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Martell
Day Court Citizen
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Age:

9 [Year 496 Winter]

Gender:

Male

Pronouns:

He/Him/His

Orientation:

Heterosexual

Breed:

Andalusian X

Height:

16.2 hh

Health:

8

Attack:

12

Experience:

14
Offline

Last Visit:

09-04-2020, 09:26 PM

Joined:

06-14-2020
Signos: 280 (Donate)
Total Posts: 11 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 1 (Find All Threads)


This is not his body, and not his name.

The changes were made quickly, and in secret. Martell (for that is what he he has chosen, martellus, the Hammer, to make and to unmake) is still getting used to the way his black hair falls in a wavy cascade down his neck instead of the flaxen mane he kept in a neat shorn strip, out of the way of blood and teeth. If he were to catch a reflection of himself in water or glass, he would not recognize the crimson color of his skin and the way it bleeds to black, or the blaze that carves a thin line down his face, or the absence of his scars.

But there is one change that suits him. He is still learning the balance of the tapering horn that juts like a saber from his brow, but Martell has always been a natural with weapons. It will not be long before he masters this one.


He is everything they say about him.

Fearless, cunning, ruthless. Righteous and just. Able to inspire any man, from the newest recruit still knock-kneed with youth to the most battle-worn colonel, through word and deed. Martell lived a blameless life in accordance with the customs of his country. He served the king. He slew his enemies. He held his tongue and waited, patient as a tiger, for the moment to come when he would be king.

But there is darkness in him (of course there is - you do not kill as many as he has killed, or guard as many lies as he has guarded, without that blackness blooming in you like mold). He has always been good at keeping it locked away, with his rigid restraint; discipline is the god he believes in most. But it was Isra, Isra and her stories (stories she would never tell him, stories that came to him through spies) who kept the darkness from finding cracks, from seeping out. When he was with her he was only the light. He was what everyone said he was. He was at peace.

But Isra has taken that from him, too. Now there is nothing to hold in that black mixture of fury and hatred and fear. Now it is close to consuming him.


He is not the villain in this story.

You may think that he is - fallen general of a land crushed by those it had captured. Martell has made many slaves in his years of service, and many slaves have served him. But he was only doing his duty, and doing it well.

And he loved her - oh, he did.

He was not born to the life that Isra tore from him when she finished the rebellion. That is part of what made him so beloved: rising from squalor to become the second most powerful man in Elettra (he would tell you the most powerful; after all, he held the sword). It is the kind of story the ruling class likes to tell, but never to live. It set him apart as much as his discipline did, and as much as the battles he had won. He is ashamed of his beginning, but he did nothing to quell the rumors. He knows the power of a story. She taught him that.

After she vanished one moonless night everyone believed her dead (some might have believed he did the killing). Te General never did; he could feel her, sometimes, in the cold eye of the moon, in the whisper of the waves. But he hoped she was dead, because that was easier to accept than her leaving him.

Maybe after that night he became colder, more distant. Maybe after that night each slave that visited him in his bedroom left trembling. There was always a part of him listening, after that, as if waiting for the sound of a distant ring of chains.

And then she did come back.

The General was far away when it happened, at the border of their country; that is likely why he’s still alive. He didn’t witness the foreign queen and her warship and her dragon, but he heard about them all. There was her name, Isra in black ink on the letter sent to him from the capitol; there was her name, Isra! on the mouths of all the slaves she freed. He returned to a city broken, a city burning, a city chaotic. The king was dead, along with most of the nobility. And Isra was preparing to sail away.

The General could stay. He could wrest back control, put the people back in chains (they did not know how to be free, anyway. Order was better for them. Everything must play its role). Become king.

Or he could disguise himself, sail to a country he’s never seen. Go after her, make her repent (save her?).

It is time for the story to end.

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Played by:

griffin (PM Player)

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Staff Log



06/20/20 Character application approved, +20 signos for visual ref -LAYLA
06/27/20 +3EXP for Griffin's 3rd Novus Anniversary -LAYLA
06/27/20 +1EXP for participating in "Breathe In The Story" IC event, TID5022 -LAYLA