Post by Mach on Apr 6, 2022 3:52:07 GMT
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In every generation, one of the Lansten line is chosen as tribute. Emeric, Ivana, Nimir, Livius, Alana, Arcter, Marek...Sorina.
From the moment she was born, Sorina's parents were certain of one thing: the burden of the family heirloom, and the blessing and curse that came with it, would never fall to their daughter. Sorina didn't cry after her birth. She entered the world in silence and stillness. She didn't scream, she didn't gasp. Agonizing minutes passed by while her mother and aunt rubbed her arms and legs, trying to coax some life into her tiny body. Finally, a gasp, and the quietest sob. Sorina survived her birth, but only just.
Her constitution scarcely improved throughout her childhood. Although her cousin, Marek, was her elder by only a year, anyone who didn't know the family well would assume the gap between the two children must have been at least triple that. As a young child, she was often ill. She didn't eat as much as her parents thought she should, and failed to put on weight from the little she did consume. The Lansten line had a reputation for their stature, one which her cousin upheld well, and she did not. Marek was tall, and quickly grew into his broad shoulders. It came as no surprise, then, when news reached Sorina's parents that the Lansten Helm had appeared at the foot of Marek's bed. He was the ideal tribute to wield the heirloom.
As Sorina grew up, she gradually began to distance herself from her family, and they from her. The Lanstens were a strong family, and her parents and aunts and uncles all worked in various demanding trades. They were stonemasons, farm-hands, blacksmiths, and warriors. She was ill-suited to any of these lines of work, though not for a lack of trying. She'd requested, on multiple occasions, to help her father in the shop, but she could hardly even lift the heavy blacksmithing hammer, never mind swing it in any manner that could be regarded as effective. There was no ill will between Sorina and the rest of her family...she simply didn't fit, and it made little sense to force herself to continue trying to carry the name of Lansten.
She discovered her own passions in the tulip fields outside of Orchard's End. It was technically farming, something she had long since given up on, but a more delicate sort. Here, she didn't need to be the one tending the fields. There were stronger and more durable individuals who could handle that task, while Sorina used her keen eye to sort out the brightest and most beautiful tulips to sell on the streets of the cliffs. She worked first a single basket at a time, and eventually saved enough to purchase a flower cart. Then, together with a handful of other flower peddlers, a storefront in Newtown where they could display the finest bouquets. Sorina grew to love the smell of tulips. She took pride in her work, and knew that her flowers brought joy and comfort to her customers.
Life was good...until the morning when she opened the flower shop, and saw a golden helmet in the center of her work table.
There is a certain haziness surrounding the origins of the Lansten Helm. The family history and any available written records state that it was first worn by Emeric Lansten, a merchant from the north. But Emeric was a salesman, not a blacksmith. Although he wore the helm, but he was not the one who forged it. Though Emeric kept meticulous records of his wares, there is no mention of any trade or deal that led to its acquisition, and no makers mark anywhere on the metal to indicate its source. It simply appeared in his caravan during one of his travels, and made itself his.
Emeric was the first to write about the gifts that the helmet offered. First, it could not be lost. Shortly after acquiring the golden helmet, he sold it to a wealthy nobleman for a steep price - he was a merchant, after all. And the Helm was one of a kind, crafted from a metal he had never seen before. The next morning, the helmet was back in his supply shed. He tried selling it again, twice more, and both times the helmet found its way back to the man it had chosen as its owner. The Lansten Helm offered other gifts as well. Emeric soon found that in the moments he wore the helmet, he was stronger. He felt pain differently, and as he tested the helmet further, learned that it required incredible force for any blade to pierce his flesh. If he held a sword while wearing the Helm, the weight of the handle felt familiar. Without it, his untrained grip was clumsy.
But the Helm soon tired of Emeric. He used its gifts, but offered nothing in return. One day, bandits came to raid the merchant's warehouses. Confidently, he grabbed a sword and donned the helmet. But this time, the Helm offered no protection. The first bandit attacked, and his knife sank deep into Emeric's heart. The next day, the helmet found its way to his daughter, Ivana.
Over the years, the Lanstens learned the secrets of the helmet. They began to discern the rules that it operated by. The helmet is owned by one person and one person only, always a member of the family. It cannot be lost, traded, or given away, and it is always within reach in the moments when it is needed. When it is worn, the wearer gains heightened strength, martial prowess, and a profound degree of invulnerability. In exchange, the helmet requires tribute in the form of combat. Anyone chosen by the helmet must fight - as a soldier in the army, as a thug on the streets, or as a mercenary in the shadows. The form doesn't matter, but the Helm demands blood. The stronger the Lansten who bears the Helm, the more years they can devote to combat, and the longer the Helm will protect them for. But when the wearer's combat ability begins to wane, so does the helmet's protection, and at any moment it may choose to take its blood tribute directly from its host.
Emeric, Ivana, Nimir, Livius, Alana, Arcter, Marek...Sorina.
[attr="style",font-size: 5em; margin: auto; text-align: center; font-family: Caudex;]The Lansten Legacy
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In every generation, one of the Lansten line is chosen as tribute. Emeric, Ivana, Nimir, Livius, Alana, Arcter, Marek...Sorina.
From the moment she was born, Sorina's parents were certain of one thing: the burden of the family heirloom, and the blessing and curse that came with it, would never fall to their daughter. Sorina didn't cry after her birth. She entered the world in silence and stillness. She didn't scream, she didn't gasp. Agonizing minutes passed by while her mother and aunt rubbed her arms and legs, trying to coax some life into her tiny body. Finally, a gasp, and the quietest sob. Sorina survived her birth, but only just.
Her constitution scarcely improved throughout her childhood. Although her cousin, Marek, was her elder by only a year, anyone who didn't know the family well would assume the gap between the two children must have been at least triple that. As a young child, she was often ill. She didn't eat as much as her parents thought she should, and failed to put on weight from the little she did consume. The Lansten line had a reputation for their stature, one which her cousin upheld well, and she did not. Marek was tall, and quickly grew into his broad shoulders. It came as no surprise, then, when news reached Sorina's parents that the Lansten Helm had appeared at the foot of Marek's bed. He was the ideal tribute to wield the heirloom.
As Sorina grew up, she gradually began to distance herself from her family, and they from her. The Lanstens were a strong family, and her parents and aunts and uncles all worked in various demanding trades. They were stonemasons, farm-hands, blacksmiths, and warriors. She was ill-suited to any of these lines of work, though not for a lack of trying. She'd requested, on multiple occasions, to help her father in the shop, but she could hardly even lift the heavy blacksmithing hammer, never mind swing it in any manner that could be regarded as effective. There was no ill will between Sorina and the rest of her family...she simply didn't fit, and it made little sense to force herself to continue trying to carry the name of Lansten.
She discovered her own passions in the tulip fields outside of Orchard's End. It was technically farming, something she had long since given up on, but a more delicate sort. Here, she didn't need to be the one tending the fields. There were stronger and more durable individuals who could handle that task, while Sorina used her keen eye to sort out the brightest and most beautiful tulips to sell on the streets of the cliffs. She worked first a single basket at a time, and eventually saved enough to purchase a flower cart. Then, together with a handful of other flower peddlers, a storefront in Newtown where they could display the finest bouquets. Sorina grew to love the smell of tulips. She took pride in her work, and knew that her flowers brought joy and comfort to her customers.
Life was good...until the morning when she opened the flower shop, and saw a golden helmet in the center of her work table.
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Sorina Lansten[attr="style",display: grid-area: age; padding: 5px 40px]
[attr="style",background: linear-gradient(#b78846,#A8815D); padding: 5px; text-align: center]Age
24[attr="style",display: grid-area: occupation; padding: 5px 40px]
[attr="style",background: linear-gradient(#b78846,#A8815D); padding: 5px; text-align: center]Occupation
Flower shop owner[attr="style",display: grid-area: height; padding: 5px 40px]
[attr="style",background: linear-gradient(#b78846,#A8815D); padding: 5px; text-align: center]Height
5'1"[attr="style",display: grid-area: weight; padding: 5px 40px]
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110 lbs[attr="style",display: grid-area: alignment; padding: 5px 40px]
[attr="style",background: linear-gradient(#b78846,#A8815D); padding: 5px; text-align: center]Alignment
Neutral Good[attr="style","display:grid;grid-template-areas:'str dex con int wis cha';text-align: center; padding: 5px"]
[attr="style",display: grid-area: str; padding: 5px]
[attr="style",background: linear-gradient(#b78846,#A8815D); padding: 5px; text-align: center]STR
7 (-2)[attr="style",display: grid-area: dex; padding: 5px]
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11[attr="style",display: grid-area: con; padding: 5px]
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9 (-1)[attr="style",display: grid-area: int; padding: 5px]
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12 (+1)[attr="style",display: grid-area: wis; padding: 5px]
[attr="style",background: linear-gradient(#b78846,#A8815D); padding: 5px; text-align: center]WIS
13 (+1)[attr="style",display: grid-area: cha; padding: 5px]
[attr="style",background: linear-gradient(#b78846,#A8815D); padding: 5px; text-align: center]CHA
15 (+2)[attr="style",float: right; position: relative; width: 175px; right: -100px;]
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There is a certain haziness surrounding the origins of the Lansten Helm. The family history and any available written records state that it was first worn by Emeric Lansten, a merchant from the north. But Emeric was a salesman, not a blacksmith. Although he wore the helm, but he was not the one who forged it. Though Emeric kept meticulous records of his wares, there is no mention of any trade or deal that led to its acquisition, and no makers mark anywhere on the metal to indicate its source. It simply appeared in his caravan during one of his travels, and made itself his.
Emeric was the first to write about the gifts that the helmet offered. First, it could not be lost. Shortly after acquiring the golden helmet, he sold it to a wealthy nobleman for a steep price - he was a merchant, after all. And the Helm was one of a kind, crafted from a metal he had never seen before. The next morning, the helmet was back in his supply shed. He tried selling it again, twice more, and both times the helmet found its way back to the man it had chosen as its owner. The Lansten Helm offered other gifts as well. Emeric soon found that in the moments he wore the helmet, he was stronger. He felt pain differently, and as he tested the helmet further, learned that it required incredible force for any blade to pierce his flesh. If he held a sword while wearing the Helm, the weight of the handle felt familiar. Without it, his untrained grip was clumsy.
But the Helm soon tired of Emeric. He used its gifts, but offered nothing in return. One day, bandits came to raid the merchant's warehouses. Confidently, he grabbed a sword and donned the helmet. But this time, the Helm offered no protection. The first bandit attacked, and his knife sank deep into Emeric's heart. The next day, the helmet found its way to his daughter, Ivana.
Over the years, the Lanstens learned the secrets of the helmet. They began to discern the rules that it operated by. The helmet is owned by one person and one person only, always a member of the family. It cannot be lost, traded, or given away, and it is always within reach in the moments when it is needed. When it is worn, the wearer gains heightened strength, martial prowess, and a profound degree of invulnerability. In exchange, the helmet requires tribute in the form of combat. Anyone chosen by the helmet must fight - as a soldier in the army, as a thug on the streets, or as a mercenary in the shadows. The form doesn't matter, but the Helm demands blood. The stronger the Lansten who bears the Helm, the more years they can devote to combat, and the longer the Helm will protect them for. But when the wearer's combat ability begins to wane, so does the helmet's protection, and at any moment it may choose to take its blood tribute directly from its host.
Emeric, Ivana, Nimir, Livius, Alana, Arcter, Marek...Sorina.
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