The Odd and Slightly Dangerous Adventures of Life (Drago)

[llama]

Character Sheet:

Name: ‘Taker’ Magnus

Age: Confirmed data not found, memory banks indicate that the origin of recorded memory is about 70 years.

Race: Horopus

Appearance: i.imgur.com/7GnDeYk.jpg
Essentially, most of his body is hidden behind a black, bloodstained hood, a leather plague doctor mask, a belt upon which skulls currently hang and various furs beneath his robes, all but the mask was gifted by the raiders.

Skills (magic, swordplay, intelligent, etc.): modest skill with soulcasting and healing (‘born’ knowing the former, taught the later by the equivalent to a shaman), the outlook of a firmly devout preacher with a God complex (literally), slight combat skills with the quarterstaff.

Weaknesses (two will do): Fiercely dedicated to his 'job' and tribe, he also believes anything his tribe tells him. Essentially, the life the tribe has made him is the only life he knows. Also, a God complex.

Bio (can be short): Originally built with the intent of collecting souls, Magnus was crafted by a hobbyist hailing from Hale who wanted to sell to whoever would want it a slave knowledgeable in soulcasting. When the Mustowians raided, a particularly older one of them grabbed himself a shiny looking robot person as a trophy. He was later adorned as one would a statue: with whatever the hell was lying around. Magnus was kept this way for an unknown amount of time and doesn’t remember any of this.

What he does remember is waking up one morning inside of a tent and covered in skulls, furs and robes with some middle aged guy making stew in the corner. The man, naturally was surprised that what he believed to be a statue just woke up and started speaking. The man had an idea of how to manipulate the situation, and convinced Magnus that since he survived, he must be ‘an angel or devil or grim reaper or something like that, certainly!’ Thus, the idea of ‘Soul-Taker Magnus’ was born. Seventy years since that day, the middle aged deceiver taught Magnus how to heal, and from that point the Soul-Taker rode with the Mustowian Raiders, collecting the souls of the dead for later use and reviving those who had not yet reached their time to die. Though nearly all of the Mustowians do not really believe the Horopus to be a god or anything of the sort, a fair share are willing to pretend for the sake of profit. Those that truly do believe he is divine have not, within the past 70 years, ever seen the metal skeleton that is the Taker Magnus (including Magnus himself.) He is a benevolent demigod, to the Mustowian Raiders and their allies, at least.

Religious affiliation: Agnostic/Himself

Preferred starting nation (can go as far to include region/city if you'd like): Mustowian Empire, any empire that might go so far as to make a horopus believe he is a divine entity will do.

----

Salutations to the year 1575, one of interesting developments and a bright future for a certain robo. Some forty years ago you were accepted into the Garland tribe as a figurehead for the chieftain Granada, a hotheaded redhead woman who views brutality as necessary and sometimes even preferable.
When the man who had unintentionally taken you in passed away sometime ago, public opinion within the tribe you were in turned against you, forcing you to leave. Along the hunting paths (common term for main 'road systems' in the Mustowian Empire) you met Granada, she being with a few of her tribes people, and she saw the use of using you. You knew it was a 'use' but then again, you didn't have much better options.

Following the passing of the previous chieftan, Xerwas, she proposed for you to take over it, not doing it herself due to her wanting to stay away from public scrutiny.
 
So here you are with a tribe of a couple dozen under you while also being rather under the thumb of Granada.
You are currently in your tent when you hear a rifling at your door flap. Following a pause, Callius, your primary messe and informant, comes in. Following a bow his face looks frantic; worried.
 "Dire news, my chieftain."

[Drago]

"Young Callius, what has troubled you? Has Granada humiliated one of the hunters in 'honor' combat again?" Magnus asked calmly. He grabbed his quarterstaff with haste, his obscured eyes gazing at a certain favored messenger.

[llama]

"Well.." It seems you hit spot on about something that had happened but, turning his mind to the definite pummeling that would come from telling you, he shakes his head, " Not this time. Recently, there have been some visitors to our tribe. Ones that have congregated with our people. " A pause, and an oxymoronic look of mild disdain on his face, "They come from Badlands, and one of them is a preacher," Yet another pause , and then further clarification, "a preacher of Great."
Hm. Your tribe was far enough southeast for an entourage from Badlands to come, but it was still somewhat strange.

[Drago]

"Yes, this is quite peculiar. His words would spread dissent among the faithful." Magnus mused for a moment, stopping as a thought occurred to him. "Callius. Bring this priest before me. We shall have civil discourse on the subject of religion. If he refuses to be reasonable, we shall have a more physical battle to determine the truth of the matter. Now go!" he began shouting at this point, "Your God demands it!"

[llama]

Callius yelps, doing a quick bow and then running out of the tent. What a strange man. So easily frightened. So fragile.
After some time, a man robed in desert clothing (that was surprisingly adaptable to the colder temperature you live in) is escorted into your tent between two bulkier tribesmen. The man looks a bit nervous, and looks to you with a jittery smile, going from a resting face, to a frown, and back to a smile. You hear some foreign accents outside; you figure it's from the people he had traveled with.
"Chieftain Taker," He says with a respectful bow, "what might I have the honor to visit you with.. err.. two armed members of your tribe?" He has a somewhat snobby tone, but it is still distinguishable to be Badlandish.

[Drago]

"Wulfgar, Polonius. Stand guard outdoors. No need to intimidate our honored guest. As for you, preacher of the Badlands, you may call me Magnus. Taker is a but a title." Magnus calmly sat down in his chair, and beckoned the priest to do the same with the chair opposite him, "What might your name be?" he asked calmly, hoping to assuage the nervousness of this kind man.

[llama]

The two of them nod, elongated maces, macaberds, hanging from their backs. They're traditionally used on horseback to clobber someone's brains out of their skull, but a strong enough person can make it work on foot.
"Oh, I apologize," The preacher says, " most of the tribes people I have spoken with refer to you as Taker.. I assumed it was your name. " He shakes his head, as if to get the connection out. With a smile, he goes to sit down by you, "Most people call me Liver, it being the traditional name for Great priests, but you can call me Khaleem.'

[Drago]

"A common mistake, Khaleem. Many of my tribesfolk do not traditionally go out of their way to explain our nature." If his mouth was capable of smiling, Magnus most certainly would have done so. "As for why I have called you, I first wish to officially welcome you to my humble home, and to answer any questions you might have. Second," Magnus hesitated for a moment, "I wish to know more of your Great. Those I have spoken to say that the land is the altar to which you pray, and that that your Great is a force that flows through all things. Is this true?"

[llama]

He nods, shaking his head for the first inquiry, "For now, I do not have any questions."
" Ah yes.. there is some misunderstanding, though. It is not my Great, but rather everyone and everything is Great.. " A pause, trying to mistakenly normalize it for you, "Think of your Yulesia, only on a much, much larger scale."

[Drago]

"Ah, so Great truly is of such magnitude." Magnus nodded, then realizing the offense this priest had accidentally done him. "Do you know why they call me Taker, Khaleem?"

[llama]

He shakes his head, "No. None of your people have specified this title to me."

[Drago]

"It is quite simple. I am the chieftain, which is why they use a title at all, but I also serve a secondary, greater purpose. Allow me to demonstrate." Magnus stood up and walked towards a table with a tarp over it. "Here lies Bjorngar. But a few days ago, he was a shaman of this tribe and the father of one of my protectors, Wulfgar. He was a good man, a friend and mentor to me. For that reason, I have waited until a special day to perform this rite." The Taker gently set his staff down, and began to wave his hands over the deceased, chanting quietly the mourning song of his tribe. After a moment, a translucent figure resembling an elderly man rose through the tarp.

"Do you have any final requests before you depart, spirit of the tribe?"

Bjorngar nodded his head side to side, smiling.

"Your god welcomes you through his gates, brother. You may rise."

The soul of Bjorngar rose upwards through the sky, slowly fading into the heavens, at peace.
"Those my people had raided...they called it Soulcrafting, what I just did. Yet...that cannot be true. Soulcrafters learn their art; yet I awoke with this knowledge emblazoned in my mind. Even stranger, ever since I awoke in our former chieftain Xerwas' tent, I have not aged. I have not even removed the mask from my face, yet I know that my body and voice have not grown a day." Magnus sat down again, quarterstaff in hand: "That is why I have called you to me, Khaleem. For I do not believe that divinity is around us. I believe that the gods can walk amongst us, share with us. I believe...I believe I am a demigod, Khaleem. An ageless body, an awakening rather than a birth, a mind filled with knowledge, all of these symbols suggest that I am no man. This is how the tribe has seen me. I am their God of the Dead. I let their spirits ascend to the beyond, and I save those who are not yet ready to die. I hold the power of a shaman in far greater magnitude than any in this tribe! This is why I must ask a question of you, oh Liver Khaleem: Could Great, in his all-encompassing power, have a son?"

[llama]

He looks with wonder at the ghost, watching it as it sails above. He nods as you're talking about Soulcrafting, obviously being familiar with the field of magic. He looks you up and down as you describe your strange condition, seeming to marvel at your body and its seemingly unique features. When you ask him this question, he recoils a bit, his eyes widened a bit at this bout of heresy, seeing where you're trying to get at, "No.. Great is no man or woman. Great is the live essence itself.. in the eyes of It, everything is the son or daughter of Great. You see, equality of all believers is a major tenant within the followers of Great."

[Drago]

"Most enlightening. I shall think of this. You are free to go, friend Khaleem. And if you would be so kind, would you tell Callius to return to my tent on your way out? I am in need of his services."

[llama]

He nods, standing up and doing a kind bow, speaking about how it was an honor to share a conversation with you inside the tent. After some time of his leaving, Callius comes bursting on through, sweat brimmed on his forehead and some kind of stew still dripping on his upper lip, "How may I be of assistance, Taker?"

[Drago]

"That man, as nice as he is, does not believe me. All things aside, gather this month's dead. We'll be performing the rite today. Keep Wulfgar and Polonius outside to be sure no one enters, especially the Liver Khaleem. Afterwards, we'll be having a meeting with Granada. If this works, she'll be getting her war-happy wish after all."

(Out of Game note: The dead of my tribe and/or any allies or enemies slain in battle, upon having their spirits raised, have three choices:
1: Go to their afterlife as normal
2: Promise their soul to the tribe, and their souls shall be given a slightly more corporeal form and serve as my warriors. Their souls might be lost, but if they suffer too much damage I let their souls heal or go to their afterlife as normal.
3 (an option solely for those who prove their worth and loyalty): I absorb them into my horopus heart, in a delectable cross between a Namekian Fusion and a Dark Souls soul spending. They are less likely to be damaged inside my imagination, and will bear some of the weight when I am spellcasting. The reason this is reserved for the faithful because their souls are still there, and that means they can still share thoughts and emotions and knowledge. With enough people, my mind becomes less of a consciousness and more of a senate/monarchy.
If I'm doing it right, the only people who know about that are myself, Callius and partially Granada
Let me know if anything in this plan is not favorable or preferable.)

[llama]

Callius nods enthusiastically, your signature yes-man still not waning on his unwavering support towards your cause. He listens to you and visibly cringes when he hears Granada's name, shaking his to get out the memory of the last beating. This stick of a man could in no way fend off against the force that is an enraged Granada.
"Yes, of course," A pause, "what would you like me to do at this moment?"

(it looks solid.)

[Drago]

"Tell the men to gather the dead inside my tent. Then go get Granada, or get someone else to get Granada if it's necessary."

[llama]

He nods and does a hasty salute at your decree, charging out of the tent.

Following a whole lot of manual labor and a general scrambling around the camp by Callius and a few burly men to hide behind, he presents you a slightly hungover Granada and the bodies of four; a child and mother dead due to complications at birth, a teenager that fell and broke his neck while riding his horse at high speeds, and an ancient tribe elder who finally succumbed to old age.
Granada looks to you, holding her nose and spitting to the side. "What is it?" She asks, still not showing an ounce of respect. You know that she still thinks that you're indebted to her.

[Drago]

"One moment please. The offerings need completing."

One at a time, he offers the mother, the child, the Elder and the teenager the choice of ascending to the afterlife, becoming a soul warrior of the tribe or becoming one with my mind and soul (that last one is offered only to the elder). When they give their responses, Magnus turns to Granada.

"The tribe. What does it need? What are your requests? Will we be migrating soon? Shall I begin raiding again? As before, you need only tell me what needs doing and I shall do it."

[llama]

It is hard to tell immediately, but you know that over time you will notice the gained wisdom or strength of the tribe as a whole. Or an individual family member. The afterlife is really hard to distinguish, even for an expert like yourself.
She thinks a little bit, before replying, "If you ask me, you need to do some uniting for me. The tribe will only last for so long as a single group; again, with the strength of just this small group, we will not be able to do much.. it is worth knowing that us Mustowians only form as one in times of official war, so uniting permanently would be quite the task." A bit more thought from her end on this; she may seem like a meathead brute, but when it come to affairs and military management, she could be considered a genius, "If we are to do this, a proving will need to be done. Perhaps a raiding into the Badlands or Dual Kingdom. Bring back something that will prove to some other tribes of our worthiness." This strikes you as interesting; you have heard of the distant, far east lands using something like this to unite warring kingdoms; something like a.. hm.. a mandate of heaven is what they call it.

[Drago]

"Your words have enlightened me. We shall war. And I will use this war to build our tribe into greatness. Prepare the men, tell them we'll be raiding the Badlands soon. Callias, bring Khaleem to me before the words are spread. We will have a discussion, and he will assist our tribe greatly."

When Khaleem arrives, Magnus is sitting down with his two guards standing at attention by his sides.

"Good friend, I have a favor to ask of you. Tell me everything you can of your Badlands."

[llama]

She grins, nodding and heading out the flap door with a yell, calling men and women to readiness.
Khaleem raises in eyebrow in question, taking a seat if there is one available in front of you. If not, then he somewhat awkwardly stands there. "Is there any reason for your sudden suspicions about my homelands?" He asks somewhat cautiously.

[Drago]

There is in fact a seat for Khaleem.

"Not even suspicion, good friend. We know very little of your culture. Forgive me if my urgency was alarming, as I have received word from a few advisers that suggested extreme urgency in my following actions. In fact I would enjoy inviting you to that court of advisers, particularly with your knowledge of the Badlands. We truly know quite little, and I would like to start by knowing of your culture, and perhaps some areas with which we may begin trading. If you'll excuse me for a moment," Magnus steps out and whispers to his guards that Callius should tell Granada to take some supplies and hold all the men in a camp a bit further away from here. Immediately afterward, Wulfgar and Polonius stand guard inside the chieftain's tent.

"Truly, all we wish to do is learn of your peoples. The Mustowians are a truly divided group, and I find one of the finest ways to expand two nations is via diplomacy and mercantilism."