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Ravskal

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About Ravskal

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    New Blood

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    Male
  • Location
    Oregon, USA
  • Interests
    Gaming, Music, and Medieval life

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  1. Hello y'all. I've been a long time fan of Guild Ball, the lore and the play has intrigued me from the beginning, finally scraped enough money together for a few teams so I can start peeking in here to check things out!
  2. Part 1- Finding a Name The other recruits had mostly gathered by the time I made my way down to the pitch, a ragtag assortment of green researchers and bored inventors standing under the withering stare of our leaders. I watched them squirm, here a child no older than fourteen shuffled aimlessly while playing with a notebook clutched in one hand, he would turn craven the moment his bones broke. There, an elder researcher sought to reclaim some of the fire of days past, we will be burying her before she got on the field. My head shook, unbidden, drawing snickers from some of the assembled, some no doubt making the same decisions about me. I am not safe from this ruthless inspection, how could I be? The guild had only found me months before, a nameless child mixing whatever he could find to save the lives of dying parents. I remember the smell even in the soft breeze on the pitch, sickness spread, suffering for a stupid boy in the charnel house of plague. I had lined up by the time my brain returned to the here and now, standing shoulder to shoulder with guild mates I couldn't even name. Ahead of us paced two legends, Midas with arms behind himself, a statue of the perfection alchemists could obtain if they were born lucky, and Smoke, barely visible behind her cloaked attire, the smell of compounds brewed through years of practice. The two had been talking in alternating drones, instruction about the usefulness of our talents on the pitch. I admit I was never one for studious observation, books and lectures find minds wandering, focusing instead on the pitch beneath my feet. I have never been fond of shoes, so my bare toes wriggle in grass burnt and regrown enough times I can feel it in my soles, so focused am I in the squirming of my own body's extremities I fail to notice the lecture's end until the vial crashes at our feet, sending a roiling cloud of sickly green up towards firmament above. As instructed, most back away from this venomous bile, the elder researcher scampers more nimble than she should, dragging in her wake the teenager, his notebook forgotten in the pitch's chaos. The creeping poison isn't lost on me, my eyes focus on it, watching it with clinical detachment. Snakes slither in the shorn grass, winding around the legs of other recruits until it comes to my toes, tickling up, until it can reach my throat. Dimly, I am aware that I should be running away, or joining in with the coughing fits of those too slow to escape. I breathe it in, the caustic scent of remembered terror and I take it inside myself, to the soft smile of the one who had thrown it, hearing her whisper to Midas beside, Alkahest. _____________________________________________________________________________________ Part 2- Pitch Dreams It has been a whole season since I earned my name, enough time spent with the once nameless to give them identity. We did not play, for any alchemist understands the importance of patience, watching the heroes of our guild take to the pitch again and again, cheering them to vanquish the less informed. Today, on the same pitch my bare toes grasped a year before, Smoke and her Alchemists stare down the brute squad of the Brewers and I watch from the sideline sitting beside a nimble elder three times my age. Cypher, whom preached from leather-bound tomes I dreaded to open, tell me the things my hubris would have me ignore. My name, she was reminding me for the hundredth time, Alkahest, the fabled solvent that could dissolve anything, that was proof against disease and death, is why I could shrug off the plague when I was nameless. I listen to her with half my attention, hungrily eying the explosion of flames leaping from Mercury’s fists as he dashed towards a burly Brewer I didn’t bother with the name of. I could nearly taste the heat when he darted past on his route to setting the team alight. Galvanized into action, the rest of our team advanced under the cover of smoke, natural, alchemical, and everything in between and the jeers of the Brewers’ stands, annoyed they couldn’t see their bruisers through the veil of smog and suddenly I forgot I was being lectured from my side. I was there, in my waking fantasy, standing on the pitch before our goal. From the haze of smoke up field tears a figure. Not one of ours, I could tell immediately, wisps of contagion grasping at a ginger beard to the roar of half the crowd. Limbered, my muscles react to the hide ball projected by his sprinting gait, bare toes kicking clods of ruined dirt with each motion. I imagine a spattering of cheering from the Alchemist benches as I go to meet him and the ball that could spell a point for the drunkards, a quick motion of his feet, fast as I can follow with my eyes stinging in the lingering smoke and suddenly he no longer has the ball….. The roar on the Brewers side redoubles, the ball bouncing off our post over my shoulder .It is a simple lie to claim oneself the victor, but a harder truth to know it will take a lot more practice before Alkahest can rule this field! However the glimmer remains, the thought of the Alchemists winning the cup, my hand raised, the plague child’s dreams coming true, the hero who can save a family.
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