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Alias: Momo
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Character Age: 35
Race: Elf
Character Pronouns: He/Him
Your Pronouns: She/Her
Timezone: MST
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Specialization: Tempest
Occupation: Imperial Chantry Brother
Joined: 14-March 18
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Last Seen: Apr 10 2018, 03:20 PM
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Mar 14 2018, 04:01 AM
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<h2>35 years old . Imperial Chantry Brother/Cleric . Rogue . Harry Shum Jr</h2>
<h3>Momo . 23 . MST . PM or Discord</h3>
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<ol>Other Characters</ol>
Green Box Freebie

1 Eluviesta, 9:06


<ol>Race & Nationality</ol>
Elf - Tevinter


Chaotic Good


<ol>Family Members</ol>
Mother - alive<br>
Father - alive


Dual Weapon - Advanced<br>
Daggers - Advanced<br>
Archery - Fundamental Awareness



<i>Sabotage</i> - Experts in these talents specialize in poisons and traps. Their dirty tricks leave enemies sick and limping, easy pickings for a sharp blade or a barbed arrow.
<i>Double Daggers</i> - Experts in this style are fast and deadly, their blades slicing through enemies' defenses--and throats--before they have time to react.

<I>Tempest</I> - These unpredictable experts specialize in using alchemical mixtures that wreathe them in frost or flame. Fast, chaotic, and possibly mad, they wade into the fight and dare enemies to face the storm.


The first time he says your name it sounds particularly sinful. It rolls off the tip of his tongue as if he is used to addressing men in such a manner; his smile merely confirms the thought. It is a peculiar idea as no one has ever addressed you as if you are something worth praise. After all, you look a lot more like a human than an elf. Your travels have not done you well. You can recall many of your scars, the most noticeable of which would be how the tips of your ears have been brutally cut off to create a mockery of flat ears, of <I>human</I> ones. Your hands are rough in a way that is unusual for a member of the Chantry, even for those who are not mages. It is only natural as you have come to not only know how to wield a blade, but have learned the art of alchemy from an Elder who is past his prime and wished to pass on the knowledge.
The name Rilienus is not one that you would associate with beauty. There are too many flaws upon this body despite the handsome face to consider it such. After all, the Imperium demands only perfection and perfect is far from what you are. Yet, that does not seem to matter to him.
You continue on as if things are normal.
<b>"Do you need food?"</b>
It is a question that draws forth surprise. You only ask it because it looks like he has been traveling for a long time. For how extravagant the Imperium can be, this is not an easy place to gain food. This is where the Liberati live after all, the freed slaves that the Magisterium treats almost dismissively despite the fact that they stand above slaves, despite how much <I>work</I> it takes to become such.
Your parents live here; you should know how difficult it is for anyone to survive. Sadly, it is up to the Imperial Chantry to work where the Magisterium will not. Why would they not? They are part of the government as well after all.
Food gets you a name: Dorian of House Pavus. He is an Altus, but it is spoken with a toke of bitterness. Your offer is accepted, but he phrases things as if he wishes you to think that he isn't coming running because he hasn't eaten in awhile.
You think him a silly man. You aren't blind. After all, you are a cleric for a reason.
<center><I>"skin tan like fine whiskey,"</I></center>
You don't notice the way his eyes linger, especially when your gaze is away. You might laugh if you did. After all, what is attractive about a Chantry priest, about a man who dresses far more modestly and simply than any other within the Imperium? There are even slaves who dress more extravagantly than you.
Your eyes certainly do linger though. You find no shame in it. Rilienus is a name that belongs to an honest man, of one who could care less about what anyone else thinks about his preference or beliefs. You could be charted off to death and you might not care as long as you were true to yourself.
It certainly helps that Dorian is as handsome as he is glib.
You are not particularly sure what causes him to stay, but if you had to guess you might place a guess upon it having to do with the discovery that you are well versed in alchemy. Of course, you are still learning, but the rare field is one hold a sharp interest in.
Dorian's mind, you find, is far better than his handsomeness.
<center><I>"cheekbones shaded,"</I></center>
Alchemy is a curious field. It is one of those few fields that can delve into magic, but does not actually require one to be a mage to do anything spectacular. It is one of the reasons you enjoy it so much. You enjoy the taste of experimentation and danger. Part of you even enjoys the consequences, such as when a mistake happens and you wind up burned. Perhaps you are a bit mad; it is a common belief in regards to alchemist.
Dorian is not much better. He is an odd mage, in that he is clearly intelligent but is clearly not attempting to go up in the Imperium. Considering that he is an Atlus, this would have been what you had expected. He doesn't speak about the whys and you don't ask. You only get a hint when a Father who clearly knows more about politics than yourself mutters something about scandal and pariahs.
It doesn't mean much, but it paints images that you don't bother to make queries about.
You doesn't pay it much mind. Instead, you focus your attention on the conversations you have. Speaking with Dorian is stimulating, offering a distraction from the dull life of the Chantry. you <I>should</I> be traveling. It is your job as a brother, as a <I>cleric</I>, to learn and increase the knowledge which the Imperial chantry holds. Instead, you stay when you should not.
<center><I>"lips curl when he smiles."</I></center>
You have not been happy in a long time. It is hard to pinpoint when this feeling of apathy filled you. Perhaps you were born with it or perhaps you gained it during your childhood. It is hard to say as you have so many reasons to be unhappy. While you do not dislike the Chantry, you <I>do</I> dislike the scene it has placed you in. You are an unwilling participant to a pointless conflict between Tevinter and the rest of the world. Moreover, acting as a cleric is difficult. It leads you into trouble, particularly because people are far less willing to give information over to an Imperial cleric than they are an Andrastian one.
For a short amount of time, happiness settles. Your lips curl into a smile and the gesture feels far too unused. It slips your mind that your companion- for that is exactly what you are beginning to think of him as, so someone who is here to say, but...not quite a friend; you think it does not fit what lurks in your heart- might leave, whether it be out of necessity or a mere whim.
As such, that smile slips away and becomes entirely false when the truth is remembered. After all, it is not presented in a manner that can be called <I>fair.</I> You are not entirely sure that it comes back or if it ever will.
<b>"I have to go."</b>
<center><I>"He would have said yes."</I></center>

<img src="https://i.imgur.com/9GoNl7H.gif" class="appimage">
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