Emil sat in the small, dingy, dark room. The lights were off above him; Emil would rather have them on, but that wasn’t an option anymore.

The only light came through the window, from the magical lamps that illuminated the streets in this district. Fortunately, the small globes of light were out of reach of his… malady. As Emil sat and waited for the owner of the house to come back, he wondered how he had gotten here.

He supposed it had started on his twelfth birthday, when his father, Sir Abram Garbough, gifted him his first rapier. It was a dainty thing, more decorative than practical, with a fancy wooden handle and shining steel blade, but it was the symbolism of the thing that made it special. It meant that his father had finally agreed, after years of begging and pleading and pestering, that it was time to start his training as the heir of House Garbough.

Emil had been ecstatic; all he’d ever wanted was to assume command of his House to bring it glory and honor, and to make his doting father proud. He’d read every book on fencing he could get his hands on in preparation for this day, and he’d even asked for books on other weapons; shortswords, daggers, polearms, axes, clubs, even his own body. That day, his father had finally agreed to teach him how to use a sword, as it was by far his favorite weapon, as well as wrestle, box, and knife fight.

“Emil,” his father intoned in that authoritative way he had. “This is a big responsibility that I’m placing on you. Even though you are heir, you only need to learn the basics of the sword to earn the position. Are you sure you want this? Once you start, you cannot give up no matter what.”

Emil had looked his father in the eyes and agreed with everything in his little twelve-year-old body. And so his grueling training began.

The years merged in Emil’s mind’s eye; there were no major defining events to mark the years aside from birthdays and occasional death days, but such distant events blended themselves in his memory, turning into a delightful sweet mess of joy and sweat and good old-fashioned hard work.

Memories that soured the day he turned eighteen.

On that day, Emil had almost completed his diligent sword training and ascended to the illustrious title of master, one of the youngest in his house’s history. He was a demon in the wrestling ring with a nearly spotless record (Emil had taken on one of his father’s soldiers in a fit of arrogance when he was a teenager - the subsequent beating had given the boy more than a healthy dose of humility), and a perfect record boxing. He was nearly a master with knives, as well, and was just learning how to use a revolver effectively, having taken an interest in the small devices. He had begun wanting to learn how one was made so he might be able to improve on the design someday.

He had wanted to celebrate on the beaches of  Ibinia, the arid nation to the west of his father’s territory. They were supposedly gorgeous locales, and Emil had always enjoyed the heat. So his family and friends packed some bags and headed for  Ibinia.

Emil could picture the celebration as if it was yesterday.

---

“Don’t you dare peek, Emi!”

“I would never, Louise! I know you and Mother spent forever on this, and I want to feel surprised.”

Emil walked with his sister down a hallway in one of the few fancy hotels in this  Ibinian city. It had cost quite a lot of money to rent out the entire ballroom for a few hours, but it was his eighteenth birthday, the day he was to take on the position of second-in-command of House Garbough. Technically, he’d always had that position, but today would make it official. Emil had been imagining this day for years, waiting impatiently until he could finally help his father in an official capacity rather than just purely advisory. Now he finally could.

His younger sister Louise and his mother Irene had spent all day decorating along with the servants they had brought. They wanted everything to be done perfectly, and the Garbough family was a big believer in the old saying, ‘If you want something done right, do it yourself.’  His father had gone out hours ago, remaining vague about what he was doing, which only made Emil more excited about this mysterious errand.

His sister was currently leading him blindfolded through the hallways of the hotel towards the ballroom, and Emil wasn’t certain that his organs weren’t having an impromptu acrobatics contest in his torso.

“Come on, Emi, just a little further!” Louise encouraged, continuing to draw him closer.  Emil counted the steps as they walked. ‘We went up two flights, down one flight, then left-right-left-left-right, from the eastern entrance of the hotel, so the ballroom should be right in front of us- ‘

“We’re here!” his energetic sister confirmed his guess, and he couldn’t help but feel proud that Captain Maximoff’s training which he had worked so hard to master had come in handy yet again.

Together, they opened up the ballroom doors and Emil finally removed his blindfold to the sight of hundreds of people shouting, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

He could do nothing but gape.  He’d assumed that there would be additional people coming, but doing a quick headcount brought the total way over anything that Emil could have guessed would come.  A smile bloomed on his face as he laughed in wonder and joy.

Emil spent hours socializing; noble friends, soldiers he’d trained with, distant family, even the heads of a few of his fellow vassals attended.

The most memorable conversation by far, however, was with Brother Votus and his group of priests.

Brother Votus had always given bad vibes to Emil.  Even though he was the mouthpiece of Tegorop, god of protection and sacrifice, Emil never associated with him more than was necessary.  Which was still more than he would like, since he saw him at least once a week at church and more times for every time he wanted to receive Tegorop’s blessing (which was at least three times a week, maybe more).  Emil’s family was extremely superstitious, and Emil had seen his father nearly have a man executed for an offense against Tegorop.

“Young master Emil, what an auspicious day! House Garbough is lucky to have such a competent young man rising through its ranks to assume its helm one day,” Brother Votus murmured.  That was the other thing Emil didn’t like about Votus; he never spoke in anything much louder than a whisper except when he led the congregation, in which case he could pass for a demon-possessed maniac. “The Brothers of Tegorop and myself would like to offer our sincerest congratulations on your big day, and we hope that you continue in your devoted worship,” Votus said.

Emil forced a smile as he responded, “I doubt anything could stop me from seeking the blessing of Tegorop in all I do, as I still have much to achieve before I can take over House Garbough.  Thank you for your blessings, however, and I hope you enjoy your time here.”

Eventually, his father, who had returned with even more guests, tapped a small wine glass to get everyone’s attention.

“First, I’d like to thank all of you for coming on such short notice. Our little Emil - not so little now, I reckon - has always been rather spur-of-the-moment, and yet so many of you managed to come out to support him on his big day.  For this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Emil’s father was a large man, slightly more than Emil’s two meters, and had an air of dominance around him.  It wasn’t that he was some muscle-bound giant, but he looked fit and had defined muscles, an impressive feat for a large man.  Whenever he spoke in that soft yet firm voice, everyone around stopped to listen.  Emil wanted to one day learn his secret.

“Eighteen years ago this day, my son Emil was brought into this world. I can hardly remember a time since he could walk that he wasn’t begging me to teach him how to fight, and when I finally relented he took to it as a fish takes to water. His training began a mere six years ago, and in that time he has gained near mastery of the rapier, shortsword, and dagger, excellent records in the wrestling and boxing arenas, and high marksmanship scores with a revolver. I cannot think of anyone more suited to lead House Garbough, Shield of House Elyrian. My joy, my heir, my son - happy birthday.” His father had always been a skilled orator, able to twist the hearts of men as a master sculptor twists clay, but the tears in his eyes and the slight waver in his voice as he spoke seemed genuine, and Emil couldn’t help but get choked up at the rare display of affection, subtle as it was.

Emil ran up to his father and hugged him as he came down from the table he’d been standing on as the crowd cheered and yelled their support.  His mother, not to be left out, rushed over and embraced the Garbough men, Louise hot on her heels.

Irene smiled up at Emil. “You were born at exactly 11:45 tonight.  It’s almost time until you’re officially 18, my dearest son!” his mother said softly.  Emil grinned and embraced his family tighter.

At exactly 11:30, Emil was brought into a back room by some of the butlers of the family to change into his most formal dress clothes.  It was a complicated suit-like piece of clothing, but he thought he looked dashing when he was finished.

His father entered at 11:40 after he had changed to lead him out to the balcony, where he would be presented to the crowd below.

At 11:44, Emil ascended the stairs and emerged on the balcony to the cheers and applause of his friends and family, affirming that this was the best day of his life.

At 11:45, everything went wrong.

First was the darkness in the pit of his stomach. Not physical darkness, or even mental darkness.  Emil just felt a sense of emptiness and nothing coming from just behind his belly button.  The second was the massive expansion of the darkness all around Emil.  There was no change to his vision, no visible change to anything around him at all.

The third was Brother Votus, who was three meters behind him, screaming in panic and fear.

“TEGOROP! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME!?” the priest shrieked and ran towards the stairs as Emil whipped around, confused and panicking.  Just before he reached the stairs, he stopped cold and whirled around to face Emil, eyes wide with fanaticism and fear.

“DEMON SPAWN! CORRUPTED CHILD OF HELL, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” Votus shouted madly.  Emil backed away from the rabid priest in shock and fear.

“I - what are you - I didn’t do anything!” Emil stuttered.

At that moment, Emil had backed up far enough that a chandelier just above the balcony came into his range - and all the lights on it turned off immediately.  The crowd below screamed in panic.

Emil was confused.  What was happening? Why was Brother Votus so angry? Why was he calling him a demon spawn? And why did everything feel so dark -

Votus gathered a ball of light, screaming madly. “You sealed me off from Tegorop, you unholy being! Die, in the name of the God of Protection!”

Emil’s eyes widened. That was a Holy Blast, one of the priest’s most powerful spells. If that hit him, he’d be incinerated!

However, before Emil could react, two things happened; one, after the sphere was fired and went tearing toward Emil, he sensed a powerful light at exactly where the sphere was, and two, the light was extinguished at the same time as the sphere ripping toward him vanished like a snuffed candle.

Votus screamed in rage and fired spell after spell, but nothing made it closer than five meters before vanishing.  The crowd below continued to scramble for the doors in a panic, while Emil’s father slowly drew his sword.

“...What are you, and what have you done with my son?” Sir Garbough whispered. Emil’s blood turned to ice while his mind, normally so sharp, blanked out.

“W-what - I-I am your son! I don’t know what’s happening -”

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SON, YOU DEMON!”

It was too much for Emil.  He jumped off the balcony, landed rolling ten meters below, and sprinted out the doors as fast as he could.  That was two weeks ago. He never looked back.

Emil had fled into the deepest parts of the city, scrounging a large cloak to cover himself with and hide his wealth.  Then he spent hours sobbing and wallowing in his self-hatred and self-pity as he replayed the events of his birthday over and over in his head.  The fear and panic in his father’s normally calm eyes, the hatred and madness in Brother Votus’s.  For weeks, he barely scraped by, stealing from houses for weapons, clothes, and food.  There was no question that he’d become a different person; the optimistic, happy heir of House Garbough had given way to the cursed, bitter child of the slums.

It was in a bar that he met Kurga.  He’d walked in, desperate for some booze to drown in, and he got into a fight with the proprietor and some of the customers.  Emil had two daggers and years of martial training - the fight lasted all of ten seconds before all three men lay dead and Emil was ransacking the back room in the pitch black, all the lights suppressed by his curse.  That was when Kurga made his move.

The short man approached Emil and engaged him in conversation, asking about where he came from and where he learned to fight.  Emil tried to get away, but the man was relentless - eventually, Emil was won over with the promise of a meal and a simple question: “How would you like to have a purpose?”

---

Emil opened his eyes as Kurga walked back into the room.  In the short man’s hands was a steaming bowl of watery soup, which he set in front of Emil as he sat across from the former heir.

“Look, I know you’ve had a rough go of things. I know you probably don’t want to speak to me, and I know that you’re probably just here to get a meal before going back out, so I’ll give you the short version of things.  There’s a fighting tournament coming up, and my organization, the Nova Ordo, needs fighters. I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never seen anyone fight like you, and with that suppression you have - you could be unstoppable.  I just - this could be a chance for you to fight for something - instead of killing and wandering, you could make an impact.  Maybe we could even point you in the direction of getting rid of your curse if you want.”

That caught Emil’s attention. He didn’t really think they’d be able to get rid of his curse, but if he could just do something… anything to get his mind off a few weeks ago….

“Alright.  What would I have to do?”

 

 

 

---

Character Overview

Name: Emil (previously Emil Garbough before being disowned)

Author: _Yuuk1_

Allegiance: Nova Ordo

Age: 18

Race: Human

Bio: Emil is a disowned former heir to a noble’s vassal house (House Garbough), and has been stranded in Ibinia for several weeks. On his 18th birthday, he was kicked out of his family, disowned, and left in the city to fend for himself, losing his inheritance, family, and friends in the process. His abandonment has made him a scarred, angry, and bitter young man, who seeks to raise his standing and protect it at all costs.

Abilities:

• Suppression Field (Curse): Emil uncontrollably emits a field of total magic suppression in a 5 meter (15 foot) radius from himself. Any magic that enters the field is forcibly and completely suppressed, save divine magic straight from the hands of a god (divine magic worked through a mortal intermediary, including an inanimate object, is still affected by the field; only a spell cast directly by a god can bypass the field). Even if only a small portion of an entity crosses the boundary into the barrier, the magic is suppressed for the entire being. Enhancement magic, charms on other people, enchantments, magical tools - all are suppressed completely. Emil can also detect when an object gets suppressed, but not what it was or what magical effect he suppressed. Enchantments that spend more than 10 hours inside the field risk being permanently suppressed, even once they leave the field.

• Bladed Weapon Combat: Emil is a master with shortswords, longswords, and hand-and-a-half swords, and can fight proficiently with twin daggers.

• Hand-to-Hand Ability: Emil is an excellent wrestler and grappler, as well as a skilled martial artist (similar to Muay Thai)

• Revolver Skill: Has fired a revolver and was reasonably skilled. Never fired in high-intensity situations, but as a skilled warrior it shouldn’t be a problem

• Equipment: After being picked up by the Nova Ordo, Emil was equipped with a hand-and-a-half sword (25 inches, sheathed on back), a shortsword (18 inches, sheathed on left hip), three daggers (8 inches, one on left hip, one under left armpit, and one under right armpit), and a revolver (similar to a Colt 1860) with two magazines to reload (pistol holstered on the right hip, reloads on pouch just behind holster).  All weapons are made of steel (no enchantments, obviously). In addition to all his weapons, Emil managed to find a large two-handed tower shield made of solid steel.

• Organization: Emil, as the heir of a combat-oriented House, can organize supplies, soldiers, and other assets effectively.
  

Appearance: Emil is a tall, fair-skinned young man with a gaunt face. An onlooker could see that he was once handsome, yet nearly a year on the streets has scarred him both physically and emotionally. He has small scars all across his body, and one particularly nasty one runs from just to the side of his right eye to the bottom of his jawbone, no doubt adding to his perpetual scowl. He has very dark brown hair and deep blue eyes, like the ocean. His frame is lean, bordering on skinny, and he favors large cloaks that conceal his whole body but are not oppressively hot during the day.

How they got recruited: Pure luck. Emil happened to get into a bar fight, and a particularly perceptive Nova Ordo member witnessed his powerful anti-magic curse and combat ability. He offered him the chance to fight for something rather than drift aimlessly, and Emil accepted out of desperation and despair.