STATS & SUMMARY
HP | 400/400 |
SP | 400/400 |
Speed | 80m/s |
Strength | 100 |
Magic Sensory | 200 |
Passive Buffs: 150% Melee Damage, 675% Strength |
ITEMS ON HAND
Nine Magic TattoosLinks
Kismet Clover, Zangan Style Combat Arts, Mako Warrior Combat ArtsCOMBAT SUMMARY
Damage Taken: | N/A |
Healing: | N/A |
MP Used: | N/A |
Buffs: | N/A |
Other Notes: | N/A |
~ |
Kismet sat at the foot of her rustic four poster bed, which was draped in various outfits. The bed itself was a jumbled mess, with pillows piled on top of one other in a crumpled heap. The blanket was draped off the bed's foot, dangling over the edge and resting on the polished wooden floor beneath.
She couldn't count the number of times she'd sat there, her clothes dangling limply over her slim but toned figure, softly kissing her latest lover goodbye before watching them walk away, counting Jewels she had stolen from them while they were passed out. It was a win win for her. She got her needs taken care of while also satisfying her hunger for more money. Her beautiful smile had turned into a crooked and twisted lip. Today was the day she'd meeting a guildie or two, or more.
Getting dressed she emerged from her place into a lurid courtyard of old marble walls covered in snow and ice. She already had her tattoo so the cold didn't bother her despite not being all that dressed. She was currently in the city being looked down on by the guild hall. She hadn't gotten permission to move in yet so was renting out a place for the moment. In exchange for protect of course.
Today was Kismet's relaxation day from training, so she decided to use her guild tattoo to teleport up to the castle rather than climbing. She'd find herself making her way to the main area upon entering. Because there weren't many others up yet, she helped herself to a few very large cups of ale till she was nice and cozy and partly naked sitting on a couch.
She began to think while she lay on the couch. In a world that doesn't evolve, how do you create progress? You alter it. But every now and then, she'd find herself daydreaming about what her life might be like in an ideal world, one where development was not determined by the laws set by the people's leaders. She knew she was a fighter, her father knew it, and everyone knew it. She despised regulations, was overconfident, and despised the status quo. I'm a wizard by trade now, and I'll be one till the day I die, she thought to herself.
It's who she was, and no one, not even the royals, can change that. Kismet had an epiphany regarding her family. She has three siblings and was not an only child. Her mother became pregnant three times by chance and regarded her children as objects and tools. They had to get up at a specific hour, do chores, and labor for the family, and they didn't get to keep a jewel. She kept a close eye on everyone. Kismet was most likely instilled with her disdain for rules by her. She fled when she was of age and had to learn to survive on the streets, fight, and utilize her looks to her advantage in order to establish a position in the world. She now had magic, a guild, and a ray of hope.
Oh, the magic. Magic blood had blessed Kismet. The family was descended from witches. Magic was not uncommon, and those who possessed it possessed evident abilities. Either element-wielders, who could summon flames from the air or ice from creation magic, or seers, who were given visions of the future or faraway regions. Kismet, of course, would never be able to spew fire from her fingertips, summon armor or weapons, control a dragon with her thoughts, because she no longer had access to her magic. She learnt how to protect herself with chi-based techniques after training with Zangan, a wandering martial artist. To feed her style, she was able to turn all of her magical stores into this new energy. While most wizards would think that was stupid, it was nonetheless a type of magic known as combat arts. She liked it since it was more fluid and allowed her to cast her spells more quickly. She didn't have to be concerned about the build-up or the spelling symbols. She merely used her abilities.
Rolling over, she'd take another gulp from her mug and wait for someone to come in so she could introduce herself and meet her guildies.
WC: 719 | TWC: 719
Last edited by Kismet Clover on 27th October 2021, 6:57 am; edited 1 time in total