Name: Clive Paxton
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance (pics if possible): Clive is 5'9 and 180 pounds, with a broad chest and meaty arms.
Mage?: No, but Purifier.
Bio: Born in the thriving port city of Brigham in Dascus, Clive was the son of an unremarkable fisherman and his wife. They were poor, but not poor enough to live on the streets. The rent was paid, there was enough food to get by on, and their hearth was warm more often than not. In his childhood, he helped his father out at sea, throwing nets and fetching them up again. The Paxton family lived in a neighboring district to some of the richer neighborhoods of Brigham. These residences were those of mages and enchanters, and the wealth of the city was clearly unevenly distributed to them. Oftentimes, Clive felt jealous of the wealth that was in sight, but out of reach. As far as he could tell, the only difference between them and himself was the fact that they could use magic...and he couldn't. There was no reason. They weren't kinder, or smarter, or harder working - they were just lucky. Fortunate enough to conjure spells from their soft hands and delicate fingers. His callused hands, no matter how hard he tried, couldn't do it.
At the age of fifteen, Clive's father grew sick with some unknown disease. Clive became the sole breadwinner for the family, and spent long and aching hours at sea, out in the winds and the cold. His further sense of injustice was even further irked - he worked his fingers to the bone, while the rich and spoiled nobles his age partied the night away. He could hear their revelry when returning to his home late at night, their laughter and shouts echoing through the night. But that was the way things were in Brigham, and there was nothing to be done about it.
Tragically, Clive's father passed away when Clive was seventeen, leaving him as the head of the household. His younger brother, Stefan, began to bring in coin as well. He'd vanish into the shadows in the early morning, and return late at night with a pocketful of coin. Clive was suspicious, but said nothing - until one night, Stefan returned, bruised and beaten, lacking a single coin. Upon confronting him, the truth was spilled out. Stephan had been pickpocketing from nobles in the richer districts, using the connection of a richer friend to slip past the guards which usually kept the ruffians out. And though he had been caught and harshly punished, it returned more than all Clive's time at sea. "Just one good snatch a day is all you need to make a whole day's wage. It's worth it. Honest." Stefan claimed, through a blackened eye and bloody nose.
Clive, against his better judgement, gave the idea consideration. After a few sleepless nights, it began to consume his waking moment. All his hard work barely kept them afloat - and he'd stolen as a child plenty of times. It wasn't that difficult. And there were rumors from the docks that they had overfished the area. The rich hauls that they had become accustomed to had started to wane - and his small boat could hardly keep up with expenses as is. When the sun emerged over the horizon the next morning, Clive's boat remained tethered at the dock, its nets idle and uncast. Nervously, he skulked to the darkened alleys of Brigham, where the Street Crawlers were rumored to lurk.
It was difficult to get a foot in the door, but he managed it. An experienced thief by the name of Samuel decided to take on an apprentice, as he was getting a little older. It was a simple arrangement - Samuel explained how to pick the locks and avoid the guards, and Clive would do it. Clive would put his life on the line to grab treasures with a worth much greater than he could understand, and Samuel would take fifty percent of the profit. Looking back, Clive regrets his foolishness. In reality, Samuel took nearly ninety percent. The riches he stole were worth far more than the pitiful coppers Samuel gave him as "half the spoils", but there was no way for a inexperienced young man to know these things.
As dangerous and brutal as life in the gang could be, it was a better life than fishing. Clive made friends with some of the other young men, driven by desperation into the same situation. His story was echoed many times - the taxes were too high, the rent was too much, a simple misfortune had put the family underwater. And all the while, the mages lived in luxury. Too engrossed in their studies to see the struggles of the common people. And yet, rich and powerful enough to nearly control the government. The King didn't give a damn about the fishermen, cobblers, and farmers that couldn't survive.
But at twenty, Clive stole something worth more than anything he had purchased before. Through sheer coincidence and luck, he stole the heart of a young woman by the name of Alice - a daughter of one of the more powerful mages in the city. They bumped into each other at a bread store, struck up a conversation, and...decided to meet again. It was almost unheard of, for a commoner to romance a mage's daughter. Perhaps the scandal of it all was what appealed most to her. Perhaps it was his stories of thrill and danger, and of a life with real choices and consequences. Alice was not as fortunate as her father - she lacked the ability to harness the magic in the world. While she had lived with all of her wants and needs fulfilled by her father, she was sheltered and ignored in favor of her sisters, who were blessed with the gift of magic. Clive was poor and rough, but he was honest and kind, unlike her prospective suitors. Her father was attempting to raise the status of their house, and there was a tentative arranged marriage between Alice and a spoiled nobleman by the name of Oliver.
Needless to say, when Alice broke the news of her newfound love to her father, it went poorly. He was disgusted at Clive's poor upbringing, his lack of manners (and relevant connections), and the fact that this commoner dared to go against the social order. Oliver, a short and stout weasel of a man, was upset as well. However, there were no laws directly forbidding their relationship, so there was nothing Alice's father could truly do about it. After resorting to every threat and bribe under the sun, he gave up trying to change his stubborn daughter's mind, and cast her out of his household.
Though she lost the wealth and luxury she had grown up with, Alice was happy. Clive and her were deeply in love - it was as if their souls were designed by the Gods themselves to be two parts of a whole. The two moved into a small lodging above a local tavern, as Clive's brothers had began to make their ways in the world and no longer needed his support. Their life was simple, but happy. Clive began to withdraw from the Street Crawlers and return to fishing - and by some blessing of the gods, the hauls improved, he hired on a few men, and their life showed nothing but promise.
That was, until a fateful day. After a long day out at sea, Clive returned home...to a door, broken at the hinges. Fearfully, he pushed the door, which creakily opened, revealing his beloved wife. Or, at least, what was left of her. Alice's body was sprawled on the floor, battered and bloodied. It was a sight he will never forget. He howled in grief, falling to his knees, weeping for what could have been hours. After recovering enough to limp downstairs, he was greeted by a city watchman, bearing handcuffs. Supposedly, an anonymous informant had reported overhearing a quarrel between him and his wife, which had escalated into violence. The guardsmen wouldn't reveal the source of the information, nor hold a trial. It was clear, they claimed, that he had done it. After all, a brute like him, with ties to the dangerous Street Crawler gang? It was only inevitable. In the course of a single day, Clive's business was seized and sold, and he was thrown into a dank and moldy cell to await his execution. His future was shattered into a thousand pieces, utterly ruined forever.
His past, however, came back to call. The night before his execution, a rope was thrown through a window, with the iron bars melted by some strange alchemy. Samuel, though now a crotchety old bastard of a man, believed that he owed his apprentice one. Though he had nearly lost the will to live, Clive climbed the rope, met by the grim faces of his old friends. After spiriting him away to a hideout in the depths of the alleys of the city, they revealed a horrific truth - one of their local informants (a ten year old street rat) claimed to have seen a well dressed man pay off a guard. The description of the man - short, ginger, and overweight - was exactly that of Oliver, Alice's scorned fiancee.
"The mages of this city can do whatever they damn please. The rules don't apply to them. I say we do something about it for once." a conspirator named Nelson spat, and Clive, lost in his rage and grief, found a new purpose. He had worked his whole life for something better, while the mages had it handed to them for nothing. And when he had finally found something wonderful, something pure, it had been snatched away by one. His future was gone...but he'd take theirs away, too. He'd heard of the methods of the Elves in the North - Purification. A counter to magic, achieved through either internal peace or force of will. After a few weeks, Clive vanished from the city, lost in the pursuit of this mystical art. He traveled through Eboris, chasing lead after lead. While he found some disciples of the technique, they all said the same thing - to master Purification, head to Athela. Clive had no lost love for the Elven people (although he had hardly met any, being a common fisherman), but he was determined. After arriving in Athela, he searched out a master of Purification - an old, retired Guardian named Yanesh Marian. After nearly a year of searching, he found the old master, tucked away in the heart of Athela. Falling at the elf's feet, Clive begged to be taught the art of Purification. He told the elf his story, and claimed that the elves were right - magic was the source of all evil in the world. He swore that if Yanesh taught him, he'd act as an agent against the Magi Consortium for the rest of his life.
Yanesh consented, with terms and conditions - Clive would become a servant of his family for five years, in return for five years of training. Without a second of hesitation, Clive agreed. Being a servant in Athela was hardly pleasant - the Elves were clear in discrimination against him, and he was clearly unwelcome. But Athela was a lush and rich land, and though he was a servant, he was treated fairly by Yanesh's family. Over time, the Elven viewpoints began to sink more deeply into his mind. It was unjust that their empire had been taken away and ruined by the mages. Magic was unfair, and clearly a blight upon the world. Although he thought these things already, his times in Athela did nothing but reinforce his dedication and cause. He trained vigorously and relentlessly - however, meditation proved to be fruitless. His mind was restless, and he continuously failed to calm his thoughts and achieve the concentration necessary to achieve the art. Yanesh took him aside and expressed that perhaps it wasn't meant to be - however, Clive refused to back away from their agreement. His life was purposeless - only revenge mattered at this point.
"Perhaps there is another way." Yanesh claimed, pushing aside the candles and spices of meditation. "Some claim that purification is not about being calm enough to produce internal tranquility. Rather, you merely need to be resolute and without internal conflict. Try again, but focus on something. Anything. Perhaps this will help."
And the next day, with the thought of his beloved Alice, Clive produced his first Purification aura. It was a small, feeble spell, covering the area the size of a chair. But it was progress, and that was enough. The next four years were fruitful - he found that by focusing in on his hate and desire for revenge, he could create a powerful effect on the area around him. Magic enchantments fell to pieces, runes lost their power, potions fizzled into nothingness. It was almost unprecedented. However, focusing on grief and revenge for such a long period of time is hardly healthy. Yanesh urged him to move on and let go, but there was no turning back. At the end of the fifth year, Clive bid farewell to his master, and returned to Brigham.
The night he returned, he broke into the manor where Oliver lived. Spells meant to keep intruders out dissolved into air, and a single shot of Clive's crossbow put an end to the unfortunate guard at the end of the street. Shakily, he pushed open the grand doors of the building, and took a step inside. Clutching his mace at his side tightly, his hand trembled. After all, he'd waited for this moment for years. As he crept through the house, he heard laughter coming from the bedroom upstairs. It filled him with rage. How dare this spoiled murderer have wealth and joy after all he'd done. He didn't deserve any of it. And Clive would fix that.
He pushed open the door to the bedroom, revealing Oliver and his newfound wife (a plump woman by the name of Anne) in bed together. She screamed when he entered. It was a shrill, obnoxious sound. Oliver leapt to his feet, pointing his finger at Clive and shouting some useless invocation. It did nothing. The face that Oliver made upon realizing his powers were gone certainly is a fond memory for Clive, even if what came next...wasn't the cathartic moment he was expecting. Oliver fell to his knees, begging Clive to spare his life, and Anne as well. He claimed he was sorry, that he had made a mistake, that he'd take it all back if he could.
The crack his legs made when Clive broke them was quite satisfying. And once Oliver was helpless, incapable of running away...Clive beat Anne to death with his mace. Slowly. It wasn't enjoyable - in fact, her bloodied body reminded him of Alice. It sickened him. But he had gone this far, and there was no turning back. Once he had finished with the first part of his revenge, Clive smashed Oliver's skull in, crushing it to pieces.
After all this time, his journey was over. He'd done it. He'd gotten his revenge, after all of these years. And yet...it wasn't what he had hoped. He was still a profoundly broken man, Alice was still dead, and avenging her hadn't made him whole again. Yanesh was right. Clive sat on the ledge of Oliver's second floor balcony for hours, pondering what came next.
Perhaps he hadn't gone far enough. Perhaps that was why he wasn't satisfied. After all, there was still work to do. Now, Clive wanders the land, hunting mages for both pleasure and profit. Known as the Butcher of Brigham, his notoriety is certainly notable in some regions of Dascus. Currently, he is stationed with the Athelan army near the Haden Hill, under the guise of a mercenary - after all, this is a great opportunity. Everyone knows that the armies of Dascus hold plenty of mages in their ranks.
Plenty of guilty rats, awaiting their judgement.
Fighting Style: Warrior/Purifier
Abilities:- [Sphere of Purification]: When focused and/or enraged, Clive can nullify any and all magic attacks or elements in a circle (20 meter radius) around him. Magic arrows become regular arrows. Teleportation sputters and fails. Magic spells fizzle into dust at the fingertips of their caster. Runes are naught but irrelevant scribbles to Clive. Even dragon's fire is snuffed out into smoke. This is the great equalizer - all creatures are brought to their bare essentials, flesh and blood.
- [Street Brawler]: "Honor is made up bullshit by the noble bastards that keep us scrabbling around in the dirt. Stab 'em in the back when they ain't lookin', go for the eyes and the groin, and do whatever it takes to be the one standin' at the end of the day."
- [Sticky Fingers]: Clive is a seasoned pickpocket and thief, able to snatch keys off keyrings, pouches off belts, and purses off arms with ease. He's deceptively quick for a rather unassuming man, and has the uncanny ability to disappear into a crowd.
Limitations:- [Xenophobe]: "If it ain't human, you can't trust it worth a damn. Those Thalari are no better than the animals we slaughter for food. Dwarves? Nasty little midgets. Elves...well, I respect 'em about as much as us humans. Which ain't much, for the record."
- [Naught But A Man]: Clive has no magic spells, no enchanted sword, and no shining mithril armour. While he may be strong and tough as nails, he stands no chance against creatures naturally stronger than him.
Equipment:- [Ol' Reliable]: A plain mace. Little more than an iron bar with a flanged end. Soaked in the guilty blood of mages brought to their knees.
- [Crossbow]: A standard sized crossbow, with around fifty bolts stored along his belt and bandolier.
- [Gambeson Coat]: Clive's longcoat is padded, giving him protection against some blows. It's no suit of armor, but it's better than nothing.
- [Caltrops]: Good for aiding a quick retreat from a superior opponent.
- [Throwing Knives]: About ten small throwing knives. Relatively self explanatory.
Optional QuestionnairePersonal Quest: Rid the world of the scum, or die trying.
Favorite Factions: The Street Crawlers, Wanderers, Faenar's Faithful
Least Favorite Factions: The Magi Consortium
Favorite Memory: Clive's favorite memory is dancing with his beloved Alice. It's in the evening after a humble day's work at the docks, and a nearby street bard is strumming a familiar tune. While their humble abode is nothing spectacular, it is warm and comfortable. A delicious pot of stew broils on the stove, cooked with love and the honest effort of a woman who loves him deeply and truly. Their future is bright and full of potential.
Goals: Kill as many mages as he can. Regardless of nation or creed, they're all guilty.
Religion: "There are no gods. But if there were, they damn sure aren't worth worshiping."