Malaclypse Markovnikov

"Come, brothers and sisters! Let us band together for the good of all creatures of creation! The forces of darkness and corruption swirl at the gates, and all seems arrayed against us... But our might will prevail, and our goodness will turn asides those who have been poisoned against us!"

Name: Malaclypse Markovnikov Age: 28 Height: 6' Weight: 185 Hair: Long, flowing blond locks Face: Light smooth skin, strong jaw, kind blue eyes Build: Broad shoulders, not terribly muscular, but steady and planted Clothes: flowing silk shirt, leather breeches, (hidden: Dragonscale-weave orichalcum chainshirt)

He grew up in a small farming village named Greenmont, part of a coalition of the neighboring villages and the nearby town of Greyfort. The Coalition of Greyfort was one of many independent holds in the area of the riverlands known as the Hundred Kingdoms. He was the mayor's son, though in such a small village, it did little to lessen his work load or give him any prestige. However, it did instill in him a sense of protectiveness to what he came to think of as his people, and gave him the opportunity to deal with traders and to travel around to the other nearby towns on occasion. Overall though, life was simple, plowing, sowing, and reaping wheat to prepare for trade.

Trade. It was the force that controlled what political stability there was in the Hundred Kingdoms. So when drought swept through Greyfort and the nearby kingdoms, there was little else they had to offer to trade. More than that, the mining towns needed their wheat to survive. So when there was no more wheat to be traded, the raiders came and took what little supplies there were left. Not to mention any other goods they could grab, including slaves.

When the raiders swept through Greyfort, the outlying villages had a bit of notice before the raiders were down ransacking the town. Some prepared their meager defenses. Others ran. Malaclypse's father chose to defend, though he himself wanted to lead the villagers away to prevent bloodshed. The raiders attack was swift and merciless, and Mal's father was one of the bravest defenders, but also one of the first struck down. It was then that he received his mark of exaltation. The power he now wielded could have driven off the raiders, but he chose instead to hold them off while the surviving villagers escaped. In the aftermath, all of Greyfort ended up burned to the ground, and it's people scattered. The band of Greenmont survivors clung now to Malaclypse as they searched for a new, safe place to live. Some scattered villagers from the surrounding areas joined the band, others left to seek their own fortunes, and other unfortunately succumbed to their wounds or the worries of travel.

Most of the surrounding areas were either claimed already or nigh uninhabitable, so the band traveled further and further afield, growing hard and used to the road. As a rule however, they would turn no one away who needed help, and tried to ensure the well being of everyone. Eventually, the survivors of Greenfort found a place to call home. East of the Hundred Kingdoms, deep in the forest, they found a hidden, abandoned Manse. It was in a vale fully overgrown with bamboo and other greenery, found only by a glimpse of essence seen over the mountains. There was much work to be done clearing it out and making it habitable, but when it was done, it was truly a godsend.

The vale led into a dark interior shrouded by the tall bamboo. Despite the overhead cover dense enough to shed all rain, shifting lights and shadows played through the leaves, even seeming to glow through in the night. The wind was cut and funneled by the leaves and trunks, leaving the otherwise cutting wind a gentle, warm breeze. Best of all, however, much of the bamboo grew edible, low hanging fruits, and clear, cold streams led through much of the sprawling manse. This was more than enough to feed their small band, as the fruit always seemed to replenish itself overnight. All that was needed was to keep the foliage trimmed and pruned, as otherwise it would quickly become overgrown yet again. In the center of the Manse, behind the hearthstone pillar, was a temple to Yo-Ping, god of Harmony. Malaclypse was devoted to the Unconquered Sun already, yet the desire for peace to reclaim the Hundred Kingdoms, the riverlands, and all of creation was closer to his heart than the reclaiming of solar glory. His prayers still went to the God of the Solars, but much of his time was spent in Yo-Pings temple as well. Overall, his people had found their new home. Greenmont had been reborn in the Gwathndil Manse.

However, all was far from perfect. The forest was dangerous, both in wildlife and in people. Malaclypse tried to train the band as best he could, but he himself was not educated in the art of combat, so there was little to be done. Eventually, he realized he would have to go out in search of training and supplies. The people of Greenmont were as set up as they could be, with crude weapons, traps, and training. He was to go out and scour the land for the ability to protect them better, and to hopefully bring about peace for all the people of the Hundred Kingdoms. His search and journeying led him through much of the east, eventually leading back around to the riverlands again. He spent much time looking for a martial style that called to him, as the brutishness and anger that fueled most combats simply weren't able to mesh with his style of thought and movement. Eventually though, he found a teaching in the city of the Great Forks. Here, there was a master who learned of the Art of Victorious Concession, styled from the debates of the gods. Following the texts that had been unearthed, Malaclypse first followed his teacher's lessons, but quickly surpassed him. The style let him disable his foe's attacks, turning aside their assault as well as their anger, leaving them both alive and with a more compassionate view of life.

Still, he felt his journey was incomplete. He began to return to the Manse at times though, sharing what he had learned and better preparing the people of Gwathndil Manse to survive, thrive, and, someday, unite.

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