Okar Lithesson, Elan Psion Shaper (HBS)
[CENTER][COLOR="Red"]WIP, This Post Will be continually updated as work progresses. [/COLOR][/CENTER] [table=2,1][r=1,1][CENTER][SIZE="6"][FONT="Palatino Linotype"][I]Okar Lithesson[/I][/FONT][/SIZE] [CENTER][FONT="Palatino Linotype"][I] The principle of asceticism never was, nor ever can be, consistently pursued by any living creature. Let but one tenth part of the inhabitants of the earth pursue it consistently, and in a day's time they will have turned it into a Hell. [INDENT][INDENT][COLOR="White"]......................................[/COLOR]~Jeremy Bentham[/INDENT][/INDENT][/I][/FONT][/CENTER] [spoiler=Background]Born to a devout Grippan family, his surroundings quickly gave Okar a strong distaste for life.
Perhaps this was from their various hypocrisies. His father, Lithe, was effectively a mayor of a small but prosperous town next to the Great Divide. In fact, they were only an easy day's journey south of the Keyhole itself. Lithe was a [ooc=Deacon]Or a similar title for a middling rank in the Order[/ooc] for the Order of the Strong Arm, and the most influential initiate of any order in the unnamed little town. This was because the family owned and operated a large inn (and brothel) that profited a great deal from the uncountable pilgrims that passed through.
Okar never felt that his father was at all sincere about his beliefs; in fact he believed that Okar joined only joined the Order of the Strong Arm because it didn't require any spiritual professions. Indeed, Lithe was able to disguise all sorts of grasping avarice with the doctrines of the faith; besides, to have any influence or power in Grippa required a respectable religious position. But the decadence and banal pursuits of the large inn very nearly sickened Okar. His father wore religion on his sleeve like a noble-brat's soldierly ribbons - color and flash, signifying nothing. And no one else saw it - none of the other 'devout,' 'spiritual,' or 'faithful' denizens of Grippa recognized his father's petty ways as they were.
There had to be something more. Okar left home at an early age. He had been brought up and trained to replace his father, both at the inn and in the Order of the Strong Arm, but he simply could not tolerate his home any longer. He didn't leave the Strong Arm, but rather sought out a more strict and austere branch of the order. They practiced an extreme asceticism that appealed to him after the wealthy hypocrisy of his youth. He learned to deal with gluttony by conquering his own hunger with will. He dealt with greed by abandoning any object he could rely on. And so on.
And he was good at it; sometimes it seemed as though a bit of focus was all he needed to obtain any skill or ability he could need. He rose quickly, both in ability and standing. Soon his mind was powerful enough to manipulate reality the way arcanists and priests could, without requiring any eldritch or divine energies. While training himself towards a perfect power of the will over the environment, he wandered about the kingdoms as a pauper.
But he grew as dissatisfied with his traveling hermit's life as he had been as a small-town patrician. Certainly the traveling monks lived the life they preached, relying only on their own powers to live while requiring as little of the Creator's creation as possible to do so. And yet it was hollow. No amount of practice really removed one from a natural reliance on matter and creation. No amount of willful power really changed the world. Not even the greatest practitioners were able to cross the divide and return to the Creator's favor. Perhaps Okar had reacted in the wrong direction. Perhaps the problem wasn't his father's wealth and power, but rather his loud and empty professions of faith. Perhaps Okar should find a faith that he could live quietly, while accumulating what he needed to live a comfortable and beautiful life.
It was while Okar was pondering his dissatisfaction that his wanderings brought him into the path of a small group of mercenaries, errand-men for one of the powerful merchant of Tila. They were merely chasing down a small group of bandits who had been raiding caravans, but Okar joined with them in the chase - out of curiosity more than anything else. He followed along, tolerated by the suspicious mercenaries, but allowed if only because his withered and naked frame didn't seem a threat to the seasoned warriors and mages in the group. When the reached the bandits, he participated in the brief and one-sided battle; Okar turned reality against the bandits as easily as the two mages in the group, and aided in capturing the leader and returning him to Tila's capitol.
And so he decided to cease being an ascetic monk and became a mercenary as well. He clothed himself with leather and wool scavenged from the bandits, he also crafted a wooden mask for himself, to hide the withered evidence of his puritanical past. He has continued to exercise his will on behalf of the powerful cartels and merchants of Tila, earning rewards and capturing treasure. [/spoiler][spoiler=Disorder]There are always rebellious souls, those who refuse to believe that which all know. Sometimes that rebellion finds itself in little things - a father's trade scorned or a mother's advice ignored. Sometimes it is sparked by harsh rules and unyielding stricture, sometimes openness and trust are abused. For whatever the reason, rebellion always exists in mortal hearts.
Even rebellion against the words of the Creator, imbedded in the hearts of all of mortality.
There are whispered legends of those who refused to leave the homeland at their creator's wrath. Depending on the tale, those people were turned into statues of coal, or burnt to char, or simply scooped up and deposited in their new lands. Depending on the tale, they tried to repent and atone immediately, or protested the Creator's unfairness, or had even led the people in their offending sins. Depending on the tale, they are fools, or demons, or heroes.
Those whispers sometimes go farther than a simple parable about obedience. Some of those whispers claim that the tale of the Sin is a lie. That it was not the Creator who drove them forth, but a Usurper, a Conqueror, a Deceiver. Some of the whispers claim that the towers don't watch for the day when the Sin is eradicated, but watch against the day when the people raise up armies to retake their homelands. Some of the whispers claim that the Great Divide is not meant to bar them from the sight of their Creator's displeasure, but to bar them from their birthright.
Their ancestral story is a lie, crafted not to teach them the way home, but to still their hands against return.
Of course, the powers who trust in that story work hard to limit these whispers, but eradicating it proves impossible. These whispers about deception, usurpation, and return take many names, but the Hierarchies of the various orders have simply labeled the whole set as 'Disorder.' Hoary old men tell the tales to frighten little ones. Youth in their bloom listen to the tales out of defiance and pubescent pride. Theologians consider the tales to test their own assumptions about sin and atonement. Slaying and silencing all those would be impractical at best, besides, there is little harm in fables and fairy tales.
The harm comes when the whispers find themselves true believers. The harm comes when those who could marshal power against the established Orders believe that the Creator was not their punisher. In the past, these believers have formed their own orders, their own followers, even their own armies. They have marched thousands against the Great Divide in folly. They have sent magics to blind and destroy the towers. They have railed against the priests of the hierarchies. And, almost without fail, they have died. Died at the hands of the hierarchies, died at the thrown stones of angry mobs, even died as they pushed at the Divide itself. And yet they persist.
Those of the Disorder have been quiet in recent years, only a few have broken ranks and made public moves. Instead, a quiet evangelical push is under way. If passionate and powerful men cannot break the power of the False Creator when faced also with the power of the orders, then the orders must be broken from within. Adherents must be found, men and women who can spread the whispers about the truth of Disorder. Once enough have joined the truth of the whisper, then they can return to their crusade and destroy the towers and the divide, destroy the usurper, free the creator, and take their homes again.[/spoiler][spoiler=Okar & the Disorder]Okar had given up his old lifestyle for less than a few months when he met his Delilah, a human named Aliya. He was hired to escort a stunningly beautiful women across the frontiers on an expedition to inspect a new mining operation, and he fell in love with the woman. At least, he fell into obsession over the woman. Looking back, that infatuation was abnormal for him - maybe his recent forsaking of old ideals had left him open to weaknesses; Okar has convinced himself, however, that this woman's entrance to his life was nothing less than the outright voice of Fate in his life.
And she showed him many things that he had missed. Many things that spoke to the dissatisfaction of his youth and his doubting ideals. She started out by complaining about the Order of the Creator's Path's deathgrip upon trade and communication in the kingdoms. She complained about the way those of the Spilled Blood and Pure Seed totally fail to consider the reality of mortal life. She complained about the hypocrisy of the self-absorbed members of the Strong Arm. Before long she was even telling him about the various falsehoods espoused by the various orders, finally she was even speaking about the falsehoods inherent in the faiths of every man and woman of Tilzam.
And Okar was hooked.
Before long he was a full initiate, trusted by others of the Disorder. So far he still maintains contact with his Aliya, though he has yet to undertake any specific tasks for them. Instead, he is currently expected to continue their evangalism and to spot opportunities to progress against the forces of the divine Usurper.[/spoiler][spoiler=Okar Lithesson]Okar is a mass of contradiction. He is soft-spoken, quiet, unassuming; but at the same time he can be vicious and blunt, even mean.
When an obstacle presents itself, he can be patient, slow, and prefers to work through intermediates that remove risk and danger to his person. At the same time, once that obstacle is presented he is as implacable as a glacier, hammering away until he can grind it to dust.[/spoiler][spoiler=Mechanical Details][URL=http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=305846][B][SIZE=+1]Okar Lithesson[/SIZE][/B][/URL] Male Elan Psion / Uncarnate, [B]Level[/B] 8, [B]Init[/B] +2, [B]HP[/B] 48/48, [B]Speed[/B] 30' [B]AC[/B] 14, [B]Touch[/B] 13, [B]Flat-footed[/B] 12, [B]Fort[/B] +6, [B]Ref[/B] +6, [B]Will[/B] +10, [B]Base Attack Bonus[/B] 3 /72
(+1 Armor, +2 Dex, +1 Deflect)
[B]Abilities[/B] Str 10, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 24, Wis 12, Cha 8 [B]Condition[/B] None [/spoiler][/CENTER][r=2,1][IMG][/IMG] [CENTER][SIZE="2"][COLOR="Gray"]Image by [/COLOR][/SIZE][URL="http://flycan.deviantart.com/"][SIZE="2"][COLOR="Gray"][U]Flycan[/U][/COLOR][/SIZE][/URL][/CENTER][/table]