Ish-Jolvic Solivu, Sooleran

[spagbog]

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Name: ish-Jolvic Solivu (Joll-Vick Soh-Lii-Voo)​

Nickname/Alias: Vejal - Little Traveller​

Age: 39 Fadmas (19 years) old​

Gender: Male​

Race: Human, Soolera​

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Build: Slender, with small set shoulders. Long, powerful legs, with a short torso.​

Hair: Kept shaved very short, to stop hindrance when riding and to keep cool in the sun.​

Eyes: Grey, dull eyes.​

Skin: Dark, from the scorching desert sun.​

Scars: A long scar stretching from his left forearm to his wrist.​

Tattoos: A tattoo on his right arm, mirroring his scar, a reminder of his pain.​

Traits or Blessings: None.​

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Physical Flaws:​

• A short upper body and longer legs, giving unbalance to his figure.​
• The scar on his left arm inhibits movement, especially notable when riding or in battle.

Physical Qualities:​

• Strong, especially in the lower body.
• Skilled in equestrianism.​
• Can wield a dagger with some skill.​

Clothes: A plain cloth shirt (usually with the sleeves rolled up)​

Hygiene: Pretty poor hygiene, not getting many opportunities to wash.​

Voice: Low pitched and quiet. Not a voice easily remembered.​

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Object(s) owned of sentimental value:​

• Nothing yet, but is looking forward to getting a ceremonial dagger to mark the entrance to adulthood.

Worships: Like many of his culture, Bilworth and Jax.​

Intelligence Level: What he lacks in wisdom he makes up for in wit and a quick tongue.​

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Known Languages:​

• Marjash.
• Common, but not well.

Political alignment: Neutral, not really caring as long as it doesn't directly affect him.​

Sexuality: Heterosexual.​

Marital Status: Single, not old enough to wed.​

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Personality:​

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Hardworking, like many of his culture, witty and quick thinking. Some may call him slippery and untrustworthy, but he is the opposite; making friends with him is tricky, but that friendship will last a lifetime. It's different for enemies though, he will easily forgive someone if they have something he wants. This gives him an image of disloyalty, but he generally doesn't care what people away from his family and friends think.​

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Fears/Insecurities/Phobias: He is stuck between keeping with his family and his caravan or doing what he really wants to do, going his own way in life. He is scared of being outcast, unaccepted.​

Short Term Goals: To obtain his dagger in a couple of months time.​

Long Term Goals: To venture out on his own, to start his own caravan.​

Alignment: Lawful neutral.​

Profession: Vanguard Horse-Rider.​

Hometown: His home caravan.​

Current Home(s): See above.​

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Favourite:​

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Colour: Purple. Bright, vibrant colours.​

Food: Any meat. Meat is a rarity, so he has learned to relish it.​

Drinks: Anything rich, like wine, for the same reason as above.​

Animal: The horses he rides. He has grown to love them.​

Activity: Horse-riding; the feeling of being at one with the horse.​

Person: He treasures all of his brothers, sisters and family members. There isn't a particular one he likes the most.​

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Least Favourite:​

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Colour: The dull yellow of sand. Once you've lived with it all your life you get sick of it. ​

Food/drinks: There aren't many things he doesn't like.​

Animal: The pests of the desert. Especially at night time.​

Activity: Being trampled on by horses.​

Person: Most of the people he's met have been other merchants or other caravan members, so there hasn't been a reason to dislike anyone.​

Relations:​

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Loved ones: His family, other Soolerans. For a short time, Nymia Mazuk.​

Friends:​

Allys: Any stranger is immediately an ally to him.​

Disliked:​

Enemies:​

 

[spagbog]

Chapter I​

ve-Jolvic was a normal child, as children went that part of the world. He wasn't tall, but not small enough for it to matter. He was never a bright lad, but he wasn't stupid. One thing he did do better at (better than anything else he did in any case) was looking after animals. He was still a ve when he was allowed to groom the horses. Admittedly, he only had one Fadma till he was an ish, but at the time it was quite an achievement.

ish-Jolvic was 26 Fadmas old when he first rode with the older men. He could only manage a walk, but it was a start. The older ones helped a lot, even when he would fall off startle the horse. They kept on persevering.​

 

[spagbog]

Chapter II​

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It was a baking hot Summer's day, the sun, uncomfortably hot, beating down on the necks of the men and ish-Jolvic. It wasn't pleasant. With the caravan safely behind them, out of sight, they came across a town. On entering, it seemed deserted. No people on the street, selling goods or walking to their latest endeavours, no one taking the opportunity to hang out washing or some other chore. The place was a ghost town. They rode through it, youngest at the back, nearest the exit.

Suddenly there was a sharp cracking sound, like the many slaps laid out in punishment; or, as Jolvic thought, a whip. Afterwards there was a tremendous noise, the whinnying of what sounded like many horses. Sure enough, a stampede of the elegant creatures crashed through the supposedly deserted town, causing the Soolerans' steeds to panic also. The older, more experienced riders managed to stay on their horses, but Jolvic did not. He fell to the ground, his horse galloping off. The hooves of a hundred stallions crashed down on top of him. He blacked out.

 

[spagbog]

Chapter III​

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It was amazing that he survived. They went back for him as soon as they realised he was missing. A long, bloody cut stretched from his forearm to his wrist. It was of the utmost fortune that a Nakat, who had been travelling with them escaping a group of bandits, managed to heal the arm - if the arm had been lost, Jolvic would never be able to ride again.​

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The boy came away with four things: a scar; a tattoo mirroring said scar, to commemorate what had happened; a respect for Nakam; a respect for horses. The accident didn't dissuade Jolvic, just made him think more clearly about what the creatures were. They were powerful, elegant and beautiful and magnificent, yes, but powerful and dangerous also.​

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It came to Ish-Jolvic's 38th Fadma. He was two away from becoming a Jal and couldn't wait. But two Fadmas was a whole year away and, honestly, the boy was still confused about what he wanted to do after gaining his knife. Would he stay here, with his family, helping and living the rest of his days as a Horse Rider? Would he leave, start a new caravan on his own - a much trickier option, but an option all the same. That Fadma helped him decide.​

 

[spagbog]

Chapter IV​

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Fadmas consisted of festivities, entertainment, merriness and, most importantly, dancing. It was at the latter that Jolvic met Nymia Mazuk. She was beautiful, her silver eyes gleaming as she smiled. They danced once, then twice, until they could dance no longer. So they talked.​

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They talked about his scar, her tattoos, his love of animals, her love of silks and cloths. They talked about her, about her mother and father, how they wished for her to stay with them when she hit adulthood. And they talked about going off into the wilderness, perhaps together. How much they wanted to start afresh, maybe not even Soolaran. It would never happen, of course, but it was nice to dream once in a while. Jolvic's first kiss was that night. And they never saw each other again, after that.​

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But ish-Jolvic Solivu did gain something from that night. He knew what he wanted to do in a year. The trouble was, he couldn't do it without betraying his family. Ish-Jolvic Solivu had a year to decide.​

 

[Faelin]

I LOVE IT.

 

[spagbog]

Thank you very much!

Hopefully this encourages some people to join the Soolerans...
Because they're awesome.

 

[spagbog]

el-Loti Polivu​

The moon was full. The last time a full moon had been seen was the last time food had been bought. A whole month of travelling with only the water in their skins and the food in their packs. The older, more experienced men and women were coping fine, but the younger ones weren't.

Ve-Jolvic Solivu, twelve Fadmas of age, was curled up shivering, the small blanket offering him little resistance against the cold desert night. He wished he was back at Sool, with the warm beds and cool drinks at day. One of the many things he hated about the desert was the temperature. In the day it was too hot, at night it was too cold.
I hate el-Loti... The young child thought to himself. It's his fault we're here anyway.

El-Loti Polivu was the Elder (and eldest) of the family. At 120 Fadmas, he was well respected and gifted with splendours from wherever the caravan visited. Jolvic didn't like him. In his own eyes - and seemingly everyone else's - he was the greatest leader, charismatic, brave, merciful. But Jolvic's saw past the mask, or so he thought. He saw a condescending man who made all the wrong choices. Like choosing to travel through the desert instead of around the edge, near trees and other living things. Young Jolvic preferred the trees.

The following day brought unfortunate news. It was afternoon when the young rider arrived, an Ishikravi. Jolvic only caught the end of the speech and, being small, couldn't see over the heads of the crowd.
"It was to be expected, really. He was nearing his time and, while it is a great loss, it was to happen soon enough anyway. Perhaps not to these causes; perhaps in a better way, but it was going to happen eventually. It was a pleasure to ride with you, el-Loti Solivu."

Jolvic never did learn the reasons the Elder died that day: at the time he was too young to care and later it was too late for anyone else to care. But his death affected many, him included. He had heard about people dying before, obviously, but never so close to home. This was his first time.

 

[spagbog]

Myvia​

The creature towered above him, a symbol of elegance and beauty. She whinnied, crunching on the carrot being offered. The person at the end of the carrot was taken back by the force of the Ikrin infront of him. Less than a month away from his 18th Fadma, Jolvic has been given the task of looking after Myvia, an old mare. It was almost twice the size of little Jolvic. At that time he was terrified and rightfully so. There had been stories (from unreliable sources, admittedly) of hands being bitten off by horses, so he was a little anxious.

After all the carrots had been taken, Jolvic gingerly placed his hand on her muzzle and started stroking softly. As he gained confidence he started to smile, a small, reserved smile. The horse lifted its head, shaking it and whinnying, causing Jolvic to jump back. Once over it though, he started to smile once more.

Come the Fadma, Jolvic was more than ready. He was allowed to lead Myvia to the stables; to groom her and brush her; to feed her, when the time came. But the whole while he was looking up at the older ones - the Jaliks - in envy. Not only do they get to ride the horses, but also parade them around the celebrations. Jolvic longed for the day he was permitted to do that, atop his stallion, looking down on the normal folk. But the best for now was cleaning them out. A scowl spread over the boy's face.

When the festivities were over a couple of days later, the Solivu caravan was getting ready to leave, to set off into the sun again. Myvia was there, beside Jolvic, a sleepy expression on her face. Suddenly thick arms grabbed Jolvic's and lifted him up, high into the air. A scream almost left his mouth before the little one realised they had lifted him onto Myvia's back. They began leading the horse around slowly, with Jolvic riding on the back, a smile on his face. By the time he was put down, the boy was grinning, a rare occasion.

 

[Faelin]

AWWW

 

[spagbog]

Valna​

Written and translated by jal-Naikrean Solivu.
As spoken by ish-Jolvic Solivu.

The screams came first. My brothers were in the caravan, looking after Mother. They knew what to do. I trusted them. I was too young, without my Velish-Fadma; I was not allowed inside. So I sat and waited for what sounded like a thousand demons to subside, scared with my two sisters beside me. Although one of them had seen two births, she still looked as colourless as the desert ground.

This lasted many hours, long into the nighttime and past, ending only when the sun rises from the clouds. They exited the caravan, my Father and my brothers. They looked solemn. I still remember what Father said.
"It was a girl." He didn't smile, but that wasn't just because he wanted male. "She was a stubborn one, with much spirit. She would have done well here, with the Soolerans. She refused to leave. We had to take action fast. But it is Jax's wish that they both go with him, to the place of the gods. For not only did our newborn daughter pass on, so did our mother. It is truly a sad day for us."
That day was one of the first I saw his eyes dampen and his expression darken. He left in a hurry, leaving my brothers and sisters standing.

The air felt colder, after she was gone. Gone were the laughs, the smiles, the songs, the dancing. In its place was a dark blanket of depression, especially in the case of my father. We buried her in the sand, where she belongs, with the proper ceremony. My father was not there. In fact, he was not there for us for months, always out on his own. When he was here he was despondent. When we relied on the brothers to look after us, but the two didn't know what to do.

I never got my father back, not really. He forgot he had a family, not his blood family. He turned his back on us. But he rose in our caravan. He had a talent, it seemed, one that could never blossom with children weighing him down. He turned out to be a great speaker, a good leader. I lost a mother, a sister and a father, but we gained a leader.

 

[Faelin]

;-;

 

[spagbog]

There have been 11 replies to this thread (now 12). 9 of them have been mine and the other 3 are yours. xD

 

[Faelin]

There have been 11 replies to this thread (now 12). 9 of them have been mine and the other 3 are yours.

Make that 13.
This is beautific.

 

[spagbog]

ish-Nymia Mazuk, Part I​

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The sound of hooves against the dusty ground was second only to the sound of the wind blowing against Jolvic's face and recently cut scalp. The feel of the horse underneath him and the heat on his back was exhilarating as he travelled faster and faster.
"Vejal, slow down! We don't want you going on ahead and getting lost now, do we?" The sound of an older rider came from behind him, almost I audible over the wind. He slowed down a little to shout back at him.
"You know I hate that name! I'm not that little anymore, I've been alive for 37 Fadmasalso on to be 38!"
"And I've been alive double that! Now come, else we reach Sool after dark."

They reached the city in plenty of time, meaning Jolvic could explore a little, have a look around, something he had never been able to do before. Thinking back to that Fadma with Myvia, longing to ride around the city; now it was a reality it wasn't as appealing. Instead, he left his horse at the stables and travelled on foot.

He walked into the market, coming to a short stop to grab an apple and, in doing so, spotting a girl. She was beautiful, her hair as black and sleek as the cool desert nights, yet her skin like the sun - the way he had cone to learn the sun. The glance turned into a stare, until she turned and saw him. Quickly, more quickly than surely ever before, he whipped his head back round. If he was fair-skinned you might have seen the blood rise to his cheeks.

He didn't look over to her again, in fear of being spotted. A presence appeared at his shoulder.
"Why were you staring at me?" Her voice, like silk from the caravans, seemed to slip and slide its way into Jolvic's ears, as pleasant as honey.
"I was..." No excuse came to mind, none she would believe. "Admiring your beauty." The girl smiled. A butterfly seemed to flitter and flutter in his chest.
"And what beauty might that be?"
He turned, smiling also. "I am Jolvic, Jolvic Solivu."
"I am Nymia Mazuk, daughter of jal-Lyeak Mazuk "the Great"." She flashed that same smile again. "My father is not a humble man."

The time eventually came for the Solivu caravan to arrive. Jolvic asked whether or not she would be dancing. She confirmed. That yes was the greatest yes he had heard in his life, even better than the yes to grooming Myvia, or the yes to riding with the older ones.

Jolvic returned to his family with a smile, raising much question with the younger ones. But he could not answer them, for they had not met for long and he did not know many answers. That was to change come that night.​

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[spagbog]

ish-Nymia Mazuk, Part II​

The night could not have taken long enough to arrive. Jolvic grew impatient, started pacing up and down. Sool, the city he had once seen as mysterious and beautiful, was now second to that girl. He longed to see her again, but knew to wait with his caravan and help, not go in search of Nymia. Even if his morals were in the wrong place, his father would soon set them roght, just as soon as any other Solivu, if not with more ease. So he waited, hours seemingly turning into days, until finally the sun dipped over the horizon.

They met quickly. Jolvic would know her face from any crowd, any number of people; it was as unique as the desert roses he used to hunt when he was younger. The two danced until they could dance no more, then stayed and talked. They talked about family and friends; about stars and the sky; about religion, politics and other controversial topics. Although they had just met he felt like he could trust her, trust her with his life and his secrets.

They slipped off together, Nymia and Jolvic. Hindsight would've been a powerful thing to have had. The almost-Jalik was led through thin alleyways and past dark, dingy corners. When they finally stopped, she turned and kissed him, taking him by surprise. She tasted nice. Jolvic was distracted. If he hadn't been, he may have seen the dark figure emerge from the shadows of the corridor.​

 

[spagbog]

ish-Nymia Mazuk, Part III​

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Not a second after the cold lips left Jolvic's a cold arm wrapped around his throat. The 19-year-old only had time to see Nymia (a name he realised was probably fake) spit and shake her head before his eyes rolled backwards and blacked out.

He woke to darkness, the smell of stale urine and a pain in his side. It took a moment to notice the rag covering his eyes and another to notice he was tied down. Then the darkness turned to light and he saw a figure infront of him. A small grey creature it was, shouting at him in a strange language, spittle flying out of its mouth at regular intervals. There was no time to look around, to study his surroundings; there wasn't even time to figure out what was going on.

A voice rang out clearly from some unknown place, a deep, rich voice, the opposite of Jolvic's quiet whisper. It seemed to hold some sense of authority in it, an air of leadership and arrogance. The Greyling certainly noticed it, as it was soon silent, obviously fearing the man behind the voice. The strangest thing about it was that he spoke almost perfect Marjash.
"I apologise for my... Pet there. It can get a bit carried away. You're very fortunate it didn't start trying to eat one of your fingers or toes. I've seen Littley tear off half a hand before." At that Jolvic flinched backwards as much as was possible in his prohibited space, raising a laugh from the man and a cackle from Littley.
"So you're probably wondering why you're here. It's about your name, really. No, no, not ish-Jolvic: Solivu. Settle down, get comfortable and I'll tell you a story." You could almost hear the smugness in the man's voice as he started to recite his story. It made Jolvic slightly sick.​

 

[spagbog]

ish-Nymia Mazuk, Part IV​

The man cleared his throat then began to speak once more, his 'pet' seeming enthralled by his words.

"You see, this is not my first time in this city. Neither is it my second, nor third, or fourth, fifth, or six. Nay, I have been here countless times. This is my first time as a non-Sooleran, though. I was once a member of your people, your caravan even. My name is Solivu aswell. We are brothers, in a way. And we are related further than you might think. My father was el-Loti Solivu. Both of our fathers were or are leaders of the Solivu caravan.

"So why are you no longer a Sooleran, I hear you ask. It was the night of my 40th Fadma - a night I believe you aren't far off of - the night of my coming of age ceremony, the day I could gain my Velish-Fadma and become a Jalik. I had a... Secret. It no longer became a secret only a few hours after the blade was given to me. I was in love with a Rooted.

"My father was an old-fashioned man, even back then. I had seen him - on many an occasion - forbid the seeing of Solivus and Rooted, even if the Sooleran was to become Rooted themselves. That is the reason I didn't tell him. Bilworth knows how that boy found out, but when he let it spill infront of my father, I was furious. More than furious." Jolvic heard the man's voice louden, the soft rich tones harshening.

"I drew my Velish and, in my rage, stabbed the boy in the small of the back. He must have only been 20 Fadmas, perhaps not even ish." The voice stayed monotone, flat and empty. "My father exiled me on the spot, more or less. This meant that I could no longer travel with my caravan (or anyone else's, for that matter), no longer roam with my family, the way it's supposed to be. It almost killed me, that first year. There wasn't a way in Nether I would stay put. Your caravan made me lose my love and my life. That is why me, Littley and 'Nymia' have sworn vengeance against the Solivus."

The man then sighed, mocking Jolvic, who's wrists had started to rub raw.
"Now then, what are we going to do with you. I just told you my life's story, I don't want you telling your friends. Perhaps I should kill you... Or..." With a snap of his fingers the pressure was off Jolvic's wrists, Littley having taken the cuffs off. Then a sword was handed to him, himself being in too much of a daze to comprehend what was going on. The strange man cleared his confusion.
"ish-Jolvic Solivu and Littley. The one who survives goes free. The other... Dies. Begin!"​

 

[spagbog]

Nymia Mazuk, Part III (2.0)​

Not a second after the cold lips left Jolvic's a cold arm wrapped around his throat. The 19-year-old only had time to see Nymia (a name he realised was probably fake) spit and shake her head, a look of disgust on her face, before his eyes rolled backwards and he blacked out.

He woke to the smell of urine and old hay, a pain in his side and an aching neck. It took him a second to realise he was moving and opened his eyes. Apparently he was in a cart, travelling away from what was now the distant city of Sool. He swore and half fell out of the moving vehicle, landing painfully on his back.

After about an hour of painful trudging and coming close to collapsing, Jolvic finally came to the border. He was let in relatively easy: as the celebrations were all but over, the security measures were slackened. By that time he had enough knowledge of the city to find his way around and soon came to the place his caravan were staying. They had gone.

Running his hands through his shorter than short hair, he groaned in despair.
"What am I going to do?" He cried in his native tongue, Morjash. Only the horses stabled nearby were listening. Then it hit him. Acting as quietly as he could, he saddled one of the said horses and lead it to the exit, mounting it fluid and setting off.

Once he was away from the city he could calm down a bit, but he still had no idea where his family has gone. Would they really just leave him? Perhaps they were still in the city, searching for him. Or maybe they thought he was dead, or worse! He shook the thoughts out of his head, instead focussing on what to do next.

Jolvic was pretty sure he could find a town or village close to Sool, they could have seen the Solivus pass through. Besides, his own father was the leader, it wasn't too hard to guess where they would be going. The nearest large town would probably be Port Silver, which is also the town with the biggest trade benefits, seeing as it is the capital. That's where they would most likely head, so that's where Jolvic would head also.​

 

[CaliburofSouls]

I LOVE IT. I WANT MOOOOOOOORE.