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"Glanin Edwest"
Failed Inquisitor
Failed Inquisitor
Player Information
Handle : ron3090
Contact : [email protected]
Character Information
Name: Glanin Edwest
Age: 37
Type: Inquisitor
Gender: Male
Occupation: Ex-obligator, part Inquisitor. Once a Tineye, but he did not know it.
Marital Status: Once married
Powers (IF APPLICABLE)
Type of Powers: Hemalurgy
Metals Used: Tin, Bronze, Iron, Steel
Degree of Skill: Experienced obligator of the Canton of Religion, novice assassain/theif
Appearance
Hair: Bald
Eyes: One brown eye, wears patch to cover hemalurgic spike in it.
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: Middling Weight
Voice: Strained and raspy
Overall Appearance: Ragged loose jerkin with a dirty "white" shirt and tight breeches. Most prominent is his face. Where once a set of obligator tattoos ran across his right eye, now there is only a melted mass of flesh. His right eye is also covered by an eyepatch, and his face is now scarred into a permanent scowl.
Other
Special Skills: Glanin can both read and write, as well as perform any other skills a moderate obligator could do. He has learned to use the spikes in him well, and does not need the full eleven to be as potent as a Misting. Also carving/woodworking.
Strengths: Even before the incedent, Glanin had been a fine carpenter. His house had once been a run down slum like most of Luthadel, but with his own two hands, he constructed a fine dwelling for his family of three. Now, he harbors a burning revenge against the Lord Ruler. He knows his way around all of the Final Empire's paperwork, all the nooks and crannies in the buildings themselves. He can slip in and out of any Imperial structure undetected; unless, of course, he decides to make a ruckus.
Weaknesses: One would think that enhanced Hemalurgic senses would cover the loss of an eye, but in fact they make it worse. Not only can Glanin not use any sort of projectile accurately, but races across the roofs of Luthadel, sprinting through the winding streets, or anything else moderately confusing to most people cause him to lose his balance.
Also, whispers haunt him. Whispers of his dead son, wife, and a thousand others he cannot name. Where once he had been a firm man, now he is shifty and uncertain. A thousand souls seek to rule him, and above all, he hears the horrible voice of the long-imprisoned god, Ruin. Although Ruin is still trapped, he has some degree of hold on Glanin. He can drive Glanin just over the edge of a crucial decision, or exert a fine influence on his thoughts. Still, this is not the measure a full Inquisitor would get, and Glanin can resist.
Personality
Glanin had learned much from the Empire's Cantons. Once he had been that polite, simpering obligator as they all were. Now, he is driven by a single goal: to seek revenge on those that took everything, the Canton of Inquisition. He is single-minded now, and determined. He trusts no one, and his repulsive appearance has earned him a spot among the beggars of Luthadel. The only exception is women; Glanin has always had a soft heart for them, and the death of his wife caused him to vow that never would a woman come under harm while he could breathe.
Glanin plans to destroy the Cantons in any way he can. If that means hiding as a beggar, taking his place as a spy for a noble, or anything else, he will do it.
History
A hard knock came at the door one night. Glanin, not expecting any visitors, rose from the table to see what the trouble was. From the next room, he heard Ethelen playing with little Anomen. One day, this would all be his. The hand-made house, the position of wealth. Anomen was a lucky child in these desolate times.
The knocking came harder, and the door shook in its frame. "I'm coming!" Glanin called.
Before he could reach the solid oak, the door burst inward. Glanin screamed as two Steel Inquisitors stepped through the portal, one holding a bulging sack. Ethelen ran in, and Glanin tried to push her back.
But it was too late.
An Inquisitor grabbed her, moving faster than Glanin could track. She shrieked in terror as the grisly thing drew a long spike from his sack and plunged it through her heart. She continued to scream, and it was only then that Glanin realized she was still alive. His battering on the creature only seemed to annoy it, and it shoved him back to the other, which held him fast.
Anomen he thought, please be safe.
As he struggled to break free, the Inquisitor holding him growled, and suddenly the world spun wildly. Glanin tried desperately to stay awake. The last thing he saw was his wife, mouth open to scream, a spike jutting from her chest.
He awoke lying on his back. He groaned, his head pounding. Luckily, the inquisitors seemed to have gone. He tried getting up, but he was tied down, arms and legs splayed outward. Why had they bothered with that? Then, the image of Ethelen flashed through his mind. He tried to close his eyes, to make the thought go away. But there she was, mouth hanging open, seeming to say Help me. Tears streamed from his face, pooling with the blood on the floor. He only hoped Anomen had escaped.
Hours seemed to pass, maybe days. All was a blur. Glanin tried his bonds several times, but he was no soldier. He was helpless.
Finally, creaks on the steps snapped his head up. Lord Ruler, a rescuer!
A grizzly head with spikes for eyes appeared at the top of the stairs.
This time, the pair carried several corpses on their shoulders. Glanin wanted to sick up. He trembled as they approached, unsure what to do.
Before he knew what was happening, a corpse was slammed onto him. He began screaming again, but was soon cut off by a searing pain in his eye.
What had they done?
Fire seemed to cover his body. He went numb. They ripped the body off, and placed another. Pain. He saw Ethelen.
Body.
Her laugh.
Pain.
Anomen's birth. Glanin at his wife's side. He remembered comforting her, telling her to breathe. He remembered feeling helpless then, too.
Suddenly, a still living body was piled on him. It screamed, the voice of a child. Glanin's eye widened.
No. NO!
Another spike slammed through his son and into him. They screamed simultaneously, and Glanin felt energy surge through him. He tugged against the bonds, felt them bite into his flesh. The rough ropes drew blood, but he did not care.
His son was dead.
The bonds broke free with a sudden snap, and he leaped up to face a surprised Steel Inquisitor. His fist slammed into the beast's face, driving its eye-spikes through. Blood now flowed freely from his knuckle as well, a sickening black mixture that smelled of death. Whatever they had done to him, they would pay.
He lunged for the second, but it sidestepped, sending him straight into the wall. He sat there dazed for a second, and the Inquisitor raised its obsidian axe. As it swung down, he caught the axe. He felt his shoulder dislocate, but he did not care.
His wife was dead.
He ripped the axe from the creature's hands, swinging it wildly. The axe connected with the creature's neck, and it fell. He looked madly for the other, but it had gone. The axe at his side glistened with blood, seeming to cackle. He let it fall, and went to his son. There was no life in those eyes now, no joy. A gaping hole stood out in his heart.
Glanin held him close, weeping.
RP Sample
The mists were thick that night. Once, Glanin had cowered from them, as many others did. Now, he walked freely among them, feeling their cool touch on his battered form. He passed no one this night.
The silence enveloped him, locked him in his own tormented mind. Two children and a wife lost this night. Ethelen had not wanted to tell him, had been trying to surprise him until she knew for certain. But one could not hide such things from an obligator. Still, he let her have her fun. Now, they were both lost.
One question hammered through his thoughts, insisting to be answered. Why? Why him? He had done nothing to the Empire but serve, and now the Lord Ruler wished him to be a mindless drudge? He had never even seen combat, never had thoughts of harming another. How could the Lord Ruler think this just?
No. This could not be it. He pondered for hours as he walked aimlessly. The spikes still burned in him. He could feel them there, seeming to pulse with a sickening beat. What was he, now? He could not call himself Inquisitor. Neither was he Obligator, skaa, noble.
Finally, he noticed he was on the bank of the Canal. Its dirty waters flowed under him, churning up the ash in them. It reminded him of his own blood, now. The wounds had healed, turning sickly white. Some men would relish the feeling of invincibility, call themselves gods. Glanin had no such illusions. Instead, his only feeling were despair and revulsion.
He stared at the river intently. Would he drown? How would it feel, to die?
He jumped.
The chill water engulfed him, and he sank to the bottom. He tried to suck in water. Nothing happened. With a silent cry of anguish, he slumped, letting the water drag him along. He felt waarmth flow from his eye, and knew that for the first time in all of the Final Empire, a monster was crying.
He awoke. Blankness stretched before him, a wide plain of nothing. Death, then, had come.
"So I says, 'That's no noble, that's ol' Riefen!"
The rowdy voice and raucous laughter made his eye shoot open. The sweet release of Death had rejected him, made him live. With a groan, he got up, feeling the spikes on his back scrape against the cobble.
"Oi, yer awake!"
Glanin turned toward the sound, seeing nothing. Then, a man-shape appeared from the mists. All Glanin could see was his vague shadowy form.
"We caught you floatin' down the canal. Thought you was dead. What'd you do to piss off a lord like that?"
Somehow, they had not seen his face. Had not noticed the spike in his eye, nor the tattoos. He rose, and followed the man to a small fire, where a group of other skaa were gathered. As he approached the light, their faces paled, and they scrambled back. Their mouths hung open, like a school of guppies.
"Boo"
They ran screaming from the terror he was, calling out that they had seen a monster in the streets. Glanin approached the fire, gazing into it. Its flames seemed so warm, inviting him. A voice seemed to whisper, telling him to bathe in its warmth. He reached for it, and pulled out a glowing ember. A normal man would have had his hand scorched off right there, but Glanin was no longer a man. Flesh burned and bubbled as he ran the ember along his tattoos, creating unbearable pain. Yet he bore it.
The Inquisition had done this to him, not the Lord Ruler. The Inquisitors had acted on their own, and as such were no longer creatures of God. He dropped the ember back on the ground.
He now bore allegiance to no man but the Lord Ruler. The Canton of Inquisition would pay.
