Avarice

Avarice, of Crying Heavens, Neverwinter

Class Level

Level 1 Barbarian

Alignment

True Neutral

Something to understand about Avarice

The being known as Avarice has multiple personalities (which your character wouldn't know unless he/she concluded that from interacting with him) Just so you know, the typical thing to see Avarice doing is talking to himself, saying things out loud that have nothing to do with what's going on, and may seem to your character as if he is suddenly a different person with a different attitude and tone of voice from one instant to the other.

Biography

Although he is mainly a person who will sneak up on you and stab you from an exposed area, Avarice is good at tactics and getting things done. He likes to be far away and use a bow, but when he gets the chance, he will turn to melee. He tends to not run away if there is a good chance he will survive a fight. Although he is a Barbarian, he isn’t normally ruthless in the actions he takes. He seems to have a alternate personalitys… or is he the alternate personality. It is not uncommon to find him talking to himself and changing his voice and attitude suddenly as if he had become a different person.

The transition from his coward-like strategies to a man worthy of battle is one that is still an ongoing process for the character development of Avarice.

Avarice has learned that the strategy that has proven to have the best results so far is to be somewhat of a “Joker” while his alter ego seems to be more

Although he considers himself to be neither on the side of good or bad, he usually sides with the ones who consider themselves good, mainly because he finds them to be less disgusting.

The beings currently identified in the singular entity known as Avarice

• Avarice: Light hearted, "Joker", admirer of Pedro Fuentes. This is the individual who admired Pedro Fuentes from a young age and followed him up to his nineteenth year.

• Alter Ego (No name): A serious and straight forward, although extremely cautious individual. This is the person who keeps the others within him from being killed most of the time. This man is in psychology terms the "Ego" that ultimately listens to the "Superego"

• Father: An alternate personality in Avarice, but unknown to him. He is a weapon smith that takes pride in all of his creations and regards them as works of art. He will only make a weapon for someone if he has judged them to be worthy, and will only give them a specific weapon that will be suitable for them. To do this, he must also have trust in the person.

Garb and Equipment

his current attire (Garb) includes a pancho shirt and pants both made from tiger hide his typical posessions are a white pouch in his left pocket with seeds that were dipped in different colored inks that he uses to lay out on the ground and strategize with, a pouch on his right pocket that holds his friend or foe die of chance, as well as the currency that he holds (if any), and a strange artifact-like necklace with "BELOVED" inscribed into it

ofcourse it is needless to mention the multiple weapons Avarice variates from. Sometimes he dozes off from reality for a moment and ends up with a weapon he has never seen before in his hand. Avarice lives a fairly interesting life...

Ongoing Chronicle

Avarice is a follower of a single man; a man among men. This man’s name is Pedro Fuentes. Throughout Avarice’s childhood beginning at age six, he has followed Pedro Fuentes as best as he could. If it was virtually possible for Avarice to follow him, he would definitely be no farther than thirty feet away from Pedro Fuentes; ever watching his acts of manliness, breathing in the influence that comes from simply watching Pedro Fuentes. However, at a certain point at age 19, his hero had not been seen for nearly a week. Avarice grew worried and greatly wanted to know where Pedro Fuentes had gone, for he knew that he was not nearly as strong as he should be if he were to match even a small fraction of Pedro Fuentes’ strength, and without his hero, he felt he could not hope to progress in his learning. On the seventh day of Pedro Fuentes’ absence, during a time slightly past noon, a portal had opened before Avarice’s eyes and out came his hero, Pedro Fuentes. Pedro Fuentes seemed quite frustrated, even more so than he usually is. He called out to Avarice and spoke of the land that had befouled his patience and endurance for such horribly non-combat worthy stupidity (in the words of Pedro Fuentes) in the natural laws of battle. He had told Avarice that it was below him (Pedro Fuentes) to train in such a land; however, it was a perfect opportunity for Avarice to finally gain some true training in combat. During this entire time, Pedro Fuentes was effortlessly holding the magical portal so that it could not close. It was as if Pedro Fuentes had said screw (altered word to prevent foul language) you to magic and dominated its own laws by using his own non-magical hands to hold open that which was pure magic. With that, Pedro Fuentes put his mighty hand on Avarice’s shoulders and ordered him to dominate the plain with his own strength; this was the first time Pedro Fuentes had ever touched him. However, it was cut short when Pedro Fuentes shortly lifted Avarice, took his meal which was a burger fit to Pedro Fuentes’ liking and then effortlessly threw him into the portal before letting go of it so that it may close. With that, Pedro Fuentes proceeded to eating the hamburger and walked off. So begins Avarice’s adventure in the land of Amtgard, Neverwinter.

(The next story below called "Beloved Father" is a story that tells a pastlife of the alternate personality "Father" in the being known as Avarice. This is not something that happened in the current time of Amtgard, but something that had happened as a prelude to the present)

• Father Chapter, Story 1: Beloved Father

Hundreds of years ago, there was a man who had learned the ways of an art known at that time as soul smithing. This man had lived a very happy life, doing what pleased him most. Between soul smithing and the love of his life, he found what was known to the world as true happiness. The local shaman of the town he resided in had told him from a young age that his gift to smith as a soul smith also brought a price. At the benefit of understanding and bringing out the “life” in weapons, a soul smith from the first day of life was destined to be infertile. This was understood by both him and his loving wife, who had accepted her motherless lifestyle. There was however a secret that his wife knew about the destiny of soul smiths that was forbidden to be worded to the soul smith himself. This secret was that the one who the soul smith fills the most in his heart with love for is destined to die in the beginning of the day after the soul smith’s twenty fifth birthday. The soul smith’s wife gladly took this destiny with humble gratitude to the time she knew she would spend with her beloved; beloved is that which she had called her husband every day. The soul smith was not unaware that something was of the matter every time she had called him beloved, for her tone seemed as if she was implying a count down of some sort. The soul smith had never experienced true sadness, for his life was filled with nothing but pure joy. The day of the soul smith’s twenty fifth birthday had come and the wife asked him to reserve the day for the two of them. She happily spent her last day tending to the every desire of her beloved. When the dawn of the next day drew close, she was held in the arms of her beloved, the soul smith and she closed her eyes to rest eternally. At the time the soul smith had risen to begin that day, he felt a cold that resembled death to him and noticed that his love was no longer among the living; this lead him into an uncalled shock. Upon his presence, he had noticed the shaman that then explained the cause of the tragedy that was his love’s death. Months passed after the passing of his love and no new weapons had been shown life. A year had passed and he had attempted to continue his work, but could not bring life to a single weapon. This man knew but one bound to his art; this bound that kept him from harmonizing life into crafted wood and metal was his love. Love had been the fuel to his art, and without love, he could not continue as a soul smith. In his furnace, he collected all the pieces of the old shavings of weapons that had been given life during the time of his love’s life and melted them together to make a cylinder. He then used soft material that the shaman had given him in order to keep a soul from spilling out of a damaged soul crafted weapon to bind the cylinder. In the inner shape of the cylinder was a tunnel-like hole where he was to place a piece of his own heart into. With the help of the shaman who used a special dagger that was meant for ceremonially extracting organs and pieces of organs without killing an individual, the part of his heart that was reserved for his love had been extracted and then placed into the tunnel-like hole in the cylinder and kept bound by the soft soul binding material. With an enchantment from five shamans, four from neighboring towns, the newly created item was soul bound to the soul of the soul smith. With this soul bind, the item will return to him in his next life and aid him in his path that he will take in his next life. As to hope to not forget what the item is, he carved “BELOVED” into it and then gave it to the shamans for them to burn in spiritual ceremonial fire. When the fire stopped its ignition, the item was gone. With that, the soul smith was able to continue his work for the rest of his life. There are no records of how long the soul smith lived or what his name or the name of anyone he associated himself with.

• Father Chapter, Story 2: Red Zeal and Blue Zeal

“It had been awhile since he crafted a fine blade”, Father thought. It was a foggy blur in his memory that he couldn’t quite pass, but the thought entered his mind nonetheless. He does not remember anything other than making Blue Zeal in an attempt to make a quick weapon to fight his foes that were coming quickly toward him from afar. The plain he resides in that he is foreign to gave him a calling toward a specific area. He complied with it and walked his journey. He did not know if it was hours or days, but he found himself in a place known as the realm of smithy. There he found many smiths having at their metals and woods, bringing together and sharpening and hardening; the sight brought comfort to Father, but at the same time discomfort. He knew not why… but the weapons the others were building seemed to be different. He felt no personality or life or soul being brought into the weapons. It was as if monkeys were putting together sticks and stones to play and throw at each other and use as half quality based tools. He walked to a corner with his pack of materials that he gathered along the way and began working, letting his instincts calmly dictate the actions of his artisan hands. Closeness and precision was what the others saw in his work when they stopped to peer at the stranger who had joined them without a word. One spoke to him and said, “You have spent quite some time with that single weapon. Look, I have made many in the time you have spent here.” Father looked at the weapons that seemed to be stripped of soul and looked at the man and after a long pause told him, “What you are making are tools. What I am making is a weapon. When you make a true weapon, you put your everything into it. My weapons are my children and they are one of a kind; they are not massed produced”, then Father sat back down and continued working. He looked at the exit to the realm and saw a leaf falling at an unusually slow pace; to his conclusion, it seemed time is a lot slower outside than it is in the realm of smithy. He continued working on his blade and stopped every now and then to take out his previously crafted blade, Blue Zeal and whispered into it. The other smiths looked at Father strangely but didn’t allow him to distract their own work; they all concluded that Father was no threat to the likes of them. To what Father had said to Blue Zeal was, “You lonely creation… Father is here. You have fought bravely and without even an hour of peace from your birth, you broke through the flesh of my enemies and protected me. I will give you a brother to fight along side you so that you will not be so lonely any longer. After a patient while, Father had brought life to yet another sword. This sword was identical to Blue Zeal except that its color was red; therefore, this sword was the younger brother of Blue Zeal hereby referred to as Red Zeal. Father raised Blue Zeal as high as his arms could stretch as he looked up upon his new creation and called his name. Red Zeal glowed a beautiful scarlet for Father; one that was as if it was showing its affection. From that moment, Father already understood that Red Zeal could not communicate like the others; Red Zeal did not have a voice. It communicated by the language of its own light that it dimly glowed to signify anything it desired to commune with its loving creator. To indicate that Blue Zeal was the older brother, Father made an attachment to it. He betrothed a cross guard that curved downward in an artistic way. It was as if it were a crown that shown who was next in line between the two brothers to ascend to the throne. He whispered to the two swords and told them to always look after each other, for they were close brothers. Father smiled as Red Zeal shimmered in light radiance and Blue Zeal whispered back to him, "Yes Father"

• Father Chapter, Story 3: Blade Breaker

After a short rest with his two creations Zeal Red and Zeal Blue, he gently hushed them to sleep and began work on a new inspiration; this would be the biggest a sword could be one handed for a battle experienced individual without being a problem. He gathered new material and concentrated on the weight, toughness, and size of his new inspiration. Many other smiths had left and only a few who had yet to complete their tasks had stayed, continuing to ignore Father. Father worked at it, striking at the metal with his smith hammer and fired the creation to a red glowing heat; he folded the blade and hammered it and folded it and continued the process again and again. When he was finally done with its outer construction, he went to the cooling waters and bathed along side it as it cooled (keeping Zeal Red and Zeal Blue close by) The man who had flaunted his quantity of mass produced weapons approached him and swung two swords at Father without warning. Father, knowing he was lurking in the shadows grabbed the hilt of his new creation and slid it through the water, blocking his first strike and quickly jumped back to evade the incoming second strike from the second sword. He spoke normally without whispering to his new creation and said, “I think I know what your name is” and then paused with a smile looking at his opponent. The man, irritated by his words toward the sword in disregard to his own presence charged at him from the sides of the water and swung his primary sword. With a quick forward vertical spin, Father let the momentum and weight of the sword do the work for him. The poorly built mass produced sword snapped in two as if it were cheap wood. The man looked shocked and frightened as he took three steps away from Father. Father twirled the sword once again and then pointed it at the man and said in a glorious and slightly cocky tone, “Mine is bigger” With that remark the man fled, leaving all of his equipment and materials, along with the broken sword on the ground. He held his new creation upward, noticing Zeal Red and Zeal Blue just waking up now, seeming slightly dazed from their slumber and spoke to the blade in his hand, “You are just as I imagined you’d be… Blade Breaker”

• Father Chapter, Story 4: Orphan

On the day of Red Zeal and Blade Breaker’s birth in the realm of smithy, Father had stayed until closing. At the time when everyone had left, Father walked around the realm in sadness; so many pieces of materials from rejected weapons had been disassembled and left for the clean sweep spell to take effect (in other words, they would be trashed). Father quickly took this time to gather every remotely usable piece one by one and brought them out of the realm’s borders. Just as he stepped out of the border with the final pieces, the clean sweep spell took effect and pulsed through the realm of smithy, wiping the left pieces. By his actions, Father had saved many pieces of material. Father heard the voices of crying children in the material he had collected. The sorrow that he felt emanating from these pieces had filled him with sadness. He went on his journey back to the shire and found a not so far cave where he had decided to begin work. He cut the pieces where seemingly the core of the cries in each weapon had been located and brought them into unison with each other. The core in which the material had been edged around was formed from the rock in the cave that Father himself tore from with his bare hands as an expression of his shared pain with the material. With his hands that were now raw from taking out such a big piece of solid rock for the core, he added on the finishing touches, reinforcing it with previous reinforcement material that he had also salvaged from the realm of smithy in time. Adding on only his own reinforcements on the edges of the blade he had now crafted, he completed what he had been working on. The completed blade stopped its cries and the sorrow emanating from it had changed its tone to a more dignified silencing woe. He raised it to the sky to ask for approval for his new child and it was given to him. At this moment he spoke to the blade in a whisper and said “My child, I am your new father… With the strength of your brothers, you have become one and the old name in which you once knew is no more. You are now Orphan, my child” So brought forth the coming to be of the dagger that cries sorrow in which few could hear known as Orphan.

• Father Chapter, Story 5: The Nameless Weapon from a Past Life

This weapon has had many names given by different masters. Hundreds of years ago in a small town, a boy was recognized as a person who had the give to be able to use the art of soul smithing. To show his potential to the group of shamans who were summoned from the town’s local shaman, he smithed to his potential a long sword that was light enough to easily use, even for a child, like himself, who did not have the strength of a man. Since he had yet to know the ways of a soul smith, he did not give his first creation a name. Regardless of the entity being nameless, it cared for its creator nonetheless and protected him when the time was needed to fight. As the soul smith grew in age and experience, he crafted many weapons that were better suited for a man to wield. The nameless sword was given to a young traveler who had left behind his village to find his own path to enlightened strength and purpose. “Take this, for it will protect you and guide you in times of hopelessness and when the time comes, give it to another who needs it more than yourself.”, and so the boy took it, thanked the man, and continued his way. So brought forth the line of masters for the first blade ever crafted by the young soul smith. (The Current posessor of this weapon is known as Ceiphed)