Post by mulcibaer on Nov 24, 2015 11:09:43 GMT -5
Grandson of former adventurer and alchemical prodigy Nathan Makandis, son of the devout Templar Adam Makandis. Brother of Alice Makandis, priestess.
Thoughtful yet morbid, Jace is keenly aware of the passing of time and the steady grind of the years. He was raised on stories of his grandfather's bravery, but the abrupt ending of Nathan's adventuring in what is now know as the Barony of Wintersbane left him hungering for his own tales. Driven by a passion for learning and the sound of coins in his pouch, he peddles his skills as a healer and combatant to those who might become useful to him in the future.
He's distantly aware of the place of his own race in the world, but is reluctant to let Humankind's failures influence his decisions. He sees the elves, especially the long vanished arcane elves, as mentors and fonts of untapped knowledge. He respects Kreigan might and enthusiasm, and has no ill will towards any other race (yet).
His skills range from a study of the arcane to an ironbound constitution.He puzzles many devout clerics with an odd non-deific power he is using to heal allies. The sensation, far removed from the soothing taste of honey and smell of spring, has been said to be more akin to having a knot of worms winding through the flesh and stitching together the tissues. He claims to worship the god of travel, hence using a staff as an implement. His companions (mostly) remain tight lipped on the extend of the powers he wields - Jace is indeed a novice necromancer, though none have seen him perform anything beyond the removal of life from flesh that could be construed as a magical effect, though it be gory.
As his birthright he was given his grandfathers old sword and armor. He melted down and sold the armor, to his father's chagrin. He only kept a stout belt originally used for greave support and a pair of gauntlets. One of those gauntlets was lost in a wager, which rendered their enchantments inert (He's still touchy on the subject). The staff he carries was found in a ring of dead shrubs and poisonous mushrooms, sticking out of the ground like an accusing finger. He felt a resonance within himself and so took the staff, finding it to make a fine conduit for his magic and strangely resilient to common harm.
Continued, The Mission from Seth
Jace shook hands with the other members of the so called "police force", wishing them a quiet night of peaceful dreams. His face had become a tight mask of normalcy, covering like a thin paint the twist of pain he could not control. Cursing quietly as he shut the tavern door, he uneasily makes his way through the makeshift paths of town to the abandoned house he had claimed for his use. Every step draws crackling mist as he struggles to continue. . Stopping suddenly, he doubles over and retches, a black rubbery mass that pours like rotten streams over his lips. Darkness encompasses his sight, veins of red coursing like angry runners around his peripherals. Crawling into a heap between two buildings, he loses himself to the embrace of sleep.
No pleasant memories or warm remembrances are to be found in this unholy slumber, however. They are replaced by the uneasy sweat fueled sleep of the cursed or maligned. A thousand foul creatures jostle for a chance to carve flesh with their gnashing teeth, amongst intermittent moments of fevered half awakened moments spent stumbling through the dark and predawn village. An eternity passes over this night, and then. ..
Jace bolts upright, a terrified scream dying on his broken lips. The fevered nightmare of beasts behind him, he stands on shaking feet before realizing how hungry he is. .. ravenous almost. He immediately goes after one of the rolls he pinched from the lightning lounge, consuming it without a thought. No sooner has he done so before he starts choking, the stale bread refusing to stay put. It's unthinkable that the bread is bad. .. or is it? He nervously remembers the meal, bought and payed for by seth, but not touched by him. Paranoid enough to make a connection, he stumbles out through town, wincing at the brightness of the day. He has to see to the other members of the band, not for their health, he reminds himself, but for possible connections to his own condition.
Thoughtful yet morbid, Jace is keenly aware of the passing of time and the steady grind of the years. He was raised on stories of his grandfather's bravery, but the abrupt ending of Nathan's adventuring in what is now know as the Barony of Wintersbane left him hungering for his own tales. Driven by a passion for learning and the sound of coins in his pouch, he peddles his skills as a healer and combatant to those who might become useful to him in the future.
He's distantly aware of the place of his own race in the world, but is reluctant to let Humankind's failures influence his decisions. He sees the elves, especially the long vanished arcane elves, as mentors and fonts of untapped knowledge. He respects Kreigan might and enthusiasm, and has no ill will towards any other race (yet).
His skills range from a study of the arcane to an ironbound constitution.He puzzles many devout clerics with an odd non-deific power he is using to heal allies. The sensation, far removed from the soothing taste of honey and smell of spring, has been said to be more akin to having a knot of worms winding through the flesh and stitching together the tissues. He claims to worship the god of travel, hence using a staff as an implement. His companions (mostly) remain tight lipped on the extend of the powers he wields - Jace is indeed a novice necromancer, though none have seen him perform anything beyond the removal of life from flesh that could be construed as a magical effect, though it be gory.
As his birthright he was given his grandfathers old sword and armor. He melted down and sold the armor, to his father's chagrin. He only kept a stout belt originally used for greave support and a pair of gauntlets. One of those gauntlets was lost in a wager, which rendered their enchantments inert (He's still touchy on the subject). The staff he carries was found in a ring of dead shrubs and poisonous mushrooms, sticking out of the ground like an accusing finger. He felt a resonance within himself and so took the staff, finding it to make a fine conduit for his magic and strangely resilient to common harm.
Continued, The Mission from Seth
Jace shook hands with the other members of the so called "police force", wishing them a quiet night of peaceful dreams. His face had become a tight mask of normalcy, covering like a thin paint the twist of pain he could not control. Cursing quietly as he shut the tavern door, he uneasily makes his way through the makeshift paths of town to the abandoned house he had claimed for his use. Every step draws crackling mist as he struggles to continue. . Stopping suddenly, he doubles over and retches, a black rubbery mass that pours like rotten streams over his lips. Darkness encompasses his sight, veins of red coursing like angry runners around his peripherals. Crawling into a heap between two buildings, he loses himself to the embrace of sleep.
No pleasant memories or warm remembrances are to be found in this unholy slumber, however. They are replaced by the uneasy sweat fueled sleep of the cursed or maligned. A thousand foul creatures jostle for a chance to carve flesh with their gnashing teeth, amongst intermittent moments of fevered half awakened moments spent stumbling through the dark and predawn village. An eternity passes over this night, and then. ..
Jace bolts upright, a terrified scream dying on his broken lips. The fevered nightmare of beasts behind him, he stands on shaking feet before realizing how hungry he is. .. ravenous almost. He immediately goes after one of the rolls he pinched from the lightning lounge, consuming it without a thought. No sooner has he done so before he starts choking, the stale bread refusing to stay put. It's unthinkable that the bread is bad. .. or is it? He nervously remembers the meal, bought and payed for by seth, but not touched by him. Paranoid enough to make a connection, he stumbles out through town, wincing at the brightness of the day. He has to see to the other members of the band, not for their health, he reminds himself, but for possible connections to his own condition.