Cethin

[Cethin]

Cethin Lost in time. nuit | male | 681 Physical Description Cethin has used a myriad of bodies, but time has taken them all. Though he has grown skilled at masking the decay that addles the flesh, he cannot stop it entirely. His current body is visibly decayed, and was originally that of a young Syliran man. He does not go out without his dark cloak. Once he has pulled the hood up, his face is shadowed, and the decay concealed. He combats putrid aromas with an array of herbal perfumes. Concept "It is possible to believe that all the past is but the beginning of a beginning, and that all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn. It is possible to believe that all the human mind has ever accomplished is but the dream before the awakening." H.G.Wells Personality & Ethics Born on the final day of Winter in 169 BV, Cethin is a dark, brooding individual - deeply introspective and analytical - longing for the "awakening" that will never come. His ethics can be questionable when his own objectives collide with others. His faith burgeons in Tanroa's direction, truly and wholly.

[Cethin]

Training & Inventory Glyphing 15/100 (SP) Reimancy (Water) 25/100 (SP) Cryptography 10/100 (SP) Embalming 10/100 (SP) Lore Of Tanroa, Masking Decay Gnosis Treavery [1 Mark] - Cethin was marked by Tanroa at a particularly dark moment of his life. The Goddess assured him he had important work to do in the future. Languages Common, Ancient Tongue Inventory Clothing Set, Waterskin, Backpack (toiletries, embalming fluid, eating knife, flint, steel), Large Tent, 100 ft of Rope, Lantern, Two Torches, Bedroll, Blanket, Horse (Black & White Coloursplash) with Tack and Saddlebags, Explorer's Staff, (Heirloom) Ornate Pocket Watch Ledger 100 Gold Mizas - 15 Gold Mizas (Explorer's Staff) - 45 Gold Mizas (Living Expenses: Spring 512 AV) --- 40 Gold Mizas

[Cethin]

Threads 90th of Spring, 512 AV - Those Time Set Aside: Cethin gets involved in a power struggle between two ingenious minds. Who will prevail and will Cethin survive the encounter? 17th of Summer, 512 AV - The Art of War: Cethin's exploring pulls him into a snowball fight, as Alvadas revels in wintry madness mid-summer!

[Cethin]

Marked by Time Timestamp: Autumn 42nd of 473 AV The pocket watch swung in Cethin’s hand like a pendulum, dowsing the past, present, and future. People spoke of the march of time as if it only moved forward, but what did they know? They had only seen a fraction of what he had seen. Civilisations were built, but as surely as they progressed, they crumbled, falling into ruin for the next generation. Was there any point to all of it? He swung the watch more vigorously, vehement at the futility of the world. He jumped from body to body, watching mortals grow old and wither. But was their life better? They saw the pain and the happiness, and then they died. Yes, they were reborn, but they were not imprisoned in one endless life. A crackle. A spark drifted up from the fire, growing larger by the moment, dissipating in the dark cobalt air. It was cool. The temperature often dropped in the fall, preparing for that frozen crescendo that was winter, killing all life to be reborn in the spring. He looked into the flames, eyes surrounded by decaying flesh. He could walk into the fire now. He could give himself to the inferno, and let it consume him. It was the only way he could die. For his body to be destroyed, absolutely and completely; to achieve total severance. He clasped his hand tightly around the watch, stopping its movement. That would be the end. The end of all things. He pulled his hood back. No one would see him here, deep in the Wildlands. If he was to die, he would show his face to the flame – and to the deity that took him. Whether that be Dira… or Uldr. His legs moved slowly and softly, carefully measured steps. The body he was in creaked a little. The decay had set in deeply, and rigor mortis hardened the limbs and joints. The cushioning of a supple body was gone, fluid movement a memory. He put out his hands. He felt cold, even near the flame. When he stepped into it, he would feel pain like any other – but death would come quick enough. He had lived long enough to know the breadth of pain, in all its guises. Goodbye, he whispered, then realized there was no one to say goodbye to anyway. He stepped into the flame, and he felt… wet? He couldn’t open his eyes for a moment - something covered them, his whole being cold and submerged. Something was spoken. Some unutterable word, as deep as it was dulcet. He couldn’t comprehend it, yet he wanted to. The cryptographer inside him screamed to decode. “You have seen much of time,” the voice then said, words now holding semblance, “let it be your purpose. Let my chamber be your sanctuary.” When the pressure came away from his face, he opened his eyes, feeling the cold. The flames had been extinguished, only coals steamed on the ground. He felt different. As if he were looking at the world through new eyes. Something pulled him around. A feeling. He turned sharply, clarity returning to his mind. A woman stood there. Middle aged by mortal standards? Her hair cascaded in pure white, and her eyes were deep blue pools of knowing. “You are marked, nuit.” He looked at her, frowning, trying to understand what had happened when he had walked into the flame. She had saved him - that much was obvious. But why? “I do not come here often. I am Tanroa.” He blinked heavily, weakness grasping this temporal body. The Goddess of time. “I have saved you from yourself. Let time be your dominion now. You have work to do in the future.” She turned away from him, walking into the distance, and he felt powerless to stop her, to follow her. She faded into mist, and he was left standing near those coals. A light rain began to tumble from the sky. A mark from Tanroa. He was free from the shackles. The future did not stretch ahead, now it was malleable. Now he had a purpose. You have work to do in the future.