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<blockquote data-quote="Primus" data-source="post: 2443808" data-attributes="member: 16837"><p>I didn't like the name Kilikos. His new name is Jal Cyreson (The second name chosen after the Mourning, of course).</p><p></p><p><a href="http://www.3eprofiler.net/3ep/view.php?id=29179" target="_blank">http://www.3eprofiler.net/3ep/view.php?id=29179</a></p><p></p><p>Background</p><p></p><p>"They say the draconic Prophecy manifests itself in the motions of the moon and stars, in the orbitting of the planes, in the flesh of men and elves and dwarves and gnomes, and in the very land, sky, and sea of Eberron. These great words of power and destiny suffuse the world. Usually, only creatures with the vision and relative immortality of dragons or elves have the necessary faculties to find any single piece of the Prophecy. But all words are merely reflections of the one Word, and in this world there are some rare individuals within whom the Word resides.</p><p></p><p>In the small town of Melfron, on the Cyre side of the Cyre-Breland border, a child was born. His father was a Cyran soldier, his mother a seamstress. He was only notable by the strange reddish color of one of his eyes, a condition attributed to a blood vessel bursting during birth by the Melfron . The child was young, as most children are, yet he was unusually serious. He learned to read at the age of 2 (though his mother swore that perhaps he could have known it all along). After that he digested every mundane tome that he could get his hands on (not many in a small outpost such as Melfron). At the age of thirteen he was sent away to live with his Uncle, a well known Wizard who had relocated to Aundair many years before. His mother thought that he would take to wizarding easily and feared for the safety of her frail son (the War did not seem to be showing any signs of stopping).</p><p></p><p>One year later, the youth was returning to his home in disgrace. The magic of wizards had eluded him. The mystical words of men were not his to command as all other words were. He found them foolish, hollow. On the way home he began to see what it was that had eluded him in the schools of Arcanix. The words of mortal spells are merely pale shadows of the true magic. If he could find those words, then he would know the truth. He stopped, during the last leg of his journey, at the town of Kennrun just fifteen miles from the border of Cyre. The night was one which would go down in infamy.</p><p></p><p>The Mourning occurred.</p><p></p><p>When the young man awoke the world was drastically different than the one he had fallen asleep to. His life, his family, his country, it had all vanished in the blink of an eye. As the youth stood there, on the road lading out of Kennrun, he stared at he wall of dead gray mist that marked the boundary of his home. Word was coming in from the scouts. Cyre was gone. Just plain gone. Those who enterred the mist returned with tales of untold horrors. Many never returned. And as he sat, watching the mist, knowing in his heart of hearts that his life was gone, the child cried. And as he cried, he saw in the dust a Word. Most would say he’d hallucinated it. But when he looked into those crumbling grains, he knew.</p><p></p><p>Four years have passed since that day. The young man, never quite right, according to those who knew him, has grown even more sullen and withdrawn. He seems to talk rarely and when he does speak he mostly speaks about the Words (The capital is always there). His knowledge of the Words has grown, he can even speak short syllables in order to create arcane blasts and create other effects. He has no home and is one of the many lost-Cyrans to have set-up kip in the City of Towers since that fateful day. One day he hopes to return to his home in the shattered lands and return with some piece of his lost life."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Primus, post: 2443808, member: 16837"] I didn't like the name Kilikos. His new name is Jal Cyreson (The second name chosen after the Mourning, of course). [url]http://www.3eprofiler.net/3ep/view.php?id=29179[/url] Background "They say the draconic Prophecy manifests itself in the motions of the moon and stars, in the orbitting of the planes, in the flesh of men and elves and dwarves and gnomes, and in the very land, sky, and sea of Eberron. These great words of power and destiny suffuse the world. Usually, only creatures with the vision and relative immortality of dragons or elves have the necessary faculties to find any single piece of the Prophecy. But all words are merely reflections of the one Word, and in this world there are some rare individuals within whom the Word resides. In the small town of Melfron, on the Cyre side of the Cyre-Breland border, a child was born. His father was a Cyran soldier, his mother a seamstress. He was only notable by the strange reddish color of one of his eyes, a condition attributed to a blood vessel bursting during birth by the Melfron . The child was young, as most children are, yet he was unusually serious. He learned to read at the age of 2 (though his mother swore that perhaps he could have known it all along). After that he digested every mundane tome that he could get his hands on (not many in a small outpost such as Melfron). At the age of thirteen he was sent away to live with his Uncle, a well known Wizard who had relocated to Aundair many years before. His mother thought that he would take to wizarding easily and feared for the safety of her frail son (the War did not seem to be showing any signs of stopping). One year later, the youth was returning to his home in disgrace. The magic of wizards had eluded him. The mystical words of men were not his to command as all other words were. He found them foolish, hollow. On the way home he began to see what it was that had eluded him in the schools of Arcanix. The words of mortal spells are merely pale shadows of the true magic. If he could find those words, then he would know the truth. He stopped, during the last leg of his journey, at the town of Kennrun just fifteen miles from the border of Cyre. The night was one which would go down in infamy. The Mourning occurred. When the young man awoke the world was drastically different than the one he had fallen asleep to. His life, his family, his country, it had all vanished in the blink of an eye. As the youth stood there, on the road lading out of Kennrun, he stared at he wall of dead gray mist that marked the boundary of his home. Word was coming in from the scouts. Cyre was gone. Just plain gone. Those who enterred the mist returned with tales of untold horrors. Many never returned. And as he sat, watching the mist, knowing in his heart of hearts that his life was gone, the child cried. And as he cried, he saw in the dust a Word. Most would say he’d hallucinated it. But when he looked into those crumbling grains, he knew. Four years have passed since that day. The young man, never quite right, according to those who knew him, has grown even more sullen and withdrawn. He seems to talk rarely and when he does speak he mostly speaks about the Words (The capital is always there). His knowledge of the Words has grown, he can even speak short syllables in order to create arcane blasts and create other effects. He has no home and is one of the many lost-Cyrans to have set-up kip in the City of Towers since that fateful day. One day he hopes to return to his home in the shattered lands and return with some piece of his lost life." [/QUOTE]
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