of the Doctor's guidebooks. Perhaps, one day, the sun would rise, and the horrors of the night would not return.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Edward Mason

Post by The Broken Sword » July 5th, 2021, 11:12 pm

Where you belong...



Edward Mason stood in a small dilapidated shack, surrounded by skillfully hewn but hastily erected fencing, and a veritable sea of crops. Today was a day unlike any other, because today he would venture into town to attend a lecture by Doctor Theo Hanlon. In truth, she was one of the few people that didn't absolutely terrify him, well, at least not in the same way that others did.

You see, he had taken to studying the Doctor's guidebooks, attempting to distract himself from the horrors of the war that had ravaged the northern reaches of the valley. And, for a time, it had worked...



"Where did I put it? I know it's here somewhere.."


He turned in a complete circle, tossing some furs aside to reveal a small chest, before a sigh of relief spilled from his lips. He threw open the lid revealing a set of what he imagined to be fine clothing. In truth, they were anything but fine, infact they were quite plain. But, he simply couldn't wear his day-to-day attire, it was a well-worn tunic of pale yellow with more patched holes and thread-bare sections than he had fingers and toes. And, the dark vest he wore over it was barely any better. No, that wouldn't do! Excited, he tossed the raggedy clothes aside, and dressed in his grays. It as truly his best. The broken chain hauberk and chausses would lay in a pile today, to be oiled and cleaned another day.



"Much better..."



At least, that's what he thought at first. Quickly, he threw open the door to his hut, barely pausing to lock the simple latch and race to the horse master. He barely noticed the ruined countryside anymore. And, today he was focused entirely on the prospect of learning something new. Besides, maybe he'd get up the courage to ask some questions that had been nagging at him. He had so many, and they raced through his head as he rode the mare through a sea of moaning and groaning dead, barely ducking under a quarrel fired in his direction by an angry cultist. They didn't like people on their lawn.


"Missed me!"


Edward was in rare form today. Joking at the legions of death that wanted nothing more than to rip him asunder. His mood was so elevated that the long ride to Fort Praesidium seemed shorter than usual. And, he quickly dismounted, peering up at the great stone walls that loomed well overhead. He gasped a little, feeling a tightness in his gut, and it didn't pass as he stepped beneath the great iron portcullis gates into the cramped and crowded streets of Fort Praesidum, barely missing a rather gruff looking guard that marched passed.


"Hello, Sir, I'm --"


The guard didn't so much as spare the farmer a glance. But, he didn't fault the man, guarding the streets was probably a treacherous job. So he continued deeper into the labyrinthine streets. The buildings felt pressed tight together, and massive, not like what he was used to in the north. Again, he attempted to inquire, being swept along in the crowded streets, but no one paid the man any heed. But, as luck would have it, Edward Mason was carried along to the Inn, where he could see shapes gathering on the rooftop. The announcement had said something of a roof! So he hurriedly made his way up the stairs passing a slumbering giant of a man on the front porch.

Edward made it to the top of the stairs, and a fresh breeze brought with it some relief from the anxiety-inducing battle in the streets below. He could see much of Fort Praesidium from here. He felt like an eagle soaring! His eyes quickly passed over the faces of those gathered. Some he had seen before, others he hadn't. There was a man with a bear on his head, whose voice was vaguely familiar to a talking bear in his dreams, and "the Ghost" as he had taken to calling Master Winterborn, the red-cloaked man who never moved, and a few others. It wasn't until he spotted the Doctor that everything stopped. Oh, all of that confidence had been sucked right out of him then and there, and he stood there staring like an oaf. All of his questions forgotten, he didn't even say hello! A man he did not recognize mentioned something of an injury, and "the Ghost" offered to help with more injuries. He found his seat and edged a little further away from Galryth.


"The only thing I've managed so far was some... corns. "


He joked. 'See, you idiot, you can do this! They laughed. He began to feel better about his trip to the Fort. Then, like a gathering of storm clouds, a shadow passed over Edward Mason. He felt the presence of others close by as more bodies filled the seats, and as he spared a glance he took note of the black-clothed figures looming over him. His body immediately went rigid, and his gaze shot forward. Doctor Hanlon had already started her introduction, and all he could hear was the hammering of his heart in his chest. It was the Black Wolves -- and they were so close he could almost smell the familiar scent of burned wood clinging to them like a cloak. Immediately, his mind went back to the sprawling settlement of Teneborough, only a short trot from his own farm, he thought of Viola's smiling face, and Khalkeus' odd but friendly demeanor, of the mercenaries that had protected its streets. HIs breathing was growing faint, and his face was pins and needles as he peered blankly at Galryth. He felt like he could die.


"Mason, why don't you take a stab at it? "


Suddenly, he was falling forward. No -- he was pushed! He shot daggers back at the Wolves, but immediately regretted that decision as he was so distracted that it took him a moment to hear the Doctor's voice. It was like a wave crashing against the beach. And, he had no choice, so he swallowed hard and moved into the arena with Mister Silver. For a moment, his mind went back to the books he had been studying, and everything else in the world faded. In fact, he managed to offer a joke or two to the patient.


"They say laughter is the best medicine, but the Doc says it's Turmeric. "


And, just like that, he was in the zone. Of course, his hands shook, and he had to constantly remind himself to breathe. Which, no doubt, Mister Silver had taken to noticing. But, with the Doctor there as a safety net, he managed to treat the man's arm! He felt a swell of pride within as the Doctor complimented his work and others offered their own support. But, these brief moments of confidence and ease were just that -- brief. Towards the end, he could feel the subtle danger of the Black Wolves looming nearby, especially with how they knew where he lived. So, he quickly, and most awkwardly made his way out of the Fort. Admonishing himself for his idiocy in leaving the safety of his farm.


"You're an idiot, Edward! You look ridiculous, gray, really? Who do you think you are? "


The ride home was long, and the whole way he kept reliving the moments on that rooftop until he could see the ruins of Riverside. 'Ah, there they are..'He thought to himself, moving toward the bridge. 'This is where you belong, among the ghost, among the dead...' He eased past the looming soldiers quietly, not daring to look them in eyes as he quickened his pace toward the farm. Once there, he stripped off the "fine" clothing and threw it at wall, finding his old, smelly rags, and retreated to his writing corner.



"That's better... you're a farmer not a doctor... you're back where you belong. "

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Edward Mason

Post by The Broken Sword » July 7th, 2021, 6:51 pm

The Things They Carried...



It was a day like any other. A gentle breeze warmed by the summer sun fluttered through the open windows of the young farmer's small hut. Bringing with it the fresh smells of the the nearby crop, tinged by the pungent scent of a common fertilizer. There, he gathered himself for the long journey to Fort Praesidium where he would bring fresh herbs, powders, and other such material he had gathered the day before.

Again, he donned the weathered yellow tunic, and cinched it about his torso by a leather vest and belt. A simple shortbow hanging from the wall was snatched before he stepped out and into the day's light.



"Good morning..."


He announced softly to the ruins of the settlement to his south, a ritual that Edward Mason found to be somewhat morbid, but meaningful. You see, even though the people of Teneborough were gone, and what few survivors remained had vanished to the south, he still carried them with him everywhere he went. And, with his morning routine completed, he paid the Horsemaster at the barn near Riverside, and took the shortest route to Fort Praesidium.

The Fort was much as he had left it, a great gray blight upon an otherwise beautiful countryside. But, that was the way of the Republic -- especially out east, where the sickness had ravaged the land around the former capitol city. Still, he could find some beauty here in the Fort. There was a particularly pleasant orchard filled with apple trees, and sometimes he liked to sit in the shade and enjoy some of Viola's fresh foods.




"Mister Mason. A moment of your time, sir?"


The voice was abrupt, shattering Edward's daydreaming as he moved about his chores, and drew a startled shout from the farmer. His hand clutching at his chest as he spun around to see the dark-clad figure of a Black Wolf looming just behind him. Fear struck at him deep, and he felt the cold chill run up his spine as the man continued. Nearby, another arrived, drawn by his shout, but his eyes were locked on the shadow.



"I was waiting for you to conclude your business with Mister Decker. Do you have a moment to speak privately?"


Edward nodded, following after the man, barely able to take notice and give Miss Aster a frightened nod. The Black Wolf led him away from the Craft Hall and to a small alcove beside the main road, where he informed the farmer that he had injured his shoulder in the process of choking the life out of a Witch. Which only seemed to stoke the fears that burned within Edward's heart. He had heard, and believed the rumors that the Black Wolves would butcher anyone caught to be dabbling with magic, or even befriending those that did.

His heart was racing, but soon, he was distracted by the work of treating the man. Afterall, he feared that if he messed up, and injured this man further, that it would soon be his turn on the pyre. A trickle of sweat ran down his face as he began to apply a topical numbing agent to the man's shoulder. It was lucky that Edward Mason spent every waking moment, not already dedicated to tending to the fields or forests nearby, to reading through Doctor Hanlon's guidebooks, and reviewing his notes from her lecture. And, it paid off, as Edward Mason alleviated much of the man's discomfort with a few necessary treatments outlined in those books.

His reward was a few silver coins, which for a poor farmer like Edward Mason, was a veritable treasure hoard.



"Flame keep you."

The Shadow offered, and Edward Mason managed a weak farewell after, and once the door slammed closed he let free a long-held breath.



"He's absolutely terrifying."


Though he was in the Bank when those words were rendered, they were mostly to himself, as he pushed back out into the street, and carried on about his business. Soon, those heavy leather boots carried him down the street and under the great portcullis gate toward the Foundry's General Store where he had set up a small wagon to sell overflow. And, as he was handing heavy logs over to Roxanne, another voice called out from behind. This time, there was some space involved, and the figure came into view with their hands upraised.



"Please don't scream again."


He turned quickly toward the voice, and was greeted with the friendly face of Aster Hargreaves. His alarm waning over time, the two enjoyed a conversation that touched upon many subjects, which overtime drew attention from the shadows once more as a First Torian Legionnaire by the name of Amon arrived, and soon after, that of his shadow once more, bringing with him some information that Edward Mason desperately needed to hear.



"Mister Mason... you seem to be mis-informed."


Edward nearly had a heart attack, as the Black Wolf's voice interrupted the conversation. And, the young farmer sought refuge by sitting upon the steps as his dutiful shadow pressed on.



"The Black Wolves did not help to attack your friends... quite the contrary. We were an intermediary between the Assembly of Teneborough and the Legion. We were negotiating peaceful resolution to the confrontation... and we had found a solution that would satisfy both sides. he two prisoners would be turned over to us - to be held at Pyreholme. When a diplomatic solution is at hand - there is no reason to march an army to meet on the field."


As the man began to explain the events that transpired, Edward's eyes dipped toward the ground, imagining the faces of those from the past. Yet, as the truth came to light, something within him began to change. The fear of the Black Wolves as some boogie-man haunting his steps, waiting to put an end to him, simply ceased.




"I was at the Legion's fort when the solution was negotiated...o I am familiar with this... situation. o my mind - there was no reason to march an army of Legionairres to Teneborough once a solution had been agreed upon. Sending one delegate would have sufficed. But that was not the decision that the Legion took. And it escalated from there - with both sides makign errs in judgment. And a lapse in leadership. We stood aside - not willing to engage against any of our friends. So you are correct that often people are quick to judge others. "


And there it was, closure.

In time, the faces began to depart ways, leaving Edward and Aster "alone" once more.



"Mister Mason. . I know I've just met you and I obviously don't know you very well. But may I suggest you be more kind to yourself in the future? I fear if you continue to speak to yourself in that way. . I fear you may start to listen. "


He thought about the conversation as he rode back to his farmstead in the north. The talk of treatments, and vigils, and judgment. The talk of being kind to others, and more importantly, being kind to one's self. There were many shadows in this place, but not all of them were bad. And, he carried that with him all the way to that small, rough hut, where he threw the yellow tunic aside, and donned the grays from the Doctor's rooftop lecture once more.


Afterall, it was time for the dead to be buried.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Edward Mason

Post by The Broken Sword » July 29th, 2021, 1:16 am

The Wolfpack



Edward finished handing the herbs over to Roxana -- it was just another uneventful day for the farmer.


"There you are.. and I will see you on the morrow, my friend."

His chores completed, he turned and headed back toward town. It wasn't until he made it past the farms that something felt off. Sure, there was the usual smell of charred wood and burning flesh, but he had become somewhat accustom to the stench of Fort Praesidium. No, something else was wrong. Edward's steps hastened, perhaps driven by this strange pit in his stomach. He glanced back over his shoulder, mind racing with possibilities. Yet, no one followed him. It wasn't until a couple dozen paces further along the trail that he realized the nearby guards were missing, and the chirping of birds was entirely absent. The road itself seemed abandoned, and now it stretched on for what seemed like miles. Fear roiled within his stomach, but he swallowed the taste of bile and continued forward.

That's when he heard the sound of shouting, and of clashing blades -- it echoed off the great stone walls of the Fort, and seemed to come from everywhere at once. He had stumbled into yet another pitched battle! But, he couldn't yet see where it was being fought. At this point, the farmer took off into a dead sprint toward the market, and Fort Praesidium's yawning mouth. That's when he turned the corner, and saw what he dreaded most. The Black Wolves, and a pair of crimson robed individuals, were cutting down a man. Edward ducked his head down and ran as fast as he could, away from the Wolves, away from their prey, and away from the carnage that followed.

Safely behind the walls of Fort Praesidium, he slowed, glancing back toward the gate -- but, he did not wait. If the Wolves didn't want witnesses, he'd surely be next. So he found a dark corner, and hide behind some crates, hugging his knees to his chest. But, as his eyes closed, all he could see is the snarling and snapping fangs of feral wolves, devouring a fallen buck, tearing at it's underbelly. Their maws glistening red with their fresh kill. Severus and Oveilia. He knew their faces. He had seen them at the Doctor's lecture. And, he had aided Severus once before. He shivered with the though, hoping that such charity might be repaid with his life as he huddled, a coward once more.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Edward Mason

Post by The Broken Sword » August 4th, 2021, 12:31 am

Repent





"I would like to have a word with you in private on a serious matter, if you have a few moments to spare."

Focused upon the task at hand, the man's voice startled him, and he pivoted quickly toward the source. When he saw Severus standing there the color immediately bleed from his face. Flashes of the Market Street Rampage entered his mind, and he swallowed hard, mustering what courage was left in him.

"Oh, I-I-I didn't see you there."

Edward Mason stood perfectly still, uncertain. Yet, for all of his new-found strength, the young farmer's voice still quaked. He often stammered nervously when it came to talking to the Black Wolves.

"I wished to discuss two matters with you.

The Farmer nodded, following the black-clad figure out of the crafthall and into another building, where he was invited to sit. The conversation, though short, felt like it had taken an eternity. Every time the Black Wolf moved, he thought his death would surely follow. After all, he was a loose end, a dealer in materials that the Vigil claimed was aiding their enemy. It would be a simple enough thing to dry up the source by removing Mason entirely.

Severus was in control the entire time, and there was nothing he could do, should the Witchhunter desire to end his life.


"I know you to be a good, honest, and hard working Decusian man - but this Province is a den of thieves, liars and heretics who would twist Falsehoods in place of the Truth. So firstly, the man you saw us cutting down was one Dominic Silver. We had been following him for some time under suspicion of practicing Witchcraft. Our suspicions were confirmed when he rose to the defense of a Diabolst - one Mae Arthel, during a recent auction. That particular diabolist is perhaps one of the most violent and murderous in the Province, and we were attempting to dismantle their Coven before they turned this place into the Hellscape you see in Aiwella, if you've ever ventured that far.

"I.. have only heard the stories."

""Many here accept Apostates as they would a farmer.... a blacksmith... or a tailor. One of our Brothers and Sisters were slain by a witch just a few nights ago. Their bodies recovered... mutilated, gutted like pigs. Ears removed. This is the kind of evil which precedes the arrival of the Torment.

Therefore, Mister Mason, you should not dabble in heretical paraphernalia. We will dispose of this for you. "


So, there it was, the Black Wolves suspected that he was lending support, albeit indirectly, to the Diabolist Coven. And, as an 'upstanding Decusian' it was up to Mason to consider whether he should continue to sell such items openly on the market anymore. Severus wasn't going to kill him; but, rather, offer him a chance to 'repent' and see the truth of their situation.

As he was escorted out of the building, the black-clad figure issued one last warning.



"Reptentence is the first step, Mason. Those who fail in Faith, will fail in all things. Go then... and consider how you may Repent. "

And go he would. Quickly, scurrying out the gates of Fort Praesidium, and heading for his farm with due haste.

The Broken Sword
Posts: 120
Character: Alaric

Re: The Legacy of Edward Mason

Post by The Broken Sword » October 31st, 2021, 3:10 pm

Silence, Part I





"Reptentence is the first step, Mason. Those who fail in Faith, will fail in all things. Go then... and consider how you may Repent. "

And, go he would, straight out the front gates of Fort Praesidium. Fumbling with the reigns of the horse bequeathed to him by the horsemaster. His hands trembling as adrenaline pumped through his veins. He knew that the Black Wolves would not hurt him, but it did little to slow his racing heart. The Vigil, as they were otherwise known, had plenty of opportunities to do so; stalking his movements in the shadows as they were prone to do. And, it did little to help the young man's blossoming paranoia.

"Swiftly, swiftly now... "

Mason whispered urgently into the ear of the mount. His voice trembled with fear, and he dared not peer back over his shoulder. He knew what would await him there -- a wraith, shrouded in blacks, and leering with grim malevolence as it sought to catch up. And, so he pressed through the most dangerous waves of the afflicted, risking bodily harm to place distance between him and the imagined reaper. And, despite the growls and moans of the reanimated, he could hear the haunted baying of wolves at the edge of his senses. His skin prickled with goosebumps did little to warm his body, chilled to the bone as it was. Yet, he could see the farmstead just ahead.
Unable to wait for the beast to slow, he leapt from the horse's back, twisting his knee as he did so. Edward hobbled quickly toward the structure, collecting a bag and a longbow as he did, and quickly burst back out. He needed to outsmart his imagined hunter. He couldn't stay. They would find him, they would kill him for his sins.


"You will not have me... "

He threatened manically as he hobbled away from the farmstead, and north into the haunted woods. He could hide here, among the demons and revenants -- only a fool would come looking for the farmer here. Alas, it would not be the haven he had hoped for -- as the darkness that permeated these woods crept into his very soul, driving Edward Mason deeper into madness.

On the first night, he could hear their voices at the edge of his sight, chittering quietly in some unintelligible language.


"Be silent! Please.. be silent.. they will hear us. They are coming... "

He cried out, but they did not listen. He would not have the silence he so desired, and sleep would not come to him.

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