Post by David on Jul 9, 2009 18:29:18 GMT -8
Here is the backstory for my new Artificer, Faber:
Virgil Fabrilis, Apprentice Armourer:
Virgil Frabrilis was born of peasant stock. While his parents were fortunate enough to have a small plot of land, there was to be no inheritance for him as the sixth of eight children. His father pulled what strings he could for the boy, having him apprenticed to a master armourer named Iapyx at the age of thirteen. Virgil, however, showed little talent for the forge. He had not the strength to do more than work the bellows. His master, having other, more able apprentices, set Virgil instead to the task of polishing and repairing older weapons and armor.
What Virgil lacked in strength he made up for in cleverness and good nature, and he proved more than productive in the task set to him. He found comfort in the musty storage room that held the damaged armor. Cannibalizing parts from various sources, he found ways to restore items thought far beyond repair. In what spare time he had, he scrounged components to build small but useful devices. His master was skeptical of these contrivances at first. However, he was eventually impressed enough that he began to give some to loyal customers, then sell them when demand increased. Virgil didn't mind this, as his interest was constantly shifting. Once he finished tinkering with a project, he cared little for its fate other than as a potential source of spare parts for the next idea. It was during this time that he acquired the nickname of 'Faber' (for 'maker' or 'craftsman').
Faber's relationship with Iapyx's other apprentices was less than sanguine at first. Calus, Perdix, and Talos saw him as an unwelcome competitor for the master's business, making the
small boy a pariah to the older children. This caused more than a few fights, and as time went on the attacks grew more serious, coming to a head when Calus came after Faber with a sword. Faber surprised everyone by winning this fight, despite being armed only with a quarterstaff. While the others had spent hours practicing with the swords they forged, Faber had only watched, making a study of their openings and weaknesses. He had seen the fight coming, and he had prepared. He had no ability with military weapons like swords, so he kept the weapon with which he felt most comfortable close at hand.
After this fight, the relationship changed dramatically, and Faber began to drill regularly with the other apprentices. Despite their attempts to teach him the sword, Faber never took to it. He trained instead with the staff, and became more and more proficient with it.
Faber's Secrets:
Virgil loved to read. He found his first book in his father's study, a distant relative's journal of high adventure and tragic loss. His one disappointment in the armourer's service was the lack of reading material. Almost as much as his family, he missed the small library in the freehold where he grew up. His frustration grew in Iapyx's service: he had gone nearly two years without seeing a written sentence beyond a customer's order. Hearing of the local baron's great collection of books, he decided to take matters into his own hands.
Over his time of apprenticeship, Faber had scrounged a serviceable set of thieves' tools, and he put them to use breaking into the Baron's study. The adrenaline rush he got from sneaking in was nothing compared with the wonder he felt within the library. He read about everything: History, Medicine, Architecture, Tactics... There were even a few arcane texts amongst the Baron's books.
After one of his late night excursions to the study, Faber, unable to sleep, returned to the armory to tinker with one of his pet projects. He found himself unable to focus, however. Something in the room was ...off . Something had caught his eye on the way in. It took him a minute to narrow it down. It had been one of the arms in the room, one of the weapons... His eyes finally settled onto a dagger lying on his workbench. He had found it caught among cobwebs in the back of the storeroom, and brought it out for a polish. It was one of his early attempts at the forge, and not very well crafted. There were imperfections and impurities in the steel along the length of the blade. He was about to dismiss his uneasy feeling and return to work when he realized that the imperfections formed a half-familiar pattern. Had he seen it on a nobleman's coat? Or was it in an arcane text?
He began to polish the blade idly. As he did, he began to feel energy moving about him, moving through him and into the blade. He could picture the pattern very clearly now. It shifted slowly behind his eyelids, a twisting thing of three and four dimesions, flattened uneasily into two. It was almost an hour later that his contemplation ended. The imperfections in the steel hadn't been quite right before. Now, they matched the pattern in his mind exactly, and glowed with soft blue light. The blade itself had changed as well. The shoddy workmanship was no longer evident. It felt more solid, and when he tested the edge, sharper.
With time, the light from the blade faded, but he could still see the emblazoned sigil if he tried. He didn't need to see it to know it was there. He could feel the sigil's presence, an unseen bond between himself and the weapon.
He tucked the dagger into his belt. This blade, he would keep.
Virgil the slave:
Faber is not sure how many weeks have passed since the caravan raid that cost him and Iapyx their freedom, Talos his eyes, and Perdix his life. In this cave there is no dawn or dusk, and their captors have not had them sleeping on anything like a regular schedule. Seemingly on a whim, they would march whichever slave seemed most able (or troublesome) toward the ruins, forcing them to hard labor. Faber hoped that Talos had lived, had been able to find help, but even if he had, hope was slim that that help would find its way here, deep into this strange mountain.
Faber wasn't counting on that hope. He was determined to escape the brutal beings that held them captive, and to free the others with him. He had one advantage in the form of a small amount of residuum he was able to secrete about his person. He had another: they did not expect much from so weak-looking a slave. The stronger and more outspoken slaves were broken down through repeated beatings and long shifts clearing rubble from the ruins. For now, Faber would keep his head down. He could see a fight was coming, and he needed to prepare.
Virgil Fabrilis, Apprentice Armourer:
Virgil Frabrilis was born of peasant stock. While his parents were fortunate enough to have a small plot of land, there was to be no inheritance for him as the sixth of eight children. His father pulled what strings he could for the boy, having him apprenticed to a master armourer named Iapyx at the age of thirteen. Virgil, however, showed little talent for the forge. He had not the strength to do more than work the bellows. His master, having other, more able apprentices, set Virgil instead to the task of polishing and repairing older weapons and armor.
What Virgil lacked in strength he made up for in cleverness and good nature, and he proved more than productive in the task set to him. He found comfort in the musty storage room that held the damaged armor. Cannibalizing parts from various sources, he found ways to restore items thought far beyond repair. In what spare time he had, he scrounged components to build small but useful devices. His master was skeptical of these contrivances at first. However, he was eventually impressed enough that he began to give some to loyal customers, then sell them when demand increased. Virgil didn't mind this, as his interest was constantly shifting. Once he finished tinkering with a project, he cared little for its fate other than as a potential source of spare parts for the next idea. It was during this time that he acquired the nickname of 'Faber' (for 'maker' or 'craftsman').
Faber's relationship with Iapyx's other apprentices was less than sanguine at first. Calus, Perdix, and Talos saw him as an unwelcome competitor for the master's business, making the
small boy a pariah to the older children. This caused more than a few fights, and as time went on the attacks grew more serious, coming to a head when Calus came after Faber with a sword. Faber surprised everyone by winning this fight, despite being armed only with a quarterstaff. While the others had spent hours practicing with the swords they forged, Faber had only watched, making a study of their openings and weaknesses. He had seen the fight coming, and he had prepared. He had no ability with military weapons like swords, so he kept the weapon with which he felt most comfortable close at hand.
After this fight, the relationship changed dramatically, and Faber began to drill regularly with the other apprentices. Despite their attempts to teach him the sword, Faber never took to it. He trained instead with the staff, and became more and more proficient with it.
Faber's Secrets:
Virgil loved to read. He found his first book in his father's study, a distant relative's journal of high adventure and tragic loss. His one disappointment in the armourer's service was the lack of reading material. Almost as much as his family, he missed the small library in the freehold where he grew up. His frustration grew in Iapyx's service: he had gone nearly two years without seeing a written sentence beyond a customer's order. Hearing of the local baron's great collection of books, he decided to take matters into his own hands.
Over his time of apprenticeship, Faber had scrounged a serviceable set of thieves' tools, and he put them to use breaking into the Baron's study. The adrenaline rush he got from sneaking in was nothing compared with the wonder he felt within the library. He read about everything: History, Medicine, Architecture, Tactics... There were even a few arcane texts amongst the Baron's books.
After one of his late night excursions to the study, Faber, unable to sleep, returned to the armory to tinker with one of his pet projects. He found himself unable to focus, however. Something in the room was ...off . Something had caught his eye on the way in. It took him a minute to narrow it down. It had been one of the arms in the room, one of the weapons... His eyes finally settled onto a dagger lying on his workbench. He had found it caught among cobwebs in the back of the storeroom, and brought it out for a polish. It was one of his early attempts at the forge, and not very well crafted. There were imperfections and impurities in the steel along the length of the blade. He was about to dismiss his uneasy feeling and return to work when he realized that the imperfections formed a half-familiar pattern. Had he seen it on a nobleman's coat? Or was it in an arcane text?
He began to polish the blade idly. As he did, he began to feel energy moving about him, moving through him and into the blade. He could picture the pattern very clearly now. It shifted slowly behind his eyelids, a twisting thing of three and four dimesions, flattened uneasily into two. It was almost an hour later that his contemplation ended. The imperfections in the steel hadn't been quite right before. Now, they matched the pattern in his mind exactly, and glowed with soft blue light. The blade itself had changed as well. The shoddy workmanship was no longer evident. It felt more solid, and when he tested the edge, sharper.
With time, the light from the blade faded, but he could still see the emblazoned sigil if he tried. He didn't need to see it to know it was there. He could feel the sigil's presence, an unseen bond between himself and the weapon.
He tucked the dagger into his belt. This blade, he would keep.
Virgil the slave:
Faber is not sure how many weeks have passed since the caravan raid that cost him and Iapyx their freedom, Talos his eyes, and Perdix his life. In this cave there is no dawn or dusk, and their captors have not had them sleeping on anything like a regular schedule. Seemingly on a whim, they would march whichever slave seemed most able (or troublesome) toward the ruins, forcing them to hard labor. Faber hoped that Talos had lived, had been able to find help, but even if he had, hope was slim that that help would find its way here, deep into this strange mountain.
Faber wasn't counting on that hope. He was determined to escape the brutal beings that held them captive, and to free the others with him. He had one advantage in the form of a small amount of residuum he was able to secrete about his person. He had another: they did not expect much from so weak-looking a slave. The stronger and more outspoken slaves were broken down through repeated beatings and long shifts clearing rubble from the ruins. For now, Faber would keep his head down. He could see a fight was coming, and he needed to prepare.