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About Lucron

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    Junior Member
  • Birthday 03/31/1989

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  1. Lucron


    (You open a tattered leather bound book, that appears to be much older than yourself. It was found in a burned heap of what used to be a much grander house, in the countryside of a sparely populated area. The first pages of the book look to be missing, but rumors have been spreading about the pages being found here. The rest of the book seems to be filled in using a black ink quill, the scratch marks are evident. The writing is very legible, and unusually neat. Turning the pages, you find that the book is full, and, upon closer inspection, that the earlier pages are actually filling themselves out. Whoever this journal belongs too much still be alive, and using some sort of magic to write their life story in it as they proceed without it. Whoever it is seems to have just begun recording their journey. You see from the front of the book, their name was Luke Dallinger, although this has been slightly marked through, and replaced with a new name. Lucron.)
  2. Lucron


    Six feet high, with blond hair and cold blue eyes, Luke Dallinger was intimidating enough. A member of a prominent human family, he spent his days working hard, patrolling the borders of his family's estate, providing food and vital items to the poor neighbors in the villages nearby, and always giving some of the smaller children a ride on horseback. Their smiles made his work all the more important. His father made his wealth from the vast market, learning how to barter with the best of them, and as such they were well to do, never worrying about gold. While his parents relished in this fact, Luke never sought to smother himself with rich silks and the best of things. Not when so many people were suffering. He had grown up unaware of the outside world. His parents, as kind as they were to him, were also very protective. They refused to accept that the outside world was changing around them, because as far as they believed, no evil could penetrate the small perfect world they had formed in this countryside. Luke grew accustomed to this false safety, and never knew otherwise. But, like any aspiring teen, he adventured further away from home every day. He would visit the neighboring villages with great pleasure, and although his heart ached at their lack of even the most basic of needs, his mind relished in the fresh knowledge they shared with him. Knowledge that whole other continents existed in the world. Of creatures fearsome and kind alike. Of Dragons, and of more evil creatures than his mind could fathom. And, whispers of something coming. Something that put darkness in the sky, and fear in the hearts of even the most brave. The scourge. Whatever they were, they seemed to have a tight grip of fear on the outsiders in the world. Whenever Luke spoke of them, the villagers shy'd away. Lips pursed, and backs turned. It was as if he was speaking of imminent death as the word "Scourge" formed on his tongue. Eventually he gave up on the subject, and instead insisted on helping the villagers improve their lives, one by one. His deeds were noted, and he was of mild praise on his weekly arrival to the small town. Years passed, and Luke became as kind-hearted and warm as ever. He also picked up several useful skills from the villagers he met and helped. He found himself to be a natural swordsman, as well as being quite skilled with a bow. He learned how to find plants in nature that would be of assistance to him from a local herbs-woman. And he also picked up a nack for leatherworking. He began to make his own clothes from some of the elk and bear that he killed for the village. Even though they were far from silk quality, they proved to be tough armor, and the briarthorns and even some of the animals could not penetrate. As the years passed, however, the dark tales began to come in more frequently. Deaths of relatives from far away poured in. People began to show their fear more openly, and the skies became gray almost constantly. One night Luke awakened in the midst of darkness. The oil lamps usually lit were out. There was a chill in the air, most unusual for summertime. Throwing off the covers, he dressed quickly in his handmade leather clothing, grabbed his sword and bow, and with a spring in his step of nervousness, headed into the woods on the well-known trail towards the village. The smell of smoke came drifting through the thick trees, and his heart pounded. This could not be happening. Not tonight. Not ever. When Luke saw the flames, he knew it was real. Screams of women came, blood curdling. He saw children, laying in the mud, crying. Unsheathing his sword, he ran into the village square, and looked around. He could not see an enemy. What was causing this chaos? Suddenly, he spotted them. Dark, evil, and pure death. Their soulless eyes peered through the dark, shining. They carried weapons that stunk of death and blood. They moved with quickness that seemed unhuman, and it fit. They were the Scourge he had heard about. They were the ones who had been killing, causing fear. They were undead. Luke ran forward, slicing at them in pure rage. Seeing so much unadulterated death in so few moments seemed too much. He cut down several of the vile creatures, and more sprung up in their place. Their strength was great, and seemed to be unending. Luke was growing tired. His arms ached and burned from the weight of the sword. He continued fighting, surrounded. Suddenly, a band of villagers joined him. They were surrounded in the square of the village, fighting off enemies from all ends. The herbalist woman was holding both hands high above her head, and insects swarmed down, engulfing a group of the Scourge, devouring them. Luke had no time to think on it, though, for he was dodging blows from a large skeleton-like creature that roared in agony as he cut through its skull, down to the ground. Suddenly, things went bad. A searing heat burned into his right arm. It was no physical attack. Magic. It stung deep, and he dropped his sword in pain. Screams filled his ears. "Luke! Luke, you must run! Luke, Run!" Luke turned on heel, sprinting for the tree-line. His battle was lost. They had a warlock, a user of dark magic, and there were too many Scourge. His steps were slow, and he found himself nose to ground. He turned on his back, crawling backwards as the enemy massed its way toward him. Everyone had been defeted. Everyone was dead. It was his turn. As the sword swung down on him, he remembered one thing. One voice ringing out through the terrifying night. "Luke, Run!" (End of the First Part of the Bio. Second part to come tonight)