Character sheets and backstories

Tobias, a surprisingly young, fresh of the block shaman in Morningveil, was, and to a major extent still is, highly respected by many in the city-state he calls home; some, however, look upon him with suspicious eyes, and with seemingly good reason - a shaman who refuses to even mention his own spirit is an oddity indeed, even seen as disrespectful to his own contracted spirit. Some even wager he doesn't have a spirit, given that no one has ever seen it, or any presence of it. A mystery, indeed.

Born into a lower class smithing family where all members, father, mother and younger sister alike would tend the shop, Tobias grew into a life of hard work, a life where the only reward came from the effort his family put in. He grew up in the forges, hardened like steel by the fires, sharpened by the endless repetition of forging. His family, the Hearthfire family, catered to all of Morningveil's smithy needs, but most importantly to the local militia. They weren't the only smithy in the city, by far, nor were they the biggest, but they worked hard, some would even say the hardest. Everyone pitched in to help - if you were too small to learn the forge, you'd pump the bellows, or keep the troughs filled with fresh water for imperfection-free quenching.

Though he learned the trade, and learned it well, Tobias yearned for something more. He didn't forsake his blacksmithing life, but there was a war on, a war that had lasted for an age, and he wanted to end it. His father, Graham, saw his son grow absent-minded, even as he worked repairs day after day and night after night, ever honing his talent.

Taking up some of their multitudes of spare equipment, Graham taught Tobias the way of the sword, hammer and axe, the shield, and proper armour usage; and train him well did Graham. Tobias quickly became a powerful combatant with many weapons, able to match even his father in length of combat. Slowly, Tobias began to realise his father wasn't simply a smithy as he'd known, but he chose never to pry or probe the man directly. Subtle questions to his mother, Sarena, would reveal glazed, distant eyes and smiles, with little comment - the most Tobias ever got out of her was 'we used to fight together.'

Surprisingly, the Hearthfire forge was run as best as possible without any spirit intervention. Though the family paid its baseline respects to the local spirits and attended the festivals and events, they were grounded in their own hard work - if they couldn't do it with their bare hands, whether alone or together, it wouldn't happen. Some of this mentality may have rubbed off on Tobias, but he kept an open mind, though not the sharpest of minds in regards to worldly knowledge.

Finally, when of age, Tobias sought out the local Militia barracks and with blessings from his family, enlisted. He was well-known amongst all the Militia, and much of Morningveil, and little was needed to convince the officials to place him into the basic training facilities. In half the time, he had blitzed the training, far outpacing his peers in many areas, but most notably, endurance. Despite being placed put through five times the amount of training as the others, only by his own request, Tobias persisted, constantly asking to run more drills. He even wore out the trainers.

Accepted without qualm, Tobias worked hard at his position in the ranks of the Militia, and became not only highly respected as a member of the Militia, but as a member of the Morningveil community. When he wasn't training, he would return home to work the forge, and when his father gave him time off, he would spend it performing tasks for the city-state, and quickly and adamantly refused any reward, stating simply that any and all should go and give business to the Hearthfire forge. The forge, incidentally, saw quite the increase in paying customers.

A few months into his service, Tobias was renowned as a hard worker, as a wholly giving individual, with an unshakable sense of good will and happiness about him, but most notably, he was known city wide for his endless endurance. Marathons were short work, Militia training could last into the night and the next day beyond, and come rain, sleet, snow or fire, it was as if he could not be slowed down. Some even began to challenge him in contests of stamina, offering monetary bets - all comers lost, but Tobias would always return the bets at the end - he's never earned a scrap of currency from anything but his work at the Hearthfire Forge.

Finally, roughly six months into his service, a rumour began to spread like wildfire around Morningveil, that Tobias was considering volunteering for the Shaman training. He found out about this rumour though his Militia peers, and other random community members coming up to him and patting him on the back, shaking his hand, and telling him 'you’ll do great!’ It took him a few days to finally hear the full rumour, to which he gave it a good few hours of thought - during his training. Finally, he decided against it, believing the Militia would, with hard work and effort, pay off directly to his real desire - to end the war; a desire he reminded himself of daily as he worked the Forges in the evening, so he would never forget.

A few days after he heard the rumours, Tobias was approached by members of the Shaman Council one afternoon, when he was into his fourth consecutive hour of training; they inquired if he had decided whether or not he would volunteer for the Shaman Training. His answer was surprisingly curt - "No, thank you." Taken aback by his response, the Council members spent a small while conveying the benefits of being a shaman to Tobias, what kind of effect he could have on life in the city and the world, and how they believed he was 'very suited' for the work and the life. Again, his response was a plain, simple, "No, thank you." Showing nothing but courtesy toward his response, the Council members left him with a pleasant goodbye, and a reminder that if he ever changed his mind, they would be waiting.

To no one's surprise, Tobias didn't inquire to them again, having almost forgotten the Council had even visited. His family, however, spent a few days preventing him from forgetting, congratulating him on being approached and recommended to the Council, stating how rare it is for them to approach anyone to ask if they had considered it, and more. None of it fazed him, however, though the concept of Shamanism was slowly beginning to take hold in his mind. The strength and influence a shaman wielded could be used to great effect, and more so, could be used to do much good. Still, Tobias put it out of his mind, and continued his daily life.

A few weeks later, a different set of Shaman Council members returned to 'check-up' on Tobias, see how he was faring in life and the world, and, of course, subtly ask he had reconsidered volunteering for training. Tobias hesitated with his answer, but on seeing his family, working hard at the Forge, promptly gave the same answer as before. The Council members left without any coercing, giving the same farewell as the previous members.

This trend was not a one off, however, and continued for weeks, where different members of the council, and even well-respected, high-up non-council members of the community would approach Tobias and 'subtly' see if he had reconsidered his position on the Shaman training. It took almost two months, but the seemingly constant nagging of the city-state of Morningveil at large had worn Tobias' defences down, and brought him around to the idea of becoming a shaman, with only one condition, a condition he specified to himself - his goal had not changed, and would never change: end the war, and as a shaman, it would be his primary goal.

Volunteering for the training saw people actually applauding him as he headed to the Council chambers - it may not have been a thriving crowd, but every person who bothered to pat him on the back or clap for him received a smile and a whole-hearted 'thank you' from Tobias - in the eyes of the community, he was a fitting young man stepping up to his duty, and even he would admit to himself - he felt that way.

The Shaman training began in the very same week, and it was gruelling. There were three other candidates in his training group, and by the end, none made it. It was the most trialling physical and mental experience Tobias had ever faced - and he blitzed it. Every physical task he was given, he completed with surprised grins on the faces of the trainers. He was nearly infallible in all endeavours of stamina and endurance, and the trainers quietly commented to each other the possibilities he would be capable of.

The seemingly perfect 'run' of Tobias was seriously marred, however, an unexpected black spot on his record to all who paid attention. Tobias almost failed the Ritual training portion of the Shaman training. It wasn't that he didn't understand the rituals, or their purpose, but for some reason, he was strangely curt and cold when it came to his performing of the rituals. He would often completely ignore tradition and his place in relation to the spirits he would soon be contacting, opting instead to be straight to the point and otherwise treating them as if he were their equal.

It was quickly determined by the Council that it wasn't that Tobias had ego issues, it was simply a matter of his upbringing. In a nearly magic-less home, with almost no spirit interaction, Tobias had grown up without the reverence of spirits that almost everyone else sported, and thus saw and treated them as any other person - he felt that each spirit should earn his respect, as he would theirs, rather than relying on hearsay of the community.

This didn't go down particularly well with the Council, but Tobias' natural physical strengths far outweighed a fixable problem like a lack of ability to correctly perform rituals and respects. Essentially, the council allowed him to become a Shaman, with the concept that 'they could fix the technique issues - they couldn't generate that kind of endurance'.

In the end, Tobias was sent out to finally make a contract with a spirit - his choice being to make contact with the spirit of War, the one that would help him the most in possibly ending the war, by force if necessary. Packing supplies, receiving blessings, well wishes and teary goodbyes from his family, Tobias headed for the city gates, intent on leaving to contact the spirit of War, away from the hustle and bustle of Morningveil. On his way out, Graham met Tobias at the city gate, surprising the young man that his father beat him there.

Alone, Graham gifted to Tobias a full and very heavy backpack. Further surprised, Tobias asked why a backpack, when he already had one. Graham remained silent as Tobias opened the pack. Again, further puzzled, Tobias found several iron ingots, reforged from other metal from what he could tell. He also found leather, and some smithing tools he had never seen at the forge proper. Looking at his father quizzically, Graham explained to him that the backpack was his old, reliable travel pack, and that the iron ingots were the remnants of Sarena and his swords, the same swords that had won them every battle they fought in, the same swords that lead Sarena and Graham to each other.

The tools were the first real tools Graham had worked with as a child, passed down to him by his father, and on. Hidden at the bottom of the pack was a necklace that Tobias instantly recognised - it was his mother's, and he immediately put it on. Honoured by the gift his father offered him, Tobias was stumped as to why his father had melted down his arms.

"Because you choose your own path." He said. "So you should choose the tools you'll carve your path with." These words resonated with Tobias; they would stay with him for a long time to come. When he had finally left, Sarena stepped out from the shadows of the gate, smiling at Graham. She silently rested her head in his arms and wept tears of bittersweet happiness for their son, happy for his new purpose in life, but sad to see him go.

Tobias had been out of the city for a week, a few days longer than expected; naturally, Graham didn't worry, but Sarena could barely focus on working the anvils, her mind constantly on Tobias.

A further three days passed, and now even Graham was beginning to worry, when a city messenger burst into the forge, spouting that Tobias had just entered the gate. Dropping everything, the entire family made for the gate with great haste, and were horrified by what they saw. Clutching the very backpack Graham had given him to his chest, Tobias stepped slowly into the city; his clothes were torn, he was pale as a linen sheet, and every part of him was covered in some amount of dried blood, mostly from wounds beneath the cuts in his clothes, long-closed.

As he walked, Militia began to assemble around him, attempting to check his wounds and questioning him with concern. A small crowd began to form as the word spread. Tobias roughly smacked away any hand that tried to touch him, and kept walking. As the group slowly moved with him, Graham burst through the Militia like they were parchment, staring at his son in disbelief.

He questioned Tobias, concerned for his well-being. Eyes glued to the ground, Tobias marched onward, slowly making his way up to the main street, clutching the backpack. He gave a stony, pale silence to everyone, even his father. Finally, Graham grabbed him by the shoulders and halted him, bellowing concern at his son. He felt almost no resistance from Tobias, not even the strength to stand - as if the life had been drained from his son.

Tobias very quietly uttered to his father "I must see the council. I've... Contracted."

Graham boomed at the Militia men to form an escort, and guide Tobias to the Council chambers immediately. The men fell in line almost before Graham had opened his mouth to speak, every one of them concerned for Tobias.

His march was silent and uneventful - a small crowd gathered along the street to see what the commotion was. Many were shocked by the state of Tobias, and wondered what was happening. Extra Militia men spread out to quieten the crowd, inform them of Tobias' success in contracting a spirit, and send them on their way.

Tobias spent several hours inside the Council chambers, which were sealed off after he entered. He emerged as the sun began to set, with new clothes, patched wounds, wearing the backpack his father had given him.

No one is rightly sure what transpired inside those chambers - the Council members gave a very simple announcement of Tobias' successful spirit contracting and advancement to a full Shaman title. When questioned on the topic, Tobias would politely refuse to speak of it out of respect to the Council.

When asked about his spirit, Tobias would abruptly end the conversation, and attend to any duties he had to perform. He would never, under any circumstances, discuss his spirit - and it never manifested itself in the entire time he had been back.

Though the community grew concerned for Tobias, some rumours began to spring up concerning the young Shaman's unwillingness to speak of his contracted spirit at any length, even so far as not to mention its name. Some considered it disrespectful to the spirit, but when confronted with this, Tobias would simply respond that it was at the request of the spirit itself. The rumour grew, however, and became popular theories to the situation - some say Tobias had actually failed to contract a spirit, and that the council were allowing him to be a Shaman as long as he contracted a spirit quickly enough.

Others suggest he had been tested by the spirit he was attempting to contract, and failed, resulting in his wounds. Some say he has contracted a spirit, but that the Council has forbidden him from utilizing it except under extreme circumstances, leading to the rumour that Tobias has possibly contracted a very powerful spirit, one even he can barely contain...

All or none may be true or false, and Tobias will confirm nothing of it. He never did regain all of the colour in his face though, simply as if he had lost the natural tan he had acquired. Tobias now simply seeks to perform his duties to the city as a Shaman, and make up for lost Time.

Though it is thought by some that Tobias' spirit, Tempus Fugit, either does not exist, or possibly isn't strong enough to manifest properly, the simple truth is Tempus chooses to remain unmanifested most of the time - though it certainly isn't hard for him to appear when needed; Time, after all, is his domain, though he is neither the only nor the biggest of the Time spirits, but he is very powerful - or so he would say. Tempus must spend almost all of his focus and energy maintaining the threads and flows of Time, constantly repairing and tweaking it to some unknowable mandate. What power he shows to Tobias and the world is what focus and power he can spare from his work.

Notably, however, Tempus is old. Not in the sense of a human, but Tempus was around since long before the term 'an age' was defined - much longer than any of his kin should be around for. Though he won't admit it, his power is waning, and complications are slowly arising from his degenerating strength. The complications of his loss of strength do not solely stem from himself, either. External forces work against Tempus, as he loses power...

When he does choose to manifest, Tempus has several forms he can appear in. The majority of his manifested existence features as a brass and golden rimmed disk, roughly one meter in diameter. The face of this disk features the numbers One to Thirteen, evenly spaced around the inner edge of the disk, and three hands sit flat against the face - The longest 'hand' pointing to the twelve, the middle-length 'hand' to the one, and a very short 'hand' to the thirteen. The 'hands' on this face rarely, if ever seem to move, but then again, neither does Tempus.

He sits completely motionless, a few feet off the ground and perfectly perpendicular to it. He turns with unnervingly even speed, coming to an even stop every time. Perhaps the strangest thing, however, is that Tempus never has to move. Though one may be looking at him, if he has chosen to move, when their mind next registers his presence, it is as if he were never there, and as if he were always at his next destination, essentially rewriting his position in space and time to move about. It can be an additionally unnerving feature about him.

Another, much rarer form Tempus can manifest in, is also a much more horrifying one. Sand begins to manifest and pour out of the air, as if it were falling from an invisible hourglass, but contrary to the design of hourglasses, the speed of the pouring increases rapidly, until about twice of a person's mass in sand lays on the ground in a neat pile. That's not the horrifying part, however. Slowly, the sand begins to rise up, beginning to form a vaguely humanoid shape of the most non-descript man in existence; the man, however, is perpetually distorted, as if he were unstably shaped, often with a featureless face and shifting proportions.

But Tempus cannot maintain this material form without utilizing more focus than he can spare from maintaining the flows of Time, and thus the form constantly 'degenerates', slowly and endlessly crumbling as it moves about; like a man turning to dust with every step, and reforming what was lost with every other step; forever shifting and reforming as it moves. As such, Tempus doesn't bother to use this form often, even though it is one of the rare cases of a spirit who can manifest its own physical form without a shaman.

In dire times, when Tobias calls on him and Tempus answers, he must divert power from his controlling the flow of time, while usually dangerous, the form that Tempus creates acts as an anchoring point for the threads of Time that he would otherwise maintain, giving him easier control over them, and thus more access to his power.

When Tobias is shifted into his avatar form, his form 'skips' and fritzes for a brief moment, before he simply vanishes from the field. No fancy transformation, no flashing lights or impressive showmanship. Until the avatar form appears. A few seconds after Tobias vanishes, a flash of light and accompanying crack, akin to lightning, fills several hundred yards around, emanating from Tobias. In the same instant, the light is gone, and standing exactly in Tobias' place is a mind-boggling sight. A three meter radius circle around the new figure is forever scarred on its entry. Any and all basic, living matter is simply... Gone. All that remains are dust and rock, yet in concerningly perfect flatness for the entirety of the circle. A ring around the very edge of the circle is carved into the ground, and around the inner edge of this ring are numbers; one to thirteen, evenly spaced around, with thirteen at the very top, directly opposite of whichever direction Tobias was facing. This carved shape and completely dead circle remains almost permanently - life may regrow, but the carving is unnaturally difficult to remove...

The figure in his place, the avatar form of Tobias, stands almost seven feet tall, clad in all-encompassing, dull-gold plate armour, with heavy, slatted pauldrons. With the armour, it wears a light tan hood and long belt cloth over it, with a flowing, crimson cape attached at the pauldrons. At its hips are sheathed a longsword and shortsword, and attached up its left forearm is a large, hour-glass shaped shield. It also has wings, in a sense, but they are incredibly difficult to discern, due to the effect they give off. Like the wings, almost all of this being gives off strange effects, and an aura of an inhuman nature, but vibrantly spiritual - as if it were an embodiment of something more. If it were to take a step, regardless of what it walked on, it would emanate a soft, but deep sounding 'TOCK', as if it were coming from precisely and briefly shifting gears and mechanisms.

The hood of the imposing figure is filled completely with black, regardless of the light on it. Staring into the hood, one can see nothing but what feels like endless depth, as if one were staring into a dark, bottomless hole. If one stares for long enough, however, they begin to see aggressive flashes of themselves; not simply a mirror, however, what the onlooker is shown are glimpses of themselves at their extremes - violence, passion, anger, romance, sorrow, happiness, insanity. All of these and more are increasingly flashed forcibly at the onlooker as they stare. Staring for too long, however, causes a sense of growing fear, panic and even terror to emanate from the mask, as the endless void begins to peer back at the onlooker...

The crimson cape at the golden figure's back flows endlessly, most notably when there is no wind. On closer inspection, as the cape moves, it leaves ghosted images of whatever it passes in front of, for all of a split second as it moves, but the images do not match up to the actual scenery the cape may pass over. The ghosted, faded-colour mirages the cloak leaves are images of the past, whatever it may pass over echoing memories and times that no longer exist. While safe to look at, the cloak can be oddly mesmerising, but to no harmful extent.

The shield the figure bears, forged in the shape of an angular hourglass that pinches to only a half a foot thick in the middle out to a foot and a half wide, runs vertically up its left arm. It is dull-golden, the same as the rest of his armour, and takes up all of his forearm and well over his hand, roughly three and a half feet long. The face of the shield endlessly seems to shift, as if it were sand, moving up, then down the 'hourglass' shape, with no regard for its orientation.

Rather than any kind of natural wing, the figure's wings are frankly difficult to make out without close inspection. The wings are two wide-spread panes of what seems to be glass that seem to float inches away from its back, and unexpectedly bend as naturally as if they weren't made of some sort of glass. The pales appear thicker toward their centre, akin to a lens, and rightly so. The reason the wings are so hard to see, aside from their transparent nature, is that whatever is seen through the lens-like panes of the wings is... Aged. Viciously. Grass appears withered and dead. Trees lack branches. The sky looks blank and empty, and people?... Well.

The two swords at its hips, one longsword and the other shortsword, are strangely shaped. Though unusually wide blades, they both feature predominant tips, shaped like tear drop, with the tail end leading to a thick, angular sword point for each blade. The blades themselves are intricately designed thick, pitch black metal, with weaves and gaps along the interior of each as well as the guards; though it manages to maintain a straight, sharp edge all the way along the blade, even around the teardrop end. The pommels are similarly shaped as the tips, though not quite as sharp, and the hilt is wrapped in something approximating leather, each with long, dark crimson tassels hanging from them. An engraving in small font on the handle of the longsword reads 'Hour', and a similar engraving on the shortsword reads 'Minute'.

The significance of this figure and its appearance is entirely unknown to any but Tempus Fugit, if at all, but little needs to be said for its imposing nature, near-complete silence and supernatural effect on the world around it.