Ixen the Miscreant Dreamer, Culler of Those Who Preserve

Role

Chapter 16

It was not in peaceful solitude that Ixen found his answers, this time.
Instead, it was in quite the opposite.

Speaking with the preservers was always very hit and miss. Sometimes, he
learned things. Gained insights. Had his beliefs tested. Sometimes, they
cursed his name and this was all. Ixen enjoyed both of these. The former
made him grow. The latter proved he had grown. Both of these were promising.

The enemies of the craft, those that wished to destroy magic were different.
He actually quite liked many of these. They often had such a simple and
practical view of the world that it gave him hope. They were focussing upon
the wrong things, but destruction was destruction, and they made no secret
about their desires for the most part.

The conversations that gave him answers were with one of each of these.

He had spoken little with Ivyln before. He decided afterwards this had been
a mistake. This one was wise. He talked of how contradictions are but
sparks. Fuel.

The Preserver on the other hand. This Travanz. This one was not wise. This
one spoke of how he wished to reach the Azure Fields. A place where he
would be preserved forever.

From them both, Ixen realised his answers.

Yes. He preserved things. He was flawed. He was imperfect. Yet, he wished
to destroy the preservers. A contradiction.

It still made him angry. Still set his teeth to grinding behind his mask.
The knowing that truth was indeed a lie. That he was as infected as the
rest of them.

But that didn't matter.

Because unlike Travanz, he did not wish to be preserved. He only wished his
dream to come to pass. For the world to be made new. There would be no
Azure Fields in that world, he was sure. No land of eternal preservation.
The Light preserves?

There would be no Light either, then. Yes. This would be good.

SO he'd use that anger. That resentment. These contradictions. They would
all be fuel for the pyre that would devour the world.

And that, at least, was true.

Role

Chapter 15

Deep beneath the earth, in a chamber meant for meetings of the vilest magi
Ixen sat alone.

To the outward observer, nothing would be different. The giant sat as he
often did. Unnaturally still. Expressions concealed. Silent. The only sign
of the giant's inner turmoil the slow and inexorable drumming of fingers
upon the table before him. In the unhallowed halls of the giant's
malevolent mind he replayed his conversation over and over with Solisren.

Him. A preserver?

This could not be true.

But truth is a lie.

Teeth ground together behind a mask of iron. The giant's natural
inclination to crush the life from the thing that troubled him so rising to
the fore, but finding no outlet. After all; these were a knife of words,
and this was not a thing which his monstrous strength could contend with.
This was in the mind and in the marrow and in the blood, a poison which ate
at convictions and long held beliefs.

He wished to deny the claim, even now. Had he not dedicated himself to
destroying these preservers? These men and women who clung so viciously to
the status quo. Who would see this world persist. Unchanging, in all its
wretchedness? Who would strive to see the new world remain an unrealised
dream?

He had. And yet.

He clung to things too. Different things, yes, but things he wished to
preserve. He told himself it was for the dream. They were necessary. They
were important to the work.

How was he to use this pain?

How could such a revelation be endured? After all he had done? How could
this be suffered?

What was he to do?

The tapping fingers stilled, splayed hand poised like some crouching spider
upon the table. Ixen knew he was well learned compared to other giant's he
had met. But it was in moments such as these that he realised his own
limitations were not so different. Introspection had always been simpler
when he had had years of solitude devoid of interruptions. He knew the
words. He knew clever things. But putting it all together was always so
difficult.

Could he give up all those things he preserved?

His bounty of screaming souls? His place within the chasm? His treasure?
More?

No. He liked what was his. More, they helped the great task. The dream. To
varying degrees.

So what was the answer?

What was his answer?

Steam drifted from behind the giant's mask as he let out a sigh.

He must find it.

This answer.

He would endure until he did.

He must.

Role

Chapter 14

The path down into the Fissure was never routine.

Ixen did not know if it was his upbringing far from the burning depths or
if the Fissure was simply that hot. Even with his advantages he knew that a
plunge into the lava would doubtless be the end of him, and so he carefully
watched his feet as he descended into the fires. He liked it here. That
knowing that one single step wrong would spella fall into an agonising
death. This was right.

Idrepi's casual scorn still set his teeth to grinding behind the mask. Oh,
the drow hadn't come out and mocked him directly. For all their embittered
alliance, he wouldn't risk that, Ixen was sure. But the casual disdain when
he'd said his prayers hadn't been answered yet when they'd spoken of faith
had not been imagined. Had it? Was he being paranoid?

No. Impossible. He saw more clearly than the rest of them. Even his fellow
Scions didn't truly understand.

But it didn't matter. It had been many years, but his faith was
undiminished. He would come until his bones were brittle and his arms were
tired, prayers answered or no. The dream was worth it. It had to be.

He came to Solisren as he had many times before. The dark phoenix rested
upon a great nest, and gave him no mind. Ixen spoke his prayer to Ocaiye
into the turmoil, and prepared to leave.

Then Solisren's beak opened for the first time Ixen had seen, and a whisper
like the igniting of dry tinder fell into the unstill surroundings.

Not since the Prelate of his youth had Ixen been questioned so. His every
word turned over and picked clean of flesh to show the bones beneath. But
as Solizren learned of him, as he demanded tribute, and entertainment, and
more, Ixen learned too.

Learned that he had not dreamed enough. That as the world must be cleansed
and made better, he too could be. Must be. After all, if he was to craft of
himself a gift for the one who he had commited his life to, it must be one
truly worthy. He must excise the rot in himself just as vigourously as in
the world.

More challenges. More suffering.
More struggle. More. More. More. He would make of himself something truly
worthy. Solizren might think him a floundering fish, but if he was to be a
fish then...

The somewhat simple giant frowned. Then what.

What would he be?

What did he want to be?

Not a fish.

Steam hissed from behind his mask as Ixen sighed. Thoughts turning over
like ponderous grindstones, the inexorable march towards terrible
conclusion that had always served him so well.

He didn't know yet.

But he would.

He would be worthy of her flames.

Role

Chapter 13

- He speaks well for a fire giant, being very well educated. I know this
might be a little jarring, but I think its justified given upbringing.
Reasoning is he'll have grown up around storm giants so modelled his speech
after those.

- He's a eutopian and believes that his goal is one for which all
reasonable people should strive. The current world is clearly flawed, and
so they must start a new and remake it in a better image. Naturally, the
current world has to be cleansed in blood and fire first.

- He enjoys hearing the confessions and sins/failings of others (will
probably love Morians...). These make him feel validated, justifications
for the nihilistic worldview which he has adopted. Deep down, he wants
people to be flawed (rotten) so he can justify his awful-ness to himself.

- He will be very thoughtful/philosophical for a fire giant, even if his
conclusions are ultimately underpinned by an inherent brutalism and
destructive worldview. Nuance may prove difficult.

- Sphere: Creation. He's all about making that new world, destruction is
the means.

- He'll aim for Scion, as the end of the world as we know it would be a
thing he's of course very on board with. He'd want to hasten that process
where ever possible, and might clash with Scions who are there for other
reasons as a result if he gets in.

- Will pray to Ocaiye.

Role

Chapter 1

(Very long, chapter summary and tldr at the end of first load of
submissions.)

Tarshil ran.

The fire burning in her blood felt cold now. Cold beside the heat in her
lungs and legs, at least. She was tired.

Very tired.

Her ears still rang with the echoing silence of the spell one of her former
allies had clipped her with in their last skirmish. A few hours still for
that to fade, by her recckoning. It might as well be days.

The mountains rose up on both sides of the narrow pass. A good spot to hold
ground in theory, though less good if you were running. If she turned an
ankle now...

Her burden shifted where she'd slung it over one shoulder. She grunted in
frustration and picked up the pace. She'd need to rest soon, but they must
be close. She'd not hear them coming, which made the spot between her
shoulderblades itch. She'd not have warning, and couldn't refresh the
spells on her burden either. That would make things just that bit harder,
and as things stood they were just about hard enough.

Then she broke out onto a rocky beach, and Tarshil came to a stumbling stop.
Had she really ran the whole pass already?

There was a small boat. Not good enough for her, burden or not. She'd have
to swim it, but she'd known that already; she'd hoped to fly, but that
option was gone. At least there would be salvation soon, of a kind. Those
below would welcome her, of that she had no doubt, even if the idea still
inspired an instinctive sense of disgust in her. The price would be high,
but she was out of other options. A short rest was in order.

She took brief stock of her remaining supplies. No potions of return left.
One teleportation potion. A single barrier wand, down to its last charge,
and nothing else of note. She thought mournfully of her well stocked
knapsack snatched in one of the earliest skirmishes of the day.

Not good, but it could be worse. It would have to do.

She glanced back to the pass.

And came face to face with the startled Oath standing there, having just
emerged onto the beach.

She recovered before he did. Still unable to cast, her axe split him down
the middle in a single blow, but his mouth had been moving. He'd called to
the others, for sure.

Grinding her teeth in frustration, she set her burden down in the boat and
pushed it out into the lake. She'd have to make the swim and try to push it
regardless of her exhaustion. Perhaps if her hearing recovered she could
drive them off, but as it was?

She glanced down to the axe in her hand, then abandoned the notion. Never
that. The axe was fourty pounds at the lightest, but she'd never lealve it
behind just for a chance to make the swim a little easier.

She stepped out into the lake after the boat, braced for the chill and the
long swim ahead.

But she'd not need to worry about that.

Immortal Comments

Role

Chapter 2

The warrior's spear took her through the spine, the ensorcelled iron blade
exiting from her chest in a spray which soon turned the shallows red. She
stumbled, tried to keep going. Tried to fumble for the last teleportation
potion. Tried to turn. Tried...

The axe fell from limp fingers. The barrier wand, unused, sat tauntingly
within her pocket. The small fishing boat drifted away on the water,
observed and ignored as the last attempt of an anathema to escape imperial
justice.

It was bloody work, the third law of the Empire of Thera.

But as the Imperial blade lead his hunting party away from the looted
corpse of the fool former Black Magician who had thought that she'd be the
exception to the rule, he gave little thought to the violence. Indeed, he
could not stop smiling.

There was a promotion waiting for him, for certain.

Role

Chapter 3

Sandar hummed to himself as he cast his rod out of his boat again. It was a
slow day. Something had disturbed the fish, but at least those nice fellows
from Voralian had cleaned out the demons again. The fish would come, and
the sun was shining. What more could you really ask for? It was important
to treasure these moments of quiet, especially in these troubled times.

His mood soured for a moment, but he quickly put it out of his mind. Those
were problems for other days.

Something struck his boat from behind. Frowning, he glanced over his
shoulder, then turned around completely as his puzzlement grew.

A small boat was bumping up against his. No sail or similar, and noone sat
with oars that he could see. It must have just been set loose and drifted.
He didn't recognise it, but maybe one of the other acolytes had not tied
one up properly? he could toe it back to the temple, he supposed.

Leaning over, he reached out to secure a line to the prow.

Then froze.

The boat was not empty after all.

Sandar slowly drew back, then despite himself glanced again.

The beast slumbered within the boat, a monster vicious and vile. Frizzy
orange fur on its head and skin the hew of pitch. Sandar's hands shook. Was
it going to eat him? Could he get away if he rowed as hard as he could? It
was almost as big as him, and he'd read the stories. It could leap across
the boat from a standing start and tear him in two, then anoint itself in
his blood and crush his bones to dust! What was he to do?

The beast yawned. Huge teeth, akin to tiny daggers glittered in the
sunlight. A tongue like a thing out of a nightmare slithered across them
and over black lips. Eyes of molten gold slowly opened, unholy gaze seeking
out the righteous.

Sandar whispered a prayer. He brandished his fishing rod at the beast. He'd
not make it easy!

The beast began to wail, a burbling sound which was decidedly unmonstrous.

Sandar hesitantly lowered his rod. "I... suppose I should take you to the
Prelate..."

Role

Chapter 4

Nouttin knew it was unfair.

He should not judge poor Ixen. The aura of red that yet surrounded the
young giant of thirty years burned in his sight like a bloody promise, but
Ixen was trying so hard! One day, the prelate said, he would be free of it.
They'd taken in the giant as a babe to raise him away from the corrupting
wickedness of his people, and the prelate must know what he was talking
about.

Nouttin knew he should not judge Ixen.

But he still did.

There was just something unnatural about the giant. The way he moved so
deliberately. How every movement had a careful exactingness about it. Only
Ixen could make gardening look malign.

Snip snip went the shears.

"Troubled, Brother Nouttin?"

There was his voice too. Far too soft for such a huge brute. Far too
articulate for a giant born to such barbaric blood.

Snip snip. Fronds fell away.

"I'm... just here to help with the garden, Ixen."

Nouttin had drawn the short straw. Noone wanted to work the gardens with
Ixen. Noone except the Prelate at least, and he was the busiest man in the
Order.

"There is no need. I am fixing it," said the giant. "Soon, the infestation
will be culled. The garden will flourish a new."

Nouttin shivered. Why did he have to be like this?

"Sure you are not troubled, Brother Nouttin?" snip snip. Snip snip. "Wish
to confess a sin to me?"

"I don't like you." Nouttin clapped his hand to his mouth. The words had
just slipped out, a moment of brutal honesty. He instantly regretted it, of
course. It wasn't Ixen's fault he was strange and creepy and made gardening
look evil.

The shears paused. Ixen set down his spade, and with a sick sense of
facination Nouttin realised for the first time ever he was seeing Ixen
smile. A red tongue flicked out to wet those black lips, and Nouttin
shuddered at the sight of what he could only describe as rapture as it
crossed the face of his would-be questioner.

"I accept your confession," murmurred the giant. Then he went back to
gardening, as if nothing had happened. "Be unburdened."

Nouttin left.

Role

Chapter 5

Ixen was in his fourtieth year now.

The young giant sat upon the rocky beach below the temple and stared
unblinkingly into the lake. He could see the monster cast in unspilled
blood in the water. He could always see it when the Prelate blessed him.

It was not as clear as it had once been. That was good, he thought?

Even with the monster, this was one of his favourite places to think. There
was something so soothing about watching the water; waiting for that moment
when a ripple would disturb the placidity and all would become disarray for
that briefest moment. When the status quo would rise against the disruption
and attempt to destroy it. What would come of it? Would the water become an
unmoving mirror once more? Or would something new be born?

He had failed again, he knew. The Prelate had taken time out of his day to
speak with Ixen, as he so often did. To discuss his studies, his
relationships, his... feelings.

He'd not said Ixen had failed, of course, though Ixen knew he had. He
considered himself a good judge of people, and the Prelate never left their
conversations happier than upon arriving.

Ixen simply did not understand. He had studied the Order's teachings well.
Harmony with their fellow man, and nonviolence. Yet how was one to
eradicate disharmony without removal of disruptive elements? Was it wrong
for the lake to annihilate the ripples which undermined its tranquility?
Was it wrong to cull the weeds which would choke the temple gardens if left
untended? Was it wrong to - and this was a thought often entertained yet
never spoken to the Prelate, for surely he would find it more dire than the
first two examples - to cull a man who would threaten the Temple's peace?
After all, he looked at many men and women and found them little better
than weeds in his estimation. Weighed down by unvoiced confessions, acting
out roles they neither believed or felt pride in, tolerant of those even
more intolerable than themselves, and choking an elusive paradise with
their unworthy existences. Why?

Disgusting.

Rotten.

But the Prelate had been kind to him. Given him a home. Given him
perspective. Taught him the value of that distant eutopia, an unrealised
dream. A world remade without the failures of the current one, created
through compassion and harmony.

When he told Ixen he believed in him, Ixen believed it too. Believed that
if he just read more, just learned a little more, just comprehended the way
of things a little more: everything would fall into place, and he would be
able to relate to these people who provoked such an instinctive and
irrational sense of contempt in him. History, the prelate had suggested.
Read of the horrors of the past, gain perspective. See why we do what we do.

Ixen cared little for reading of things already consigned, and yet...

The Prelate had been kind to him.

Role

Chapter 6

So Ixen would try to understand, and slay the monster cast in red
reflection.

Role

Chapter 7

The Prelate of the Order of Calatius was a wise spiritual leader, and his
advice rarely lead his congregation a stray. Perhaps it would not always
succeed in curing their struggles, but it at least would not do them harm.

Unfortunately, as with all wisdom, it is rooted in experience. The Prelate
had a great deal of experience with young men and women struggling to
achieve harmony, but Ixen was not like these people, and there was
knowledge within the tomes of Calatius that could sway even a truly devout
to the depths of depravity.

Ixen was born out of darkness and fire, and the Order of Calatius was
anathema to all that his race held dear. Strength. Greatness. Power.
Therefore, it would be unfair to judge the Prelate, for to study the past
is often a way to give worthwhile perspective to a student; and for all his
wisdom, even he did not know the true depths of the horror upon which the
monestary was built.

For there are powers which slumber still within the profaned stone beneath
those hallowed halls. Powers which are ever waiting to sink their claws
into those who stare into the abyss.

Over the following months, Ixen spent long hours in the Order's library. He
read of war. Of strife. Of endless bloody conflicts. The books spoke of
their evils. Of how the order's way was the only cure to the disease of
perpetual violence. Ixen read of these things, and he found nothing of
value; for he'd heard it all before.

Until one day, he, like many before him, stumbled across a different kind
of book. It appeared upon no library catalogue, and it held within its
dread pages a different kind of cure. A different kind of promise.

Ixen read the insidious poison of Zurcon, and nothing would ever be the
same.

Role

Chapter 8

The following years were difficult for Ixen. The promises of Zurcon within
those dread pages weighed on him; for they resonated more than anything he
had learned from the order. Many of the questions he had sat in solitude
and asked himself found revelation there, after all. Was it wrong to
destroy this impure world? Was it wrong to cull the unworthy and the weak
of conviction? According to Zurcon, no. It was a goal to which all wise men
should strive.

But.

It just all seemed so pointless. There was a hollowness in the dread
promises therein. Like a puzzle half formed but with pieces missing.

Would this be his lot? Ever learning half truths, half promises? Never to
find an answer to those most fundamental questions?

Time passed, and others tended the garden, though without the admittedly
fastidious care that the fire giant had exhibited. Indeed, Ixen would often
pause on the way to his studies and on returning to his bunk and look upon
the gardens. A brief frown would distort his dour features, but he would
then continue on.

He would sit and pour over texts, and stand upon that knife's edge: on one
side the Order with their distant dream and gentle ways, and on the other
the long shadow of a god who wished only for the stillness of total
annihilation.

Perhaps had events not conspired, Ixen would have swayed there for a time
before succumbing to corruption as so many had before him. Perhaps he would
have gone on to wear the three serpents and lightning, and cut down those
of the light in droves in service to that most fell benefactor, always
wondering why the acts felt so drab, and hollow, and devoid of something
vital.

But this time, that is not what happened.

Role

Chapter 9

It was late Autumn when the news reached the monestary along with a
delivery from Voralian City.

Two divinities had awoken. The first described lightened the mood of all
but one, for to value life and the natural world would surely be a net
benefit to the world. Some of the more pecimistic monks muttered about how
it would be soon enough that war priests would take up her banner in bloody
crusade, but it was more by habit than genuine displeasure. The alternative
could be far worse, after all.

Unfortunately, the alternative was also manifest. Whispers of a goddess who
reveled in destruction, in consigning the world to fire to see what would
then rise from the remains, of ash daubed priests full of the vilest
intentions wiped away the smiles and good cheer in short order.

The monks wished to hear no more, for they knew the shape of this tale. Of
the boundless wickedness which would be born from such an emergence. Yet
when Ixen offered to help the traveler unload his boat and took the time to
ask more, he knew.

That puzzle, so long fragmented and incomplete was no more. This was what
he had been looking for.

When he returned to his readings that night, it was with the most terrible
of intent, for where once he had been uncertain, now he was resolved. His
long quandary at last broken.

He would need power, and while Zurcon's faith was a path discarded, the
demon God's priests had included other things within those pages.

That night, Ixen set to forging his first pact with the Abyss, thick
fingers turning pages until he found a fitting name, the arrogance of youth
giving no thought to the consequence for stepping beyond his means.

Trallmonnan. He who rots.

The price was high.

Role

Chapter 10

Sandar grunted as he tugged upon a weed. It was getting dark now, but the
gardens really were getting out of hand. He'd just shift this last one then
head to the mess for supper. He wasn't a young man anymore, and his back
was killing him.

It just wouldn't budge!

Sitting back on his heels for a moment, Sandar glanced up and almost
toppled backwards in shock.

"Ixen!"

The giant was standing very still in the middle of the garden, a shuttered
lantern clasped in one large hand. His two golden eyes were shining in the
light, and his mouth was set in a strangely pensive expression.

"Sandar. You are tending the gardens."

Sandar frowned. There was something not quite right. He just couldn't put
his finger on it.

"That's right. They're getting a bit out of hand."

He hadn't meant to make it sound like a rebuke, but it was. He'd always
been proud that the young giant he'd found had made something of himself,
even if many of the rest of the Order would disagree. To his surprise, Ixen
nodded.

"I will fix this garden soon, Brother Sandar."

Sandar involuntarily shivered. The way he had said that... reluctantly, he
decided to ask. He did not like prying, but they were brothers, after all.
"Are you alright, Ixen?"

Steam wafted from between the giant's black lips as he let out a sigh. "Yes,
Brother Sandar. Yes, I think I am." The giant set the lantern down and
took a step closer. "I think, at last, I have found hope."

"Hope?" Sandar blinked. He'd never heard Ixen speak of such things before.
"That's wonderful, Ixen."

"It is. There is hope, Brother Sandar. This rotting world, this unrealised
dream. This wretched status quo..." the giant took another step closer, his
golden eyes shining. "It will end. I give you my word."

Sandar frowned. "I don't underst-"

Then Ixen struck, one massive hand wrapping about Sandar's neck while the
other clamped over his mouth. The priest recoiled, tried to pull away, but
the huge fingers were like an iron cage. Inexorable. Relentless. He stared
up at the giant, uncomprehending.

Then realised in a moment of dreadful clarity what was different.

The lantern in the grass was shuttered. The sun had set.

And the light that set Ixen's eyes to glowing was cast by the brilliant
aura of scarlet that blazed with all the condemnation of the damned.

"In her name we will set the pyre, and so be free, brother Sandar," said
the giant as he began to squeeze. "We'll start a new. It will be a better
world. I promise."

As darkness closed in about the corners of his vision, and breath refused
to come, the last thing Sandar ever heard was the softly spoken words of
his killer.

"The sacrifice is not of your life, Sandar," said the fallen philosopher.
"It is of my conscience."

Role

Chapter 11

Upon the beach of Loc Grynmear, Ixen watched the smoke rising into the sky
in the distance.

It was summer, and the gardens had been dry. A tipped lantern had been all
it had taken, and with it a labour of love was no more.

He wished he could have witnessed the aftermath. Seen the barren soil,
devoid of encroaching weeds. Stood in the silence as fires sputtered and
died. Known the peace promised through annihilation that was that dire
truth put to paper in the texts anathema: and yet with an even greater
promise too. A promise brought to him not by the purposeless rampage of
Zurcon, but by the whispered tales of another.

The promise that something new would rise from the ashes. That the world
would be reborn from that consuming flame. That things could change.

Yes. He wished he could have stood there after the ash had settled, and
given prayer to Ocaiye even as his first dark pact had formed with
Trallmonnan. Had whispered his words of faith even as the cloying stench of
his crimes had risen to cloak him in its dread miasma.

But he was not yet ready. There were those among the Order that for all
their empty words and doomed ways of peace would raise their hands against
him if pushed, and he was not yet their equal.

Not yet.

Ixen glanced down at the still waters of the lake. The monster was there,
brighter than ever before. Spilled blood upon tranquility, a fire to
illuminate the path to eutopia.

No. He was not ready yet.

"I will be," vowed the damned.

For the first time, Ixen smiled at the monster.

And the monster smiled back.

We will not speak of the dark roads that Ixen walked down in those
following years. Of the unspeakable sacrifices performed upon those unable
to contend with a fire giant's natural strength in the pacting of his dark
benefactors. . We will not speak of the terrible promises made to the
demonic forces in exchange for the power to do what must be done, and the
terrible self-inflicted wounds carved upon his soul in the quest of a
madman's dream. At least, not yet.

But many years later, a young giant of a hundred years entered Galadon
under the cover of twilight. His face was masked with iron, and from behind
it shone two eyes of molten gold.

To a house falling into decay he went, and this too was good; for to find
purpose in the rotting of the foundations was a worthy thing. A place
fitting to begin the craft.

So a dark knight was made.

Role

Chapter 12

1: Ixen's mother, an Anathema black magician, attempts to reach the cult of
Zurcon beneath Grynmear in a last ditch attempt to save her skin. The blade
sect catch up to her on the beach, but she has already put the baby Ixen in
a boat and it floats off uncared for on the water.

2: A young Initiate out fishing comes across the boat with Ixen in it and
though initially terrified of the wicked beast, his soft heart and kind
nature lead him to take the giant to the prelate, who also being a good man
decides they will attempt to raise the young Ixen in the way of the order
of Calatius (and rid him of his wicked birthright).

3: Ixen is seen from the perspective of an acolyte sent to help him in the
gardens. Ixen is shown to be very unnerving and abnormal for a giant, and
seems to delight in gardening and particularly in hearing the 'confessions'
of others.

4: Ixen struggles with his natural predispositions towards violence, trying
to resolve the Order's teachings with what he sees as a world unworthy of
tolerating.

5: Like many before him, Ixen stumbles across the dire texts of Zurcon
hidden within the monestary while doing research, in a quest to find
meaning.

6: Ixen has a crisis of faith - Zurcon's malign promises of destroying
everything resonate with him, but they still feel incomplete to him,
because ultimately he wants a 'better world', or believes he does. His
sphere is the reason it felt wrong.

7: Whispers of a new goddess making her presence known to the west reach
Ixen, and the bits and pieces he overhears are as a puzzle solved - the
missing pieces of a belief system, and so his wicked heritage at last wins
the moral battle. He turns away from Zurcon, appreciating him for the
fragments of wisdom but ultimately believing him to lack vision or true
insight. He uses Zurcon's texts to form his first demonic pact for power,
beginning his road to apdom.

8: the price for his first dark pact is his conscience (Trallmonnan is one
of the demons which can be invoked for the plague spell, so he basically
overpaid bigtime in his novicehood for the deal). In order to fulfill this
pact, Ixen murders the now aging man who saved him from the lake as a baby
in the gardens he'd worked on for so long.

9: Ixen burns the gardens he toiled over for most of his young life before
departing. He vanishes for some decades doing dastardly things, before
reemerging when he is old enough to enter the guild system and naturally
joins the AP guild.

PK Wins

Edges

Flaws

Racial Edges

Class Edges

Edges

Mob Deaths

Timeline

Leveling History

PK Deaths

PK Wins

PK Wins

PK Wins

Title History

Skill List

PK Statistics

PK Gank-O-Meter