*grumbles* hate when I forget to change account and post with the Italian one.
<.< Omg I totally didn't see this coming… So Drae has a secret too! ….She used to be thin!
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To be an interesting, intriguing, well-written character, there needs to be something to allow the audience to relate to them. That is what the problem is with who wants their character to be "perfect". Perfect characters will never be strong, and strong characters will never be perfect, because WE (those who read, who watch, who RP) are not perfect.
"What makes a strong character is how they deal with their flaws, their fears, their turmoils, their troubles that get in the way. That's what makes them relatable." – Doug Walker
"What makes a strong character is how they deal with their flaws, their fears, their turmoils, their troubles that get in the way. That's what makes them relatable." – Doug Walker
Shadows of the Past
–––––-
“Well, well. The other day I thought I caught a glimpse of a face in shadows, and then later the same day I thought I heard the remains of a song on at least one of our saviors…”
The Farseer chuckled without turning. “It’s good to see you survived, Maeve.”
Mirror blinked and turned around. The dark-haired, gold-eyed woman approaching wore a fancy, gold-edged black shirt and thigh-high black boots, and on each hip were cesti. Her face was surprisingly young for her age, and on each cheek a nesting pair of chevrons had been tattooed into her skin.
Maeve stopped, eyeing Mirror then the Farseer. “… Oh my… Cousin, is that what I…”
The Farseer waved a hand. “Cousin, this is my Mirror.”
Mirror looked between the Farseer and Maeve. Long ago, he had been warned about moments like this – the best thing to do, the Farseer had assured him, was not to pay much attention to them. Even still, he couldn’t help suppress the shudder that went through him as the woman joined them in the Merry Minstrel and, with a curious mix of grace and masculinity, settled in her seat and put her feet up on the edge of the table.
“… Mirror, huh?” Maeve paused for a moment then let out a hearty laugh as she waved to Yoskolo for a drink. “Damn, Cousin, this city is nice… You’ve lived a charmed life these past twenty years.”
“Hmmm. Probably not nearly as charmed as you think.” He clinked tankards with Maeve, then took a deep drink. “There was still a war to be fought here, and reclamation and rebuilding. I’m still homeless, to be honest.”
Maeve drank down half her tankard in one pull, then slammed it down and let out a content sigh. “Oh wow, I haven’t had a good drink in forever. Compliments to your brew master!” She called over to the bar, then grinned and looked back to the Farseer and Mirror. “Well, in that respect you’re a lot like Auntie Aliah; I’m surprised that sheepherder of a father of yours managed to get her to settle down.”
Mirror stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on the table and rattling the plates and tankards. The Farseer and Maeve exchanged looks, and the Farseer cleared his throat.
“… My Mirror, why don’t you take a walk? You look like you could use the fresh air…”
Maeve grinned. “Hey, gimme a few minutes with my idiot Cousin, and then why don’t you give me a tour? I just followed his echoes here; I didn’t get to take in many sights.”
Mirror looked at the two, then sighed and walked to the door. As he closed it behind him, he could hear Maeve half-whispering to the Farseer.
“Good Goddess, Tegian! The kid is who I think he is, isn’t he?! You’re insane!”
In the streets, Mirror had to fight not to drop to his knees and throw up. He managed to make his way across to one of the supports and leaned against it, looking over the sea as he tried to calm himself. He knew Maeve, and she was evil.
Not in the cutesy way, or as a synonym for mean; Maeve was the type of person who would drop live kittens in pots of boiling water and laugh the whole time. She could give pointers to demons, and she probably went to the same school as the Shadow Lord. Mirror had hoped that she had died – Vana’diel would be better off without her. That she might’ve died during the war had been a comfort, but now… Now she was loose in the streets of Jeuno.
“… Maybe she’s changed…”
Yeah, right.
He took a deep breath, then turned and headed back to the madhouse. He would have to wait till later, when she wasn’t around to catch him, to go to the guards and warn them.
“—harp’s gone, I see.” The Farseer was speaking as Mirror re-entered the building. “Did you give it up, or..?”
“Strings broke, not enough spare Mithras around to replace them.” Maeve shrugged. “The rest probably ended up in a cookfire.”
The Farseer frowned. “That frame was an heirloom. Your mother would flay your hide if she was alive.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not.” Maeve yawned. “And I really don’t care; my fingers aren’t as nimble anymore and I’ve got different callouses these days. Which reminds me, there anyplace here that I can buy a knife?” She stopped and grinned. “For some reason, folks back home won’t sell me a blade and I stopped banging out flint ones years ago; got too many chips and slivers stuck in my hands.”
Mirror kept his face neutral as he sat back down, and he had to suppress another shiver.
… This… will not end well…
–––––-
“Well, well. The other day I thought I caught a glimpse of a face in shadows, and then later the same day I thought I heard the remains of a song on at least one of our saviors…”
The Farseer chuckled without turning. “It’s good to see you survived, Maeve.”
Mirror blinked and turned around. The dark-haired, gold-eyed woman approaching wore a fancy, gold-edged black shirt and thigh-high black boots, and on each hip were cesti. Her face was surprisingly young for her age, and on each cheek a nesting pair of chevrons had been tattooed into her skin.
Maeve stopped, eyeing Mirror then the Farseer. “… Oh my… Cousin, is that what I…”
The Farseer waved a hand. “Cousin, this is my Mirror.”
Mirror looked between the Farseer and Maeve. Long ago, he had been warned about moments like this – the best thing to do, the Farseer had assured him, was not to pay much attention to them. Even still, he couldn’t help suppress the shudder that went through him as the woman joined them in the Merry Minstrel and, with a curious mix of grace and masculinity, settled in her seat and put her feet up on the edge of the table.
“… Mirror, huh?” Maeve paused for a moment then let out a hearty laugh as she waved to Yoskolo for a drink. “Damn, Cousin, this city is nice… You’ve lived a charmed life these past twenty years.”
“Hmmm. Probably not nearly as charmed as you think.” He clinked tankards with Maeve, then took a deep drink. “There was still a war to be fought here, and reclamation and rebuilding. I’m still homeless, to be honest.”
Maeve drank down half her tankard in one pull, then slammed it down and let out a content sigh. “Oh wow, I haven’t had a good drink in forever. Compliments to your brew master!” She called over to the bar, then grinned and looked back to the Farseer and Mirror. “Well, in that respect you’re a lot like Auntie Aliah; I’m surprised that sheepherder of a father of yours managed to get her to settle down.”
Mirror stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on the table and rattling the plates and tankards. The Farseer and Maeve exchanged looks, and the Farseer cleared his throat.
“… My Mirror, why don’t you take a walk? You look like you could use the fresh air…”
Maeve grinned. “Hey, gimme a few minutes with my idiot Cousin, and then why don’t you give me a tour? I just followed his echoes here; I didn’t get to take in many sights.”
Mirror looked at the two, then sighed and walked to the door. As he closed it behind him, he could hear Maeve half-whispering to the Farseer.
“Good Goddess, Tegian! The kid is who I think he is, isn’t he?! You’re insane!”
In the streets, Mirror had to fight not to drop to his knees and throw up. He managed to make his way across to one of the supports and leaned against it, looking over the sea as he tried to calm himself. He knew Maeve, and she was evil.
Not in the cutesy way, or as a synonym for mean; Maeve was the type of person who would drop live kittens in pots of boiling water and laugh the whole time. She could give pointers to demons, and she probably went to the same school as the Shadow Lord. Mirror had hoped that she had died – Vana’diel would be better off without her. That she might’ve died during the war had been a comfort, but now… Now she was loose in the streets of Jeuno.
“… Maybe she’s changed…”
Yeah, right.
He took a deep breath, then turned and headed back to the madhouse. He would have to wait till later, when she wasn’t around to catch him, to go to the guards and warn them.
“—harp’s gone, I see.” The Farseer was speaking as Mirror re-entered the building. “Did you give it up, or..?”
“Strings broke, not enough spare Mithras around to replace them.” Maeve shrugged. “The rest probably ended up in a cookfire.”
The Farseer frowned. “That frame was an heirloom. Your mother would flay your hide if she was alive.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not.” Maeve yawned. “And I really don’t care; my fingers aren’t as nimble anymore and I’ve got different callouses these days. Which reminds me, there anyplace here that I can buy a knife?” She stopped and grinned. “For some reason, folks back home won’t sell me a blade and I stopped banging out flint ones years ago; got too many chips and slivers stuck in my hands.”
Mirror kept his face neutral as he sat back down, and he had to suppress another shiver.
… This… will not end well…
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When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to my grandchild why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandma. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.
"How hard did you hit him?"
"Quite hard, actually. For some reason he irritated me." They stared back to where the Grolim lay.
"You're getting to be more like Belgarath every day," Silk told him. "You do more damage out of simple irritation than most men can do in a towering rage."
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Chiaral replied
679 weeks ago