Difference between revisions of "Cirth the Pale"
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== Mud Contributions: ==
== Mud Contributions: ==
Cirth frequently posted poetry on various topics. He is best known for his collaborative work with [[Corri]],
Cirth frequently posted poetry on various topics. He is best known for his collaborative work with [[Corri]], LawofBloodandBranch . He also wrote a piece for [[Cordir]] upon her retirement:<BR>
Revision as of 12:03, 11 January 2020
|Cirth (I, IX)|
|Created||(I) - Prior to 1997|
(IX) - November 12, 2001
- 1 Mud Contributions:
- 2 Current Description:
- 3 WHO lists:
- 4 Geasa
- 5 Character History:
- 6 Restrings:
- 7 Trivia:
- 8 Player Provided Information:
- 9 Personal Timeline:
- 10 Player Information:
The temple hall is quiet now the shuttle rests upon the loom little weavers weave alone their cobwebs growing in the gloom Her faithful watch has passed and Lady Fate transcend Six words to remember her ebon bard, triat master, goddess, friend … Cloaked in golden autumn leaves the Maidens' journey still unfold every season an adventure every track a story told Her feet are firmly rooted yet ever roaming free three images conjured her copper curls, an impish grin, a majestic tree … By the Lady animated immortal blood to ply his veins fragrances' of the Maidens seasons his cindering soul sustains the Pale One keeps his vigil his records right and true four words of parting I will remember you
2010 (written by Cordir:
It his eyes that capture you: a sapphire blue tinged with silver around the outer edge, keen and unceasingly aware of all that surrounds him. They echo the weight of centuries, yet reveal little of the passions or oaths one man might be driven by. His is the gaze of a Hunter, a Kindred - few are friend, most are prey. Twice Reborn through the grace of the Vampire God, Khore, he travels the breadth of this Realm with a practiced ease, his passage silent until the moment he chooses to strike. Where once the robes of a Scribe lay in formal folds about him, now closely fitting leathers are worn - suitable for the life of activty he leads now, rather than one of scholarship. While his skin still holds the pallor of a monk forever ensconced in a library, a certain knowledge is evident in the unpriestly way he moves, in the elegant yet unfussy method he has bound back his ebon-black hair and the cut of the clothes he has selected. Silver sigils and runes have been subtly worked in the hems, and a repeating pattern of spiderwebs encircles his throat, where a strong pulse beats: dying gift of the various prey that slaked his thirst, during a hunt a few brief hours ago. Ancient when the Age itself Turned, he has seemingly Reborn yet again, vital and strong, awakened once more. Those eyes warm for brief instant, and he smiles slightly as if in the gallery of his mind, he held the image of the one heart that ever touches his. Turning away, he keeps even her reflection in his memories utterly private and safe.
Chosen of Fate: (Circa: 1999)
(Written by Cordir)
A soft noise catches your ear- quill rasping upon parchment. Its source is a silent, still figure, pale and slender as moonlight amidst the trees. The fellow appears young, his elegant form lithe and strong, but then his eyes lift from the illuminated poem he is working on and meet yours, and you are lost in the millennia that echo within their weary gray depths.
He sketches a polite bow, breaking contact with your gaze. Garbed in careworn, faded robes that echo the fashions of days long past, he cuts an intriguing figure. His dark hair is short, roughly cut, with the hue of starlight upon midnight waters, and appears to have been ruffled at one point in the past and never made tidy again. Odd, jagged scars bracelet each hand, revealed by the threadbare fabric of his sleeves, and a glowing tattoo of a spider-web embraces, incorporates, and acknowledges the mark around his left wrist, including it within its shifting pattern.
The pale scribe tucks the scroll away from prying eyes, and waits for you to speak.
Cirth is in perfect health.
Kindred (Circa 1998)
Pale, almost deadly white, from dwelling in darkness too long.
The first thing that strikes you is the stark contrast of his skin against his otherwise dark figure. The short, roughly cut, jet black hair looks as if it was ruffled sometime long ago and he hasn't bothered to untangle it. A red scar travels around each of his wrists. Heavy robes streaked with road dust cover his thin body; once black, they have faded towards grey.
At first impression you estimated him to be rather young, but now you're not so sure. Maybe it's just the old-fashioned design of his clothes and their worn appearance. There is a spark of something new in his once so weary grey eyes.
Cirth is in perfect health.
Cirth is using:
<used as light> (Magical) (Glowing) the light of a lost soul
<worn on body>a black robe
<worn about body> a dark cape
<worn with pride> the mark of the vampire
Hel [ Ma:18 ] Cirth the pale. Scribe of the Kindred. [KoV] February 23, 1997 Hel [ Ma:23 ] Cirth the pale. Scribe of the Kindred. October 18, 1997 Hel [ Ma:22 ] Cirth the pale remembers. Scribe of the Kindred. January 14, 1998 Hel [ Wa: 8 Th:15 Ma:16 ] Cirth the Pale. Kindred Reaver. January 24, 2009 Hel [ Th: 7 Ma: 9 ] Cirth the Pale. Kindred reborn. Cordirs Scribe. January 10, 2002
As a member of the Chosen of Fate, Cirth accepted three Geasa:
1. Will learn the geasa of all Chosen, past and present (Geas of Rememberance).
2. Will never have more than 10k gold, and no more than the clothes worn - no inventory (Geas of Poverty).
3. Will teach a newbie (lvl 1-10) uses for one of their skills, or will perform 3 IDs for 3 newbies, each day (Geas of Service).
The Tale of Cirth the Pale: Three Turns of Night
This tale has not been told in a long, long time. It is thin and old, barely more than a thread of spiderweb stretching through the vast darkness of the eternal night. The spinner? Not I, of that I am convinced, now.
But dawn is drawing near and I have much to tell. So where to begin?
I would say that it all began when I suddenly stood in front of the young Mistress of Darkness, Ginny. I did not know whether to run or not. Dusk had just turned into night and the forest silently surrounded me. Frozen by indecision, I watched her as she slowly smirked and then opened her mouth to lecture me.
That's not the entire truth to it, of course. Before that night in the woods, there was a boy-child in the Half-Elf Camp. But that was a dull time and there is little to tell. There were petty fights and quarrels, small minds and even smaller hearts. More than anything, I remember the boy-child's craving wish for something else.
Ginny had only just ascended to immortality when she found me. She was eager to teach me about the world and I hungered for knowledge. Later, when she formed the University of True Evil, I followed her and found myself accompanied by many others just like me. They, too, yearned to explore the world and learn all its secrets. Amongst the Mistress of Darkness pupils, there was a young and cunning magician by the name of Molo. He quickly rose in power and before long he was recognized not only for his skills in deception, but also for his knowledge and keen advice. Apart from guiding me in the art of magic, he saw to it that I made the right acquaintances with individuals from other powerful forces of that time, such as the Order of the Ebon Hand.
Times were good for a while, and I prospered, but then Ginny let it be known that she no longer could be present in this realm. The University of True Evil was disbanded and soon its former students, my friends, joined other faiths or vanished. Not finding comfort in other beliefs, I wandered alone.
I drifted aimlessly across the realm for a long time, like a torn piece of cloth suspended in mid-air while others passed right through me without seeing. This is how I imagine ghosts existing.
After many cycles, I began to hear rumors, whispers in the wind, that there were a group of nightly creatures who worshipped the darkness. Soon my path led me to one of them, DarkClaw. She explained about the Kindred, as they called themselves, and their kind: the vampires. I studied her and her Kindred, asked them of all sorts of things, of their nature and their way to perceive the world. Our paths crossed more and more often and soon I knew them by names and sometimes by heart: Sapphyre, Yvon, Combee, Nicholai, Athera and the ever-mischievous Palmer. Eventually I asked to be introduced to their leader, the vampire-god Khore.
As I stood before him in his cave, I recognized in him the greatness of his Kindred, for he was their Guardian and the Keeper of their Darkness. I asked if he would give me their gift so that I, too, could serve their cause. He embraced me. The night was mine again and I attained the title of Scribe of the Kindred.
It feels appropriate that I should mention Corri at this point. With my new Kindred I came to know many people, but no one as puzzling and bewildering as this playful half-dryad. She was a carefree, even reckless little creature with infinite energy for tricks and fun. She had made an unlikely friendship with the vampires of the Kindred and they adored her, which most living things end up doing. Not easily charmed, I tried to keep my distance with a polite and civilized manner, but to no avail. One day I caught myself chuckling at her making a big scene with her aggressive hat and the next thing I knew, I kept ending up in as much trouble as she could get me in to.
I enjoyed these breakneck adventures and to this day I have never met anyone as radiating of positive energy as she. It is a sorrowful thing that Corri has wandered out of this realm, because I think she took my heart with her.
Things come and pass and I am young no longer, although my appearance is deceiving. The Kindred, too, were disbanded as Khore ascended to higher powers. Once again my friends scattered and many vanished. By this time, a dear friend of mine, the Ebon Bard and Triat Witch, Cordir, had reached immortality after a long and perilous struggle. She possesses great wisdom and I have had many lengthy discussions with her through the years, not seldom talking about her faith - the Triat.
I first came understand a glimpse of what Thaygar had preached so many cycles ago when I stepped into the Caves of N'kai. Cordir later guided me to the ancient murals that told the story of the sealed depths below the Citadel. I began to see the signs of the Three all around me. Birth and death, creation and destruction in constant cycle, and the threads of fate touching all things.
Recently I met Cordir in the Caves of N'Kai and once again we wandered through the muraled passages, and down to the sealed caves where I inquired as to whether I could be her scribe. Now I keep record the other servants' commitments. Personally, I have given up all my belongings but those I wear, and bestow advice and knowledge upon those of the young ones that seek such. I watch the world as always as I wander through the realm. Only this time, I sense a purpose to all things and recognize the twist and turns of Fate that leads my steps.
What happened in the end? Nothing ever truly ends.
The Mark of the Vampire
Long Description: Twin fang marks that refuse to heal: clearly the mark of the vampire god.
Notes: The 1st prize of Khores storytelling contest, a level 26 health.
a Shroud of Darkness
Long Description: A shroud of darkness bestowed upon a faithful Kindred by his lord Khore.
Notes: -3 Saves, Worn Container. Prize from Khore's song contest
(Glimmering) a silver torc
Long Description: An open circlet of silver lies here, glimmering.
Extra Description: Look torc
Fingering the heavy metal, you feel a pattern
subtly engraved into the necklace. Letters of
Thoras coil around the torc naming the Weaver
as its maker.
*This quest prize was donated by The Chosen*
Notes: 2nd Place prize for Tirayel's Storytelling contest. Low level permanant Detect Magic amulet.
Cape of the Ordinus Nosferatu
Long Description: A long, heavy black cloak lies here, fluttering in an unseen wind.
Created this day, 8/15/00, by Cordir An-Shalach, for
her beloved Scribe, Cirth the Pale, in whom the Lady
is deeply proud.
As you peer into the folds of the cape, darkness floods over you,
and a vision swirls unbidden into your mind:
Far below you is a flickering light, shifing in the shadows. Moving
to gain a better vantage point, you see a lone figure standing in
the midst of a massive, ancient cave. He appears to be a young man,
tall and slender, with black hair and robes, tiny compared to the
vast blackness that surrounds him.
An echoing, sibilant whisper reaches your ears. "I have come."
In answer, you hear the wailing chitter of bats and have a sense of
movement: something stirring to life, moving rapidly towards the man.
The darkness is no longer calm. Dozens of dark-clad shapes move with
swift and silent grace around the edges of the torchlight. Their pale
hands and faces are visible only in brief glimpses as they reach for
him. A low, whispering chant begins to build. "Why have you come?
Why have you come? Why have you come?"
Suddenly their movements ceases, and the shapes back away as a taller,
more imposing individual approaches, towering over the smaller man.
"Why have you come?" Its whispering question reaches your ears with
"To seek the Gift," he answers, and with that the dark shape closes
about him. As the torch falls from the man's hand the light falters.
The last you can see are the other indistinct figures rushing to join
in the Embrace.
the Seal of the Triat
Long Description: Writhing runes cover the face of this seal ring.
The surface of this highly polished band of orichalcum
is set with runes that writhe, dance and shift beneath
your curious gaze. The central image, however, remains
constant: A three part Seal that sears your mind with
its terrible presence. How it must tax and weary the
bearer to carry such a powerful artifact! This Seal is
not some simple lord's personal symbol, but the potent
insignia of Three who are far beyond mortal shapes and
understanding... The Triat Themselves.
Wyld: Azat, Shan-Regoth, the Seeker of Filth, the Reaver of the Land
Wyrm: Urat, Dar-Golmeth, the Sender of Eight, the Render of the Veil
Weaver: Lolth, Alak-Nacha, the Sealer of Souls, the Raiser of the Dead
Night as ever when I see, the shadow of the Three.
The shadow melt and twist and turn, eyes of feverish hatred burn.
Shen-Regoths screaming voices scowl, hope is dying at it's howl,
"Rise Pale One, feast and kill, blood-servant of my will.
Cast away your foolish pride, the futile mask in which you hide.
Let the weak and dying weep, set the past to rightful sleep."
"No false Seeker, I stood ground, while everything became unbound.
The memories of past I hide, as guardian against your tide.
Yours the lash which make me weak, yours the name I will not speak."
"Hate and anger know you're wrong, the scars have made you strong.
My caress from which you flee, is that which sets you free.
I'm the end you're longing for, Seducer, Trickster, wicked Whore."
The shadow grow and change, absorbing every dark in range.
Dar-Golmeth answering my wishes, hope spring new as it hisses,
"Stand up Mage, grow and age, another step, another page.
Yet there's more to learn and know, search above and seek below.
Never stop and never falter, life wants growth and needs to alter."
"Greetings Wyrm, your words are true, my late pursuits have been few.
But I am content, should I not, be pleased with that I've not forgot,
that which life to me have dealt, the friends I've met, the love I've
"Ouroroboros devour it's tail, and so must you or else you'll wail,
when sweet regret consume your soul, at the awakening of the Dhole.
I'll be your path until you're gone, Father, Ghost and sacred Son."
The shadow now is calm and dark, two indigo fires spark.
Alak-Nachas voice is smooth, as it's whispering bidding soothe,
"Scribe of Chosen, raise your head, watch the pattern of your thread.
Rememberer of ages past, of all the things that did not last.
Yet there is no time for rest, there will be one final test."
"Greetings Weaver, speak I hear. Yours the prescience always near.
Yours all honor I deserved, yours the path so I preserved.
Lend me sight so I perceive, and lead my steps along your weave."
"Vampire you have served me well, from the darkness where you dwell.
This will be your final goal, embrace the Triat as it's whole.
I'll be your guidance and your aid, Mother, Crone and precious Maid."
- When Cirth was recreated after a long absence from the MUD, he wanted to roleplay a renewal of his vampirism. Khore, a God+ at the time, was happy to oblige. Cirth Gets His Fangs Back
- Cirth wrote several poems about his relationship with Corri, such as In What Season Are You Now? and The Law of Blood and Branch
- Cirth participated in several storytelling contests and won first prize with these entries: A Tale of the Oakheart Inn, What if Ginny was good? and Cirth's Frightful Halloween
(This work was written by Corri about Cirth.)
Seasons: Paved with dust they were the distant trails I searched across Promises of ancient lore, treasures hid and secrets lost Placid, listless there I found him crouched and drowning in the sun Whispering in memories of tales that were long done Passing by I ruffled him and shared an impish grin Surly from my prodding he emerged from thoughts within. Stating dryly as he raised his eyes to leave him to his pains His hands as pale as parchment, laced across with ink of veins There was just the moon to guide me as I trampled through the snow Til distant fire split the monochrome of night with ember glow Huddled by the flame I found him prodding pointed tooth in thought Plain that solitude and memory was the company he sought Imprinted by his soberness I asked "What thoughts are you among" He told of Ebon wars and mages; elder gods when he was young. Compelled, I spoke of missing trees, of changes and rebirth Parting silently in contemplation of memory and its worth. I mused about his patience, the weight of history that strained His eyes pale blue of moonlight, midnight light upon the rain Its been many seasons now, since our paths have parted And I have learned firsthand of joy, and loss of those departed Words drift up from history to warm me with their thought Inexorable understanding from the ages I am taught. I trace my fingers through the dust, a curl lifting my smile I know in time he will return, though it may be a while What paths do you tread? I whisper, though I've seen him in a sight His hair pale dust on darkness, starlight on deep dusk of night.
Player Provided Information:
|I was asked, recently, if I could meet any ten players from TFC in person (that I had not already met), and I had to say that one of the people at the top of my list is Cirth. He was a joy and delight to have in the Chosen of Fate and I have savored our interactions on mud for well over a decade. He is a skilled roleplayer, crafting a role that is neither flashy or loud - but intense and solid none the less. His romance with Corri was the topic of many a chat, and so much a part of the character of Cirth, that I demanded during her Triat Mastery Quest that she acknowledge him and his influence.|