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The Lord Ruler's perfect capital city, Luthadel, is doing the impossible: rebelling. Skaa half-breeds are being taught the power of Allomancy, something that the Lord Ruler's obligators said only existed in the nobility. The enslaved skaa, with their murderous benefactor, now fight back against a living god's oppression.

So, the Inquisition was formed. The nobles begin to fear assassination from all sides. The times of nobility Mistborn killing each other are over. The Steel Inquisitors look for aristocrat traitors and insurgent skaa, and the skaa try with all their strength to merely survive. The Lord Ruler's perfect Final Empire is slowly devolving into chaos.

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Wilor Zerrung


1 reply to this topic

#1 Mailliw73

8
Riordan Casuana's Reputation

Posted 17 January 2013 - 10:34 PM

Wilor Zerrung
Noble Lurcher

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Name/Handle: Mailliw73-Handle, call me Mailliw73or Will
Contact: pm



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Name: Wilor Zerrung
Type: Noble
Age:22
Gender:Male
Place of Origin:Tremredare
Occupation:Noble, bodyguard/spy
Relationship Status:Courting Lysentella Cobalt



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Type of Powers: Allomantic Misting; Lurcher
Metals Used: Iron
Degree of Skill: Intermediate
Status: Known to House members only and rumored by some nobles



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Wilor is of average height, about 6 feet. He has light brown hair and green eyes. He is agile and pretty lean, yet is not a weakling. He is strong, physically and mentally. He is said to be attractive by many noble ladies. His eyes look everywhere at all times, almost constantly moving to look around and spot any possible dangers. 

On regular days, he wears a nobleman's suit with a brigandine type of breastplate, with tight layers of cloth and some padding in the form of lacquered leather, under his suit, typical of Lurchers in combat, which is why he is rumoured to be a Lurcher. He typically wears a cloak as well, especially in public to help hide a pair of knives he keeps sheathed at his waist.

His suit is usually not very crisp and perfect, but is wrinkled or untidy, except for when his father forces one of the maids to press and clean the suit for a ball or other important event. 

 At balls, Wilor tends to dine with a large group of people, because his father forces him to make better connections for their house. He will always observe the ball, but he usually will still try to enjoy himself a bit, dancing once in a while.

He, when planning on a fight, wears a wooden mask, painted to look metal, over his face with wide eyeholes to be able to still observe everything. He wears a thick leather breastplate and the mask to protect from coins that he Pulls toward himself, when in battle. They are both specially fitted snugly on him. 

Wilor keeps a pouch of small spikes and a pouch of coins to throw and Pull into enemies. He always keeps two knives sheathed around his waist, ball or battle. The sheath has a catch to prevent the knives from being taken or Pulled on unless a lever is pressed, hidden under the cloak he wears most of the time.

Wilor is, if you can't tell, very paranoid about his safety, part of which is that he has what is now known as OCD, he can't stand to go anywhere unarmed. He also at nights, wears a cloak that was cut to look somewhat like a Mistcloak that he was given by his father, so that Wilor wouldn't be immediately recognized and left alone as he stood watch every night. 

He gets his specialized equipment from his house’s business as a specialized/Hazekiller weapons distributor and from their contacts. Larius permits it because he wants an effective bodyguard.



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Wilor is very rebellious at home, but knows he cannot show his rebellious personality to the other nobles and in public. He can't believe how his father and older brother are so ignorant of the Empire  and what he perceives as its crimes. Votir even seems to idolize and worship the Empire.

He argues with his father all the time. Wilor hates being known as a Zerrung, but stays because he knows his father cares a little about him, enough to not want him to hurt, so Wilor stays. Wilor is not close to anyone in his family, except for his deceased mother. 

He likes some of the servants, particularly one of his stewards. That servant, Sevk, is the only one who knows about Wilor's trips into the slums. He is also a reason Wilor likes the skaa more than most nobles do. Sevk is like a foster father to Wilor because he grew up with him. Sevk has always stuck by his side and never betrayed his secrets to his father.

Wilor has a flair for the dramatic and likes his opponent to see him before killing him. He would rather stab a man in the gut while staring at him in the eyes, than silently drop him with a well-placed knife in the back. He is very confident in his abilities.

He is pretty distrustful and it takes quite a bit for someone to become close to him, but many times, he will pretend to trust people to gain more secrets.  He is very observant and sometimes notices when he is being Rioted, though he can't always tell what particular feelings are being Rioted.

He likes studying or practicing his skills, with both weaponry and Allomancy, but as he spends more time in Luthadel, he is becoming more familiar and comfortable with it and is beginning to leave the manor and interact with others. 

He talks with other nobles and confers with them, but he also will research up on skaa and their supposed rebellion, and sometimes create a disguise and sneak into the slums to watch or on rare occasions, communicate with them.

He also takes care of some business for House Zerrung, especially talking to the "higher" skaa shop owners and craftsmen. He can't stand people who are constantly gossiping and can't believe that so many nobles are happy and content with the current status of the Empire.

In Wilor's many studies in Tremredare, he has been able to retrieve a couple banned texts, as there were less strict rules on books there, which questioned skaa's placement in the Empire, so he pities skaa but is also frustrated with them because they don't seem to want to or care enough to change their lives. He discovered that as some of the books he has read said, skaa are able to communicate intelligently and aren't animals. He was somewhat shocked, though he had read that before, he had still doubted those texts.

Wilor is tired of having to do what society requires and is becoming more bold with his talking about rebellion. He is always ready for a fight and is constantly on edge. He wants a rebellion because he can't believe all the atrocities of the Empire, he can't believe that skaa would let themselves be treated how they are and feels bad for how they are treated. He wants to help but has no idea how. 

He is serious, yet can be funny or clever at rare times. He tends to be very sarcastic. Wilor is hardened inside, which is typical of many Final Empire citizens, Wilor knows that death is necessary and won't hesitate to kill. He doesn't like it, but he knows that some people create a better world when they perish.

Being OCD, Wilor does many things 3 times in a row and never does anything 6 times in a row. He knows that it doesn't make any sense but he does it anyway. When in a fight, he almost always stabs the person 3 times during the fight. He believes that his treasured knives have souls of their own and he feels like they communicate to him sometimes. Part of his OCD is that he feels he must tap his knuckles together 3 times before he does anything of significance. People are noticing these things now and are beginning to feel strange about it.

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Special Skills: Knifes, swords, reading/writing, observance

Strengths: Agile, yet strong, Wilor, can Pull heavy objects, yet still shoot around like only a Lurcher can. Very observant. Wilor is a great spy, as he always listens and doesn't always talk, this allows him to pick up more of conversations. He is a hard worker and rarely gives up. He is introspective, always trying to improve, as is seen in his armor.

Weaknesses: Talking one on one, his eyes always flit around, watching for signs of anything dangerous, which tends to make people doubt him and believe he is lying. Wilor is not comfortable around people, because they always doubt him, he avoids deep personal conversations most of the time. In battle, Wilor tends to underestimate people and trust his armor too much,. That has caused his defeat multiple times. He can analyze people well, but is not a great speech maker and therefore can't usually use that analyzation to his advantage.

He is seen as selfish a lot of the time and as an anti-socialist. His father tries to get rid of the latter view so that people want to do business with them. He is usually very tired from staying up all night. He normally sleeps only a few hours a night.



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Wilor Zerrung was born to Larius and Silvre Zerrung in the year 896 in Tremredare. He was their second son, after Votir. He was always pushed aside by his father but connected better with his mother. His father believed that he was not important because he already had Votir to succeed him, until it was discovered that Wilor was a Lurcher. Then Larius treated him much better. Larius was proud to have two Allomancer sons. Wilor believes that he was a mistake and that his father never meant to have a second son.

A few months after Wilor was born, a servant named Sevk was assigned to be one of his servants/stewards. Wilor grew up being around Sevk. Once Wilor was old enough to understand, his parents tried to teach him that Sevk was lower than Wilor. Wilor could never understand why, when he had never noticed any major differences between the two of them.

When Wilor was eight years old, his mother died from a disease and that crushed him emotionally. It is what set off a chain reaction that brought out his OCD and made him more reserved.

 He hated his brother and never got along with his father especially after an incident when Wilor was ten years old. On his tenth birthday, as was tradition in his family, he was taken out of the house and beaten to check for Allomantic powers. He was found to be a Lurcher. Also around the time of his beating, his OCD habits were becoming very noticeable. His father tried taking him to doctors to cure it but they said that there was no cure.

After his mother's death and his beating, Wilor requested that Sevk become his sole private steward and servant. His father reluctantly agreed, not wanting to lose the protection of a Lurcher. 

Sevk became Wilor's only true friend even to this day. They both were always completely honest with each other and both stood up to Larius, though when Sevk had occasionally done it, he ended up with getting whipped. Those scars make Wilor even more proud of him. Wilor never noticed anything different about Sevk and so still treats him as an equal in private.

His father used the fact that Wilor was a Lurcher by making Wilor his and Votir's personal bodyguard but not making it obvious that Wilor was a Lurcher by having another pack of regular bodyguards. Everyone in the Zerrung household knows that Wilor was the real protection. Larius is also a Smoker and so he can block Wilor's pulses when they are in public. Wilor also took to spying and training with his powers when he was a young teenager. He would go and fly around and practice pulling himself places.

Wilor had a knack for throwing knives and swordplay and immediately loved those. He began to pilfer some of his house's specialized weapons and also made some of his own. His favorite was a pair of knives that he helped and watched a Zerrung blacksmith forge that he always keeps around his waist, fastened to his belt. 

He would throw the knives past the training dummies and burn iron, sensing the knife and when it came to the optimum position, Pull it back to himself, which would thrust itself through the back of the dummy and then begin Pulling on the steel hilt to flip it around and fly into his gauntleted hand. When he discovered it didn't actually work very well on humans with flesh and bones, he almost was decapitated. He now uses small spikes or coins to thrust into people instead.

Votir, his older brother always tried to pull elaborate and cruel schemes on Wilor. He always resented the fact that Votir thought himself better and on one occasion, tried to kill him by Pulling a kitchen knife into him. Wilor was still becoming familiar with his powers and only managed to cut the side of Votir's calf, leaving a permanent scar.

He became very rebellious and rarely obeyed his father. Larius decided he would go crazy if Wilor was kept inside, so he cut a cloak into strips at the bottom to resemble a Mistcloak somewhat, so that Wilor wouldn't be bothered or investigated.  At night, now in Luthadel, where the skaa slums are more prominent, Wilor has recently taken to visiting skaa beggars and tossing coins to them. He pities skaa and wishes they would rebel. He would like to help, but being a noble, he doesn't know where to start or contact. 

When his family moved to Fadrex City in 910 to be closer to Luthadel, he almost ran away back to Tremredare. His father barely kept him in but only by allowing him to practice weaponry and Allomancy with the servants. He tried to run away because he had left some close friends back in Tremredare.

House Zerrung moved again, this time to Luthadel, in late 917, and is beginning to be recognized and noticed. Wilor hasnt tried to make many acquaintances yet in Luthadel, but people who notice his armor and OCD compulsions treat him coldly and only slightly acknowledge him.

Wilor has had many victories against his father and people in the streets. He has also suffered some shattering losses. The worst, in his opinion, was when, one time, he accidentally attacked a robbing Thug, mistaking him for a regular bandit. He ended up losing a favorite knife, having a few shattered ribs, a swollen eye, and a broken leg. He couldn't fight or study for a long time. He never made that mistake again, he, when suspecting a possible Pewterarm, always makes sure one way or another before beginning his attack.

He has spent quite a bit of time healing from many cuts or broken bones from fights, not many were severe, but several were. He hasn't picked up any healing tricks though, he deems it a skill for women.



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"Father! No, please, don't let them take me! No!" Larius ignored Wilor's cries and turned around, but not before Wilor saw the regret in his eyes. Wilor was roughly dragged into the shed behind his family's manor in Tremredare. 

The two servants, armed, one with a whip and one with a club, sneered at him, enjoying their job. Their family had beaten every Zerrung child on their tenth birthday for the past few centuries. They were hired to beat them to discover which, if any, children were Allomancers.

Wilor was tied up to a post in the center of the shed, facing the back wall.  He heard the whip fly a moment before it bit into his back. He tried to cry out , but the second servant had thrust a rag in his mouth to prevent him from doing just that. The pain came again and again. After three, he couldn't focus enough to count, he didn't know how much time passed between the pain starting and it ending. He only knew that the pain ceased coming but still the lashes continued to throb on his back.

"Your turn," he heard the servant with the whip say in his gruff voice to the other servant, his brother. A second later, Wilor felt the club ram into his back, this time, the pain was so intense, Wilor started to slump to the ground, but all of a sudden he felt a strange warmth in his stomach. The pain started to fade as he was distacted by this strange feeling. There was a small lump of it inside him, he internally felt it and it began to decrease and he saw blue lines appear connecting to the latch on the door and the coin pouches on the servants waists. Wilor couldn't explain  how, it just happened, he did what felt right and Pulled on the latch which opened the door and immediately the club stopped swinging.

"That's enough," the first servant commanded the one who was clubbing Wilor's back. He was untied and immediately scampered up the steps into the house and ran to his bedroom. He sobbed until he fell asleep that night. Wilor always hated those servants and never felt close to his father again, but he never left the house because of what he saw in his father's eyes when they took him away. 

Wilor saw sorrow in those hard eyes. He saw regret in the eyes of the man who ordered assassins to kill without any hesitation. He never left because he knew his father didn't want him hurt, but his father didn't love Wilor and Wilor never loved him, but he cared, and even the slightest hint of that was enough for Wilor to stay.

Year 914


Wilor perched on the highest point of Manor Zerrung, surveying Fadrex City, watching for any disturbance in the calm of night. He was also burning iron, therefore searching with both eyes and Allomancy for anything unusual. 

He sensed movement in a slum a few streets away. Wilor immediately Pulled on a window latch in that direction, bringing him close to the action. He Pulled on another blue line extending from himself to another latch on a building across the alley, effectively leaving him hanging above the middle of the alley. 

Wilor watched a man slice another man's arm, causing him to drop to the ground. The shorter man grabbed the injured man's scrap of bread and ran out of the alley, quicker than should have been possible. A pewterarm, thought Wilor. This should be fun. He stopped Pulling on the two latches and immediately began to fall, but not before he had selected another metal object to pull on heading toward the city center. 

He stopped at the top of the building that he was Pulling on and scanned the streets below. Wilor sensed metal moving northwest. He Pulled once more to a another building right above the Thug. Wilor jumped off the rooftop and just before hitting the ground Pulling again on the rooftop slightly to slow the fall. He let go of the rooftop and landed in front of the man.

The man abruptly halted in his tracks and began to lunge toward Wilor's face with his knife, but Wilor Pulled the knife towards his chest, confusing the man and causing the knife to strike the leather chest plate under his cloak, stopping the blade.

 He reached down and tossed one of his own knives over the man's head and dodged a punch by the Thug. As the knife fell parallel with the man's stomach, Wilor Pulled on the tip of the blade, pulling it into the Thug's back. The Thug hadn't dropped to the ground like most people Wilor had dueled before. Idiot! Of course he didn't die, he's burning pewter! Wilor mentally cursed himself for underestimating the man. 

He unsuccessfully tried to dodge the man's lunge for his throat and found himself in the grasp of the man, who was trying to kill his would-be murderer before his pewter ran out and he died. In the lunge he had pinned Wilor's arm that had thrown the knife to his side. Wilor wriggled his other hand down to his waist pulling out his second knife. 

He thrust his arm forward into the man, quickly stabbing only once before the man released his hold on Wilor and swatted Wilor's arm with the knife, sending his second knife flying. The man, growing weaker from the knife in his back collapsed to the ground. Wilor shrugged him off and grabbed the bread that the man had stolen and his knives from the Pewterarm's back and the street.  

He shot off back toward the alley, leaving the dead man to become surrounded in his own blood. 

He dropped to the ground next to the man who had had his arm slashed and put the food down and Pulled himself back to Manor Zerrung, breathing heavily from the near enstranglement. 

Wilor Pulled on the steel brick placed above his window in Manor Zerrung, shooting him back towards  his room, he shut the window, then opened it and shut it again. A third time, he opened and closed his window, knowing that it was firmly closed the first time, but needing to be sure. 

He removed his helm, placing it on the table near his bed, for quick retrieval if necessary. Wilor then changed into more comfortable clothes for sleeping, even though it would be dawn in a few hours.

 He placed his knives on his bedside table and flopped onto his bed, tired, but knowing he would have to perform his Sleeping Ritual, he stood up again, then flopped down on his bed, a second time. Not wanting to do it a third time, he tried to resist the urge to stand again and tried to fall into a deep sleep. After only a minute of forcing his body to stay on the bed, he, without even consciously trying, he found himself standing once more, and finally, almost entirely from exhaustion, he, for the third and last time that night, fell onto his bed and immediately fell asleep, dreading the next day.

Late Year 917


(Red is Eclipse as Votir)
Votir adjusted the clasp of his cloak as he waited for the carriage to pull up outside Manor Zerrung. The ash fell lightly, muffling the sounds of the approaching wheels on the road. The jingle of the harness on the horses caught his attention, and he straightened his tie as the carriage pulled up to the manor. His thoughts raced. He had a clean slate. There weren't any nobles to manipulate, no friends to try to outwit, not a single deal that needed closing. And it felt foreign. However, the anxiety that had been his constant companion for years was still there. And that anxiety, that gnawing fear would not let him fail himself, his father, or his house. Votir approached the carriage briskly, as if he could leave the fear behind if he walked fast enough. The driver hopped down from his seat to open the door, but not fast enough. Votir made it there before him, and opened the door himself. He shoved the driver, sending him sprawling.

Angrily, he said,"Do your job right or don't do it at all."

He climbed into the carriage, adjusted his cloak again, and waited for the driver to take his seat. Hopefully he would do that quickly enough.


Wilor fumbled with the last buttons on his cloak as he rushed down the stairs to hurry to the carriage. Finally getting the last one done, he gently Ironpulled himself to a bronze statue at the bottom of the long, winding staircase.

Landing on the main floor, he quickly walked to the front door, adjusting his cloak to hide his knives, arriving at the door just in time to see Votir shove the carriage driver harshly to the ground.

Wilor ran to the driver and extended his arm to help him up. "Votir! Just because your head is so puffed up because you think you're better than everyone, because you can "detect Allomancy", doesn't mean you can shove others down," Wilor yelled angrily to his elder brother.

As the carriage driver got back up and took his seat, Wilor jumped into the carriage, slamming the door, ready to lash out at Votir for his horrible treatment of their driver.

Votir's bronze picked up a pulse of someone burning iron: Wilor. He was late again. As the iron pulse neared, Wilor shouted. Votir glanced out of the carriage. Of course, he thought, he thinks nobles and skaa aren't as different as we were taught. He disagrees with the Lord Ruler. Wilor jumped into the carriage.

"Wilor, why do you think you know better than the Lord Ruler? He made us nobles, made the driver skaa. He made us more intelligent. He made us superior. And so, yes, it does mean I can shove that driver down. It is my Lord Ruler given right. I don't know where these misguided ideas are coming from, but you need to let them go. You can't argue with God.

Votir leaned back in the carriage, set in his belief, and satisfied that Wilor couldn't argue against his logic. He let a small smirk cross his face, and made sure his bronze wasn't running low. Can't let Wilor recreate that knife incident, he thought.


"It is my Lord Ruler given right. You can't argue with God." These were the ideas and notions that made Wilor so angry! All nobles seemed to think that for some unknown and indistinguishable reason, they were better than skaa.

"And why not? Why not argue with your idea of what God says? What differences are there between you and that driver besides your wealth?"

Wilor could not stand this preconceived notion that nobles were better just because they were born to wealthy parents, but he only ever voiced it to Votir and their father, Larius.

Wilor glared into Votir's brown eyes, waiting for the inexplicable retort that would change the subject, most likely to something as mundane and haughty as the appearance of Wilor's own rumpled suit.

Votir saw the anger, the hate, in Wilor's eyes. His bronze sensed no iron being used, so he didn't become as tense as he might have had he sensed the iron. But he knew Wilor could turn on iron and pull something at him in an instant. He knew Wilor wouldn't change his beliefs in a single carriage ride, and so he decided that Wilor's beliefs needed to be worn away before he could be brought to believe the true beliefs. Votir's beliefs.

"You say the only difference is wealth. So if Father gave a skaa my suit, he'd be better than you? Just because my suit is clean and well tailored, anyone wearing it would be better than someone wearing your rumpled, wrinkled, ill-fitting suit? That would explain some things," he said sarcastically. "But it's not just wealth. It's intelligence. And maybe you feel bad for skaa because your intelligence is on the same level as theirs! I guess that would mean that our family is made up of two nobles and one skaa, then."

Wilor's stubbornness was becoming irritating, and his inabiity to see the truth frustrated Votir. But he was used to that.


Why can't he understand?! We are ALL the same! Wilor became even more furious and began to burn Iron, not Pulling on anything. Not yet, at least.

"No, wealth is the only difference, but wealth doesn't make you better than anyone! skaa have the same capabilities of intelligence as us, but they haven't been able to receive the education needed to use that intelligence! If anything, YOUR intelligence is lower for not realizing this!" Wilor spit back at Votir. He decided the only way to win was to wear away Votir's beliefs first.

Votir's so-called "logic" was frustrating and angering WIlor more and more. He couldn't believe that Votir couldn't realize the truth. He was used to dealing with this, and worse, every day from Larius, his father, and Votir.

Wilor was getting furious. Votir's bronze began to pound in his ears. He flinched, barely stopping himself from punching Wilor preemptively. No metal objects came flying towards him, and he kept himself under control.

The carriage lurched to the side, and Votir realized they were in Luthadel proper, moving down streets towards Keep Venture. He thought about where this argument was going. He realized that if Wilor got any angrier, the argument would come to blows. He needed to make a good impression on the nobles of Luthadel, and he couldn't do that if his face was bruised and his suit was ripped and rumpled. He took a deep breath, raked his hand through his hair, and turned to face Wilor again.

"Look, Wilor. I really don't care about whether or not you think the skaa are as intelligent as nobles or not. I just need you to get out of the carriage when we get to Keep Venture, talk to nobles, and make a good impression. Don't do anything stupid, and don't, for the Lord Ruler's sake, talk about the skaa. I'll handle the more complex things. We can deal with this issue later."


"Fine." Wilor huffed. "let's just get this ball over with."

He turned away from Votir, not able to stand looking at him a moment longer, what with his smug, puffed-up attitude. Wilor didn't stop burning Iron, though, and even pulled out a vial of more iron and swallowed it, hoping it might keep Votir on edge.

The massive Keep Venture loomed in the near distance and Wilor hoped he wouldn't have to meet too many idiotic, gossiping, pompous spoiled brats tonight. He adjusted his knives and then adjusted them again and then again.

“Good. Three times.” he whispered to them. They were pleased with him.

While Wilor's anger seemed to bubble just under the surface, but Votir knew that he could keep it under control. The problem, in Votir's mind, was that Wilor had swallowed a vial of iron, and the pulses had gotten louder. He kept tensed, hopefully noticeably enough that Wilor wouldn''t try to attack. As he mentally prepared himself for the ball, he heard Wilor whispering under his breath. He shook his head sadly. Either my brother is insane or just an idiot. Hopefully he doesn't let it show at the ball.

As the carriage finally pulled up outside Keep Venture, the driver opened the carriage door. Votir stepped out quickly, and buttoned his coat. he strode towards the groups socializing outside the entrance. The doors hadn't opened yet. His cloak billowed out behind him.Here's to first impressions!


Wilor slowly stood and three times fixed his cloak, making sure it was positioned correctly. He tapped his knuckles together three times, of course, as was his custom before doing anything important.

He stepped out of the carriage, still frustrated with Votir, and annoyed at having to come to a ball. He hoped he would be able to meet a noble who was open-minded and not stuck up, though those were a rare commodity these days.

Immediately, he spotted a noble lady dismounting from a horse. Interesting, a noble who rides their own horse. He decided to meet this lady during the course of the ball.

I lost Votir! He is going to be angry! Wilor rushed into Keep Venture, followed close behind by Sevk, his skaa steward.

"Sir, your brother went this way," Sevk told Wilor. Wilor followed Sevk down the monstrous halls in the direction of his brother.

Edited by Mailliw73, 04 October 2013 - 04:45 PM.

-Mailliw73

-Player Characters-
Wilor Zerrung, Prelan Matarn (Workshop), Rikor (pending acceptance), Kler

House Zerrung

Archived (for now):

Aspir Elariel (WIP), Lord Gustav Bulvier (WIP), Maxill Seraphino (Under Revision), Abryn Zerrung (Still Writing), Rasdon (WIP)


#2 KChan

603
Lord Prelan

Posted 19 August 2013 - 12:56 AM

Good news! According to our new acceptance criteria, you've been approved! Congratulations!

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