Karvesh Nvheshk the Dai Sensei of the Miyama Ryu, Provost Magistrate

Role

Chapter 10

continent. Yet before the writhing woodlands to the far east looms a
festering palace of pyrite, a procession of men clad in gaudy blacks
and golds in constant motion swarm from the bowels of its recesses.

What is worse than a man who kills and rapes purely of his own nature?
The man who understands his own nature, and embraces it wantonly,
eschewing any frivolous meandering of his own soul in order to attain
power by any means. Like a sentient plague infecting all it crosses
not by it's nature, but by it's volition.

That's what I infer at least. Oh, but that's all the time I have for
today, he's calling on me again for some scribework. The paperwork
has been piling up recently.

Revarios of Darsylon

Role

Chapter 9

Smoke poured into the tight confines of his office, a modest little nook
towards the top of the tower long unoccupied hastily converted into a
private study as quick and messy as his own promotion to authority.
A place to ruminate on the more difficult cases that fell on his discretion.
The truth is less prestigious, he comes here time after time to retreat
from the pressures and demands of his position to enjoy the more refined
vices provided by his pay-grade, fine liquors, Ayr'Trinillian Cigars and
exotic game from every corner of the land. Dim lantern light provides
the majority of the meager light in these narrow corridors, constantly
tripping over a mop or discarded wash bucket reminds me daily of eccentricity
of his office. Felar... Something about these tight spaces comforts his kind,
or maybe it's just so he can keep his back against the wall. Fumbling can
be heard from the corner and then the distinct strike of a match heralding
an incandescent glow about his face, and the accompanying smoke burning my
eyes. Actually, it makes it really hard to write, my only relief a small
archer's slit in the far wall. Oh, but you don't know me do you?

My name is Revarios. I spent a lifetime of scribe work in the palace of
Darsylon transcribing and attending to affairs of state for the royal
regiment, it's a noble calling but how many ways can you write "A drow
was spotted in the bushes, your majesty." before it becomes a farce?
I always had a reputation in some circles for my freelance work, tweaking
a bard's limmerich here, some scholarly prose there. I've known the Provost
since he was a young magistrate who could barely grasp the intricacies of
an inkwell, gold was another matter entirely, when he came to me offering
mounds of it to proof-read his drivel how could I possibly refuse?
It's not to say I'm taking advantage of him, his hearts in the right place,
let's just say I'm glad he still can't quite decipher some of the bigger
words I pen to paper.

Every now and then I catch him glancing out from the tower, looking down
on the people, the far reaching roads and the many named lands beyond.
His ears fall limp, his snout arching down and his eyes narrowing as he
stares into that vast expanse blurring into nothingness the harder you
look, and he looks... Tired, the primal nature of his being giving way
to the burden of a man's heart. Often when he retires I have peered
through the gap myself hoping to gleam what worries him so. Below I
see the many trappings of the common people, merchants and guardsmen.
Everyday they make the same rounds in the lot in life they have found,
if you ever stop to look at them from so high it's not unlike looking
at a mosaic, ever unchanging. There is a serenity to it I find calming.
In the far east, beyond the blood stained roads and scorching sands a
creeping woodland festers, it's briars entangling and consumning the

Continued in part two

Role

Chapter 8

Regarding his efforts to change his stripes and become a little less primitive
he has been plying the skills of the trade to observe others as they speak.
Studying their mannerisms, phrasing, and formalities to better understand how
to present himself in a dignified manner. Karvesh may never speak as fluently
or as an intelligently as an elf, but is certainly becoming more accustomed to
the common tongue. Around those he considers as either friends or very stupid
he will not be as mindful as the way he talks. Certain quirks of speech he had
developed early into his life are unlikely to fade, the guttural utterances
marking his feline heritage and his misuse of some honorifics in particular.

His skill in the written word is still less than impressive but is at least
legible. A civilized man-cat should know how to express himself clearly and
in great detail, doubly so if he is a Magistrate of the Blood Tribunal.

Once upon a time he, along with Merelith and the cities of both Galadon and
Voralian were once saved from the wrath of Emnon by the mythical rhyme of
Whildur. Karvesh intends to pay tribute in some as of yet uncertain form
in thanks. Possibly a rhyming poem recounting the events, or a story in kind.

Role

Chapter 7

Many years have passed since the stray kitten wandered into the halls of the
Blood Tribunal and many strange things he has bore witness to in that time.

A frost giant, Esfig, who treats him as brother and watches over him warmly:
This was the most strange for Karvesh, not only on the basis of the racial
dichotomy between frost giants and felar, but for the fact that despite his
"evil" soul he has been Karvesh's greatest advocate throughout his lifetime.

An orc, Bahloog, who was not only brave, but honored the law in his prescense.
First fighting on a duel at the request of the orc, which Karvesh accepted
not wanting Bahloog to disrupt the relative peace of Seantryn Modan to force
his hand (paw). He came to see how deeply tortured the orc was by voices he
himself could not hear, endless laughing tormenting him. Too far gone for help
Karvesh wished to provide some small comfort by fulfilling Bahloog's wish of fighting
to prove himself.

A "pure hearted" dwarf, Gaeliga, who attempted to subvert the law to his own ends,
justified or not. His very first experience with the deep oceans of gray flooding
this world, though the dwarf may have acted in good intentions in the interests
of the common folk he also attempted to twist the law and avoid consequence via
technicallities. Karvesh can respect a criminal who acknowledges their crimes,
but to commit a crime and then lie is without merit.

An elven Captain of the Brigade, Drissa, who would order him around as if he were
a squire. She is as good of friends with outlanders as she is magistrates and from
Karvesh's point of view has no concern for the Law of the Spire beyond her own
convenience. The simple fact that Imperials are model citizens while squires would
twist and bend the law to their own initiatives has somewhat soured his view of
the Fortress. The way she makes requests of him, even expecting him to fight with
the law-abiding Imperials as if his golden aura indebts him to the cause of Brigade
concern. In spite seeing with their own eyes the attrocities of Dalthan the bloody
it is clear to Karvesh that their eyes see only what they want to.

This is all very confusing for Karvesh, for him it seems to be time to wash his
hands of all outside influence from beyond the Spire. He will not be ordered by
those who do not believe in the Law, he will not be swayed by those ignorant of
it. A meddler by nature he will still step in to protect those he sees in need
regardless of their nature or creed on a case by case basis however he will not
be associated with the offensive skirmishes or politics of any affiliation outside
of the Tribunal unless it directly benefits it.

PK Statistics

Role

Chapter 6

(Note. I realize these two entries aren't applicable to the current RC, mostly-
-just here for my personal enjoyment.)
Over his time in the Tribunal, Karvesh has found himself in the minority. Not
only as a felar but as a goodly soul as well. In spite of this it strikes him
that a dark heart does not necessarily require ill-intentions, Provost, Magistrates,
they conduct themselves with a certain order that at times hinders their heart
of hearts thus subduing the evil within. Outside the confines of that order it
becomes more gray, constant raiding of the refuge and senseless murder of the
not so lawless is a symptom of their nature.

As for the outlanders, Karvesh views them less as direct enemies to be crushed
and more akin to the primitives he was born too, almost sympathetic in a way.
He does not wish to slaughter them or burn their tree, but instead convert
where possible. Sunwardens and Harbingers he is unlikely to hunt, Reavers are
another matter as they tend to go beyond wanting a simple life in favor of
pure chaos and blood with wanton abandon.

The Brigade of the Phoenix puzzles him, on one hand they seek to quash evil
wherever it is, at the same Karvesh believes this tends towards more chaos
and loss of life than is necessary. The common folk of Thera are rarely as
attuned to the nuances of morality and may get caught in the cross fire.

Cult of the Scarab are wild, crazy men with no clear motives as far as
he can tell. Whatever they stand for is obviously in direct opposition
to both good and order. Can be hunted with discretion.

Imperials are certainly orderly but that order seems to serve the
interests of its enforcers exclusively, to the detriment of the
citizens who tend it crops and maintain its lands. Will not actively
seek to engage, but will freely do so if given reason.

The infamous battle-ragers just seem silly to him, the history of his
own race doesn't hold much sway over Karvesh in this regard. Will largely
ignore, though particularly criminal subjects of the village may be hunted
if they prove an issue to maintaining the peace.

Role

Chapter 5

That smell, the stench of vaporous sweat and foreign liquors hung heavy in air
of the Dojo that night. Drawing to its end and giving way to dawn a sense of
trepidation welled up in the pit of his bowels. His leave of duty was almost over,
time enough only to settle a few bills leftover prior to his enlistment with the
Spire. Crumpling a sheet of paper in his paws a deep rumbling groan passed his
lips, "Nother one, mrm." motioning to the barkeep. Shaking his head he slid another
shot across the bar. A cheap mixture of vodka and milk, garnished with a sprig
catnip grasped in his paws he pondered it for a long time. Every word that comes
out of his mouth sends eyes rolling. Every stroke of the pen he so carefully
strikes met with befuddlement. They all look down on him, just another dumb alley
cat. It's hard to hold the peace when your charge doesn't respect you. It was
about to get much worse, reassigned to the golden city upon the tears he would
either stand out like a red thumb or be relegated to the shadows his profession
holds dear, hardly the qualities of a lawman. On the cusp of downing another shot
something caught his eye, a small rack at the far end of the bar. A variety of
literature filled its frame.

"Analysis of the Martial Arts, this month's edition (Ringside at the Arena)",

"Theran Weekly, (Does the Captain of the Brigade have a secret boyfriend?!)"

"Adventurous Assassins, (Joint-locks and ground controls to spice up the bedroom.)

Tabloids, trash, common enough most would overlook them without a second glance,
but one stood out to his eyes, "Bounties and Booties, featuring the special guest
article (Tails of a sleuth, the life and times of Lerzion Lionsclaw)".

At five copper coins it was a steal, he spent the rest of that night pouring over
the heavily abridged biography of the long forgotten, relatively obscure detective.
It was heavily abridged, and historian worth their salt would take note that many
artistic liberties were taken with the source material to give it a little more
edge, focusing less on his life as a rager, painting him as a hardboiled detective.

Inspiration quickly took root, even a felar could have the esteem of his more
civilized peers if presented in the right light. From this point on he endeavors
to improve himself across all avenues of societal facets, literacy, speech, posture
and more. Hoping to emulate the (Heavily embellished.) figure of his personal hero.

Role

Chapter 4

Moderately literate, no schools in the wastes but learned a little about reading
and writing from merchants trading in the felar encampment, finds writing to be
generally difficult to accomplish with his paws and as such comes out as somewhat
unintelligible.

His tribe, The Nvheshk are largely dead or disbanded due to competition with
other tribes of felar and frost giants coupled with their nomadic tendencies.

Karvesh became an assassin to apply his natural predatory instincts in a fashion
more useful in the civilized world.

Karvesh views civilization as a means of security for the flourishing of peace,
strict laws and punishments preventing minor grudges between factions and families
from springing up into full-blown conflicts which ultimately destroy one or both
sides and leave ruin in their wake.

He aspires to become a magistrate in order to oversee the protection of that
prosperity.

A kindly soul in spite of his origins he takes great pleasure in the simple
and mundane aspects of life, friendship, compassion, and the innocence of
youth. These things are what makes life worth living from his perspective.

Role

Chapter 3

Years had passed since the dust of Nvheshk had settled. Every few years
travelling merchants and adveturors would pass through the encampment
bringing with them stories of the grand cities they called home, trading
books and traditions of their own for pelts and exotic game. Enough so that
Karvesh maintained a small collection of books he read cover to cover, despite
not entirely understanding the words beyond what little the merchants and
scribes had passed along to him over the years.

Coming of age he had mastered the craft of scraping meat from the hides of
elk. It was time to venture out into the wastes, the gossiping merchants
spoke on occassion of disjointed bands of roaming felar just beyond the trails
and Karvesh had often wondered what remained of his tribe. Utilizing every
ounce of knowledge on survival he had honed he set off.

An arduous journey ensued, blazing a path through the sparse woodlands,
circumnavigating the storms and realizing he probably should have asked
those rangers for directions he found himself far far away from the snows
of home. He now stood in the middle of a dusty road stretching far beyond
all perception. Eventually some guardsmen took pity on him and escorted him
to a grand city to the west. He didn't regret it for long, actually the
encampment kind of rimmed a frost giant's ice-hole most of the year anyway.

Role

Chapter 2

Wandering along the broken pines and rutted trails of elk he found himself
among the desolate remnants of decay in the far reaches of the border. Pale men
of immense stature lay stagnant, perfectly preserved within the frost, streaks
of red heralding the tale of their recent demise. Men, women and child alike
lay barren before the unmarked cairn of frost slowly entombing them. Shattered
hafts of pine and fir littering the field, sickenly familiar to his own heart.

Though the clan had never truly saw eye to eye with the encampment it seemed
some solace to the lingering terror haunting his mind, a soothing balm to the
wounded soul he bore. Bandits and thieves they were, nevertheless extended their
hand to a child of kin torn from his mother's bussom so young.

Within the encampment he traversed his adolescent life among its denizens,
growing fond of the day to day endeavors throughout blossoming feelings he
had never imagined. It was different here, a strange sense of routine crude as
it was prevailed as the days went by. All players upon the stage had an act
to perform. For Karvesh, timid and scarred by traumas of the past he found
fulfilment not in raiding as most of the pact, reminding him of his own tragedy
but instead hunting elk, trapping game and skinning the meager harvest of sparse
nature. In this way he found contentment, broken only briefly at times by the
chaos of feuding introspective of primitive societies.

Role

Chapter 1

On that day a foul wind swept across the wastes, its howl chilling beyond
the swirling mists of frost sending tremors amidst the roughly hewn beastial
hides encasing the clan. Billowing drifts of snow and ice rustling the flaps
of the tents in trepidation of the long night ahead. There was no need for
flame within the hut, their furs and their pelts embraced them against the
cold and their eyes could see beyond the shroud the moonlight. It mattered
little, the eyes of the advesary had grown accustomed to the temptest over
the millenia, compared to them they were but naive children cowering behind
the sheets.

Without warning the blades fell upon them, severing sinew and crushing bones.
Rough hands wrapping around the necks of young and old alike snapping like
twigs beneath stone and tossed into the pile of kindling for the pyre...

This was but one night of many that foretold the end of tribe Nvheshk, what
remained of their kind scattered upon cool winter winds into darkness of the
tundra. One such flake carried along the breeze was a young cub known to his
people as Karvesh.

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